I’m a massive, massive girl. I stand at five foot 11 in bare feet, which means that in the pretty boots I rock a good six feet three inches. Massive.
Wikipedia informs me that the average height for guys in England is five foot 9 or 10 inches (depending on age). If I only fucked guys who were taller than me I’d have spent most of my life alone.
Practicalities aside, there is genuinely nothing wrong with a male/female coupling in which the guy is shorter. The only reason we think it’s weird is because cretins point out that society has certain expectations about height. It’s a way to make people feel self-conscious about things they have no control over – playground bullying that grown ups should have grown out of.
My first ever boy was pretty small – he came just a bit higher than my shoulder. But you know what? I got used to it after about a week, and from then on the only time I noticed it was when shallow, judgemental arseholes would make comments about it.
“Don’t you get a sore neck when you’re kissing him? HAHAHA.”
No more than guys get when they’re with shorter girls, you gold-plated prick.
People pretend to be interested in the mechanics of a small guy fucking a woman who’s taller:
“Doesn’t it make it harder when you’re fucking standing up?”
No. Doesn’t your miserable attitude make it difficult for you to fuck at all?
They’re not really interested – they just want to discuss it and point out how ridiculous it is that we don’t conform to the exact physical expectations that they’d have regarding gender and height. Ha fucking ha.
Dear short men
You’re hot. But you’re not hot because you’re short – as with the vast majority of the population your height has little bearing on your fuckability. A tight, firm ass, a deliciously-placed tattoo, a penchant for dropping filthy comments into pub conversation – these are the most important things.
So no matter how many inches you have, work them with confidence. If you’re low on self-esteem there are some things you can change – you can be fatter or thinner or nicer or more likely to put out, but you cannot change your height – rock whatever you have with confidence and charm, and the people who matter will fuck you no matter what.
Some guys try and disguise their height with, for instance, big shoes or by *cough* Sarkozy *cough* standing on a box. But not only is it unnecessary, I’d argue that it’s actually going to make you look worse.
I’d never turn down a fuck with someone just because they were short. But I might turn one down if he was massively paranoid about the difference between him and me. If he was uncomfortable about standing next to me, or hated it when I wore boots, or made me feel like I should slouch when I was around him – those are crappy things to do. Being short? That’s just who you are.
So dress yourself up, go out, talk to ladies, shatter people’s expectations, be great at your job, stand up like you mean it – love things, fuck things, do good in the world. And if anyone mocks your height or laughs at you when you’re with a taller woman, give them the biggest ‘fuck off’ you can muster. You’re always going to be short, but you should never ever feel small.
Dear tall women
Once I was in bed with a guy who whispered to me:
“You know, the great thing about small women is you can put them up against a wall and fuck them.”
I’m 5′ 11″ – a giantess of a woman – he wasn’t talking about me. Since then I’ve had occasional issues with my height – I used to find out how tall guys were before I went on dates with them so I’d know whether I was OK to wear heels. I’d slouch and I’d lean and I’d try to do most things sitting down. I’d refrain from dancing, I’d wear flats, I’d voluntarily make my life less fun just in case people judged me for being tall.
But since then, other guys have said other things:
“Fuck, you’re so tall. I fucking love tall girls.”
“Wear the massive pretty boots. Please?”
And I learned something utterly crucial: the best guys couldn’t give a flying fuck. Whether you’re five foot five or six foot six, a decent guy will fuck you anyway. Men don’t usually shag you because of your specific physical features – they shag you because you rock them with confidence.
So the next time someone says “wow, you’re tall for a lady” I want you to grab the nearest thing off a high shelf and fling it at their stupid sexist head. Find your biggest, stampiest pair of boots and crush them beneath the heel. Stand up straight, pull your shoulders back, and use your long, gorgeous legs to swing a kick in their general direction.
Because you’re massive, and brilliant, and you can take on the world if you want to. Don’t let that world make you feel small.
Please assume when I’m talking about porn and singing its sweaty, jizz-splattered praises, I’m talking about porn in which the people are consenting, well paid (if it’s professional), well looked after, etc. Of course you can never fully know this. Even a lot of amateur porn sometimes gives me nervous thoughts if I realise it could have been filmed secretly or uploaded without all participants giving consent.
But perhaps this is a discussion for another day.
For now let’s just talk about why its brilliant. I’m a big fan of imagination, and I like to think that my own is, if not great, then at least capable of furnishing me with enough scenarios to keep me happily wanking for the rest of my life, with only occasional breaks to drink gin and eat crisps.
However, it’s nice to look at someone else’s imagination now and then. Apart from giving me some nice stuff to wank to, porn has also improved my life in a number of excellent ways.
Porn inspires me to try new things
Some things I do by instinct – mostly submissive stuff. No one needs to show me a video of a girl crying while she gets throat-fucked to tell me that, you know, it’s spectacularly hot.
But most of the dominant things I do I learned by watching porn. I’m not naturally the sort of person who would put nipple clamps on a guy, make him take the chain in his mouth, then ride him while he squealed in agony. Likewise, why would I instinctively tie something tight around a guy’s cock and balls so it throbbed and ached while I wanked him to the brink of coming, over and over again, until he cried?
These are things I learnt from porn. And now that I have seen them, not only have I done them and enjoyed it – I’ve also been tempted to try out more new things. Some of them hit, some of them missed, and some of them have blown my mind.
It gets boys in the mood
Believe it or not, guys aren’t always up for a fuck. Sometimes they’re tired or drunk or hungover or stressed or in the middle of rolling a joint or writing an essay. And in these situations, it is always worth picking one of your favourite videos and putting it in his line of sight. Sometimes he’ll ignore it, or shout “woman, you will be the fucking death of me” but sometimes it’ll work.
On a good day he’ll catch on to exactly what you want him to do and you can watch his dick grow hard through his jeans until it’s solid enough for you to sit on. Porn did that. Way to go, porn.
Porn’s good for hinting
Ever had sex and wished they’d fuck you just that little bit harder? Want to find out what buttsex is like but too nervous to ask? Got a thing for pissing into a cup then forcing your partner to drink it? Or soaping your girl up, pushing a shower hose into her cunt and watching her squirm as she comes in the bath?
These can all be difficult subjects to broach, especially if your sex life is reasonably vanilla. So porn can be a great way to test the waters of something before you leap in with it. Send someone a video with a teasing question – ‘I don’t know why, but this really gets me hot. What do you think?’ The worst they can do is say no. The best they can do is rock up at your house with a bucket of lube and a filthy grin.
But, girlonthenet, what is the best bit of porn on the internet?
Good question, I’m glad you asked. It is this one. You’re welcome.
Postscript: if this link breaks please leave a comment letting me know. Occasionally this video gets deleted from places and I have to do some crying and then re-find it.
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.
Don’t make love to me. Please.
I’ve seen the films, where the guy enters her gently and she gasps with delight. He strokes her face and her hair and their bodies melt together in soft focus. They smile, and whisper, and beautiful music plays – something soulful and deep that you’d put on a mixtape.
This might just work if you’ve been together for years, if you know each other well after nights spent chatting and bonding and bringing each other grapes and tissues when you’re ill. It definitely doesn’t work for an early shag. Here’s why:
If you’re doing it slowly you’re not that keen. By the time you’re in my bedroom (or my lounge, or my bathroom, or the car park of the local McDonalds) I want you to be so hot and hard and desperate that you’ll frot against my thighs when you get close enough. Don’t peel my clothes off slowly while you kiss every inch of my delicate skin; moan and swear and writhe as you tear off your trousers, wondering why it takes as long as 6 fucking seconds to get your cock out and into me. If we’re shagging for the first time (or the second, third, fourth, or twenty-second), you need to be lustful, and hot, and focused so hard on coming that nothing can distract you.
Slow foreplay indicates self-control, and self-control isn’t very sexy. Why would you bother to gently undo my shirt button by button when you could be forcing your cock into the back of my throat? Don’t tell me this is foreplay, don’t tell me it’s there to make sure I’m turned on and as willing to fuck you now as I was when I first got on the night bus home with you; if I weren’t turned on I wouldn’t be here. It was probably me who dragged you onto the night bus in the first place.
From the moment we’re alone and you touch me my legs start to shake, I’ll be panting and wet and desperate and everything that’s good about naked, horny girls. To try and temper that passion with gentle kisses is an insult to the lust that I want to bleed into every pore of your body. If I’m begging you for hardcore, don’t give me Mills and Boon.
But if none of the above has persuaded you, and you still want to stroke my face and call me darling and see if you can melt my frozen heart with the power of your lovemaking, then let’s cut to the chase: I don’t love you, you don’t love me. We should no more be ‘making love’ than we should be naming our first child.
If we’re not fucking then we’re fucking done here.