Confession: I secretly want you to fail in your wanking endeavours. OK, perhaps not fail exactly, but struggle. I have a vested interest in you rubbing frantically at your dick with a kind of angry determination – balanced seemingly forever at that tipping point just before you come. I like to watch your face while you’re struggling during an anger wank. I like to see the look in your eyes: rage and frustration and desperation all rolled into one. I like to see your hand gripping harder, feel the bed or the sofa shake as you speed up to try and push yourself over the brink.

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My favourite arcade game used to be the 2p waterfall. I don’t know if you get them everywhere, or just in the kind of shit seaside town I grew up in. A combination of permanent drizzle, a shingle beach, and water you have to have rabies jabs to swim in meant that traditional outdoor activities were far less tempting than the arcade.

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A couple of years ago, I was wandering aimlessly around central London when I stumbled across a truly magnificent thing: the London Naked Cycle Ride. A whole bunch of different people, some painted, some in capes, some on rollerskates, most on bikes – all naked. Most smiling. Some looking a bit chilly (it’s London, after all). It was a pretty amazing thing. As someone who is incredibly insecure about my own body, the temptation to take part in one of these events is often outweighed by the terror of anticipating the moment I’d have to strip off.  So I’m delighted to welcome this week’s guest blogger – Chris – who’s going to talk to you about what it’s like to take part in an event like this. In his case, it’s a clothing-optional run.

Far more than just a nudist account, though, this is a blog about Chris overcoming his insecurities. Chris has a micropenis. Not just a ‘small’ penis – he describes it as ‘the size and shape of a little sewing thimble.’ When he sent through this week’s guest blog about his naked run, Chris told me: “I never could have brought myself to have done it before about age 48, I was so worried about my worth as a man and sexual sufficiency being judged or ridiculed by others.” I’m really pleased that he’s happy to share such a personal journey.

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Yes, we live in a patriarchy. And in our patriarchy, men are generally at a bit of an advantage in terms of money, power, opportunity, and so on. But I’m not going to talk about that today – I want to talk about power and penetration. Specifically the idea that the power in any kind of sexual play is, by default, in the hands of the penetrator.

The other week I wrote something disgustingly filthy about pegging (aka strap on sex). In subsequent discussion, a few people talked about me ‘having the power’ and ‘being the dominant one’, which was interesting. Even when I’m fucking a guy with a big fake cock, I don’t tend to feel that dominant. I get waves of it occasionally, but it struck me that we do tend to assume that strap on sex gives the wearer an immediate power boost. That it’s the cock that’s synonymous with power. That no matter how doe-eyed and submissive I usually am, just by strapping it on I have performed a transformation into a powerful sexual superhero.

Are strap ons powerful?

Of course, there are a lot of expectations around being the penetrator. Watch most mainstream porn, or even most mainstream romance, and men tend to be seen as the ones in control – the ones doing. Men fuck, women get fucked. But of course, although this is the way the story tends to play out, there are a hundred different problems with it, as there are with most of our expectations around gender.

Naturally the obvious point is that not all men have dicks, or indeed want to be the penetrators. Likewise there are many women who can be powerfully sexual, who can penetrate and fuck, while their partners (male or female) prefer to be more passive, more laid-back. And – in the kind of situations I enjoy – there are many people who switch between the two.

I enjoy sex in which I am the fucker rather than the fuckee, and to be honest I don’t usually need a strap on in order to do that. In the right mood and with a fair wind behind me I can shag a guy using only my delicate, weak, unpowerful vagina and he’ll still feel as if he’s been used like a fucktoy.

Your dick as your weakness

Not only can you be powerful with no dick at all, but there are certain sexual situations in which a penis can be the very opposite of a powerful tool: it can be your weakness, your misery, and one of the ultimate symbols of submission.

Knowing you can penetrate me with your dick might give you power in the eyes of a society with a skewed view on genitals, but it’s not going to make you feel that powerful when you’re lying on my bed, constrained by an order not to come, twitching and moaning as I rub lube gently into the aching head of it. Nor when I squeeze it to just before the point of pain and you beg me to put it in my mouth. And certainly not when I lie on my back, with your bound wrists behind my neck, and tell you to fuck me without coming.

As you pull out, shaking with the need to come and pleading with your eyes, your penis doesn’t feel very powerful, does it?

A dirty story to illustrate the point

So are strap ons powerful in and of themselves? The fact that they don’t give direct pleasure to the wearer does give the wearer a certain element of control. Maybe I’m the ‘powerful’ one when I fuck a guy with a strap on purely in virtue of the fact that I feel nothing – that I’m wholly focused on what I can do rather than what I can feel.

Except even that doesn’t really work, because this lack of feeling can also be harnessed to make the wearer feel deeply cowed and submissive. Ask the guy who loved the trembling feeling of submission so much that I used to wrack my brains in bed at night trying to think of new and better ways to make him feel small – the guy who, eventually, I ordered to fuck me with a strap on.

He got hard and shook and begged me to let him fuck me – wrists bound behind my head, as above. I turned him down and dressed him in the strap on harness instead, letting him fuck me with cold, rubber strokes until I came – twitching and clenching around a cock that couldn’t feel it. A cock with no desire, no sensation, no power. Then I told him I was done, and he curled up hard and aching and unable to fall asleep.

What makes a powerful dominant?

Power isn’t contained within a penis – real or fake – and it doesn’t accrue to you just because you are the penetrator. This is one of the many myths we’ve been fed for a number of years, which we still tend to play up to in much of our fucking. I certainly do most of the time – as a straight female submissive, dominance and dick usually go hand-in-hand. I want to be on the bottom, I want to be penetrated: I need to get fucked.

But it’s nice to take a step outside this every once in a while – think about what it is, exactly, that makes someone powerful. It might be different for different people: what makes him powerful is his voice, and the way he has with commands and words. What makes her powerful is the way she can speak volumes just with her eyes or a turn of her head. What makes them powerful is their imagination – the fantastic new things they can order their sub to do, that brings both parties to the brink of shivering climax.

Power isn’t contained within a particular object, or act, or person: it’s a complex, intricate thing. And it’s good to remind myself of that every once in a while – not only does it give me a better perspective on what I truly love about dominance, it also gives me loads of new ideas.

On the list of ‘top 10 emails most likely to grab my attention’, shortly behind ‘free gin’ is the email that says ‘would you like a guest blog about cock?’

This week’s guest blogger is Rose Tinted Glasses – someone whose writing I have admired for a very long time. He writes witty, charming, filthy stories and has a way with words that makes me wish I was sitting in the pub sharing these things with him.

He emailed me to offer a guest blog about dick – specifically on the age-old question ‘does dick size matter?’ I’ve always wanted to get a guest blog on this topic from someone who has a penis of their own. If I had one I’d be too busy masturbating and weeing patterns on concrete patio slabs, but he has kindly taken time out from penis-based fun to give us a filthy and insightful view on size, and everything that goes with it.

Does dick size matter?

I am old enough to have not had the Internet around when I discovered porn. Like most British boys back then I first saw porn in magazines, dumped in hedgerows in the countryside. A cliché, but like most clichés, it was borne of some truth. That really did used to happen. Walking along a country lane you think ‘what’s that in the undergrowth?’ and when you have a look, you have hit paydirt. A glossy, filthy magazine – thrown away by someone who did not want to be caught with it at home. Word would spread around the village, ‘There’s a jazz mag out by the path along the main road’ or wherever.

I remember one summer holiday afternoon a mate asking whether I wanted to check out the one he’d found that week. Of course I did. So we rode out on our bikes, left them at the top of an embankment just off the road, and scrambled down the grassy bank to a path at the bottom. There was a hedgerow and, sure enough, a porn magazine hidden in the undergrowth. We crouched down and flicked through the pages. “I’m gonna have a wank.” announced my friend, then added “If I wank like this more often, will my dick get to be as big as yours?”

I hadn’t got a clue. I told him I didn’t know. That was the first time I was really aware that cocks come in different sizes.

I’m in my mid-thirties and I am, generally, pretty secure in myself – in my sexual preferences, my likes and dislikes, and definitely comfortable with my cock. I’m happy with being me. It’s not enormous. I’m not a porn star with a huge dong. It’s bigger than average, but not so large as to be a ‘big deal’. I have learned, for certain, that size isn’t good or bad. It’s just what it is. There is no such thing as ‘too small’ or ‘too big’. No such thing as ‘too curved’ or ‘the wrong shape’. People either fit together well or they don’t – and whatever your cock is like, there are people out there who it will work perfectly for. So perfectly they will be screaming your name and begging you to put it back inside them.

Our self-image is governed by the reactions and comments of others. Their perceptions are filtered through their own past experiences. It’s circular. Whilst sort-of-dating (but really more like sort-of-shagging-regularly) two girlfriends in our first year of university, one of them would tell me often how I was the biggest she had ever had, how much she loved it and how much it hurt, just a little, in that good way, when I was inside her. The other girl said quite the opposite. That my cock was ‘nice but not all that big’. Then again, she was able to swallow me all the way to the base of my shaft, so I took her at her word. A cynic might have thought that the former of the girls was lying to flatter me. I didn’t. I thought that they had just had very different past experiences.

My ex-wife was more experienced than I was, when we first met. She had been around. I mean that as a compliment – I admire a little experience and an open mind. She never complimented my cock, at all. She simply wasn’t impressed. We had talked about it, I forget why … and she just said that she’d had much bigger in the past. And it had hurt, to the point where it was unpleasant. Size really isn’t everything, guys.

Widening my sexual horizons over the years meant that I developed a bit more perspective on the size of my cock. You learn a lot about other guys’ dicks when you start enjoying threesomes, group sex, or going along to swingers clubs. Even more so when you get stuck in and play with some of the guys as well as the girls.

For example … there was a couple I had met at a swingers club. Only chatting, before everybody split off towards the bedrooms later on. They were friendly, and we stayed in touch online. The husband emailed me a few weeks later, saying that it was his wife’s birthday at the weekend and he wanted to give her a treat. Would I be up for calling round, along with as many other guys as he could round up, to gangbang his wife? I had no idea people actually used that word in the real world. Gangbang. It sounded like something you should only ever use in comedies. I am a sucker for new experiences though, so I said yes.

I followed the husband’s directions out to leafy suburbia on a quiet Sunday afternoon and knocked on the door. He answered, said hi, we shook hands, and he led me inside and straight up the stairs. “We’ve got ten guys, including you. More might turn up. I have to keep pulling these trousers back on to answer the door …” He pointed me through the upstairs rooms when we reached the landing. “That’s the bedroom, the bathroom, and the spare. If you can take off all your clothes in the spare room and just pile them up somewhere, then come through … I’ll see you in a minute.”

Now, I had been to sex parties before, but ten guys and one girl was a different matter entirely. Walking into a room full of strangers, naked, is an unnerving experience. We were all completely nude. Guys of all sizes and ages, standing around the perimeter of the bedroom. The husband had slipped out of his trousers, but still had a T-shirt on. He was the only one. His wife was kneeling in the middle of the bed, in the centre of the room. She was wearing a black lingerie set – nothing fancy, but nice. She was giggling and grinning from ear to ear. This felt weird, but not at all unsafe. Her obvious glee put me at ease. Nothing bad was likely to happen here. The husband laid out some ground rules. Sensible stuff. Condoms for penetration and if any of you are bisexual, please don’t freak out the straight guys in the room – this is just about giving her a treat, not you.

“Come on then.” said the wife. “Give me some cocks.” She reached to her left, for the nearest guy, and took his cock in her hand. He was halfway hard and she slowly stroked him all the way, then leaned over and took him in her mouth. A couple of the guys on the opposite side of the bed sort of looked at each other and shrugged, before climbing on to the bed. One positioned himself beside her and guided her spare hand to his crotch, the other knelt on the pillows at the top of the bed and gave her a slap on the arse cheek. She let the first guy’s cock go and giggled again. “Good start. Come on, the rest of you.”

I’m not here to tell you how that afternoon progressed in filthy detail (that is what my own blog is for), but it is a good way to talk about variety. We went from awkwardly standing around in various degrees of arousal to being a room full of hard cocks taking turns, anything up to five at a time, with the wife. When not joining in, most of us were standing beside, watching and wanking. There were guys with small cocks. Guys with circumcised and uncircumcised cocks. Guys with straight cocks, curved cocks, and even a couple of guys who couldn’t get it up. There was one guy with an enormous cock. Probably the biggest I have ever seen in the flesh. Long, thick, and kept rock-solid with a steel cock ring. He was taking poppers as well, which nobody else in the room wanted to join in with, despite his generous offers. At one point he was sliding his fingers into the girl’s cunt whilst I was fucking her – reaching between my legs with my balls slapping off his wrist and pushing two fingers in alongside my dick. I was thankful it was his fingers and not that massive cock.

I did learn something from that afternoon. (Aside from the welcome knowledge that being surrounded by other men didn’t stop me from performing, as it were.) I realised that despite the huge variation in cock size, and body shape … that girl was just as happy with every single one of us. She just wanted cock. She did not care if you had a big one or a small one. They were all good. (Which sounds like a certain Girl On The Net we all know and love.) And she was right. I have gone down on guys in my time. I don’t care if yours is smaller than mine, it’s still going to feel hot as hell wrapping my lips around it and making you come.

Did you enjoy that as much as I did? Then please do visit his excellent blog – Rose Tinted Glasses – and follow him on Twitter. I agree with most of what he says, although I have to take exception on the phrase ‘gang bang‘ (it is one of my favourites). But on dicks? They’re beautiful – long, short, fat, thin, curved in any direction: there’s more variety than Heinz. Ironically, one of the few areas in which men tend not to differ is in their attitudes towards their own dick  – firstly that they worry about it, and secondly that they rarely ever need to.