What’s the best way to get what you want? Anybody?
Well, there are tips and strategies to persuade and entice someone into doing something hot, but I’m surprised at how many people miss the crucial first stage in the process – asking for it.
I love a guy who takes control, but so many of the guys I’ve met are reluctant to take control verbally. They prefer hinting, or gentle persuasion, or gradual escalation from a gentle slap on the arse to a full-blown, knickers down, bent over the knee beating.
So tonight I want to persuade you to ditch the shyness, scrap the uncertainty, open your mouth and tell me exactly what you’d like.
Giving instructions is desperately sexy
Oh God please tell me what to do. When you’re horny and hopeful and desperate for something specific. Tell me what to do.
Touch me here.
Sit on me, pull your shirt up, look at me, swallow it, roll over and pull down your fucking knickers.
What’s hot isn’t just what we’re doing – it’s that you so dearly want to do it. And what’s even hotter is that you like it – it makes you make little moaning noises and suck your breath in through your teeth and grip the bed and tense up and push your cock out further so I can keep doing what I’m doing.
So don’t just tell me what, tell me how. You want me to suck your cock? How? Do you want me to take the full length to the back of my throat until I make strangled choking sounds? Do you want me to suck gently on the tip until your head’s swimming and you can’t wait to force it more roughly inside me? Do you want long, slow strokes with my hand while I tongue the head, hoping for a gushing release that sprays into my semi-parted mouth?
There’s something stunningly good about someone who tells you to do things.
Help me help you
It doesn’t even have to be dominant – you can say ‘please’, and you can do it even if your partner has no submissive tendencies – the point is that I want to know that what I’m doing is getting you off. I can give you a semi-decent handjob that’ll give you a pretty buzz, but if you tell me what you like I can bring you off almost as well as you can do yourself.
A guy recently asked my advice in how he should tell his girlfriend she gave shit head. “Should I just be rude and come out with it?”
No – Christ no – don’t tell her what she’s doing wrong – tell her how to do it right. With words, with noises. Say “Oh fuck that’s amazing” if she does something good – nudge her towards the decent bits and away from the bad. Tell her you want a sloppy one, a hard one, a nice long slow one. Tell her.
Because the alternative is to have a partner who is constantly guessing, constantly unsure, constantly giving you the moves that her ex used to like in the hope that you have the same tastes.
And putting your pleasure to one side for a moment, if you don’t pipe up and fucking say this stuff, you’re also depriving your partner of the absolute, unending, shivering joy that comes from doing something she knows you’ll like.
“How about you sit in the bath and let me soap you all over?”
“Please will you hit me with this belt while I bury my face in your cunt?”
“Oh God, oh God, oh God, just please God let me fuck you.”
You see? Getting one’s own way can be as easy as opening your mouth.
Now pull down my knickers and fuck me like I’ve been bad. Please.
You make resolutions so you can tell people “This year I’ll lose two stone/give up smoking/stop crywanking every Saturday night while watching films starring Jennifer Aniston.”
I wouldn’t mind that much, but there doesn’t seem to be anything to balance this out. We all know that there are some things that are wrong with us. Most of us are a bit fat, most of us have habits that are either bad for our health or irritating to our loved ones.
But we also all have certain qualities that are admirable, beautiful, or just plain cool.
Self-hatred ain’t sexy
During the first week of January, resolutions sweep through people I know like a wildfire of self-doubt. Friends who I have a very high opinion of will leap out of the woodwork and declare ‘hey, here’s my flaw – you might not have spotted it yet but it’s there.’
For the purposes of fuelling my rant, I’m going to use losing weight as an example.
Disclaimer: if you’re resolving to lose weight because your current weight causes you mobility/health problems, then not only do I 100% support you, but if you drop me an email I will give you some exciting tips on how to do it. OK, not necessarily exciting, they basically all consist of me saying ‘eat salad, then fuck vigorously’.
Most people are a bit fat, and I’ve spoken before about how guys who are a bit fat are pretty sexy. But above and beyond the aesthetic value of some hot jiggling, there’s something that comes even higher in the list of ‘things that are hot’ – not giving a shit about your weight.
Nothing is less sexy than someone moaning about their love handles. No one wants to listen to a partner telling them exactly how much weight they’ve put on, which bits of their body are the fattest, or exactly how many calories they’re limiting themselves to each day.
Feel free to make self-deprecating jokes about it, but as soon as you ‘resolve’ to ‘fix’ it, it becomes an issue. Something that your partners and friends feel they must notice, tiptoe-around, and pander to. Worst of all, it could even make them feel the need to ‘support’ you in your efforts by cooking you healthy food, or joining you in a run around the block.
A better new year’s resolution
Everyone’s got flaws – you might be a bit fat, need to ditch smoking, be an irritating cunt when drunk or, in my case, all of the above. But there are inevitably some things about you that are bloody great. You might be hilarious, generous in getting rounds in, in possession of a spectacular arse, or able to deep-throat people with aplomb.
So make new year’s resolutions if you like, but as a gesture towards the well-rounded and at-least-partially-brilliant person you inevitably are, why not pick one or two things that you definitely don’t want to change? Choose two things that are ace about you, and resolve, with all the willpower that your awesome mind can muster, to keep them exactly as they are.
Things it is not OK to do after sex
Ask a serious question
It’s not just women wanting to pillow-talk: guys do this too. From “do you love me?” to “how was it for you?” any question that’s going to require diplomacy or the accurate articulation of coherent thought should be ruled out.
Yeah, OK, your partner might well love you after you’ve banged twelve shades of awesome into their quivering, lustful body, but it doesn’t mean as much as it might under more considered circumstances. When I’m panting with post-sex exhaustion I’d happily declare my undying love to a passing springer spaniel.
This one probably goes without saying. Unless, through the weeping, your partner can just about make out the words “I’ve never had it so good.” or “Now I know what heaven feels like.”
It’s been suggested that cuddling releases Oxytocin – sometimes referred to as the ‘love hormone’. I am not entirely sure if this is good or bad science (feel free to correct me – I’ve had a read around and it looks OK) but whether it is or not, I think I do tend to develop stronger emotional bonds with people who snuggle me. Strong emotional bonds aren’t something I’m massively keen to develop, so cuddling: no.
Also, you know, we’ve just shagged – I’m probably quite hot. Get the fuck off me.
Secretly knock one out
Unsatisfying shag? It’s probably impolite to let your partner know by waking them up with furtive duvet rustling at 2 am.
Things it is OK to do after sex
Openly knock one out
If the sex was unsatisfying, why not tell your partner that you loved it enough you could go for some more? Sit on them, grab hold of the nearest sexy bit, and use your other hand to masturbate yourself to frothy completion.
I make a mild effort to not appear disgusting in front of boys – this effort increases the chance that I will get to fuck them again. But I couldn’t give a flying wank how disgusting they are in front of me. Everything they do is part of their sweating, rugged, testosterone-oozing charm.
So if we’ve just had sex, don’t do the far-away concentrating look and clench your arse-cheeks until you go red in the face. Fart away, gents – I’ll be far too shagged to care.
Deep and meaningfuls are right out, but you know what your partner might appreciate? Some joke you heard at lunchtime. Or a rant about people who stand on the left when they’re on a tube escalator. Or an ignorant opinion you picked up from the letters page of the Evening Standard on the way over.
If you want to talk after sex, make sure you say something they don’t have to put much effort in to listen to.
Go for a beer
Whether it’s problems with rigidity or issues with balance, being drunk makes sex slightly trickier. Why not switch the order of your evening and have a fantastic shag followed by post-fantastic-shag congratulatory beers?
We’re both pretty pleased with ourselves right? Right. We both got laid, right? Right. Let’s celebrate our mutual victory in time-honoured fashion.
High fives are also acceptable.
There are very few blog posts that I regret writing – even if I’m wrong I’m happy to show how wrong I was and reflect on what I’ve learned. This one, though, I don’t like: it was written a long time ago when I didn’t have the language or knowledge to express what I was really talking about – consensual non-consent, and established trust within relationships.
‘Yes’ is a powerful word. It gives someone permission to do things. Some people choose to say yes to certain people – you can fuck me, but he can’t. She can suck me off, but I’m not so sure about her. Some people give their consent for specific acts – you can shag me, but you can’t put it in my ass. You can cane me, but not so hard it draws blood. Restrain me, but with soft ropes not gaffer tape.
Etc, etc, etc ad infinitum – humans are infinitely different and weird and filthy. A man who chokes me with my consent is a stunning, cunt-wetting sex-god. A man who chokes me without my consent is a criminal.
But I hate the idea that I have to give that consent explicitly, and I hate that often I’m told to be more cautious than I am. I hate the idea that ‘no means no’.
If boys always took my ‘no’s to mean exactly that, I’d have spent most of my life crywanking myself to completion after disappointing vanilla sex, imagining how good it could be if he’d just, you know, spit in my fucking mouth or hit me in the face or something.
A blanket ‘no means no’ rule doesn’t hold up to scrutiny in my longer relationships – it’s an easy and useful default in an unfamiliar situation, and can prevent people from being forced into doing things they don’t want to do. But when relationships develop and communication muddies the waters, ‘no’ can mean anything from ‘I just can’t be bothered’ to ‘persuade me’ to ‘I’ll get wet if you make me do it.’
The massive ‘but’
I don’t speak for everyone. Obviously. My own views on consent within the relationships I enter into is probably pretty extreme, and if I only gave you my word on what ‘no’ means I could potentially cause a lot of damage.
So I want to show you a selection of other views on the matter. All the women I asked about this gave excellent, thoughtful and interesting responses. Not one of them had a simple answer.
Mags – If I give you a real ‘no’, you’ll know
The first time I had buttsex, my boyfriend didn’t ask, he didn’t even tell me he was going to do it – he just did it. Part of me was outraged that he didn’t ask, but a bigger part of me loved that he didn’t.
Overall, I don’t say no (and mean it) often…I sometimes play at “no”, but there is always a massive fucking “yes” in my eyes and I guess I’m lucky that I have always had partners who can read me.
A genuine “no” is accompanied by body language that also says “no” loud and clear – taking myself out of arms reach, covering my body, leaving the room – but it’s nearly always no from the outset, I can count on one hand, and still have digits spare, the times a yes has become a no.
Girl A – Consent is agreed beforehand
For me, the word “no” is very rarely used in the bedroom. Once you’ve made it that far, there’s not very much I’m not willing to at least try. Previous to this we’ve probably discussed my hard limits.
If I’ve invited you back to mine, or am coming back to yours, we’ve spoken about what unspeakable things we’d like to do to each other. But I don’t outright ask/get asked “would you like to have sex?”, and then wait for an affirmative.
Something like having sex with me when I’m asleep? With some of my boys I wouldn’t mind, but I would rather we’d discussed it beforehand.
Amanda C – None of us can read minds
My idea of consent and responsibility for consent resides in this larger idea: you can’t read anyone’s mind, and nobody can read yours. You have a responsibility to yourself to clearly express what you want and how you feel to other people. This doesn’t mean being a totally unfiltered open book, but understanding that although there might be a lucky chance that someone else totally groks to your signals, you’re responsible for stating what you mean, what you want, how you feel.
I think that a lot of people react to grey areas by attempting to make a list of dos and don’ts, which is just impossible because you can’t make a list for everything, and what, are people going to carry a little laminated card with them? Like some kind of flowchart for banging?
You can’t assume the “whys” of other folks, be it in sex, dress, behavior, etc. This doesn’t mean that everyone is being deceitful, and showing one thing but feeling another. It just means that you can’t read their mind, and they can’t read yours.
Girl B – It depends on how well I know you
It very much depends on who I’m with. With one guy we have talked about everything we both like and don’t, so yes for him means that anything we’ve talked about goes. Part of that package is me saying “no”, because I love to play that game. I love pretending to say no and having him do it anyway. But I trust him and he knows the score.
If I was with someone new, yes would mean…well anything I’m comfortable with. If I haven’t already discussed it and something happens that I don’t like, then no definitely means no. If he doesn’t know me well I don’t think he has the right to interpret that “no” as anything other than serious.
As a woman who has said no and meant it, and been ignored, this is a tricky area. I was in a relationship years ago. One night, I didn’t want sex (at all, I was drunk and spinning and made it very clear), but he pinned me down, covered my mouth, forced himself on me and anally raped me. Now in a different situation with a guy I trusted and had talked about that with, it may have been a huge fucking turn-on. In this case, I was scared, unable to breathe, angry, violated. His view was that I was his girlfriend and he could do what he liked. Wrong.
Yes, no, maybe, please
I don’t know how to end this, but I don’t know the answer to the original question either. What is consent, and how can you make sure you have it?
You can ask for it outright, but that takes away the potential for fun sex that pushes boundaries and makes people uncomfortable and makes me come like it’s the end of the world.
Or you can guess that you have it, but then you risk damaging someone you’re aiming to delight.
But I think it’s OK to not have a blanket rule, so I’m happy to chuck ‘no means no’ away for the time being. If you’re following a set of hard-and-fast rules on consent then you’re likely to trip up regularly – either by pushing things far too far or not far enough – because everyone’s different.
No doesn’t mean no for everyone. Sometimes it means ‘yes’ or ‘maybe’ or ‘persuade me’ or ‘not right now.’ To fully understand exactly what it means you have to listen really carefully.
Postscript: This was written in response to some reactions to my previous post on buttsex, in which a guy did sexy things to me after I’d begged him not to. Many thanks to @hellsbell_ for raising the issue.
Warning: this entry was written back in 2011 when I was a bit of a shitbag and had some fairly trash opinions. I stand by what I said about not having a massive wank in anticipation of a date, but some of the other stuff is way harsher than I’d write if I were doing this post today.
If you have problems getting hard I will always say “it doesn’t matter.” You can hold me and fuck me with your hand, eat me out, beat me up, tell me I’m the sexiest fucking thing you’ve ever seen and it’s all just nerves/drink/etc and give me orgasms so explosive I can’t stand up for a while.
But it does still matter. It really does.
There’s nothing more satisfying than shoving your hands down someone’s trousers and finding something nice and hard to grip – rock solid. Sometimes, with particularly keen boys, it’s dripping. Hawt.
If I reach down and you’re flaccid it’s … disappointing. I’ll smile and I’ll kiss you and I’ll suck you until you regain some semblance of a hardon, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed.
It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person, and usually it’s a hurdle I’m willing to leap for someone filthy and funny and fuckable. But sometimes your reasons give me cause to not invite you back. Here’s the breakdown:
I’ve drunk too much
Fair enough: good excuse. But if you’ve drunk so much that you can’t get hard, why did you come back to mine? I wouldn’t invite you back if I’d glued my pants on and was incapable of sex, so why do you think it’s OK to make promises you know you won’t be able to keep? If you can’t fuck, don’t accept my invitation to fuck – you’ll only disappoint.
If you are in this situation, it’s far far better to snog me at the bus stop, grab my tits and growl something predatory into my ear, then tell me you’ll see me tomorrow or next week. That gives you time to sober up a bit, and gives me time to frig myself blind thinking about you in the meantime. Everyone’s a winner.
Men of a certain age often develop problems with erectile dysfunction. I am not stupid. I also love older guys (there’s something about a dirty old man that makes me blush and get hot). So this is obviously an acceptable excuse.
It’s also, brilliantly, a problem for which medical science has come up with a solution. If you can’t get hard without help; get some fucking help. In my experience those sweet sweet blue pills get you hard enough that you’d confidently expect to beat a hormonal teenager in a boner-duel.
Massive disclaimer: I am not medically qualified and Viagra may have certain side effects that are bad for you. Please check with your GP, don’t just buy some random shit off the internet, yeah?
I’m on anti-depressants
These cause problems for a lot of guys. Am I particularly drawn to guys who are on anti-depressants, or is it just the case that a lot of people take them? Who knows. But I’ve been informed that, for some people, these can cause occasional impotence and anorgasmia.
That sucks, and you can have every ounce of sympathy that I have to spare at the time of you telling me this. But it isn’t going to make me acquiesce to any other kind of play. I’m not going to agree to fuck you if you’ve told me you can’t fuck – if there’s nothing in me there’s nothing in it for me.
I had a massive wank in anticipation of our date
This is not an excuse. Ever. If you do this I will be livid, and you don’t deserve my gentle “it doesn’t matter”s and soft blow jobs to try and make things work again.
Why, in anticipation of something sexual, would you want to forcibly expel all the sexual power from your body? Men often complain about the sexual power that women hold over them, with our lovely tits and sashaying arses that hold you in so much thrall. Well, you have that power over women too, and your power is generally manifest in a rock-solid dick that we’d like to sit on. So don’t get rid of it.
If you’re worried that you might get an erection under the table, get over that worry and think about what it means. If you were on for a shag anyway, your under-the-table erection is not a tragic, teenage thing; it’s an excuse for me to touch you under the fucking table.
Don’t get me wrong, I love a good wank as much as the next sex-crazed harpy, but if your onanism interferes with the sex you’ve promised me, I’m going to kick off. Understand that there’s a time and a place for it. Before you come out to see me is definitely not the right time. But kneeling on my stomach with your cock poised over my tits is probably a pretty good place.
Postscript: I know this isn’t the done thing for girls to say – we’re supposed to be totally fine with impotence and accept that there’s more to sex than just penetration. And there is, for most people. But for me, that stuff is all just nice window-dressing for the bit that actually gets me off – the bit where your rock-solid cock is in me.
Call me whatever you like, and tell me I’m a bastard, but if you could only get off if I pissed on your face and I was unwilling or unable to piss on your face, I wouldn’t expect you to have sex with me anyway – I’d expect you to find someone who could fulfil your specific sexual needs. My specific sexual need is that you’re hard. Hard and in me.