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.

I’m old

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. 

Heresy though it is – I don’t really like it.

I don’t actively dislike it, and if you want me to sit on your face I will no doubt have quite a pleasant time. Ultimately what you’re doing is tonguing my clit, which is better than a kick in the teeth. But there’s something missing – your cock.

It sounds a bit dull, but my actual fetish (in the strictest sense of ‘can’t properly get off without it’) is your cock. I want it to be hard, and in me – I don’t care where. My mouth, my ass, my cunt – plunge it into one of my armpits and hump till you’re spent for all I care. But for me to have a good time it has to be hard and more or less in me.

And so getting head is usually a bit frustrating. It’s pleasant, it ticks most of the boxes and stimulates the nerve endings that matter, but there’s just something missing. In a contest between two otherwise equal guys, one of whom was offering to tongue me until I saw stars, and the other who was offering to fuck my mouth and then push me out of a window, I’d go for the latter, no question.

Getting head just doesn’t, as a rule, do it for me.

The bit that contradicts that bit I’ve just written

I feel like this would fall a bit flat if I didn’t give you some sort of detail – it’s quite a dull opinion, after all – so I’ll admit that there was one guy who gave head that made me drool. OK, not just drool – writhe and moan and whimper and squirm and sigh and come.

I had no idea why – at the time I couldn’t work out what the hell it was that made his mouth so much more worth having there than anyone else’s. Having had time to reflect on it I’d hazard that part of the reason was that he made a point of it. It wasn’t a cursory thing. He wasn’t bending down and licking as a short prelude to sex, a ‘do I have to do this?’ reciprocation of the head I’d given him – he lay between my legs, he got comfy, and most importantly (I think) he settled the fuck down.

That definitely made me relax and enjoy it more, but it still didn’t really explain why what he was doing felt so different. I enjoyed it partly because I knew he was in it for the long haul, but partly because I was genuinely enjoying the sensation.

I’m so ineloquent on this subject. I’m stumped. I have no idea what a boy can do with his mouth that makes a girl go crazy – I have no idea what, specifically, he was doing that made me so happy. But that’s OK – I don’t know everything. Luckily, there’s always the option to draft in the experts.

If you’ve never emailed an ex to say “hey, you did this thing that was fucking spectacular and I have no idea why or how, would you mind writing about it so I can publish it on (oh by the way I write) a sex blog?” then you definitely should. It wields spectacular results.

Ladies and gents, I give you Number 10:

I give my best head when I’m really turned on, and it’s largely intuitive/instinctual at that point. In order to stay at that maximum-hardness level of turned on for a decent length of time I need some sort of stimulation to my cock. Sixty-nine-ing or her having a hand free are obviously good (although if I’m doing it properly she won’t be coherent enough to stay focused on what she’s doing) but if I want her to be able to just relax and enjoy it I find lying face down with my weight on my cock suffices.

Here’s my theory on why it works, though I could be wrong. I thought before that it had something to do with equivalence of nerve endings – that you can see the connection between a guy’s cock and a girl’s clit, and imagine that one is the other – I don’t think that was quite right. I now think it’s more to do with being able to tap into the rhythm and intensity drives associated with being fully erect and stimulated. I’d guess what I’m doing with my tongue is following the same tempo as my cock would be, if it were there.

So there you go. But don’t take my word for it – or indeed his. Everyone’s different, which is what makes the world such a fascinating and disgusting and horrifying and excellent place. You might do it differently and have your ladyfriend squirming with the unrestrained delight of a kid in a Christmas-themed sweetshop. You might be a girl who can’t come without at least 45 minutes of good, solid, selfless head.

I just happen to be one of those who, barring extremely specific circumstances, can probably take it or leave it. But you know what? That’s OK.

It means that if you like it we can do it and have fun, and if you don’t like it you can sit back and recline while I take your dick right to the back of my throat, safe in the knowledge that you won’t have to reciprocate with anything more than a pat on the ass and a ‘good girl’ when I’m done.

Tits don’t make ‘honk honk’ noises when you squeeze them. You don’t hang towels off a rock-hard cock. That noise someone’s cunt makes that sounds like a fart? Happens so often that if it was a joke you’d accuse the writer of plagiarism.

The most important thing in any guy is a good sense of humour, the most important thing in one of my guys is that he leaves that sense of humour at the bedroom door. I’m not saying you shouldn’t joke around, or be playful, but what I am saying – no, shouting loudly from the rooftops into the deaf ears of a broken society – is that sex is not funny.

I’ve rarely known a great shag to stop halfway through and giggle at the noises. This doesn’t mean that nothing funny has ever happened – loads of funny stuff happens during sex, which is why stand-ups get so much wear out of shagging stories. But if you’re in the mood and the moment, things that sound funny when your mate jokes about them become things that further fuel your lust.

That slurping sound is hilarious when done as an embellishment of a blow job story in the pub, but when you’re getting an actual blow job suddenly it becomes hot. It demonstrates from the girl a detachment and a willingness and a desperate need to have your cock in her mouth that, for most guys, prevents the chuckle-synapse from firing.

And don’t get me started on looks. People look weird naked – they look different. Their bodies are all unique and interesting and have different bits, and shapes, and hair in different places. While these might be funny on Youtube, they’re not funny in my bedroom. They’re exciting, sexy, new things to play with and learn about, new things to press my face into and smell and lick and have wrapped around me.

I will be less willing to bury my face in your ass-crack if you’ve just done a comedy striptease to hide your sexual self-doubt.

To make things good you both have to be confident. And that means not just being comfortable naked with the lights on, but comfortable knowing that if you give him your special move he’s not going to guffaw when it makes a squirting noise.

If you watch comedy sex on TV it can be funny. Jokes about sex can be funny. But I think the point I’m making is that if you’re in the right mindset – if you’re horny and hot and desperate to come, things suddenly seem very serious. Just as I’d never chuckle at Schindler’s List, I’d find it impossible to laugh with someone’s cock inside me.

Which is a shame, because apparently it does something quite clever to the pelvic floor muscles.

The first shag you have with someone is, technically, rubbish.

You’re both excited, and happy that you’ve managed to ensnare someone hot, but despite your enthusiasm for that first shag you will probably fuck it up. Of course you will – you have almost no idea what they actually like.

Your ideas about their preferences will be based on casual conversations that you’ve had when (let’s be honest) you’re quite pissed. You know from pub chat that they like blow jobs/spanking/being pissed on/that bit where you stick your fingers in their ass just before they come/etc. But you haven’t a sodding clue about the nuanced things that give them that kick-in-the-gut drooling lust that’s so crucial in a spectacular fuck.

The first time you see them naked might be a disappointment, and you’ll probably be a disappointment to them. People are prettier with clothes on – we use clothes to carefully hide the bits we’re less happy with, to enhance our curves and cover our scars.

New people, be they male or female, will make noises that you’re not used to, say things that you aren’t familiar or comfortable with or – even worse – conduct the whole thing in a stony silence that leaves you wondering if they’d rather be chewing broken glass.

They might have problems getting hard or wet. They might be less energetic than you’re used to, or they might try to twist you into acrobatic positions that you’re unable to do because you don’t have the same yoga background as their ex.

How awful. Why on earth do people do it?

Well, because it’s spectacularly fun, that’s why. Despite the technical failings the overall experience is usually enjoyable. And more importantly, it is usually worth putting in the groundwork to establish something that could be spectacular.

Unless your life consists of a string of meaningless, nameless fucks, there’ll almost certainly be some stuff in that first time shag that you can work with.

OK, so he didn’t really get that bit quite how you like it, and he asked you to stop blowing him because you were ‘overenthusiastic’, but he probably also did some stuff that blew your mind, or at the very least made you go ‘oooh’. And that’s the point.

I’m extremely good in bed with some of my boys. With others I’m less good, and we’re still stumbling through a few things that need to be refined, improved upon or scrapped altogether. We’re working on an early iteration of the brilliant sex that we’ll eventually have when we’ve had some more goes at it.

With guys I’m with for the first time, I am an utter amateur. I can give them all the special moves I like but without any frame of reference it’s always going to be a bit poor. Especially because in those very early stages people are reluctant to give feedback that could be construed as criticism. So we stumble awkwardly through the jungle of sexual adventure until we… erm… discover the hidden temple of ‘how to do things properly’.

Laboured metaphor, but you get the gist.

What I’m saying is that you’re rubbish in bed. And so am I. We’re awful, awkward and inept, and anyone watching would shake their heads sadly at our mutual incompetence. But rather than lament the fact that the first time didn’t make the earth move, let’s accept that that’s always the case, and stick a date in the diary for a bit more practise.