Category Archives: The human body
On what is not wrong with you, part 2: having body hair
There seems to be a fashion these days for guys to shave their bollocks. The first time I ever touched shaved bollocks I was utterly fascinated – mainly by the weird plasticine-y feel of them, but also partly by the motivation.
Why the living fuck would a guy want to shave his bollocks? What earthly good could it possibly do him? Does it make him swim faster, bang harder or achieve greater recognition for his successes in the workplace? Does it make him good at science or gain him entry into exclusive private members’ clubs? Is the warmth generated from having all the extra pubic hair rendering his sperm so relaxed and sluggish that he is incapable of impregnating a lady friend?
Baffling.
I’ve since met more guys who do it, and have discussed with them the reasons why they might be tempted, on a weekly or bi-weekly basis, to take a razor to their genitals.
Girls like it
I’m informed that some girls like naked balls. It apparently makes it more pleasant when you’re running your tongue from the base of his cock down to his perineum if you don’t end up with the odd hair in your mouth while doing it.
Fair enough – if a girl’s giving you head she doesn’t want all that icky hair getting in the way. It’s just not natural – having body hair that naturally grows from your natural body.
It feels nice
This one is a divider – some guys think it feels lovely, and they like the feeling of clean pants rubbing against a freshly balded sack. But I’ve met others who hate the extra stickiness generated, and think the feeling is somewhat akin to having bollocks made of silly putty.
It makes your cock look bigger
Why on earth would you want to make it look bigger? The best thing about having a big cock is that when you put it in me I can feel it stretching me and filling me up and banging hard against my cervix. No amount of shaving will make any difference to this and, in fact, if your cock looks big and feels smaller, the only reaction you’ll get is one of initial delight followed by mild disappointment.
Body hair: the right answer
By ‘the right answer’ I, as ever, mean ‘what I think.’ Body hair is completely natural and normal, and as such it is yet another of those genuinely delightful things about naked boys. I would prefer it if you didn’t shave it all off.
Obviously some body hair is nicer than others – that line running from your crotch to your belly button is so sexy that I’m not sure I can write on it in detail without going for a lie-down. Likewise, the fuzz of hair that collects in the crook of your back is delightful and beautiful and almost worthy of a blog of its very own. So hair is good.
That’s not to say smoothness feels bad – on the contrary it can feel really nice sometimes. But shaved bollocks in particular feel odd and clinical. What’s more they grow back stubbly, and then they scratch.
But the look and feel of them isn’t the main thing that gets me. By all means shave the fuck out of your body if you genuinely want to, or if you enjoy cupping your nuts when you’ve had at them with a razor, but I’ll still think you’re a bit odd for wanting to because it just seems like a lot of unnecessary effort.
Shaved things have to be reshaved regularly, which takes time as well as effort. Time and effort that could much better be spent doing something fun – forcing me to bury my face in your hirsute crotch and suck your dick nice and hard, letting me grip it until you moan a little and ask me to stop squeezing, then making me sit on the coffee table touching myself while you stand over me and shoot jizz all over my face. For example.
WARNING: I am about to mention the patriarchy
Ever since man first dragged woman out of the cave by her hair, women have been giving a massive shit about their hair. It’s not my job to question why, only to lament the fact that, as a woman, I spend far more time than is sensible either removing unwanted hair or explaining to people in stampy feminist tones why actually no, I don’t have the fucking time to wax myself bald from the waist down. I am usually too busy having a career, or seeing friends, or fucking guys, or enjoying a life that does not revolve around beautifying myself to achieve the validation of shallow people.
This shit is a pain in the arse for women. Men – you’re lucky enough to be in the 50% of the human race that isn’t currently burdened with expectations about the removal of your body hair. Don’t fuck it up for yourselves.
Society doesn’t – at the moment – expect you to shave your balls. Be wary of turning it into a majority activity. I’m not telling you not to shave them – do what the actual fuck you want to do with your own body – but please keep reminding yourself that you never ever have to.
I dread living in a world where men have their back, sack and crack waxed because they think it’s normal. It is not ‘normal’ to remove your body hair. It’s onerous, boring and unnecessary, and you probably have better things to do. Like me.
On what is not wrong with you, part 1: being fat
In our decadent Western capitalist society where you can buy chips for two quid or gym membership for fifty, it’s no wonder most people are a bit fat. And you know what? People who are a bit fat are sexy.
There’s a sliding scale: some people are so fat that sex without assistance is difficult, others have just a little bit of extra weight that is delightfully squidgy and fun to dig your fingers into while they’re frotting you excitedly. Hovering somewhere in between these groups lie the guys that I want to talk about.
I love guys who have a bit of weight on them – they make me feel small, and delicate, and feminine. Guys with bellies their trousers dig into, so I have to pull and rummage to get their pants off. Guys with arses you can grab and thighs like tree trunks. Guys who jiggle when they fuck you. Yum.
I’m not talking about guys who are morbidly obese – apart from anything else they’d be a logistical nightmare. I mean the men who look down sadly at their gut and think ‘no one will fuck me like this.’ Men who tip the scales at more than is healthy and have genuinely considered salad. This entry is for you – you massive, sexy, awesome, hedonistic bastards.
Skinny guys – don’t feel left out. You are equally loved, but this is not your time.
Today, I want to talk about why fat guys are great:
Fat guys enjoy things
There’s something about being fat that implies a certain ‘I don’t give a flying fuck’ attitude that is desperately sexy. Someone who doesn’t approve of moderation, who goes the whole way and will be my partner in crime when I want to have fun.
I want to be with a guy who orders lasagne, garlic bread and a side order of chips. And some onion rings. And cake for afters. And a triple whiskey. And chips. And more whiskey.
I want to go out with a guy who’ll down 8 pints then provide a solid mass for me to lean against on the way home.
I want to hang out with someone who’ll bang me til 2 am then suggest McDonalds breakfast in the morning.
Fat guys fuck harder
You wouldn’t make a sledgehammer out of balsa wood, would you? Exactly.
Fat guys are just… bigger
It’s obvious that they’re bigger, of course. But have you considered the full implications? Fat guys can lie on top of you and knock the wind out of you. Put more force behind their fucking (see above), pin you down so you can’t get up. You can sit comfortably on their lap and feel their erection digging into you without worrying that you’re going to snap them.
They can envelop you and crush you and squeeze you and make you feel tiny, delicate and vulnerable. They can fuck you hard and sweat hard till it drips into your mouth. They can take your breath away and give you something to hold onto and something to wrap your legs round and squeeze and touch and rub your face into.
And then afterwards they might buy you a pasty.
Postscript: The few times I’ve discussed this with people I’ve been met with raised eyebrows and skeptical looks. But bear in mind that one of the best ways to have brilliant sex is to find someone you like (in my case someone who is funny or clever or utterly filthy) and then show them the kind of enthusiasm that’ll have them jizzing themselves on the night bus home.
I’m not trying to persuade you to start fucking fat guys – but you might be missing out on some potentially spectacular sex if you dismiss them out of hand or, worse, imply that you’re out of their league. You call them ‘tubby’, I’ll call them ‘tiger’ and we’ll see who gets the best out of them.
On tits
The problem with people is that they don’t touch my tits enough. There is a serious lack of tit-grabbing in my life, and it’s an issue that frankly needs to be adressed. My MP didn’t reply to my letter, so I’m going to write it here instead:
I love my tits, they’re awesome. They’re also extremely sensitive. If you touch them I will whimper like a slut in handcuffs. Touch them.
Teenage boys are (sorry, were when I was younger – please don’t arrest me) amazing in a multitude of ways, but primarily they are amazing because they show tits the love that they deserve. A teenage boy will stare at them, squeeze them, suck them, bite them, and all but worship them as the second coming of Christ if you let him get within a couple of feet.
But grown-ups seem to be bored of them. Sure, they’ll give you a quick feel when you’re snogging, they’ll take off your top and do some cursory playing during sex, but it’s been a long time since someone tried to furtively get mine out in the back row of a cinema, or gaped at them open-mouthed like a drooling dog in a butcher’s shop.
I’ve never met a man who says he doesn’t like tits. And yet as grown men they miss out on a million opportunities to touch them up. I can think of no occasion when I’ve been sitting with a guy on the sofa getting stoned and watching South Park that wouldn’t have been immeasurably improved if he’d had one hand down my shirt idly pinching one of my nipples.
Likewise I’ve been on countless long bus journeys that would have seemed shorter with a guy’s hands up my top. In McDonalds? If no kids are looking, why not reach over and pop open one of the buttons on my shirt. Have a look, go on. Walking down the street? Put your hand round my waist so you can slide it up occasionally and cup one of them in your hand. If I’m in the front seat of a car and you’re in the passenger seat, reach round and grab them. Come up behind me while I’m writing and run your hands down from my shoulders and into my bra. Slip one hand inside my coat on a cold winter’s day. Go on. Please. Touch my tits – I’ll buy you a sandwich.
And during sex? Why not grab them? Go on – just a bit, squeeze them a little. If you’re on top and you need your arms to hold you up, put one hand on each of my tits and hold yourself up that way. It hurts, and is hot and brilliant. I appreciate that watching them jiggle is one of the most fun things about sex, but why not interrupt that jiggling every once in a while by grabbing my nipples and feeling my cunt twitch and my legs tense up as you squeeze them nice and hard, yeah?
I guess as you grow up you’re more focused on the ultimate goal – the cunt. But while your cock’s in there your hands are free, so if it’s not too much trouble, and if you’re not that busy: touch them. Pretty pretty please.
