Tell me I’ve got nice eyes and I’ll blush. Tell me I’ve got lovely tits and I’ll melt into a puddle of flattered joy at your feet. But there’s one compliment I find quite tricky to take, and it’s this one:
“You’ve got a pretty cunt.”
Believe it or not, this is something that my favourite boy tells me a lot. And I mean a lot. When I’m bending over in a t-shirt and he can see it framed neatly at the top of my thighs, when he’s knelt between my legs rubbing softly at himself and staring at it, exposed for him to come on – he tells me my cunt is pretty.
I don’t get it
If you’d asked me when I was sixteen I’d have told you that I thought all cunts looked roughly the same. Not exactly like the diagrams in a biology textbook, and with slightly different patterns of hair growth, but roughly the same. Naturally, as with most things I thought when I was sixteen, I was wrong.
As an adult who watches a fair amount of porn, I’m fascinated by the different appearance of different women’s cunts. They’re like fingerprints – unique in subtle and sometimes not-so-subtle ways. The shape and colour of the labia, the length of the slit, everything.
The Pussy Pride Project
A while ago Molly (of Molly’s Daily Kiss fame) started the Pussy Pride project – aimed at getting women to talk about their pussies (I’m not a particular fan of the word, so I’ll switch back to ‘cunt’ now). And it’s utterly and addictively fascinating. The pictures that people post, and the way they all think about themselves.
Confused by the boy’s assertions that my cunt was ‘pretty’, I sat him down in front of lots of pictures of different cunts and asked him to explain what exactly it was that made one pretty. Because I am scientific and bolshy like that.
The answer came back as an unequivocal ‘how the fuck should I know?’ – there were lots that he picked out and said ‘oh, that one. Definitely’ but when questioned on why he had no explanation. For the same reason, I suspect, he refuses to appraise tits in any meaningful way because he thinks almost all of them are perfect by the very nature of what they are.
So does that mean my cunt isn’t, in fact, pretty, but is simply appreciated in virtue of the fact that it’s warm and wet and fun to stick one’s cock into? Perhaps. Or does it mean that the particular unique look of mine just appeals to the boy, in the same way as a Rothko might appeal to an art enthusiast but make me want to roll my eyes and say ‘but it’s just a bunch of lines’?
I don’t like the look of my cunt
I don’t have any particular problem with my cunt. If you offered me a free plastic surgeon, willing to sculpt my body in any way I chose, I’d turn down the appointment before you could say ‘you’re not coming anywhere near my genitals with a scalpel.’ And even if I were happy to be sculpted and shaped, I wouldn’t be able to tell you exactly which shape I’d like my cunt to be. I just want it to look like a cunt.
More importantly, I want it to feel like a cunt. To be honest I don’t mind what shape it is, what colour, whether the pubes are shaved into a little heart shape (they’re not, by the way, fuck that for a waste of my time) or whether its astounding beauty has men swooning at my crotch in a lather of artistic ecstasy.
I just want guys to like it enough to put their cocks into it. Because I know damn well that the external appearance of my cunt doesn’t matter too much – it’s what’s inside it that counts.
Gentlemen, a word. I know that you all have varying degrees of love for your bollocks. Some guys gain exceptional enjoyment from their balls, and will grab, stroke and jiggle them not just during masturbation but at any time of the day when they think no one’s looking. Other guys crack miserable jokes about them, embarrassed by the wrinkled and sexually unappealing nature of the scrotum and all that it contains.
I’ve always wanted to be one of those nice-smelling women. You know the ones – there are some who breeze into a room on a cloud of subtle yet delicious-smelling perfume, waft delicately around and then exit swiftly, leaving a faint scent of flowers, talcum powder, and longing in their wake.
I have no idea what perfume it is they’re wearing – it’s certainly not one of the ones I’ve tried, as all mine do is make me smell decent for about half an hour or so then eventually give way to the much longer-lasting odours of cheap laundry detergent and even cheaper supermarket vodka.
Anyway. How I smell is beside the point. If I can make it through an evening without killing someone with garlic breath or sweating like a bigamist at a polygraph, I’m happy. What I love more is how guys smell.
There are a few aftershaves that smell like misery: it has little to do with the smell itself and more to do with quantity. Like the smells worn by teenagers who haven’t yet learned that nice aftershave (like almost none of the other good things in life) is best used in moderation. For these people the Lynx effect doesn’t so much moisten knickers as invoke a flood of bitter, eye-stinging tears.
But some guys know how to use aftershave – really know – and those men smell sexy. A subtle spritz for certain people induces that wafting cloudlike effect that I mentioned before – a trail of something yummy-smelling, that makes me think only of how I’d sense them coming into the room and running their hands around my waist before leaning in to growl sultrily in my ear then ravish me on the kitchen floor.
It helps, of course, if one of the scents you have chosen is one which I already associate with hot sex. I once followed a man around a shopping centre for about five minutes because I couldn’t work out why I fancied him. Eventually it hit me that he was wearing the exact aftershave that my first two boyfriends wore. Despite his advancing years, everything about this man screamed ‘teenage sex’, and I almost had to go for a lie-down.
This category contains pretty much any product that’s specifically designed for men that smells anything other than neutral: shampoo, shower gel, moisturiser. For similar reasons to the aftershaves, almost any of these products can make me weak at the knees if you come and nuzzle me post-shower and let me have a whiff.
Frustratingly, this is almost certainly the product of clever manufacturers convincing us that men and women must (even when the scents are artificial) smell different. I’m supposed to smell like strawberries, you can smell like musk. It’s irritating because, you know, you should smell like bloody strawberries if you want to. But in the meantime there’s something about the smell of the products that aren’t meant for me that make me want to lick you.
The masculine/feminine scent distinction smells vaguely like bullshit to me, but the fact remains that it’s the difference that’s hot. Your maleness is highlighted by how different you are.
This one’s a bit more open, because not all hair products are gender specific. And delightfully, I have no need of hair products at all (not because my hair is perfect, you understand, just because I’m far too lazy to maintain a haircare routine), so all of the smells are different enough to my own that they’ll produce a powerful sexy feeling.
The smell itself doesn’t matter, it just has to be unusual. Something suprising, and unique, and not mine. Which leads me neatly onto the last, and best smell of all:
Oh God yes. Let me bury my face in your armpit, in your neck, in all of the cracks and crevices where you’re hot and wet and smelling so different to me. Let me lick the droplets that run down the centre of your back and breathe you in as you press yourself into me.
The sweat you create when you’ve just got off your bike after a long ride. After you’ve run from the bus stop to my house, concealing an uncomfortable erection. The sweat we work up together during a nice, active fuck. If you announce, post-workout, that you’re off to jump in the shower, I’ll appreciate your desire for cleanliness but a tiny bit of my heart will break that I can’t make the most of the smell that says ‘you’ more than anything you could ever buy in Boots.
It’s better because it’s natural. Because it’s so unequivocally you. Because, no matter how hard you try, you probably can’t bottle it.
I know I bang on about it all the time, but there really is no limit to the vibrant, messy, diverse range of human sexual tastes. But it’s all very well me telling you that, I’m sure what you’re really after is hard evidence.
Well, you’re in luck. Evidence doesn’t come any harder than the people who typed in the following sex blog search terms that led them here. These were all typed in on the same day:
Sex blog search terms
Definitely not my cup of tea, and I expect you were incredibly disappointed to be led to the post in which I argue that tickling is one of my least favourite things.
get erection wading in jeans
I have never written about this, so not entirely sure why it’s in there, but my God I’d love to see it. If anyone has any pornography that meets this oh-so-specific fetish, please do pass it along to me. For research purposes.
images of a girl holding a pissing cock
Give me a second while I Google this myself, then spend a good few minutes staring transfixed at the screen. Guys pissing is super-hot, and I’m pretty sure I know where that search term sent you.
Unfortunately, I am not allowed to hold guys’ cocks while they piss quite as frequently as I would like. Apparently I have appalling aim.
over 50 still want spunk porn
Of course you do. Age is no barrier to spunk porn.
getting a blowjob while playing Xbox
I KNEW IT. I fucking KNEW I couldn’t be the only one who thinks that the idea of Xbox blowjobs is super hot (to avoid accusations of product placement I should point out that the particular console doesn’t matter: PS3, N64, an ancient Sega MegaDrive you’ve had hanging around since the 90s – all of these are acceptable).
Sadly, the super-hot post I wrote about giving an Xbox blowjob has not yet achieved the one thing I thought was guaranteed: loads of reddit love. So if you’re on reddit, and you like being blown/blowing someone while they manipulate the controller with their quick, sexy fingers, do me a favour and post it somewhere on their NSFW boards. If it goes viral, I’ll send you a Twix.
where can I find photos of women smelling there feet
I don’t know the answer to this question, but I’d recommend finding a woman you like, who likes you, and asking her if she wouldn’t mind awfully having a quick sniff and taking a snap for you. As far as fetishes go, this one doesn’t strike me as too tricky to fulfil.
girl holds my dick while I pee pics
Again with the dick holding. Perhaps my desire to do it is actually relatively normal, and most couples in which at least one of them has a penis engages in this every now and again. Another one for the ‘research‘ list.
girl using urinal
No pictures, I’m afraid, but I can tell you that although I am rubbish at using female urinals, I did manage to use a male urinal successfully once. It involved some weird angles and a bit of spray, but most of it went where it was supposed to. Definitely one to tell my grandchildren.
nothing could be finer than to lick her sweet v
I can see where you’re going with that, but am upset that you didn’t complete the rhyme. Come on, it was only five more letters! Five! Now I am left feeling unsated.
I neither know nor give a shit if it tastes different when you’ve eaten pineapple.
Spunk is good because it’s spunk. It’s raw and hot and yours. It’s something that you squirt from the end of your dick when you’re so fucking satisfied with me, with what I’ve done, with what I look like when you have me bent over and tied to a chair, that you can no longer keep it inside you. Spunk is, more than anything else, the measure of whether I’ve made you happy.
It’s not good because of the taste, it’s good because you cover me with it. It’s good because you pump it deep and hot inside me. It’s good because you make me eat it.
Can you improve the taste of your jizz?
A brief and depressing google around this area tells me that almost anything natural and fruity could change the taste of your spunk (WARNING: research based on Google does not constitute actual science) so if you’re happy to chow down on a pound of melon or a shitload of grapes each day, alongside the almost inevitable diarrhoea you suffer, you’ll probably also be able to provide a liquid that your ladyfriend would be happy to dribble on her ice cream.
But why? What’s the point? I’m a grown-up earning a wage – I can buy sugary syrups and whipped cream and fruity treats to my heart’s delight – the only way I’ll get a taste of your spunk is to suck on your cock nice and hard, in exactly the way that you like it.
Tasting nice is not what your jism is for. Your spunk doesn’t need to taste like strawberries, or pineapple, or sugar, spice and puppy dog tails – your spunk needs to taste like what comes out of the end of your dick when you come.
Spunk makes sex better
Sex is fun whether you come or not – the feeling of you nice and full and tight and hard inside me will give me the shivers and make me wet and give me something to clamp down on – to tense my cunt around and twitch over and feel happy about. But sex in and of itself isn’t half as good as sex that ends with spunk.
Dribbles of it, spurts of it, nice thick white ropes of it covering my tits or filling my cunt or (my personal favourite) spurting hot and hard into the crack of my arse.
Don’t worry about how you taste – everyone tastes different – pineapple or not – all guys tast different. Some are bitter, some are salty, some shoot sourness down to the back of my throat that makes me gag and worry I might puke. You all taste different – it’s part of your charm.
Have a little taste now – go on. If you’ve never tried it before you’re probably quite an incurious person, but indulge me. Have a taste. You might not like it – many people don’t – but at the very least you now know. You see yourself in the mirror every day, you’re your own constant companion – the person who knows you best. You know what you look like, sound like and smell like, so why not also see what you taste like?
Go on, try it. Salty, sweet, bitter, whatever. That’s the taste of you. And that’s what makes it so special.
Whether the rumours are true or not, I don’t want your spunk to taste like pineapple. If I wanted a pineapple I’d eat one, but I don’t, so if your spunk tastes like pineapple I’ll feel disappointed. Cheated. Because I wanted that special flavour of you – of your approval, your happiness, your sexual gratification. I wanted hot, grunting, squirting thrusts of proper, salty spunk. And you’ve given me a fucking sorbet.