The Good, The Bad and The Slutty.

"La femme n'est victime d'aucune mystérieuse fatalité : il ne faut pas conclure que ses ovaires la condamnent à vivre éternellement à genoux."
 Simone de Beauvoir

The label ‘slut’ is tossed around rather haphazardly and far too often these days, in my opinion. And, in the majority of contexts, it is used as a pejorative. The dictionary itself regards it as such: 

slut [slʌt]

n

1. a dirty slatternly woman

2. an immoral woman

(Note: 'immoral'! It doesn't get much more outdated than that.)

Recently, one of my boyfriend’s friends was considering asking a girl out on a date, though he couldn’t quite make up his mind. His reasoning behind this indecision? She has a ‘reputation’, and he feared he would be laughed at for dating her. We females, however, it must be added, are subject to doing the exact same thing. If we discover a man has slept with an indeterminate amount of women, we immediately become much more wary, given his newly-verified status as a ‘player’. Here, we must once again note the vast divide between the two sexes: men won’t date ‘sluts’ for fear of being mocked; women won’t date ‘players’ for fear of heartbreak. 

Now, I may sound brassy and insolent with this next remark, but my question this week is as follows: who the fuck actually cares?! When did the quantity of someone’s previous sexual partners suddenly take centre stage when it comes to assessing their character? Whatever happened to personality, or sense of humour? And most importantly of all, when did we all become so fucking shallow?

Admittedly, no-strings-attached sex isn’t for everyone. Some women are downright useless at it. You are the women who drunkenly stumble into bed with a man, attempt to snuggle up afterwards, leave your number on a post-it note on his pillow (signed with a lipstick kiss) for when he wakes up, and then spend the next evening sobbing relentlessly into a cheap bottle of Chardonnay because he hasn’t yet added you on Facebook.

On the other hand, some of you are one-night stand pros. The ‘walk of shame’ does not exist in your world. Instead, you choose to stride home with pride, regardless of the fact that you’re only wearing one false eyelash and have left your bra behind.

Indeed, there is nothing wrong with not being a casual sex expert. It's really all about getting yourself into the right mindset. If you feel him starting to worm his way into anything other than your vagina, leave immediately and don't look back. To those of you who have this sussed (the so-called 'sluts' of the world) I salute you! You are fun, you experiment, you are audacious, you are confident, you challenge gender stereotypes and, let's face it, you come out of it with some very entertaining anecdotes. Myself, for example:

Christmas Eve, 2010, in the pub. The last thing I remember is someone slamming two large glasses of wine and a shot of Sambuca down in front of me. After that, I have some feeble recollections of attempting to give a blow job, but failing miserably as I had utterly forgotten the technique. At some stage I think we had sex… Maybe… I had clearly forced him to set an alarm, as I was rudely awoken at 9am on the dot by an incredibly irritating polyphonic version of the Nokia tune. A quick getaway was necessary, I decided, as I’d promised my Mum that I’d be home for Christmas. However, in the immense confusion that had been the night before, I had forgotten how I had come to be in his bedroom. So, too drunk to be socially acceptable, with mascara all down my face and half of my hair extensions hanging out on one side, I continued down the stairs… Little did I know that, at the bottom, sat his Mum, his Dad and his 6 year old little brother, merrily opening presents under the Christmas tree! I proceeded to introduce myself (!), wish a far too enthusiastic ‘MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ONE AND ALL!!’, before finally cascading wildly out of the front door.

But I digress. My point is this: does telling foolish stories like this about my sexual history render me a ‘slut’? Because, trust me, I’ve got so many more where that came from. Surely, what is more important is that I am able to recount this to you, my dear readers. I am neither humiliated nor ashamed by this experience, nor did I leave his house feeling dirty or cheap. I also managed to remember my pants (having probably not taken them off in the first place.)

My conclusion therefore is this: if you are choosing to shag everything with a pulse in a futile attempt  to increase your already diminished self-esteem then stop immediately, because this is where the problems start. Casual sex can never be the cure. There are many much more simple solutions (join a gym, eat more vegetables etc). However, if you are confident within yourself and happy with what you are doing, then fuck the dictionary definition, fuck the word 'slut' and, instead, go forth and fuck whoever the hell you want. In addition, maybe we should pay less attention to how many people we’ve slept with, and instead concentrate more on actually using protection during the act itself. Get your condoms on, lads. After all, nothing says ‘not tonight, love’ quite like a potentially large and deadly bout of syphilis. 

* All pictures featured on this blog post come from this website: http://motleynews.net/2012/04/23/war-o-women-powerful-messages-written-on-womens-bodies/  Take a look, it's some pretty powerful stuff.
** I have finally succeeded in getting a 'followers' button! (It took long enough.) So if you would like to keep up to date with this fantastic blog, do feel free to follow me =) As per usual, any comments and suggestions about the blog, or any questions for me are more than welcome.

Paris x

From Ukraine, With Love...

I’m sure you’ll have guessed by now, given the tone of my previous 3 blogs, that I am nothing if not an immense pessimistic. Thus, in my snug little cynical world, the idea of soul mates and everlasting love is nothing short of ludicrous. We live in a world with a population of 6,973,738,433 (or so claims the World Bank), around 50.3% of which is made up of men. And yet I met my boyfriend because we both live in the same city and, at one time, we both worked in the same workplace. And there are an enormous amount of couples who meet like this on a daily basis. Are they each other’s soul mate?  Do I think my boyfriend is mine? Of course I fucking don’t. How could he be? And yet I stay with him, day in, day out, while the real love of my life hunts for me hopelessly and desperately throughout his office situated somewhere on the outskirts of Ukraine. ‘I’m here, Oleksandr!! Come get me!!’

So is the problem that we are not searching hard enough for our potential everlasting love? Are we simply giving up too early and choosing to settle too soon? If one day we find ourselves standing at the alter and taking our vows of til death do us part, when we say ‘I do!’, are we actually groaning ‘You’ll do.’?

We are all riddled with flaws. I cannot deny that there are aspects of boyfriend that I would like to change. He can be stubborn and selfish, and sometimes I find myself wishing he would kiss me more, or hold my hand more often. He also has the worst feet I have ever seen and some stray black hairs on his back that he refuses to let me pluck out. We’re all searching for that ‘perfect person’, but if my boyfriend changed all these aspects of himself, surely I would simply seek out more faults (and more hairs). Am I being unfair? Evidently I’m not perfect either, and (as far as I’m aware anyway) he isn't currently composing a blog depicting all of my numerous imperfections. When, then, do we stop desiring more from someone, and learn to accept them for who they are, awful feet and all? If we choose to believe the hype, and there really is only one perfect person out there for each of us, does this mean we must hunt through over 3 billion men in order to find ‘the one’?! If we consider this, in addition to taking the phrase ‘nobody’s perfect’ as a given truth, then surely our lifelong search for them is doomed to failure before it has even truly begun.

Have you ever almost given up on your relationship, so composed an incredibly drunken list of the pros and the cons of your partner? ‘Fairly wealthy? Pro. Likes to tuck penis between legs and dress up in bras? Definite con.’ Maybe this is what people do pre-marriage proposal. If the good outweighs the bad, then they settle. And if they’ve already purchased an incredibly expensive ring before composing this list? Might as well go ahead with it regardless then! No turning back now.

As it stands in my cynical little world, I’m still composing a mental list of the pros and cons of marriage, and have so far failed to find any advantages whatsoever ( though I accept that everyone has a different slant on this argument.) My boyfriend, on the other hand, despite his hideous feet and the fact that he weighs about 2 stone less than I do (!), has many more pros on his list. He is an optimist to combat my pessimism, one of the all-round happiest people I’ve ever met, easy to talk to and a lot of fun to spend time with. He also gives incredible head and is, without a doubt, the best sex I’ve ever had. And, for some completely unfathomable reason, he loves me too. My apologies, Oleksandr, but it seems that, for now, you will have to continue your search of Ukraine. I’m staying right here with him. 

This blog is dedicated to N****,

Because we have been going out for a year today.
Thank you,
I never thought it was possible to love somebody like this xxx

Why Don't You Go Fuck Yourself?

‘Hot blonde slut with massive jugs sliding her massive vibrator into her wet twat.’ The very intelligently composed description aside, so far the only amusing part of this video is that the protagonist is sporting a badly inked hash plant tattoo on her wrist. Why am I watching porn at 3pm on a Tuesday I hear you ask? Well, obviously it’s all in the name of blog research.

Now we all know men love to wank. And my boyfriend especially.  Unfortunately for me, I frequently have to be involved in this process. His argument, as I try and fail to avoid another full blast of jizz in my face?  Sperm  is great for the skin. Right…

Fortunately, it seems the 21^st century has given birth to a new breed of sexually open women, and we too like to get ourselves off. However, studies show that while 90% of the male population are wanking away regardless, only 65% of the total female population are. So I had to ask: what the hell are the other 35% doing? We successfully freed ourselves from the kitchen, but why are women still so reluctant to fuck themselves?

It amuses me to ponder how men believe we women masturbate. I imagine they think we do it in sexy lingerie, maybe watching porn or looking at ourselves seductively in the mirror. And I imagine they assume we think about them. Well, my apologies in advance, men, but you are sadly disillusioned. Here is the reality of when I participate in this particular pastime: what will I be wearing? It is highly likely that I haven’t even bothered to remove a scrap of clothing, and it is just as likely that I am wearing my most tragic pants (I do possess a particularly beautiful pair covered in bananas that would not look out of place on a campsite). And what will I be watching? I begin fully intending to simply watch something on my laptop and it’s only when I get bored that my hands start wandering south... Unfortunately, what I will have chosen to watch is not, in fact, a hot threesome with five squirting Asian babes, but rather something tragic like Glee or Grey’s Anatomy. It is only after I come that I realise that I have just masturbated over either an incredibly graphic limb amputation, or some over-enthusiastic young adults who erupt into song far more often than is really necessary in a 45 minute time slot.

I also always begin trying to picture something sexy and erotic. However, like most people’s, my mind has a habit of wandering and, in the end, I will reach climax picturing the lentil soup which I plan to have for dinner. I assume men around the country will be furiously wanking over this image of me as they read. (Those included in the 90%, that is.)

Personal sexual detour aside, I sincerely hope that the previously acknowledged 35% of non-masturbating women are simply too embarrassed to admit to it. However, I fear this is not the case.  You don’t have to trawl far through Google to find numerous accounts from women giving various reasons why they don’t do it. The main one which shocked me (probably because I’m a raging atheist) was that many women felt guilty because it is a sin in the eyes of God. My response? According to you religious folk, God designed the human body. Thus, God gave us a clitoris, which, if you haven’t yet noticed, has no other function than to give us pleasure. In addition, if Adam and Eve were the only living beings when the Earth was first created, what do we assume Eve did on the long nights when Adam had been working all day and claimed he was ‘too tired’? Ladies, God wanted you to enjoy yourselves so I suggest you go out, purchase the biggest vibrator you can find, and do what he asked.

 And if my God argument has so far failed to convince you, were you also aware of the many health benefits of masturbation? Not only does it function to relieve depression and increase self-esteem, it also lowers your blood pressure (yes, really!) and allows you to discover your own body. Because honestly, what is the point in having a PHD in Biochemistry if you don’t even know how to make yourself orgasm?

And let’s be honest here, you need to give yourself some love because, when it comes down to it, can anyone really fuck you better than you can? My fellow females, let us not allow men to have all the fun; let us raise those statistics to at least 91%! My advice to the 35% who still don’t? Put some Glee on, bore yourself senseless, and let your hands wander. Get with the times, people: it’s the 21^st century, and we’re all just a big bunch of wankers. 

**As a side note, comments about anything in this blog that you may like or despise, and suggestions of something you would like me to write about are always appreciated!

Go Big or Go Home?

So, whilst doing some online research to determine what was to be my next fascinating blog topic, I stumbled across a rather interesting article on our good old friend the penis. (When I say ‘stumbled across’, obviously I mean I typed ‘penis size’ directly into the Google search engine). This article (http://www.netdoctor.co.uk/sex_relationships/facts/penissize.htm) written by a certain Dr David Devlin, describes how previous statistics regarding penis size given in both medical books and press articles are likely to have been inaccurate, and that the average penile length is in fact significantly smaller than previously claimed.

As a result, research into this area will no longer be counting on ‘notoriously unreliable’ self-measurement, given that ‘the results tend to be skewed by people who falsely claim to be 10 or 11 inches long’ (!).  However, it is not simply these ridiculous overestimaters that are to blame, as the author, our good friend David, also raises the issue of men who are using ‘inaccurate rulers or ancient tape measures.’ Have we really all now become so money-hungry that stationers are purposefully selling us unreliable and prehistoric measuring equipment?

Let’s be serious for a moment, we are all fully aware that no two penises are the same. We've all heard the horror stories of the ‘chode’ penis. (For those of you who are blissfully ignorant of this concept, it signifies a penis which is wider than it is long). Likewise, nobody wants to be like the world famous Jonah Falcon, 13.5 inches and girlfriendless for the past 12 years. So this got me thinking: Can we honestly continue reassuring men sporting 3-inchers that it’s not the size but rather the motion in the ocean that actually counts? And how big really is too big?

Now I have a story for you. I met a guy when I was travelling China. He was 26, from London, stood at about 7ft tall and had a cock to match. The first time his monstrous penis and I became acquainted was on the top bunk of a sleeper train travelling from Xi’an to Yangzhou (classy girl that I am). I proceeded to go down on him, only to get the shock of my life when I discovered what was lurking under the covers waiting for me. I promise that I am not exaggerating when I tell you that I could barely fit it in my mouth. Unfortunately, I never got to experience what it would have been like to have that monstrosity inside me, (trust me, I tried!) as I’m entirely convinced that he had a long term girlfriend awaiting him (and it) back at home.

My friend, on the other hand, dated a guy for 3 years who was nicknamed ‘the Pringle’s tube’. I don’t think her vagina has ever fully recovered.

Fortunately for me, my boyfriend has a lovely penis. It’s big, but not so big that it becomes synonymous with terrifying. It’s also quite nice to look at (no pubes hanging out the bell end, no over-sized swollen balls etc.) I have also never been this attracted to anyone in my entire life. My ex, on the other hand, had a perfectly fine sized penis… Actually, come to think of it, maybe it was slightly smaller than your average… Either way, towards the end of our completely failing 5 year relationship, the sexual attraction had entirely disappeared and I had no desire whatsoever for that to be anywhere near my vagina.

My conclusion therefore is this: When it comes down to it, maybe it is neither the size nor the motion in the ocean that really counts, but rather how hot you both are for each other. Why does it matter if he is slightly smaller than your average, if you want him to throw you down, tear off your pants and stick it in you anyway? So Dr David, my advice to you? Stop writing articles in a futile attempt to justify your own penile insecurities, and instead go out and find a woman who makes you feel like the world will end if you don’t have her then and there. If she feels the same attraction for you, (you haven’t included a self-portrait in your article, so I’m not sure how likely this is) then you’re sorted. Unless, of course, your penis is in fact 2 inches long. In that case, I’m sorry sweetheart, but no amount of self-indulgent, ego conditioning articles can save you now.