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On cognitive dissonance, hypocrisy and tits

There are few things that make me want to rub one out more than a seriously lovely pair of tits. Firm, perky tits trapped in something really tight – a corset, a low-cut t-shirt, or occasionally just squished together with a belt or a length of rope.

I was casually perusing the internet recently when I came across a fantastic example of this – a woman with beautiful, hard tits wearing a top stretched tightly over them, with a hand-sized peephole in the middle displaying cleavage, and a rise in the top beneath so you could see the curve of the underside of them. Stunning.

Naturally, I immediately pulled down my jeans and rubbed quick one out – imagining a guy pushing the end of his dick against her chest and wanking until he spurted thick spunk through the hole in her top.

Hypocrisy and self-disgust

Immediately afterwards I felt pathetic and amoral. Not for wanking – if I felt bad for wanking I’d have lost the will to live before I hit my fourteenth birthday. No, I felt pathetic because the picture was:

a) not of a real woman, but of a video game character
b) being used to illustrate an article about the objectification of women in video games.

Not only did I crack one off to an article that explicitly frowned upon crack-offable video game characters, but I subsequently read the article and agreed with it.

Some video game design is shockingly objectifying, and borderline offensive. The women are usually inhumanly pert-breasted, unnaturally slim waisted and wearing clothes that are deeply impractical for fighting. Even the moves seem designed to draw attention to whichever feminine features are expected to most excite teenaged boys. Those who learn the right Dead or Alive moves will be rewarded with a flash of Kasumi’s panties, or a hypersexual throw in which she leaps, cunt-first, at her opponent’s face, squeezing her muscular thighs around their cheeks before hurling them to the ground.

On an intellectual level it disgusts me. But on the very basic, primal level at which I operate when I’m at home in my knickers, it makes me wet. Playing video games against women with massive, hard, well-framed tits leaves me panting and desperate to be touched. I see Ayane’s tits jiggling and I want boys to touch mine. I see her being hurled to the ground and I want to be hurled to the ground. I imagine that after a fight her opponent takes her into the woods, and she stares in awe at him with her impossibly-wide manga eyes as he triumphantly seals his victory by fucking her in the mouth.

Just show me your tits

It works no matter which role I’m in. Whether I’m playing as a male character or a female one. Playing Xbox with a boy today, in between bouts of screaming “die, DIE, eat my fucking AXE, you cuntbag” I was imagining my male character pinning his girl to the floor, and taking her with quick, rough, angry thrusts. Ripping her clinging top from her jiggling tits and spraying jizz all over them.

But although I’ll revel in it at the time – trash talk my opponent and encourage him to join me in my questionable perving (“Look, kiddo – I can see your fucking panties. When I’ve beaten you we’ll watch the replay together so you can imagine me tearing your top open“) – I know it’s wrong. It’s not bad to look at tits, but it is bad to appreciate these particular tits, which have been put there by designers with teenaged boys and quick sales in mind. The game’s been drawn so that – in between beating monsters and stabbing slick-haired sword-wielding princes – players will be imagining the characters fucking.

I don’t know what my conclusion is here – I want there to be something that will square the circle, and explain away my vague sense of self-disgust. I want an excuse for wanking to material that morally I should condemn.

But I’ve got nothing. So I suppose this is a bit of a plea – tell me what the answer is. I figured if anyone would know about masturbating to pixellated images of tits it’d be the friendly hordes of the internet.

So, people – is this OK, or is it reprehensible for a feminist? Should I carry on, safe in the knowledge that no kittens will die in the making of my tragic wanks? Or should I pull up my knickers and grow the fuck up? If you can think of a way I can fight to end female objectification while simultaneously pressing buttons to make tits jiggle, I’d be ever so grateful. I don’t have a penny for your thoughts, but I can start by offering you this picture.

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On 50 Shades of Grey, and other people’s porn

As a purveyor of dirty blog porn, I have an inherent bias towards masturbatory material that involves words instead of pictures. Bottom line: I want more people to read more porn.

Below are two quotes from books I’m reading at the moment. Which one would you most like to rub one out to?

Book 1

“Obediently, I turn, and my heart is thumping, desire instantly replacing unease, coursing through my blood and settling dark and yearning, low, low in my belly. He scoops my hair off my back so it hangs down my right side, curling at my breast. He places his index finger at the nape of my neck and achingly slowly drags it down my spine, his fingernail grazing my skin.”

Book 2

“I bring up a porcelain pot and place it upon my knees, the abbot backs towards me, stoops, I press his anus, pry it open, and, to be brief, agitate it in every way I think to hasten his evacuation. It takes place, an enormous turd fills the bowl, I offer it to its author, he seizes it, precipitates himself upon it, devours it, and discharges after fifteen minutes of the most violent flogging which I administer upon the same behind that shortly before had laid such a splendid egg for his breakfast.”

It won’t surprise you to read that these both come from very different books. Book 2 is ‘120 Days of Sodom’ by the inestimably disgusting Marquis de Sade, and Book 1 is ’50 Shades of Grey’ by the inestimably romantic E.L. James.

Those who have read the first book will know that it’s a fairly mainstream erotic novel, documenting one woman’s discovery of bondage and submission, as she gets drawn further into a sexy romance with an incomprehensibly wealthy businessman. Those who have read the second book will probably still be trying to make the nightmares stop.

I’m a little bit annoyed by 50 Shades of Grey – probably not for the reasons people think. I don’t care that it’s a bit fluffy, or that its wide-eyed shock at the idea of spanking ignores the fairly mainstream nature of the practice. What I really care about is the sheer number of people who have pushed it at me and gone “Hey, GOTN, write a scathing blog post about this!”

50 Shades of Grey is good

I’m going to say it loudly and clearly – 50 Shades of Grey is good. It’s not something I am deeply absorbed by, nor is it something that has led me to slick my knickers and knock a quick one out before bed. But it’s not the tedious drivel-fest that angry people had led me to expect.

There are some parts of the book that, although not written in a way that gets me off, still evoke certain things that can spark my imagination. Right at the beginning our heroine (Anastasia, since you asked) nearly steps out into the road, and our wealthy be-suited hero (Christian) pulls her into his arms. She stays there for a while, trembling and willing him to kiss her.

“Pah!” You cry. “What shite is this? I thought it was a dirty book – why am I reading about a woman in love crying out for a romantic smooch?”

You’re not – you’re reading about a man so dominant and controlling that he can have a woman throbbing with fucklust in the middle of the street. And he is so fucking good – so in control and hard and arrogant and domly – that he makes her throb and yearn by not doing anything at all.

I’ve been in just this situation with dominant guys. The waiting, the desperation, the occasional moans of frustration while a controlled and controlling man decides what he wants to do to you. He might beat you then walk away. Tie you down, sit on your chest and then stroke his cock just inches from your gaping, hungry mouth. He might bend you over and rub the tip of it right over your clit, pushing the end ever so slightly into you, holding you down as you try to push back, wanting him to push the full length of his dick into your throbbing, aching wet cunt.

OK, so the scene in the book doesn’t feature actual cock, and if it featured actual cunt Anastasia would refer to it cringingly as her ‘sex’, but there’s something there that’s hot nonetheless. Although not explicit it conjures a feeling that has so far made thousands upon thousands of readers shudder inside, and ache with a desperate need to be touched.

50 Shades of Grey is not for you

Did I crack one off to 50 Shades? No. At least not yet – I’m only halfway through. But the reason I didn’t is because, as I said above, it’s not for me. I rub one out primarily to cock pictures, videos of dudes wanking and my own sordid and repulsive imagination. So it’s not written with people like me in mind, and if you’re reading this blog, it’s probably not written for you either.

There’s an excellent passage where our dominant, wealthy hero takes Anastasia through a list of soft and hard limits – he asks what he can do to have her panting but not phoning the police. She says yes to spanking, no to anal fisting, but ‘maybe’ to buttsex. And that sums it up perfectly:

50 Shades of Grey is not a book for people who crack one off to sex blogs – 50 Shades is a book for people who say ‘maybe’ to buttsex.

Although I wince at some of the phrasing, although I am embarassed reading it on the train because I don’t want to be seen as a girl who might giggle at the word ‘penis’, although it’s essentially the Twilight of the porn world, I still don’t want to be rude about 50 Shades. Because as long as some people find it hot and wank to it, it’s done its job well.

50 Shades vs the Marquis de Sade

Some people will read erotica that you find cheesy and saccharine. Others will read filth so foul it’ll blow your mind. I like to think (if anyone’s got a lucrative book deal to offer) that I fall somewhere in the highly-marketable area between the two.

My point is that porn is incredibly personal, and it makes me a bit uncomfortable that so many people are pointing and laughing at a book that, for some, could represent their first foray into literary filth.

I like that it exists, because it gives those who like it the opportunity to read it, and it gives people like us, who might have more honed and explicit tastes, the opportunity to reject it on the way to a different bookshelf. But I don’t want to mock it because for those who love it, it’s a very personal glimpse into their fantasies. By all means express an opinion, but delivering a scathing critique could cripple their arousal and leave them feeling cold and pathetic. I don’t want anyone to dip into porn only to be told that their specific taste in filth is laughably wrong, and they shouldn’t bother.

Personally I want to read something much more sordid and direct – I want to read about girls crying with lust as they’re pounded by teams of angry, horny men. I want words like ‘encunted’ and ‘spunk’, and I want porn that takes me from arousal to disgust and then back again until I wonder if I should be arrested. 

But over and above all this I want to see more people getting comfortable with their sexual desires, and being able to discuss those desires without being torn to shreds by more experienced perverts who call their fantasies mediocre. Whether they’re braving the horrors of de Sade or flirting with 50 Shades of Grey, I just want more people to read more porn. 

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On whether porn is cheating

A friend of mine (who knows damn well how to wind me up) sent me a link to a forum on which they were discussing the question “Is watching porn cheating?” to which the answer any sane human being would give is very obviously ‘no.’ On the thread women (and some men who are recovering porn addicts) argue that perhaps it is, and that it certainly feels like it is when a lady accidentally stumbles across her boyfriend’s internet history.

After a brief Google around the subject I discovered that rather than being a mockable minority, the people who believe porn is cheating are not only serious, but worryingly numerous.

I’m presumably preaching to the choir here, but I’d like someone to disagree with me so I can form my argument more fully than I have in this post, which essentially consists of me going “What the ACTUAL MENTAL FUCK ARE YOU ON ABOUT” over and over again.

My boyfriend watches porn and it’s like he’s fucking someone else

No. It’s not at all like he’s fucking someone else because it’s just some pictures on a fucking screen. You’re no more cheating when you watch porn than you’re a vampire when you read Twilight, or a member of the Secret Seven when you crack out the childhood Enid Blyton books.

You sometimes put yourself in the place of people acting in scenes in order to enhance your enjoyment of the material, but that does not mean you are actually there. It doesn’t even mean that were these people performing a live show right in your living room and getting their awesome porny juices all over your sofa, you would join in.

But it’s cheating in the mind, right?

No. Because what you’re describing there is a thought crime. If watching porn is cheating then writing slashfic is a form of rape.

I think this comes from female (and it is usually female – I’d like to see how men react to the idea that their girl watching porn is ‘cheating’) worries about not being adequate, and their partner being sexually interested in other people and things. It’s ‘cheating’ because he’s getting off to something that isn’t you, and that taps into a fairly primitive female jealousy about boys leaving their girlfriends for younger/prettier/thinner/more-willing-to-do-anal models.

Well, it probably sucks for these girls to hear this but he is interested in other people. Sexually. No matter how stunning or sexually adventurous you are, you are not the only thing that makes your man’s dick hard. Nice though you might think that would be, it’s not practical, nor even desirable. Many of his best moves have probably come from things he’s seen while doing some one-handed browsing during an idle moment.

But what he watches is so disgusting and degrading

Hahahaha.

Haha.

No, seriously, stop it – you’re killing me.

It’s so much easier to demonise men for the porn they watch because men tend to require more visual stimulation than women do to get off. In short – you can watch theirs too whereas yours is probably locked away inside your head. Saying that their fantasies are ‘degrading’ and ‘disgusting’ is really easy to do when your own fantasies aren’t exposed for all to see, at the click of a mouse on the 3 a.m. section of your Chrome history.

SECRET ALERT: Women’s fantasies can be disgusting and degrading too.

While John’s beating one out to a video of someone getting beaten on YouPorn, Jane might be having just as much fun imagining biting into her partner’s abdomen until she draws blood and he whimpers and comes into her red and ready lips. Or thinking about her old Geordie history teacher reaching into her open shirt while she finishes off her homework, squeezing her nipples and calling her a ‘good girl’ then dragging her to the front of class to finish the rest while sitting on his lap. Ahem.

I’ve never been as degraded, humiliated, used and spat upon as I am in my own fantasies. It’s extremely lucky for me that most exist only in my head and not on an easily accessible hard drive.

Porn and sexual fantasy is by its nature degrading because the people in it are there for one purpose – to get you off. Even if you’re rubbing one out to the thought of your ex (who you’re still hopelessly in love with, and have a deep and abiding respect for) touching you up until his cock throbs, at the moment you’re fantasising you don’t give a fuck if he’s real or unreal, alive or dead – all you care is that his fictional dick is hard and his fictional fingers are fumbling at your fictional crotch through your pretty, fictional, soaking wet knickers.

But it’s a violation – it just feels disgusting

Porn is disgusting. Your fantasies are disgusting. But that’s OK. We can wallow in gallons of misery and shame during frantic solo sessions and no one gets hurt – our relationships don’t get a fucking look in. You imagine some things in private that you wouldn’t dream of in real life, because it’s unreal – and the unreality of it is what allows you to abandon yourself.

Your wanking is your wanking – it has little to do with your partner or your ex-partners or the guy who delivers you pizza – it has everything to do with the things you think inside your head, or the things that happen inside your head when you’re watching the teeny screen people frig each other off for your delectation.

Wanking (whether to porn or to your own imagined depravity) is usually a solo sport – it wouldn’t work if we allowed others to scrutinise it properly.

If we start giving that the ‘cheating’ label to our personal fantasy life then monogamy is not just dead but hung, drawn, quartered, burned, then fired out into space to make sure it’s gone forever.

If wanking is cheating then no one is faithful.

On my sexy Christmas wish: a casual gang bang

A while ago I asked people for their sexy Christmas wishes. What sexual favours did they want for Christmas? Things they wouldn’t normally get but would normally get wet for. Only one person replied, which I can only assume means you’re either all prudes or you’re all already so sexually satisfied that nothing short of a jizzbomb to the face would satisfy your devious ends.

(more…)

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On porn

I am told that in certain circumstances underboob definitely counts as pornIt’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.