Getting It On Gracelessly

Sex scenes in movies are always so perfect. Their clothes come off perfectly. They fit together perfectly. They change positions perfectly. Even the sounds to come out of their perfectly agape mouths are perfect.

Fucking bullshit.

Sex never happens like that. Everyone knows that leggings and skinny jeans are a bitch to get off. Someone always gets kicked in the head when switching positions, and someone’s always making a face  or saying something stupid that makes you want to smother them with a pillow.

Sometimes things just go wrong during sex. Sometimes it’s horrendous, sometimes it’s awkward, sometimes it’s kind of hilarious, and sometimes it’s just a sweaty amalgamation of the three. We’re only human, after all.

Here are some situations you just have to laugh through..

When a guy notices that your boobs are different sizes. So, I’m aware that most women have slightly different breast sizes, and that that’s completely normal, but I feel like mine are noticeably asymmetrical. As you always tend to be your own worst critic, I thought – even though the gap in my bra was real – maybe I was overplaying the difference in my mind, and just left it. It was never really something I thought about when getting naked with someone else, either, as no one ever mentioned it. Until they did. One night in my final year of university, I went home with this fucking moronic ginger boy who had had a thing for me for, like, a year. Things happened as they usually do. I later found out he may have been a virgin; this didn’t surprise me. The kid acted like I was the pot of gold at the end of his fucking rainbow. In reality, I’m more like a plastic cup full of pennies, so ginger virgin definitely made sense. Anyway, as I just lay there letting him do what he wanted until an appropriate amount of time had passed so that I could kick him out, he cupped both my boobs in his hands and said, ‘They’re different sizes. This one’s bigger; this one’s my favourite.‘ WHAT DO YOU SAY TO THAT?! There was nothing to do but laugh and agree and try to change the conversation. It didn’t happen again until a month or so ago when the Tinder Ginger did basically the exact same thing. I have come to the conclusion that gingers see boobs so rarely that they really fucking pay attention.

When you vom on a guy’s dick. This is mortifying, but fucking hilarious in retrospect. It’s my favourite story that I just never tell because I was so drunk it’s like it happened in a dream, and so I never remember it. Now listen, when I say ‘so drunk’, I don’t mean ‘can’t walk in my heels and offering blowjobs for McDonald’s’ kind of drunk. I mean it was definitely taking advantage of my state to go home with me. However, because we knew each other well, no one really thought anything of it even though they knew we shouldn’t have been shagging. Long story short, I think I passed out in the middle of proceedings, and when I came to, he was sitting on my torso, moving his cock towards my mouth. What a fucking gentleman. My memory fades out here, but from what I can gather, being the drunk slut I was, I gladly opened my big mouth and welcomed him in. Big mistake. The next thing I know, he’s wiping me down with a towel and I’m standing there saying, ‘Well that’s never happened before.‘ I wish I remembered actually being sick because it’s probably the funniest thing I’ve ever done – if you don’t agree, by the way, you really have no business being here – but I think my brain at the time classified it as traumatic and instantly blocked it out. In reality, it must have been a combination of the angle and the fact that I was too drunk to even have a raisin pass down my throat, but I like to think that my body just knew that the whole situation was wrong and decided to violently reject him.

When a guy refuses to go down on you. I have never had to ask for head before in my life. That’s not to say that it’s happened during every sexual encounter, but I’ve never felt like it definitely needed to be added to the roster enough to warrant asking for it. Additionally, I’m not much of a talker. You’re not going to get any verbal feedback from me no matter how much you ask for it. So, when this boy had his head between my thighs one night and JUST WASN’T DOING IT, I was so frustrated that when he asked, ‘What can I do?‘ I so meekly replied, ‘Can you put your mouth on it?‘ I die a little inside just thinking about it. So, when he looked up at me and said no, I just didn’t know what to do. I felt so awkward and exposed that my automatic response was to close my legs, forgetting that his head was still there. I think he thought I was trying to force feed him. Awkward. When I text Emily about it the next day, she told me that her friend yelled at a bloke who had refused to do it until he felt so bad that he just did it anyway – I like to think I handled it better than that, at least.

When a guy refuses to let you go down on him. I don’t tend to wait to be asked; I just do it. I’m kind like that. And I just so happen to be excellent at it so why not show off the skill set?  So, when this kid stopped me RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE, and said he ‘wasn’t feeling it‘, I was devastated. That may seem melodramatic, but it hit my confidence so hard that the first thing I did the next morning was text my friend saying, ‘Want a blozza? I got stopped mid-suck and feel inadequate‘. Obviously he did, and we ended up shagging later that night. I, however, did not feel the slightest bit better about myself even though I got the reaction that I wanted. The next time I saw the initial guy, though, he asked for head and loved it. And all was right with the world.

When you laugh in someone’s mouth. The first time I got with W, we were lying on his bed watching movies. They were my choices, so I think I was significantly more into them than he was; he talked the whole way through The Big Lebowski, and decided that Megamind was the perfect time to keep trying to get it on. I’ve seen both a shit tonne of times so basically know exactly what’s going on at any given moment and can anticipate what’s to come. So, there we were making out during this delightful children’s movie when my favourite line comes up – ‘Ollo‘. Because Megamind can’t say ‘hello‘. I burst out laughing in his mouth. Yes, I’m about 5 years old. He literally jumped away from me to the other side of the bed, whilst I carried on laughing. This was the second time we’d met. I think I semi-apologised, but more just explained that it was a fucking hilarious line. He edged towards me and said, ‘Don’t do that again. That was so awkward.’ 11 months later and it’s still my favourite memory with him.

Have you experienced any of these situations? What awkward things have you encountered during sexy times?

Oops!…I Did It Again

First off, can I just say – two song title titles in a row? I should be writing for Grey’s Anatomy.

So, if you remember, I was supposedly using this ginger kid I met on Tinder. I say supposedly because I really don’t think I was, but let me lay all this drama llama out there and you can decide for yourself..

I know I said I had no interest in seeing him again, but, as was inevitable, he did ask if I wanted to do something on Friday night – the ‘something’ obviously being sexy time. As I am incapable of making [good] decisions, I asked a selection of friends what I should do. Basically, they all said ‘NO’. Consequently, I said ‘yes’. I messaged TG back to finalise plans and to casually let him know that I wouldn’t be staying over. I don’t think he was overly happy with that as he asked, ‘oh, was it the cuddling?’ but he accepted it regardless.

The evening rolled around, I threw on a jumper and leggings (classic combo) and headed over to his. We drank some wine, had some sex, and he walked me to the bus stop.

What a freaking lovely evening. I didn’t feel like I had used him at all. Everyone else had been wrong. I was right, like always. Fuck the haterz etc.

So, after going to bed feeling satisfied, I woke up the next morning in agony. Literally, is there anything worse than a bruised vagina? It hurt to put pants on. It hurt to walk around. It hurt to pee. It hurt to just fucking sit down. Prince Harry had well and truly fucked me.

Obviously I then complained about it to everyone, basically to announce that I got laid again – like The Lonely Island but just a touch more subtle

Needless to say, not one soul offered me any sympathy. So, after being called a slut and getting told that I used the poor ginger again, I, like the trooper I am, used my banged up fanny as an excuse to lay on the sofa and watch reruns of Sex and the City all day.

Naturally, five hours passed by and I was late to start getting ready for my friend’s birthday shindig. I cried to my best friend over whatsapp about how none of my clothes felt comfortable and then eventually settled on leggings and a blouse – classic me.

Drinks and dancing was super fun, but once I realised that I would miss the last rail replacement bus and decided that I was completely against taking the night bus home, I messaged Ben and asked what he was doing. Not unto my surprise, he had all the time in the world for me and after a quick ‘but you’ll have to stay over’ caveat, I was on my way.

Look, I know how this sounds, but I really wasn’t just using his place as a means to avoid the nightbus (but if you knew how rapey my walk home is, you’d totally understand). The night went as you’d expect it to go, though I’m not sure that was wise considering the state of my vagina at the time. I did disclose the situation at hand when he collected me from the station – he seemed far too overjoyed at the thought of me opting to stay over just for cuddles –  so he was fairly careful with me, but it was still pretty rough going.

Sex aside, he’s nice to talk to and we do get on. But, alas, the kid, at some point during the night, administered what I like to call ‘the kiss of death’. HE KISSED ME ON THE FOREHEAD. THE FOREHEAD, GUYS. So, obviously that meant he had to go.

I’ve yet to meet someone who truly understands my hatred for this ungodly act. They get that it’s weird when boys you’ve just met in da club do it (trust me, it happens), and that it is a very affectionate thing to do, but, overall, most people think it’s actually really nice.

They are wrong.

It’s actually just really inappropriate. Forehead kisses are for real love. Forehead kisses are what I give my little cousins when I’m standing behind them and brushing their hair away from their little faces. Forehead kisses are what my grandparents give me. Forehead kisses are what I imagine my future husband will give me when I’m sitting at the breakfast bar in our kitchen and he’s just stolen my mug of coffee. Forehead kisses are not for booty calls. It’s just too much.

Couple this with the incessant need to cuddle, and it was game over for Tinder Ginger. We obviously just needed and wanted different things. Maybe it’s harsh, but I think it’s fair. And, because I’m a bitch, I obviously didn’t say this to him and  just ignored his subsequent messages instead. Whoops.

Although I still think that I didn’t use him, some of you may have re-evaluated your opinions! What do you think – did I use the kid?

You know that I could use somebody..

So, last night, after watching the new Made In Chelsea (yes, I watch it; no, I’m not ashamed of that) I was telling a friend how the show essentially leaves me with no faith in men. This quickly turned into a bit of a ‘men are shit’ moan as I started watching John Tucker Must Die afterwards. Though he was technically not wrong to counter with positing that women can also be pretty shit, it wasn’t what I wanted to hear and our conversation went something like this:

Me – True, except I don’t know any shady girls. But 90% of boys I know are shit to girls

W – True. 90% of girls I know use men

Me – I don’t use men

W – Tinder Ginger?

I matched Tinder Ginger (TG) a couple of weeks ago, and, after a few days of talking, he decided to strike whilst the iron was hot and ask to meet up. So, we pencilled in plans for the following week. However, whilst I was slightly tipsy and out with my friends that Friday, I messaged him and asked what he was up to. Long story short – we met up, went for a drink, and went back to his.

I don’t think I need to tell you what occurred back at his, but I will; SEX. Sex occurred. Sex occurred after four months of not occurring.

I didn’t need to clarify that for you, did I? Who wouldn’t understand that that was essentially the plan from the get go? What boy doesn’t take a drunk girl asking ‘wanna do something?’ on a Friday night to mean ‘wanna fuck?’

With that in mind, here’s the rest of the conversation with W:

Me – I don’t think I used him. He knew what that was

W – So? Knowing doesn’t stop it being using

Me – Not if it’s mutual

W – You Tindered him for just sex. That’s by definition using. You used him. You knew it was just sex. He clearly didn’t as he’s still talking to you

Me – No one meets on Tinder and has sex straight away and thinks it’s more than just sex

W – He does

Me – Nah, it’s friendly

W – Is this how you get all your friends?

I maintain that I didn’t use the boy because there’s no way he didn’t know what that whole dalliance was about, and I think that knowing does stop it from being using. I didn’t lie to him or deceive him in any way. He understood what I wanted and complied accordingly. Also, he had a fucking great time. A better time than me, even. I know because I kept count.

TG was actually a really nice guy – a 26 year old graphic designer who not only somehow found the patience to listen to his crazy one night stand talk about her love of penguins in children’s books, but also knew the books, and their authors and illustrators. We got along really well, minus his incessant need to cuddle, and I ended up staying ’til half past one the next day. But it was what it was, and I didn’t really expect to hear from him again.

After I left his house, I went to meet W for lunch (in my same clothes – so classy, I know), and in the twenty minutes it took me to get to Carnaby Street, I knew that I didn’t really have any intention of seeing him again. I’d gotten what I set out to get and so I was over it.

Okay, so I suppose if you want to be a pedantic little bitch about it, I may have used him. If you’re not a cunt, however, you’ll see that the negative connotations of ‘using someone’ don’t really apply here and no gingers were harmed in the quenching of my thirst.

What do you think? Did I use the kid? Or is it just part of the nature of adult sexual relationships?