Sometimes guys ask me for my advice. Stop laughing at the back.

Although I’m as incompetent as the next person, feeling my way through sex and relationships like a horny blindfolded girl groping for the light switch, people occasionally email me and ask for help with their problems. The following predicament concerns a guy who wants to make his fantasy come true, and it struck me that there’s a theme which runs through most emails I get about this subject: whether it’s throatfucking, swinging, threesomes, or something beautifully sweet and simple like the one below, quite a few ‘how do I achieve my sexual fantasy?’ emails share a common theme. So, to try and kill a few extra birds with my stone of shoddy advice, I asked the guy for his permission to post the question, and my response.

Please chip in your own advice in the comments – I’m not an expert, and I am frequently wrong about things.

The problem: how do I make my sexual fantasy come true?

I am obsessed with girls and especially the female body. I absolutely love the female body and how it reacts to sexual stimulation.

I am 19, male and I haven’t had actual sex yet. I have been masturbating and fantasizing for several years now and really want to finally have some sexual action with a hot/cute girl. I don’t want full sex with her but I really really want to make out and pleasure her. I am very curious about how it feels for a girl and how close sexual stimulation feels with her body and words.

So as you can tell I am absolutely mullered by the fantasy of making out with and pleasuring a hot/cute girl who’s OK with not having actual sex.

The thing is: I live in a Christian community and I’m not really attractive or athletic and I don’t have a girl friend. I’m extremely introverted and so I think it’ll be while I’m in my mid or later 20s when I ‘d find a girl friend.

And my parents would wonder what I’d be doing (and against it) if I just went into town to hook up with a girl for a bit. I can’t be openly driving to people’s houses or strip clubs or whatever with my parent’s car.

So I think the best bet would be that I take a walk and have the girl pick me up while I’m doing that and us make out in the car or something like that.

But so far I haven’t found a legitimate website that I can find actual local girls to hook up with for free. I live [location redacted – somewhere rural in the US]. Do you know of any legit and free sites that will allow me to possibly find a girl willing to do this with me?

So far all I have found are scam sites and ones that I need to dumb paid membership for. And for me, I really can’t afford that risk atm. I’ve tried CraigsList but that’s all a bunch of scams..

Oh what am I to do?!?

Answer:

The good news (OK, the fantastic news) here is that what you want isn’t in any way unusual. There are lots of people who want to make out – they want the awesome touching, horny kissing, etc, but not necessarily the sex. Perhaps because they’re not ready for sex, or just because they don’t enjoy sex as much as the other parts. But I assure you, there are many people who want this. So you’re in a good position.

However, there’s a really big problem with your exact situation, and that is that you seem to want a very specific thing, and you don’t seem willing to do anything even vaguely out of your comfort zone in order to achieve it: you can’t drive anywhere, you won’t pay money, you won’t use free sites because of scams, you won’t speak to women because you’re shy. In short: your easily achievable fantasy becomes almost impossible because you need it to land directly in your lap with very little compromise or effort on your part.

If I knew what the effortless solution to your problem was, I would have bottled it, sold it, and be typing this on a gold plated laptop right now.

I don’t blame you at all – this is not my way of calling you a wanker. It seems that you are worried about so many things that all seem insurmountable. Instead of trying to overcome one, or all of these issues, you have made them conditions of your fantasy and I think that’s why you’re struggling to achieve what you want.

To sum it up, your ideal fantasy is one in which you kiss, touch, and generally have sexy fun with a girl without having penetrative sex. Big tick in that box: loads of people like doing it, so your pool of potential partners is huge. But you don’t want to have to speak to a woman much, or develop a relationship with her, because you’re shy (totally understandable, by the way: some of the guys I’ve been hottest for have been shy). You don’t want to pay for membership of a dating site (and who does? They’re pricey!). You can’t use a free site because you might end up getting scammed. You don’t want to have to drive and pick her up in case your parents find out (again, understandable, if you think that the consequences of that would be horrible for you). Basically you want all of your ideal conditions met. And that makes giving you advice almost impossible, because any advice I give would mean compromising on one of your conditions.

So, bearing that in mind, here are three advice options:

• Keep trying with free sites (I am a big fan of OKCupid, and I think you have that in the States, but if anyone else has suggestions please leave them in the comments!), and trying to weed out possible scammers wherever possible. Accept, though, that you will meet people on it who are either scamming you, who want something slightly different, who might want a relationship before makeouts, or who don’t have their own car: that’s just how humans work, and it’s impossible to recommend a site which can deliver you someone guaranteed to fill every aspect of your fantasy.
• Go pro. When I read the first half of your email it occurred to me that if you really want this specific thing, but without having to develop a relationship, then speaking to a sex worker could be ideal. Find someone in your area (on Twitter I see adultwork mentioned often by sex workers, so I’d recommend heading there first, unless any sex workers have better suggestions that they can leave in the comments, pretty please!) who you can have this experience with. This involves compromising on your ‘free’ rule, but it’s one of the simplest ways to guarantee that you can have what you’re looking for.
• If you don’t like the above ideas, then the only thing I can recommend is to compromise on the ‘shy’. Which I know I know I know is hard to do. Speak to women, and try to develop a relationship with one who would like to do this with you. You don’t necessarily have to be boyfriend and girlfriend if that’s tricky for you, it might just be a girl you get along well with who also wants to have a go at making out and touching: it’s fine. I know this is scary if you’re shy: incredibly so. But it won’t get any easier if you never do it, and if you don’t manage to find a girl who’s willing to do this with you, you may still have met some nice people and had fun with them.

And that’s it, I’m afraid: I don’t have any magic bullets. As I said originally, I’ve been asked similar questions quite a few times, and I struggle to give advice because often I think what the guy wants is for his fantasy to just happen. You’re luckier than others in that usually their fantasies are things that are a bit more niche or kinky, so their original pool of potential partners is limited by the fact that only a small slice of the population would be up for the act itself. But either way I’ve seen lots of variations of “I need X but I have to get it without doing A, B or C”. As with you, they’re all usually legitimate concerns, and understandable problems. The trouble is, when you add them all up, the only way the fantasy is actually going to happen is if a passing woman just happens to fancy making out with the stranger she’s driving past, and has the confidence to shout out of her car window and ask for it.

So, to summarise, my advice would be that you need to pick one of your conditions and either compromise on it or make some effort to overcome it, or you need to cross your fingers and hope really hard that the very unlikely happens, and do a hell of a lot of wanking in the meantime.

Oh, and worry about the car situation when you get to it.

The vast, vast majority of the time, I am a loser. A lank-haired, jeans-wearing, slouching drunken loser. With a cider in my hand, a chip on my shoulder and a face like a bulldog chewing a whole hive of wasps.

I say this only to counter what’s coming next: right now I am hot.

I’m hot because I’ve had my hair cut – it swishes in that shiny way that some people achieve daily, but for me comes round only twice a year when I go for my biannual hack. I’m hot because I’ve spent the last week doing more exercise than I normally would and – although there’s no immediate visual difference – I feel stronger and livelier and readier to bounce around like a puppy on MDMA. I’m hot because I’m wearing knickers that cup my arse comfortably, and because I’ve been doing DIY in hot pants and getting dirty and sweaty and wet.

We need to deal with your high self-esteem issues

I’m British, of course, so writing the above paragraph was torture – it took me a good ten minutes to bash out just a few sentences without tagging something self-deprecating on to the end. I’ve been trained, through years of TV, magazines and friendly banter, that to talk about the things you actually like about yourself is a social crime. Like eating steak with the fish fork or passing a joint to the right.

Most of the time this makes sense. After all, we’d all be excruciating and insufferable if our conversations started not with “how are you?” but “how hot am I!?” We’d barely get beyond introductions before we were hurling into buckets at the appalling displays of self-love.

No, instead we must only ever speak of the bad stuff, while desperately hoping that other people notice the good. We’re trained to make the best of ourselves, so we spend hours primping and preening and picking out just the right kind of shoe only to shit on all that effort later on by replying “no, really, I look awful” when someone says something nice. It’s a reflex gesture, and one which makes sense most of the time. When the hard-earned compliments come, we bat them away with great force, because self-hate is a much more attractive quality than arrogance.

Start fancying yourself

I’ve got nothing wrong with light self-deprecation, and on an ordinary day I’m far more likely to make a tedious aside about my weight than to bounce into a room and shout “Look! Aren’t my tits brilliant?!”

But not today. Because, fuck it, I don’t always feel good. And on the rare occasions that I do, I want to start making the most of it. In fifty years time I’ll be yearning for the chance to wear this arse again, to sit in hot pants on a stepladder sugar-soaping walls and enjoying not just being me but looking like me too.

You should do it too – go on, do it. Fancy yourself a bit. There are bound to be bits of yourself that you’re not a fan of. But isn’t it bizarre that it’s these disliked bits that get all the attention? Hours in the gym toning a stomach that you hate. Days in front of the mirror shaping eyebrows or facial hair in some sort of damage limitation exercise. Weeks spent traipsing around shops that make clothes for people who always seem to be a different shape to you. All that time spent rectifying or changing or enhancing – how much time do you actually spend appreciating?

You don’t have to take pictures of yourself in sexy poses and pin them on the fridge, or give yourself cringeingly awkward motivational pep-talks about how beautiful you are. Just give yourself a bit of time to appreciate the things you fancy. The things that your partners will go primal for. Stand in front of a mirror if you like, touch yourself if you want to, put on or take off the clothes that make you feel best, and just revel in a bit of self-lust.

Because no one else can love you like you can.

Every now and then Twitter goes on a nostalgia trip – everyone starts using the hashtag #TweetYourTeenageSelf to dispense wisdom their real teenage self would never have listened to.

But I’d have liked it, I think. Even if I didn’t take the advice. We’ve all got wisdom we’ve love to impart to our younger, less knowledgeable selves. And I’d certainly pay big bucks now to hear from GOTN aged fifty, and find out what I should or shouldn’t do in the next twenty years to avoid being a spectacular fuck-up.

This post is a bit saccharine, bordering on the cheesy, but anyone who has read my book will know that although I come across as a sex-crazed harpy, there’s an emotional romantic underneath. She’s just quite deep underneath.

So, in no particular order, here are the top five things I wish I’d known as a teenager.

1. There’s no such thing as ‘good in bed’

Really. I used to believe that being ‘good in bed’ was like having decent hand-eye coordination: a skill that you either had or didn’t. The nervousness that accompanied my first few fumbling shags was made more terrifying by the knowledge that This Was It – the time when I would find out whether I was part of team Goodshag, or team OhChristThatWasShocking.

It turns out that’s not the case at all: one person’s Goddess is another’s Godawful, and there’s no one holding up scorecards when you’re lying in a postcoital sweat. Sex isn’t a skill that individuals have or don’t have: it’s a skill you learn together.

2. People you fancy rarely notice the things you hate about yourself

I say ‘rarely’ because there are some things – being overweight or excessively tall, for example – that have attracted the odd comment from guys I’m attracted to. But in general, the worries I have about my appearance are things that my loved ones only notice if I point them out myself. For instance, I’ve got a slightly dodgy tooth that prevents me from smiling too often, but people are far more likely to notice that I’m not smiling than the reason for my grumpy face.

So, I’d tell teenage me: there’s basically nothing wrong with you, because there’s something different about everyone.

3. Your cunt is actually something straight guys like looking at

Ah, youth. That period of time when all the things about your body that are usually hidden under clothes suddenly become fixations for your own self-disgust. I remember being quite unnaturally scared of what my cunt looked like when I was younger. It looked a bit like the cunts in porn, but not exactly the same, even when I tried to shave it so I’d look more grown up.

The first time a guy went to go down on me I leapt away in terror, begging him to turn the lights off lest he see the actual lines and curves of it. I’d probably have enjoyed teenage sex more if I could glimpse the future: a future in which I’m lying on a bed in my own grown-up flat as a boy I love runs his hands over it and tells me, for the millionth time “you’ve got a pretty cunt.”

4. Those douchebags don’t actually care what you wear

Like most people I know, I had a fairly rough time in school. I was tall, broad, scruffy, and not very good at makeup. What I’d loved to have known is that the people who laughed at me for being a goth didn’t actually give a flying fuck what I wore. I could have come in dressed head to toe in designer gear, with hair dyed blonde and swishy, heels that rapped a sexy rhythm as I sashayed down the corridor – they’d still have said the same old shit.

Because real life is nothing like an American teen movie. No one changes their place in the hierarchy just by getting a makeover, because the cool kids’ disgust has nothing to do with what you wear or look like – those are just easy things to get bitchy about. Their opinions are actually founded on some arbitrary moment in the past where people were divided into cool and not-cool. These labels stuck

But don’t worry – your label will expire the second you leave the building.

5. There is more than one love of your life

That guy you’re head over heels for? He’ll go. Then there’ll be another, and he’ll go too. Then there’ll be more who – you guessed it – will go. And each and every time it’ll feel unjust and impossible. You’ll want to scream and cry and tear the world apart because you just loved them so much and you’ll never find someone like that again and oh God how can you survive this pain? This misery feels utterly unbearable.

But don’t worry: you’ll bear it.

We’ve all got things that we fantasise about which, were they to happen in real life, would disgust or annoy us. Things that might get our genitals throbbing but which cause the moral part of our brains to rebel, and give us a post-fantasy stern talking to.

My most embarrassing fantasy isn’t sexual – it isn’t even exciting. But it’s the one I have spent the most time on in the last week. I close my eyes, block out all the things I should be thinking about, and spend a few minutes on my idle dream.

What’s my most embarrassing fantasy?

I dream of being saved. Not in a knight-in-shining-armour way: it’s far more tedious and practical than that.

I retreat to this shameful fantasy when I’ve had a bad week and everything seems to be going wrong. When I end every day miserable and exhausted and knowing that the next day will be the same. When I sit at my laptop, babbling nervously into a to-do list and panicking about all the things yet to be crossed off, I dream that – corny as it sounds – my prince will come.

He won’t marry me and whisk me away to a suburban idyll, he’ll just come to hold me, let me sob dramatically and unnecessarily on his shoulder, before making a few phone calls that melt all my troubles away.

When I’m down, and sad, I dream of a man who can do all the things I just don’t want to do. Ringing insurance companies, rewriting my CV, replying to emails that have languished unhappily at the bottom of my inbox. My prince: the pragmatic multi-tasker.

Because of all the things someone could ever give me – money, power, a nice thick cock and a regular eye-rolling fuck, the most valuable thing they could ever give me is time.

Why is this an embarrassing fantasy?

I am a capable, reasonable, competent human being. Honestly. Last year my boiler packed up and I managed to get a replacement without either

a) getting ripped off

b) leaving it so long I had to shower in freezing water or

c) sobbing wildly on my kitchen floor shouting “why won’t you just WORK you dogshit arsewipe pile of metal bollocks?!”

OK, maybe I did a teeny bit of c).

I’ve made it twenty nine years so far with only the occasional need of outside help – someone to show me where the stopcock is, the odd spider that I just can’t handle, that sort of thing. And yet despite my pathetic pride and determination to do nearly everything myself, I occasionally let my mind wander off into dreams of men who’ll do these things for me. Bleed radiators, clean kitchen cupboards, instruct solicitors and other such tedious bullshit.

I feel dirty and wrong for this, not because it’s sick or unusual in the way that many of my fantasies are. Not because it’s demeaning or degrading, but because I feel like this makes me a bad feminist. I mean, it’s not very independent, is it? The Suffragettes didn’t go through hell just so I could get a man to deal with my paperwork when I get too flustered. It goes against principles that mean a lot to me, and much of what I’ve worked for.

But still. When things get tricky, and I find myself wading through the mountain of DIY, admin and “please hold for an operator who can explain to you why we’ve suddenly doubled your gas bill” I’m not wishing for more internal strength, but for someone who’ll be strong on my behalf.

Fantasy vs reality

I’ve voiced this fantasy a few times – usually over a pint or two of gin and one of those terrifying crying attacks where your friends either cuddle you so no one can see the state you’re in or push you into the toilets to ‘get it out of your system.’

And occasionally, when I confess my fantasies of being saved, people have commented on the fact that it’s at direct odds with what I actually want in life. That if a guy came through for me on this kind of fantasy – if he cleared up my messes and cleaned my to-do list and took hold of the reins of my life, I would scream blue murder and banish him forever.

To which my reply is: of course. Of course. It’s a fantasy. Just as I don’t really want guys to beat me – I want them to spank me in a very specific way, with a very specific degree of pain, to the point where it’s hot and sexual but no further – I also want them to support me to just the right degree without ever taking away my own agency.

The most enjoyable thing about many fantasies is that if you really wanted to, you could make them come true: as with this one. But I haven’t made it come true – I just like to wallow in it. I like to sit and think and dream of my practical prince, while eschewing any kind of assistance that might make me look less than competent. So by thinking this I get to find out what my little heart actually desires – the difference between what I actually want and what I think I want.

He can still do the washing up though. There’s no shame in letting him do that.