Tag Archives: female body
My brand new system on how to be the best at dating
Did you know that men have evolved to have slightly louder voices than women? Well, it’s true. As a general rule, men will speak at a higher volume than women do, and will tend to dominate more conversations. This is because, in our evolutionary past, it was necessary for men to put in most of the hard work to find mates. Alongside the usual: standing around looking rugged, they also used their mating megaphones (a primitive feature which eventually evolved into the mouth) to shout for female attention. ‘Ugg!’, or what have you – I don’t know, I don’t speak neanderthal, but it was basically a primitive version of ‘hey darling, I am ready to impregnate you in order to further the species! Check out my spaff-packets and make your choice!’ The rest, as they say, is history.
Now, before you start writing me angry letters about how actually neanderthal men communicated by dropping a dead mammoth at the feet of their lover, please understand that I made all of the above up. I mean, obviously.
The initial fact may or may not be true, I don’t know. It sounds maybe a bit plausible, doesn’t it? That men have evolved louder voices? I’ve not checked it, of course, that would take ages. But what I have done is constructed a vaguely plausible story as to why people might have evolved that way, then carefully ignored any facts or examples that might not fit.
Do I win £5?
Crappy evolutionary dating theories
Believe it or not, I get sent quite a few emails from people who have found The Answer when it comes to dating – ‘how to be an alpha male by killing the metaphorical 21st century mammoth’ or what have you. Normally I delete and ignore.
Yesterday’s captured my imagination, though, because it was funnier than the others.
Summer sex: what do you do when it’s too hot to fuck?
Goths of the world, unite! Then disband again! Because actually it’s a little bit awkward meeting so many people! And we’re all a bit too warm in these clothes and we’d really rather be hiding in the basement!
I am shit at summer. I suck at being on the beach, I am appalling at barbecues, and although I can certainly appreciate a sweaty guy in a too-tight summer t-shirt, in general I find my libido plummeting with every increase in temperature.
It. Is. Shit.
Some bits of summer are passably good. Shall we go to sit in a pub beer garden? YES. Shall we have an ice-cream? YES. Shall we fuck like it’s the end of the world and our orgasm might stave off Armageddon? NO OH GOD FUCK OFF.
Please never worry about your strange O face
I once knew a guy with the best orgasm face in the entire world. He really let himself go – screwing up his eyes, opening his mouth, and tensing seemingly every muscle he had. It was sexy, and utterly involuntary, as if his orgasm was being milked out of his dick even as he tried to hold it back. Hot as fuck.
My own? I have no idea – many’s the time I’ve tried to catch the look on my face at the moment of orgasm – usually when fucking in front of a mirror. Luckily, no guy’s ever caught me doing this. Unluckily, like Scroedinger’s cat, the very act of observing it will alter its state. Just as you can never take an un-posed selfie, so you can never look at your own face at the point of climax without either killing the orgasm or making subtle changes to your own expression.
I used to worry deeply about my orgasm face. Occasional comments from guys that I looked, you know, like I’d simultaneously been electrocuted and handed a winning lottery ticket, meant that I feared killing the sexiest moments with a face like the winner of a gurning championship. For some reason this occasionally translated into closing my eyes for a fairly large proportion of a shag. Like a toddler who believes they can’t see you if you can’t see them – I’d assume that my partner would follow the cues and close their eyes too.
Glass dildos, kegel muscles, and clamping down for pleasure
I find exercise for its own sake incredibly tedious. Running, cycling, picking up weights then putting them down again: I get why some people like it, but I’m not one of those people. Moving muscles for a purpose: picking up heavy boxes to move house, running for a bus, cycling because you just need to get somewhere – fine. But moving for the sake of moving isn’t something I’ve ever been excited about.
As with biceps, triceps and whatever ‘glutes’ are, same with kegels. The idea of doing special exercises to strengthen the muscles in my cunt leaves me a bit cold. I’m having a go right now as I write this, probably making odd quizzical faces and feeling glad I’m not in an open plan office, and the sensation I get from it can best be described as ‘meh.’
But during sex? Or a wank? That’s when those kegels really come into their own.
Orgasm control – the hot and the not
“Don’t you fucking dare come,” he says, with a growling, horny tone and the power to make me do it. Holding a wand toy right tight and hard against my clit, cock firmly in place, pulsing against the walls of my cunt, and giving me something to grip down on as I try to fight the waves of unavoidable orgasm.
Sometimes the sexiest thing in the world is being ordered to refrain from something that you know is inevitable. The strain of having to bite your lip, tense your muscles, arch yourself away from the source of pleasure so as to hold something back for just a few seconds? Amazing.
But not always.