Category Archives: Ranty ones
Watching guys use sex toys
Where’s all the hot porn of guys using sex toys? Oh, that’s right, it’s often self-uploaded onto tube sites, or on gay-guy specific sites. How often is this stuff pitched to straight women? RARELY. Well, here’s my pitch.
I love the look of a guy when he’s got his junk in his hand. Boyfriends who take dirty snaps to send me from a distance when they’re gripped around it, and pulsing with the need to come: amazing. I still have one or two favourite photos (OK, so one is a video) of guys I know doing bad bad things to themselves, and gleefully recording the evidence so I can watch it later.
One guy sat spread-legged on the floor, camera phone propped in front to give a tight-cropped shot of his junk, and rapidly milked himself into his own left hand. Unngh.
I’ve talked before about Schroedinger’s Wank – that the hottest of all possible ‘guywanking’ scenarios is the one I can probably never see. Because what I want is to see him doing it exactly what he’d do for himself if I weren’t there – all pleasure, no performance. Sadly I’ll never be quite invisible or sneaky enough to be able to see this, but there is one thing that makes watching guy wanks hotter…
Rebranding feminism: the planning meeting
Hi everyone: welcome to this, the meeting in which we aim to rebrand feminism, an exercise that countless people have insisted is vital. As a feminist, I’m often told that the word needs to be changed, or that feminism’s image must be improved, and because I’ve heard the phrase ‘rebranding feminism’ at least seven hundred times over the course of 2014, I thought 2015 should be the year we roll up our sleeves and get on with it.
Please take a seat, help yourself to coffee, and try not to fight over the chocolate biscuits.
What’s your ‘magic number’?
I have a list of all the people I’ve fucked. I know, that sounds intensely weird, and also a little bit creepy. I compiled it many years ago after a long, hazy night in a bar in Amsterdam, during which a good friend and I tried to work out what our ‘magic numbers’ were. I wasn’t particularly bothered about the total, but the exercise gave me pause for thought, and subsequent enraged weeping, when I realised that I couldn’t remember everyone’s name.
I thought I’d got it right at first. I counted people off on my fingers, smiling with glee when I got to a particularly good one, hissing when I reached the name of a person who’d fucked me over, and reminiscing over some of the filthier moments of my life. He did the same, regaling me with some sexy anecdotes as we sipped pints and hoped no one would notice that we were flagrantly ignoring the weird ‘you can smoke weed but not cigarettes’ rule that had just come into force.
Eventually, we both settled on our final numbers, and we clinked glasses – delighted at our powers of recollection.
An hour or so later, a cold dread crept over me: I’d missed one out. Not just any one either – a pretty significant guy, with whom I’d had some fairly intense experiences. Back to the mental drawing board, and the back of a napkin to make notes. And eventually the final list which, while possibly a bit strange, was a godsend when it came to writing my book: it meant I got the chapters in the right order and didn’t have to go back to cram in a quick fuck that I’d somehow forgotten.
The tragedy of older women
I suspect this might be a first time this warning’s been put on a sex blog, but the following post contains spoilers for this year’s Doctor Who Christmas Special. I promise you it’s relevant.
My Mum finds it hard to get served at the bar.
I’ve seen it happen: she’ll be there for twice as long as most other people. She waits, purse in hand, trying to catch the eye of the bar staff, and making sure that she’s standing assertively. She’s not shy or nervous, hanging back or offering her place in line to other people – she’s just there, prominent yet invisible. Unnoticed. And people around her – younger people, and older men, nip ahead and throw their orders in.
And she waits.
Guest blog: Withdrawal symptoms – how to withdraw consent
If you’ve been following the criticism of the oppressive changes to UK porn regulations, you’ll probably have seen one or two (or thousands of) people spitting outrage over the definitions of ‘moderate’ pain and consent. While consent in porn is absolutely vital, the censors have made a pretty huge mistake in how they categorise it – believing that consent is something which should be determined by an objective third party, rather than the people who are playing.
It’s for this reason that they’ve said porn with a bound and gagged subject will be censored – apparently there’s no clear means of withdrawing consent.
Please welcome Jenny, who is here to demonstrate just how utterly ridiculous that assumption is.