Tag Archives: communication
Someone else’s story: choosing love over kink
For me, sex is one of the most important parts of a relationship. It’s up there with trust, laughter, and an ability to tolerate each other’s excessive flatulence after curry night. Sex – if it’s good enough – is often a key motivator to help me fall for someone in the first place.
The idea of a long-term relationship with someone who didn’t share at least a fair proportion of my kinks makes me desperately sad. But in the past when I’ve raised this with friends I’ve been told that sex isn’t everything – it pales into insignificance when you compare it to the mighty force of love.
I was doubtful, and I still am doubtful that sex – for me – will ever take a back seat in terms of my priorities. But for this week’s guest blogger it’s done just that. I’m delighted to have her here because her perspective is so different to my own, and I’d love to know if other people have struggled with similar things – have you ever fallen in love and had to make a similar choice?
Someone else’s story: choosing love over kink
I’m dirty. I’m filthy. I’m a slut. My mind is constantly wandering between kinky fantasies where I’m being used and abused and these fantasies make my cunt throb.
For years this was what happened to me: I was in relationships with guys that made my unspeakable fantasies a reality. I was whipped, beaten and peed on into a sweaty, cum-covered mess. I knelt before relative strangers and begged for their worst and they gave it. I submitted to harsh experienced Masters who knew how to make me tremble without a single touch, could make me cum from a well delivered spanking and always left me wanting more. I “knew” I would be a dirty girl till the day I died.
I was happy to be treated this way.
So how merely 3 years from my last spanking have I ended up married to a guy who thinks doggy style is kinky, who could never speak during sex and is happy with once a week missionary?
No I didn’t run out of things to do. I drip at the thought of being roughly taken up the arse but know I will never know the feeling. There is so many scenes I’m yet to try. I’m still submissve in my soul.
No I don’t think I can change him. No I don’t cheat. If you had asked me before I met him if I could give up filth I would have sworn it was impossible. So can a self identified filthy slut be happy with a ‘vanilla’ guy?
The answer is yes. I’m happy. I love him more than I knew I could and know this is the forever after people dream about. As sappy as that sounds but when you know you know!
I think it’s all about priorities. Mine changed the first time he kissed me. Love. Family. Happiness. They are more important to me than filthy sex.
Did I compromise? Am I going to resent him in 10 years? Who knows! I don’t think so. My life is great. He is great.
He knows how to make me smile at the end of a really shit day.
He knows when to shut up and leave me alone.
He knows my favourite bands, books, food etc.
He makes my family his family and me part of his.
He gets me in a way no one ever had.
So I don’t tremble into subspace with a look. Sex is functional. It scratches an itch. It made my child. I’m not saying he’s bad in bed – I’m saying we aren’t sexually compatible. Somewhere there are girls who just want a quiet fuck on a Saturday night – should he be with one of them?
We all know someone or had a relationship that ended because they had different views on religion, family (usually whether to have one or not) or other significant issues. Is sex one of these issues? Or, more importantly, should it be? Do we put to much emphasis on sexual tastes and dismiss otherwise perfect relationships? We all know that relationships are about give and take. We put up with annoying habits (the snoring that brings the roof down, the dirty clothes on the bedroom floor, the lateness – and that’s just my own habits). We agree to disagree on many things.
Sex is great, but surely love has to be more important. I don’t think it would be a very healthy state of mind to choose a sexual relationship over a loving one. Of course you can have both – I am sure many people do – but if that’s not what fate has in store for you then you play the hand you’re given.
So I am happy in my ‘normal’ sex life. You may call it boring, you may say it can never work but every night I curl up next to a guy I love. If I threw our relationship away for dirty sex maybe I would never again find this heart stopping love.
So I will continue to rub myself furiously to thoughts of what I could have had done to me if the love of my life had been a filthy guy, but I will continue to love my life.
So would you give up filthy sex for the person you love?
I’d love to know what you think – is sex (and specifically the type of sex) a vital part of any relationship, and a potential ‘dealbreaker’ when you’re thinking about who to spend the rest of your life with? Are you in a relationship where you’ve reached a happy compromise? As with many sexual things, I think this is going to be different for everyone, so if you’ve struggled with this before I’d love to know how you dealt with it, and what you’ve decided your priorities and compromises are.
Someone else’s story: How to sext
I think words are hotter than pictures. Words are spectacular things which, if you can bend them to your will, can make someone pant with desire or puke with disgust. Not everyone agrees: some people prefer images or films, but for me nothing quite competes with words.
Sad, then, that despite the fact most of us have devices in our pockets to send filthy words to lovers whenever we like, so many people forget the power that words have, and end up throwing out any old shit that just happens to be in the ‘dirty’ bit of the dictionary.
Today’s guest blog comes from a blogger after my own heart – SeasideSlut explains what dirty words do to her, how to use them best, and – crucially – how not to sext. If you like her post (and why the hell wouldn’t you?) check out her blog and follow her on Twitter for more.
Why sexting is hot (and how to sext well)
I’m an avid bookworm and lover of language, so I am very appreciative of the beauty and power of words. Combine that with my filthy nature and you get an overflowing porn bookshelf and a serious weakness for a well crafted ‘sext’.
When I was 16 I used to regularly buy and sell secondhand CDs from a mail order firm, and somehow managed to graduate from a friendly covering note to lengthy, explicit exchanges with the guy who ran the company. It was such a thrill opening the latest parcel to see what he’d written and I’d tantalise myself by re-reading his notes over and over. It emerged that he was more than twice my age and married, so it never went further than that. But ever since I’ve regularly used my imagination and vocabulary to get people off, and often they kindly reciprocate.
For me, the key is paying attention to the details, because it makes the image you’re trying to create so much more tangible. Which is more erotic?
“I want you to put your cock in my vagina LOLZ!”
or
“I’m lying on my back, stroking my slippery pussy lips apart right now, thinking about you. I want to trace my bare foot over your chest, watch your nipples harden, stroke them with my toes. I want to watch as your cock head slowly eases into my tight, hot little hole; listen to you groan as you push all the way in… my cunt is aching to be stretched and filled by your delicious hard dick, I bet it feels so fucking good…”
Of course there are pitfalls. You can’t see or hear your correspondent’s reaction to your messages. They might be eating their dinner or trimming their toenails while you imagine them writhing in lustful paroxysms. They might respond with a exasperated tut to the 50th cock picture you’ve sent them, rather than the moist glee you hope for. Or you might say something that actively turns them off and because you can’t see their look of horror/disgust/boredom, you carry on down that ill-chosen smut avenue and just make it worse for yourself.
I’ll take this opportunity to share with you some choice sexts I’ve received – these are of the unsolicited chat up variety from male admirers (spelling mistakes left intact):
“Do you have any Celtic interests, dark arts or any connections with north Spain, the Kings of Europe or romatic inclinations outside of the norm? Who knows where we may have met before.”
“hi i like tits”
“I quite like the way you’ve shaved your delectable cunt in a kind of Hitler style, it’d be worth the occasional journey to inspect it. I’d like to try and velcro various items to it as well, then pump you hard from behind, ripping them off at the moment of mutual orgasm, with the inimitable sound increasing the satisfaction beyond all measure.”
“Hey babe I know I’m young but I just want to say I thing your gorgeous for your age look at most 34 year olds they te ugly as guck and you aren’t babe xx”
“when I look at you I see a horny slutty cunt who needs a rock hard cock, I want you grinding my cock while I suck, bite & nibble on your big tits. But when it comes down to it, I might not be able to carry it out. That is why I prefer to do and not say what I will do.”
“do you work? my guess – a Model for lads mags? ;-)”
…I could go on. I don’t suggest that sexting is an alternative to experiencing the reality (although sometimes it can suggest a reality that will never actually exist). But I do think it’s important to remember that the brain is the biggest sex organ we all have, and by exercising it we can achieve unbelievable pleasure. If that wasn’t true, why would I repeatedly orgasm while I dream, with no physical stimulation at all?
So there you go – SeasideSlut‘s guide to sexting. I couldn’t agree more that brains are sexy. Although I’ve never been as confident on sexting as she clearly is, so I’m going to practice composing a sext or two of my own. If there’s one thing sexier than a brain, in my opinion, it’s using my brain to give a guy an erection on his way home from work. If you’ve any sexting suggestions, leave a comment. Crowdsourced boners are a good thing, right?
On sex blog questions
Yesterday I promised I would take questions from anyone and then answer all of them. This was initially a bit scary as, given my lack of any other redeeming features, I use my mystery as a way to cultivate a vague sense of allure. So I am aware that any question about love, emotion, or things other than my cunt will rip away just a tiny bit of that mystery and make me a more relatable, yet inevitably less exciting person.
Still, I was delighted by the sheer variety of what was asked: from strap-ons to sexy comic books, the hottest places in London and how to make your submissive gag, the sex blog questions you all submitted were incredibly diverse and very fun to answer. In no particular order, here’s the full Q&A. If there’s anything else you’d like to ask, or if you’ve got a better answer than mine, please do leave a comment – you can comment anonymously if you like.
How much effect does sex have on love, rather than vice versa?
I love this question, because it’s usually asked the other way around: “is sex better if you’re in love?” Here it seems like you’re asking whether I’m more or less likely to fall in love with someone if they are amazing in bed. To which the answer is: “oh holy God yes.” In fact, if you are stunning in bed, I am likely to fall in love with you even if you are a total arsehole.
This has got me into scrapes in the past when my rational mind has accepted that a particular guy is basically a bit of a tedious wanker, but he has done something so filthy-hot that I can’t keep my mind off him. If you’ve read my book, you might know which guy I mean.
I think we’re often sold a massive lie about sex and love, which is that love conquers all, matters more than sex, and that if we’re in love sex itself fades into the background and becomes meaningless and unimportant. This might well be true for some people, but it is not true for me at all. Sex enhances, drives, and impacts on my love in a very significant way: if I can’t fuck someone I will struggle to love them. If I fuck someone and it works perfectly, I will be convinced I’m in love with them.
This makes it very difficult if I have a relationship problem that’s primarily sexual (for instance, if I’m with a guy whose sex drive isn’t as high as mine) because I feel like I’m being unreasonable for making sex a primary issue, and I feel that I’m a bit wrong in the head for caring so much about it. My rational mind knows this is wrong – we are who we are, and we all have different priorities. So these days I am likely to throw a bit of a shitfit if someone tells me I should suck up my sexual frustration and just enjoy the cuddles.
Are there any missed opportunities that you regret?
Yes, a million. But only one that really stands out. Before I lost my virginity I was in love with my best friend. I lusted and ached after him for years, but he didn’t show any interest at all. I’d almost put all my feelings to bed when one day, out of the blue, he propositioned me. After a day of teenaged flirting he told me he was horny, and that I’d made him that way, and used a cheesy line to ask me: “what are you going to do about it?”
Adult me would leap upon that opportunity and hump it until its eyes rolled back. Teenage me had no idea what to do. She stuttered, and ummed and aahhed, and eventually suggested that we head back to the house to watch a film. I probably could have had sex with him if I’d played that right, but instead I settled for sitting agonisingly close to him while we watched some crap B movie about monkeys, and I swear to God he could probably hear the thudding of regretful lust in my cunt.
I’d love to see a blog on what you think of guys in bands. Just curious.
I think two things about guys in bands. Firstly, people who play musical instruments are badass-sexy, because they have a skill that I don’t, and I can watch their beautiful hands manipulating instruments in a way that I never could. If they can sing, my heart will crack and I will be in love with them for every single second they are on stage.
Secondly, people who are in bands are often music twats. And I use ‘twat’ here in the a very specific way to mean ‘someone who knows more than I do about something I couldn’t care less about.’ I know nothing about what I am going to patronisingly scare-quote “popular” music or “indie” music, or any genre of music, and if you ask me what I think of a particular band I will probably say “who?” then wander off and turn on Radio 4. I like a tune, and I like good lyrics, but if you try and recommend music to me my eyes will glaze over and I will nod along until I can reach for a gin to take the pain away.
So in conclusion: guys in bands are super-hot, and in fact anyone who can play a musical instrument gets a double-thumbs-up from me, but if you try to talk to me about music we will both be disappointed.
What would win in a fight between a wolverine and a honey badger?
Honey badgers always win, don’t they? I thought that was basically the point of them.
Filthiest, kinkiest, most depraved porn you’ve ever masturbated over?
I’m torn here – if I say something deeply depraved you’ll all think me an awful person, and if I say something relatively tame you’ll go ‘huh, but you’re a sex blogger – you must be the filthiest porn-watcher in the world!’ Such are the rocks and hard places of sex blogging.
I suspect that my porn tastes are relatively tame compared to many – I tend to focus on the sounds and the faces people make rather than the specific scenarios, just because I am a fan of any scenario that could be described as ‘pretty rough sex that all participants are demonstrably enjoying.’
But here are a couple of examples of slightly odder things:
- Sections of the children’s book Heidi – when I was younger any scene that involved corporal punishment in a school set me off.
- A video of a guy jerking off while wearing a nappy. I rubbed one out to that a few times. To be honest, the nappy didn’t do much for me (although it clearly did for him), the reason this video featured so highly on my ‘to wank’ list was because when he came he made an absurdly delicious grunting noise. Unngh.
- The most excellent milk video (link at the bottom of this post), which is still – to my mind – the best bit of porn on the internet.
Natural smell of a man or something out of a bottle?
Oh both – definitely both. The combination of hot man-sweat-smell and bottled uniqueness makes my head spin and my knees go weak. Initially I wanted to answer ‘sexy man sweat’ but then I remembered I’d once followed a guy round a shopping centre for about half an hour because he smelled of teenage sex and I couldn’t work out why. The answer, it turns out, was that he was wearing Joop. For similar reasons, a man wearing Hugo Boss will make me feel angsty and sad about University days, and have a desperate urge to shag some doe-eyed Uni student with a strap-on.
What is the best native mustelid?
Otters. They’re cute.
When I scratch it it bleeds, when I don’t scratch it it tells me to burn things. Should I continue to scratch it?
God no, just make sure you have lots of firewood to hand. Or some flash paper. Flash paper is fun.
Do you like to be the big spoon or the little spoon?
Little spoon. Can’t get enough of those late-night and early-morning boners poking into my arse.
Your thoughts on Sex Criminals (it’s a comic book btw, I wasn’t referring to actual people)
I have never read it, but having read the synopsis on Wikipedia, I might have to start.
I don’t have much confidence when it comes to sex, verbally/emotionally abusive boyfriends in my past left me unsure and afraid to ask/suggest what I want. How do I become more confident about asking for what I want (like spanking or being tied up or tying him up)? How do I make it clear without making a guy feel like whatever else he was doing was no good?
Right, firstly, sorry you’ve had such horrible experiences in the past – although I firmly believe most humans are generally nice people who are doing their best, there are a number of total arseholes out there and it sounds like you’ve run a fairly harrowing gauntlet of them.
To answer your question – I think everyone responds to these things a bit differently, and I’d broach this topic differently with any partner just depending on how they tend to react to things and their overall character. But as a general rule, I find the best way to communicate about sex is always to emphasise the positive – make the absolute most of things you love, and make sure to tell him ‘holy fuck that’s hot’ whenever he does something ace. That way, you can give him a boost with loads of enthusiasm, and when you venture forth with ‘could you do this a bit differently?’ he’s unlikely to take it too badly, or feel like he’s doing everything wrong, because he has all the evidence of your ‘hell yes’ responses to other things he does.
Once you’re in that zone, it tends to feel a bit more natural to chat about the stuff you love. You don’t have to come straight out with ‘can I tie you to a radiator?’ if you’re nervous, but you can definitely start a more general chat: ‘what do you like most about what we do? Is there anything you’d like to do more of?’ and that can lead fairly neatly on to ‘I love this too – would be ace if we could try it a bit more like this.’ Having a more general discussion, and encouraging him to talk about this stuff, should help you build your confidence a bit. Does that help? If anyone else has suggestions, please leave them in the comments!
How do you get over someone who was really good in bed?
Ouch. That’s a tricky one. There’s one guy who I will never fully get over, partly because we were so sexually compatible that just thinking about him now gives me fuck-flashbacks. Again if you’ve read my book, you’ll probably know which one I’m talking about.
I can’t answer for everyone, but for me the answer was time – although we were (and still are) good friends, I can’t spend too much time with him, and ‘getting over’ him consisted of having the willpower and sheer bloody-mindedness to avoid seeing him while I got my head together, used my awesome cunt-powers on other hot guys, and getting myself to a point where I could comfortably sit in the same room as him without dribbling down my shirt.
Ways not to get over someone who’s really good in bed include: trying to find someone who is good in bed in exactly the same way. I gave this a bit of a go, by looking for guys who were bi-curious like he was, had similar body types, etc, and trying to persuade them to do similar things with me. This was a total disaster, because everyone has their own sexual style, and what’s hot is discovering the things they actually enjoy doing rather than encouraging them to do the exact things my ex did.
Do strapless strap-ons actually work properly?
That very much depends on what you mean by ‘properly’ – they work differently. I’ve tried one before that was a bit like this. I can get the bit at my end in, and I can hold it there, and I can sort of thrust in and out. But as far as I’m aware they’re supposed to be providing pleasure to me as well as the person I’m fucking with them, and my sweaty panic that it’s about to fall out coupled with the wobbly nature of the thing itself that means I can’t ram quite as hard as I (or he) would like, so I’m not personally a fan. In looking for that link, though, I have spotted this, which comes with an anal bit as well – I imagine that works as a kind of double-anchor that should make it a bit easier to keep in, so if you’re wedded to the idea of a strapless one, that might work quite nicely.
However, so that I don’t end up sounding down on strap-ons in general (I fucking love them, and I should do a full post about this at some point) I would recommend a strapped strap-on that also has a going-insidey bit (sorry to bombard you with technical terms) or a strap-on that doesn’t have anything at all that goes inside my cunt (I have something like this, but with a black harness, because it’s sturdy and the harness makes my arse look spectacular). To be honest if I’m fucking a guy with a strap-on it’s a fairly dominant thing, and I’d rather not be too distracted by my own desire to get frigged.
How can I make my sub gag without using my dick?
OK, so I would never presume to tell you what someone else would find hot – these are all just things I’ve enjoyed in the past. So if you are looking to follow any of this advice, I’d recommend discussing these with your sub beforehand, showing him/her this list, and working out which (if any) would hit their sweet spot.
As with all hot and violent BDSM, consent and communication is key. It depresses me that if I don’t explicitly say that I get comments from people saying “but you didn’t tell people they need consent!”, because I’d assume that all rational, decent humans would just fucking know. Anyway. Here are some ways I like to do gagging stuff, that might appeal to you too.
– fingers. This is a classic one, and basically just consists of ‘stick your fingers down their throat’. I have previously had guys do this to me while their dick is in me, because they enjoy the twitching of my cunt around their dick as I retch. But if you don’t have a dick, it still works for the gagging.
– dildo. Another classic, and one of the reasons why it’s always helpful to have a dildo on hand. The first time someone did this to me I didn’t understand the point of it: why am I going to suck off a cock that isn’t attached to a human who can feel it? Then he told me: “suck this right down into the back of your throat and hold it there while I beat you.” And I got the point pretty quickly.
– strap-on. See my above recommendations for strap-ons, and remember that they are not just for ladies. I know you’re a Dom, mystery questioner, but if you have any submissive tendencies at all, I can thoroughly recommend being made to wear a strap-on over your actual dick, and being forced to screw someone with it. I did this a few times with a guy I used to know, and his miserable lack of stimulation coupled with my grinding, gushing arousal had him borderline weeping with the sheer submissive joy of it. What were we talking about again? Oh yes, gagging. It works for that too. And I suspect is also a bit more humiliating for your sub (if they are into that sort of thing) purely because they’re not even giving you pleasure, just doing it because you’re making them.
– cake. No one has ever done this to me, despite all the hints I have dropped about how much I fucking love cake. But I was told by a friend that she once had a guy shove cake into her mouth while he was fucking her from behind, and she gagged on the sticky chocolate overload while twitching with cringing humiliation at how much food was smeared over her face. I repeat: I have never done this, and I would urge extreme caution (choking hazard etc), but I would very much like someone to do this to me. Not with lemon drizzle cake, though: we have to keep some things sacred.
– water. “I’m off for a shower,” I told him, to which he replied “I’ll come with you.” What followed was a truly delicious hour or so in which he used almost everything in the bathroom to humiliate, abuse, and generally defile me. He pushed me into the bath and pissed on me, making me look into his eyes and thank him while he did. He pushed a shower head up against my cunt until I was squirming with a desperate need to come, and then – the bit you’ve probably been waiting for – he filled the sink, bent me over, pushed my face under the water while he fucked me. I tapped out regularly, and he’d let me up to breathe, before pushing me back down again until I was dripping wet, defeated, and gasping. Then he let me come.
Sexiest place in London?
There are a couple of alleys I’ve fucked in, and there’s a strip club I used to go to that has a seedy and delightful air of desperate men. Either of these places would probably be near to the top of my list, but I can’t tell you where they are in case I want to frequent them again. There’s also a pub which I associate with threesomes, a pub which I associate with the first time I fucked my current boy, and a pub which I associate with the illicit thrill of shagging a guy I shouldn’t have.
Given enough time, I could create a Google Map of all the places in London that turn me on, but they’re all hot because of the association rather than the place itself. So instead I’ll give you the top three places I’d love to fuck in:
- In the ‘oh so many satellites’ room at the Science Museum. It’s just my favourite bit of the Science Museum. Failing that, under the massive dinosaur in the entrance to the Natural History museum.
- Behind the Big Ben clock – I took a tour around it once, and you have to wear earplugs when the bell tolls because it’s so loud. I liked the idea of ‘hiding’ just behind the clock face, and fucking to try and come just before the bell starts to toll.
- Somewhere on the banks of one of the many London canals. Ideally near The Palm Tree pub, so we can have a pint afterwards.
Unsexiest place in London?
Shoreditch. And that’s not just because it’s fun to slag off Shoreditch, it’s because it is one of the few places I go where people who think they are cooler, more awesome, and more beautiful than I am will pass judgement upon me.
Sexiest/unsexiest place in England/ Britain in general?
Sexiest: Bristol. Again because of the personal associations I have with it. Bristol was the place I was introduced to BDSM, strap-on sex, getting fucked with the neck of a wine bottle, watching a hot guy get called “pup” before being heartily beaten by a dominant who let me take pictures, and much more besides. It’s the place I had my first (and best) guy/guy/girl threesome – every single moment of which is burned into my mind and labelled ‘best day ever’.
Unsexiest? Probably anywhere I have never been, because it would never have any of those associations. Confession: despite a desperate urge to go to the Edinburgh Festival, I have never been to Scotland. To ensure it doesn’t get relegated to ‘unsexiest place’ I should go there soon, and have sex on one of its many beautiful hills.
How do you deal with jealousy in an open relationship? Especially if one partner is getting more than the other?
Christ on horseback, I have no idea how to answer this. I know some people can, and do, deal very well with these kinds of issues, and manage to have successful open relationships. I’m not one of them, though. I’ve been in open, or open-ish, relationships in the past and have been torn between wanting to cry with happiness and wanting to tear the world apart. Usually in an open relationship I get more than he does, probably because I seek it with more determination, and maybe partly because I have a fair few male friends who I’ve slept with before who I can easily call on if I’m horny and fancy something a bit different.
So here’s how it usually goes down:
– Oh my God I can shag whoever I like! Awesome! *texts loads of guys and arranges dates*
– Current partner gets a bit sad: “Why aren’t you spending more time with me?”
– I panic, spend more time with current partner. Get stressed because life is too busy.
– I encourage partner to go and date or shag someone else.
– He dates or shags someone else.
– I LOSE MY FUCKING SHIT, cry, tremble, worry that I will die alone, beat myself up with guilt about my emotional hypocrisy.
– He says “OK, I won’t shag anyone else.”
– I stop shagging other people, because I feel bad about the discrepancy.
– I stare wistfully at men on trains, wondering what their dicks look like.
So in answer to your question: “how do you deal with jealousy in open relationships?” the answer is: I don’t. I don’t deal with it at all, and that is why I have never had a successful open relationship. But fuck it, I have had some spectacularly fun relationships, even if they are punctuated by whirlpools of fucked-up angsty panic. Perhaps someone who does deal well with this would like to contribute an answer in the comments?
What are your thoughts on cuckoldry, cuckqueaning and chastity (male and female)?
See above answer for my thoughts on cuckqueaning: a guy I love fucking other people is not a turn-on for me at all, although I can see how it would be for some people. A guy I love fucking other guys while I watch? Hell yes. A guy I love fucking other guys then telling me hot stories about it later? Probably. But anything other than that and I’m liable to cry and stamp my feet like a spoilt child yelling “but it’s MINE and I don’t want to SHARE it!”
Cuckoldry is… OK, yes, this is super-hot. A guy getting turned on by me fucking other dudes? Yes. And, in fact, I know a gentleman who did have a bit of a thing for this. In fact, he introduced me to the idea that it could be super-hot, by describing in detail an angry, shoulder-shaking crywank that he had shortly after he found out I was sleeping with someone new. The idea of him being simultaneously heartbroken and painfully aroused gave me slick knickers and a mental image I couldn’t shake for a week. Subsequently he did fun things such as drive me to other guys’ houses so they could spank me, while he waited outside in the car, throbbing and hard with pain and desperate to hear all about my filthy escapades.
Chastity, again, is hot when it’s done to guys. Mainly because I love how hard a dick can get when it’s not used for a while, and the aching, beautiful agony of submissive guys begging to come. When you tease a guy to the point of climax, then hold off, then do it again, and again, and then make him wait until tomorrow… his dick leaks. It leaks a delicious ambrosia of fucklust. Mmm.
Any more sex blog questions?
I’ve got a bit of time tomorrow, so if you have anything else just drop it in the comments below. I realise this blog is a bit self-indulgent and meta, but I get lots of questions via email and I don’t always have time to answer them all, so doing it this way means I am now publicly accountable and therefore compelled to answer things. It’ll give me a kick up the arse, and means if there are any topics you want me to cover on the blog in future, you can plant the sexy seeds of thought into my mind now, and it might prompt me to remember a hot story, like the bathroom-sink fucking, or the nappy wank video.
On those pesky intimidating women
Do I scare you? Do I? Go on, you can tell me. I will never, literally, bite.
An email dropped into my inbox this week linking to an article entitled “Are women intimidating to men?” and I nearly fell off my chair. I would certainly have actually fallen off my chair if I hadn’t heard this question before. If I hadn’t, on numerous occasions, been told to my actual, scary face, that I am ‘an intimidating girl.’
What makes a woman intimidating?
I’ll admit it – I’m not your average quiet type. Despite getting quakingly anxious when I have to meet new groups of people, for the most part I’m loud, opinionated, and usually ready to down two pints then give you an angry list of exactly what can fuck off.
I’m also tall, which I know doesn’t help matters. My tallness, broad shoulders, face piercings and angry frown combine to form a physical GOTN that is just as likely to blend into the background as the verbal GOTN: i.e. not.
So when people tell me I’m intimidating, I usually take it on the chin. I do not scream at them, I do not punch them, I do not launch a fly-kick at their face in the way I might if my life were directed by Quentin Tarantino. What I do is ask them: “why?”
Because more often than not their statement is only half-formed. They don’t think this dude to my right (a UKIP supporter holding forth on why immigration is a real problem for this country) or this guy to my left (a gigantic rugby player three pints into a game of pub golf) is particularly intimidating. Or at least, if they do, they have not decided to say so.
If you can tell me – to my actual face – that I’m intimidating, I am clearly not. What you really mean is: “you’re intimidating, for a woman, yet because you are a woman you cannot possibly scare me enough to prevent me from telling you.”
Women: know your limits
When I clicked on the article in question (I am not going to link to it), I expected to see a discussion of why people find women intimidating when they happen to display the same behaviour as men, possibly with commentary along the lines of ‘hey guys, equality isn’t scary, just chill the fuck out.’ But I did not find that, as you can probably tell by the steaming rage emanating from every single dot and pixel of this page.
What I found was a guide for women on how to appear less intimidating in order to get chatted up by more men. It included such advice as
“It’s a great sign if you are single and view yourself as smart, independent, happy, successful and fun. However these very traits can make you seem too intimidating for a man to approach you if you are not consciously acting open toward meeting a great guy.”
Oh, shit, sorry dudes! Did my independence scare you away? Are you twitching like a frightened rabbit because I am too fun and successful? I’d better start ‘consciously acting open’ lest my happy behaviour leads you to think I am a terrible, shrewish bitch.
It’s OK to be scared
I’m not saying it’s easy to approach someone. Talking to new people is hard, especially in an environment where your “hello” may easily (and often correctly) be interpreted as “you look like the sort of person I might want to get naked and roll around with.” You’re not a bad person because you’re intimidated by chatting people up.
But holy Christ, do I really need to point out that changing women’s behaviour is the wrong way to go about solving this problem?
Most of us are intimidated by chatting people up. But the solution is not to make the people we are chatting up less intimidating – to knock down people who are successful, funny, loud, or whatever. Because then we’d end up with a world in which all of us were quiet and demure and politely responsive and there’d be no variation in personality at all. Women would be a homogenous mass of smiling geisha, easy-to-please and inscrutable, yet never fully present or interested because they’re so busy worrying that their laughter might be too loud, their jokes too witty, or their opinions too different to your own.
Intimidating women
Are you a straight guy who’s thought to yourself that you’d love, for once, if women took the upper hand and asked the guys out? It’s not as common as I’d like it to be (although I’ve chipped in for my cause by stamping up to guys I like a few times and saying ‘fancy a fuck?’ to less success than even I expected) and if you’re a straight guy I imagine you’d like something cool like that to happen to you. But it’s rare, and for that you can thank words like ‘intimidating’, ‘bossy’, and all those subtle ways you tell us to sit down, bite our tongues, and laugh along with your jokes. Those times when you interpret “smart, independent, happy, successful and fun” as “intimidating traits” and call us scary for having the gall to be all of these things without your permission.
“Oh, but GOTN, you’re being scary right now. You’re doing that angry rant thing you do where you rip something to shreds then stand cackling at the sky like an evil feminist supervillain.”
Sure. I am ripping this ridiculous notion to shreds. But is that actually intimidating to you? Are these words so terrifying that you have to look away? That you’ll cross the street to avoid them late at night or cry yourself to sleep as you remember them? Bollocks. I’m having an opinion. I’m not wielding a samurai sword, backed up by a motorcycle gang, and – despite the wish I made when I cut my birthday cake – nor do I have an army of dragons.
Ironically, one of the things I find most intimidating is people who tell me that I’m scary in front of a large group of people, thus leaving me anxiously double-checking every statement, joke, and noise I make for the rest of the evening in case my scary self starts ruining everyone else’s fun. So, next time you meet me in a crowded bar, or even a dark alley, before you police my behaviour consider whether you are genuinely intimidated by me. Are you worried that I’ll punch you? That I’ll shout at you? That I’ll humiliate you in some way? Or, in telling me that I’m intimidating, are you actually just telling me to shut the fuck up?
On fights, and apology tokens
In my wallet I have a coin that can’t be spent anywhere. I had six of these, once, and I can’t remember where I got them from. They look a bit like two pound pieces, but they’re designed as arcade tokens of some sort.
A long time ago I gave half of them to my boy. “These are yours,” I said. “Because you like shiny things, and because I have no idea what to do with them but they’re too satisfyingly pretty to waste, there’s something deliciously symbolic in each of us having a few.”
“OK,” he said, conveniently forgetting to add “why must you always be so weird, darling?”
Apology tokens
Later that week I got pissed. A horrible, ugly kind of pissed, the way I used to get at University when hangovers were just something that happened to other people. I made exactly the kind of fool of myself that you would expect, and that I still blush to remember. Loudly obnoxious, I made inexcusably crap jokes in front of his friends, flirted wildly with at least two of them, and said some thoughtless things to him in casual conversation that gave him a tight hurt deep in his chest.
“I’m so sorry,” I said the next morning. “I’m awful, and I will never do that again.”
“Shit, don’t worry,” he replied, because he is infinitely magnanimous and lovely like that. “Happens to the best of us.” And then he took one of my tokens.
So began a game of give-and-take. When he’d fuck up in some way, or upset me, he’d give me a token. When I fucked up, I’d hand one to him. The actual tokens were meaningless – you couldn’t buy anything with them, and they weren’t recognisable to anyone outside of our twosome. But between us they meant loads: I fucked up, I’m sorry, I love you.
It’s my fault.
Fighting and reuniting
I hate fighting. The arguments I had in past relationships were usually drawn-out affairs, in which both I and my partner would sit in spiky, accusing silence for hours, waiting for the other person to throw the next hurtful comment. When the comment came, so did the knee-jerk response, and the ground of the argument shifted from “you haven’t done the washing up” through “remember how you behaved at my friend’s wedding” to “why have you never truly loved me?” over the space of miserably bitter nights.
Because – especially for an argumentative harpy like me, who sees debate as a matter of both professional and personal pride – it’s hard to say ‘I’m wrong’. Giving ground feels not like a natural compromise between two sensible adults but like – *gulp* – losing.
Hence the tokens: it’s easier for me to give him a token than to admit a mistake. Easier to hold my hand out and ask for a token when I think he’s fucked up. It’s a way of transferring blame that doesn’t mean having to say any actual words that hurt each other.
“You’re a cunt.”
“You’re a bitch.”
“You’re wrong.”
I can just hold out my hand and hope he gives me a token. Or I can pass him one of mine, and meet his eyes, and he’ll know without me having to say it that I mean ‘fuck fuck fuck I’ve done it again and I’m so fucking sorry.’
Your fault/my fault
There’s only one token left in my wallet now, which I think means that on balance I’m a bad person. But I can’t quite be sure because this system died a long time ago. Did we just forget? Were there so many months without arguments that the system fell by the wayside? Or did he, knowing I had just that one left to hold on to, forego the chance to ‘win’ so that I wouldn’t feel too terrible?
One of the heart-achingly wonderful things about him is his power to stop arguments. As I shake and rage on my stubborn high horse, he can step forward, put out his hand and say “let’s stop fighting now.” Never “just admit you’re wrong” or “shut up and we’ll have dinner” – there’s no blame or anger, just “let’s stop fighting now.” A heartfelt desire to be held, and loved, and an understanding that although the problem remains, the fight itself is over. It means no row has to bleed over into tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.
It’s one of the best things about him, and a skill that I – as a stroppy and defensive bastard – would utterly love to be able to master. It’s one of the things I boast about when I’m boring my friends with stories about how lovely he is. Relationship diplomacy at its best, and a tactic that has proven valuable during every fight we’ve ever had.
Except, inevitably, this one.