New Year is, apparently, a time for announcing to the world exactly what’s wrong with you.

You make resolutions so you can tell people “This year I’ll lose two stone/give up smoking/stop crywanking every Saturday night while watching films starring Jennifer Aniston.”

I wouldn’t mind that much, but there doesn’t seem to be anything to balance this out. We all know that there are some things that are wrong with us. Most of us are a bit fat, most of us have habits that are either bad for our health or irritating to our loved ones.

But we also all have certain qualities that are admirable, beautiful, or just plain cool.

Self-hatred ain’t sexy

During the first week of January, resolutions sweep through people I know like a wildfire of self-doubt. Friends who I have a very high opinion of will leap out of the woodwork and declare ‘hey, here’s my flaw – you might not have spotted it yet but it’s there.’

For the purposes of fuelling my rant, I’m going to use losing weight as an example.

Disclaimer: if you’re resolving to lose weight because your current weight causes you mobility/health problems, then not only do I 100% support you, but if you drop me an email I will give you some exciting tips on how to do it. OK, not necessarily exciting, they basically all consist of me saying ‘eat salad, then fuck vigorously’.

Most people are a bit fat, and I’ve spoken before about how guys who are a bit fat are pretty sexy. But above and beyond the aesthetic value of some hot jiggling, there’s something that comes even higher in the list of ‘things that are hot’ – not giving a shit about your weight.

Nothing is less sexy than someone moaning about their love handles. No one wants to listen to a partner telling them exactly how much weight they’ve put on, which bits of their body are the fattest, or exactly how many calories they’re limiting themselves to each day.

Feel free to make self-deprecating jokes about it, but as soon as you ‘resolve’ to ‘fix’ it, it becomes an issue. Something that your partners and friends feel they must notice, tiptoe-around, and pander to. Worst of all, it could even make them feel the need to ‘support’ you in your efforts by cooking you healthy food, or joining you in a run around the block.

A better new year’s resolution

Everyone’s got flaws – you might be a bit fat, need to ditch smoking, be an irritating cunt when drunk or, in my case, all of the above. But there are inevitably some things about you that are bloody great. You might be hilarious, generous in getting rounds in, in possession of a spectacular arse, or able to deep-throat people with aplomb.

So make new year’s resolutions if you like, but as a gesture towards the well-rounded and at-least-partially-brilliant person you inevitably are, why not pick one or two things that you definitely don’t want to change? Choose two things that are ace about you, and resolve, with all the willpower that your awesome mind can muster, to keep them exactly as they are.

Number 16 was a rare find – a genuinely good mate with whom I spent many a brilliant hour getting utterly pissed and chatting about anything and everything.

The first time we had sex was a complete accident – I don’t think either of us had entertained the notion until one night, after downing enough tequila to fell an elephant, we ended up snogging mid-karaoke in a dirty pub at 2 am.

Oh. We’re doing this, are we? OK.

That initial shag eventually led to a comfortable routine – beer, more beer, yet more beer and then a pissed stumble back to his flat where we’d swap stories of past sexual conquests, smoke an obscene number of fags, then undress each other and fuck like we were playing tennis.

I don’t want to describe a specific incident, but I would like to make an observation – number 16 made noises.

The sex itself was vanilla – frantic, hot, pissed and desperate. We’d both decide we’d had enough of drinking and went into his room to strip off. And while we were stripping he’d talk, and while he was cupping my tits in his hands he’d talk, and when we were fucking he’d talk. And it was so. Fucking. Good.

He spoke to me, he moaned, he said ‘oh yes’ when I did something nice. He sucked in big gulps of breath while I had his cock in my mouth. He sighed. He moaned a bit more. He went ‘ugh’ when he came.

Number 16 said things and talked dirty. He told me he was hard, that he loved how it felt when he was inside me. He told me how wet I was. He asked me if I liked it. He groaned and sighed and climaxed with vocal, lusty relief.

Good lord the world could do with more vocal boys. Vocal boys make me feel so good. I love the challenge of doing things to make them go ‘aaah’ and if I get that feedback I’m going to keep doing it again and again. If I could request anything from the gentlemen of this world it’d be to turn up the fucking volume.

You don’t have to shout it from the rooftops, you don’t have to scream and cry and wail like a mourning widow. But don’t lie there in silence, humping me stoically with a face of concentration like you’re solving a particularly difficult crossword puzzle. Come on boys – make some noise.

___

We’re still mates. He has a girlfriend now and is almost like a proper grown-up. They go on holiday and have dates and are serious with each other, and when we get together for beers he tells me about her and I’m pleased that he’s got the secure happiness which, let’s be frank, I can’t give to guys.

But I still look at him and want to tear him apart.

I see his sexy, filthy hands gripped round a pint glass and remember how he’d take his rings off before plunging his fingers into my cunt.

How he’d hold my hair back so he could watch me taking the length of his cock into my mouth.

How he’d squeeze my tits nice and hard, and tell me that I liked it.

I mostly remember the noisy sex – what he sounded like.  What he’d say to me, how he’d moan and sigh. Best of all that wonderful, audible moment when he’d shudder and – with a muffled cry – come deep inside me so hard I could feel it.

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.

 

It’s brilliant. Can I leave it at that? No, I guess not – it’s complicated.

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.