The Gap

I’m thinking I have to stop giving blowjobs before my Tinder dates touch my genitals, if I ever expect to get my vagina touched.


Another (“different”) man
zips up hastily,
kisses me, and
leaves again.

Rides off
on his horse
(of promises),
easily broken.

The asphalt
beneath his tires
glitters (with apologies)
in his wake.

I didn’t want him to stay
forever, but I wish he’d stayed
long enough
to make me cum
(too).

Review of Showtime’s Submission

So I watched/livetweeted Showtime’s Submission under the hashtag #ShowtimeSubmission, and then I wrote over 1,000 words analyzing the power dynamics and how they were portrayed and they contrasted… but I didn’t finish it. And then I said, “This is not what I want to post about Submission.” At least… not right now. So here’s my basic review of Submission.

Content warning: sexual assault (largely by way of questionable consent).

SPOILERS AHEAD.

Submission Summary

Ashley leaves her shitty-in-bed asshole boyfriend and moves to a new town to live with her best friend Jules. Jules lives with her roommate Dylan (played by Skin Diamond, who is sexy as hell). Dylan is a submissive to Eliot, and brings him women to have sex with.

Eliot flogging Dylan - Showtime Submission

Ashley finds Dylan’s copy of a BDSM novel by Nolan Keats and is intrigued. She gets a job at the local coffee shop and sleeps with her boss (Raif) one night while they’re getting drunk together. Shortly thereafter Eliot notices Ashley at a party and Dylan tells Eliot that Ashley is off-limits. Eliot swoops in and saves the day while Raif is drunkenly trying to push himself on Ashley at the party.

After chasing Raif off, Eliot follows Ashley to her room, notices the book, and asks her about it. Eliot discloses to Ashley that he wrote the book, which intrigues her. He steals Ashley’s underwear after she leaves the room and makes the random chick that Dylan picks out for him wear the underwear that night while he sleeps with her.

To prove that he’s Nolan Keats, Eliot has a manuscript of the next Nolan Keats novel delivered to Ashley. He calls her and starts seducing her on the phone. Eliot begins ignoring Dylan, which Dylan hates. Dylan bugs Eliot to pay more attention to her, and Eliot eventually tells her to fuck off. Eliot kinkily fucks Ashley and lays claim to her.

Eliot and Ashley - Showtime Submission

Dylan steals video footage of Eliot fucking a bunch of different girls with her in his dungeon. She blackmails Eliot and makes him turn Ashley over to her for a night, and Dylan torments her. Ashley endures the torture. Dylan decides to move out of the house. As Ashley catches her leaving Dylan gives her the videos and tells her that Eliot isn’t Nolan Keats – he’s Keats’ copy editor.

Ashley is hurt and betrayed. She ignores Eliot, he shows up at her house, and she tells him to leave. Dylan shows up on Nolan Keats’ doorstep with her bags. The show ends.

There is other drama in the show about Jules’ relationship with her boss, but, frankly, I find it irrelevant to the main plot and only feel like discussing it in my extended power dynamic analysis.

What they did right

Eliot makes Ashley pick a safeword. Good! SAFEWORD GOOD. Although he does flog her while she’s deciding, and as someone from the “we don’t play until the safeword is set” school of thought I wasn’t a fan of that.

Eliot mummifies Ashley with saran wrap, which is something she is terrified of initially when she sees the saran wrap in his dungeon and he explains what you do with it. The kink play in this scene is surprisingly solid – Eliot takes it slow, he communicates with her, he gives her water. He’s very attentive.

The kink in Submission was nice to watch if you ignored all the fucked-up shit going on around it. The gear used was cool and authentic. Where can I get a web of chains for my dungeon?

Quotes I liked

“Most men think it’s just smut.”
“What’s wrong with smut?”

“Society wants us to believe that women are these pathetic little creatures that live and die by a man’s happiness.”

“My goal is to open you up, not shut you down. You will never have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

What they did wrong

Other than Skin Diamond and a random guy that she fucks, the entire cast is white. They’re also all thin, non-disabled people. But I expected that. Diversity is important, but here’s what pissed me off even more:

Ashlynn Yennie, who plays the main character, Ashley, said in an interview with The Daily Beast:

“I hope our show, Submission, can shatter that glass ceiling of false belief and show the world what it truly means to trust, communicate, and finally feel free to talk about what you want and don’t want sexually in a consensual and healthy way.”

Consensual? Healthy? Consent was portrayed VERY poorly in Submission. Raif makes a move on Ashley and has sex with her after she says, “No, we’re not doing this, because I’m drunk… and you’re kind of drunk.” At a party the next night a drunken Raif thrust himself upon Ashley, assuming that their single night of previous sexual interaction meant she consented to it again.

Dylan and Eliot’s relationship goes from a functional, consenting M/s scenario to a fucked-up trainwreck where Eliot never verbalizes the withdrawal of his consent and Dylan (who wears a collar that we assume is from Eliot), thinking he’s still into her, tops from the bottom. She says “I’m getting tired of you telling me no.” She misbehaves, seeking punishment. Finally she handcuffs herself to him and forces him to fish the key out of her vagina to escape. It was a painful disaster to watch. The show portrayed this scene as a minor inconvenience that didn’t faze Eliot and just pissed him off, but it was assault, and it was not cool. Then when Eliot tells Dylan to fuck off for good she (nonconsensually) blackmails him.

And finally, even though Eliot seems like sort-of-an-asshole-but-mostly-a-decent-guy because we see a few scenes where Eliot is an experienced dominant that focuses on consent and care, he also forces Ashley outside of her comfort zone (not in a good way) and manipulates her into subbing for Dylan so that Dylan won’t blab his secret to her. Ashley specifically tells him that she doesn’t want to be shared and that other people are a big NO for her, and Eliot shames her into it, telling her that it’s the ultimate act of trust and submission and that she has to explore and take risks to know what she wants. Consent-tastic! As someone who was coerced into sexual abuse as a child and has been manipulated with an almost identical narrative from my emotionally abusive fuckface ex, I felt so great about that scene!

And then the scene with Dylan was not… stellar. It would have been hot if Ashley had wanted to be there. “Tonight I’m not your roommate, I’m the bitch you answer to.” Like… YAAAAAS… if it’s enthusiastic and consensual. But it wasn’t. Is BDSM that you don’t really want to do but agree to because of coercion and stubbornness a type of sexual assault? My signs point to yes.

Conclusion

It was interesting. The kink and the food for thought re: power dynamics were enjoyable, but I did not find the plot especially inspired. Especially the way Dylan is cast aside by Eliot. It’s a sad trope that you see in a lot of popular BSDM media: a submissive (usually a woman) is collared by a dom (usually a man), then her dom loses interest in her and tosses her aside. It’s practically ancient – that’s how The Story of O ends (master claims sub, master demands sub bring him other subs, master ditches original sub). Endings in which the sub gets screwed over do not represent the lives of many real people in happy, long-term M/s relationships, but it’s a risk that exists, just like it does in vanilla dating.

Should you watch it?

If you want to see kinky softcore sex and don’t mind the show’s flaws and “meh” plot, sure. I usually enjoy livetweeting things, even if they’re mediocre, but I probably could have found better uses for my time, like painting my nails, findomming strangers on the internet, or writing reviews for vibrators that felt like a million butterflies fluttering over my vulva.

The Creep Factor

Ella Dawson’s post titled The Boner Backlash (subtitled: STOP TELLING ME YOU WOULD STILL FUCK ME) hit home with me in a very personal way, and I imagine that anyone who writes about sex can relate, particularly if they’re perceived as women.

People tend to get overly familiar when you write about sex, perform in sex, or work in the adult industry. To some degree this is fine, because many of us want to educate and are more than happy to discuss things to that end. There is a culture of sexual openness that I try to perpetuate as a sex blogger. I think we should be able to talk about sex openly, but there’s a big difference between discussing sex in a non-threatening way and telling someone you wanna stick your dick in them. There’s a difference between saying, “Tell me how that big dick feels when you slip it inside yourself,” and asking me how a particular dildo feels. There’s a difference between someone calling Tantus’ customer support line to learn more about how a particular toy works and calling customer support to nonconsensually talk dirty at the person on the other end of the line.

When a woman mentions sex in any way, creepy people (most often men – why is it always you, men?) lose their heads and assume that these women are welcoming all sexual discussion and advances.
As Ella says in her blog post:

Readers—male readers, let me be clear—often think they know exactly who I am after reading a few of my essays. They are usually wrong.

These men assume that they know us because we expose an intimate part of our lives, and they assume that they’re welcome to associate with us in overly familiar terms… terms that most of these guys (hopefully) know not to use on a first date, or even a third, yet they’ll tweet and e-mail us using those familiar terms without even knowing our names.

 
It’s like they think that by reading about our sexuality they’ve been transported into our bedrooms and we’re sitting around in lingerie, waiting. What they don’t realize is that if we’re sitting around in lingerie waiting for someone it is not them. They are STRANGERS to us. This overly familiar feeling is completely one-sided. If these men appeared in our bedrooms we would be terrified because they are uninvited strangers barging into our homes.

 
And don’t think that apologizing or claiming that you’re not a pervert when you try to barge into our home helps. After all, Ella’s reader that wrote to her assured her that he wasn’t a pervert:

“To put that all together, and also read about how much you enjoy sex without condoms physically-speaking, everything just points to what a wonderful, sexy, and confident woman you are. Honestly, I was just like “WOW, this girl is just so damn sexy..”, and I don’t mean it in a perverted way at all.”

Yes you do, you piece of shit. “WOW, this girl is just so damn sexy…” I really hate that this is supposed to be a compliment when it really just makes most of us feel pretty damn gross. I’ve heard this on Twitter, and I’ve heard it on Fetlife, and I’ve heard it OKCupid, and it really just makes me annoyed. Yes! I am sexy! And I don’t need some dude to tell me he thinks that. I don’t want to know when I’m desirable to some stranger, especially some cis man – sorry boys, but “Dick is abundant and low value.” Cis males are the key perpetrators of harassment like this and because of that I just have less tolerance for this shit from y’all.

I don’t need a stranger to tell me I’m sexy. I don’t need a stranger to make conversation with me just to get closer to me with the intention of getting in my pants. I don’t WANT those things! I’m so sick of a world where we pretend that men are doing women a service by getting all up in their grill and singing songs of how fuckable they are. It’s not a compliment – it’s an affront.

 

I’ve had people say they’d like to date and/or fuck me, and from certain people I have established relationships with it’s very flattering, but from the rest of you it’s a pesky buzzing noise like you’re some kind of fly circling my nethers. When in doubt use this handy rule of thumb: If I don’t start flirting with you, don’t try flirting with me.

 

Back to Ella’s letter from her “fan,” I also get this manipulative element from his message. Did you catch it? That sort of “I-have-low-self-esteem” thing, saying something like, “I don’t expect you to write back.” It’s like he’s trying to downplay the entitlement in his message. Trying to guilt-trip her into a response? As if the goal is for Ella to write back and say, “Of course I was going to write back since you sent me such a lovely letter! We’re soul mates after all, because you realize how wonderful I am!”

 

And it’s also just so awkward for everyone involved whenever a man tries to disguise his unwanted advances as hypotheticals: “if you did write back and one day we actually got to do ‘it’”. Do you know how this differs from the men that say, “When we fuck I’m going to do x, y, z to you?” It differs because the men who write in hypotheticals can shuffle backwards with their hands raised when we call them on their shit. “I was just saying if it ever happened! I didn’t mean it! It was hypothetical! I wasn’t being a creep!” Stop trying to cover it up. You were being a creep and we both know it.

 

There’s not a lot for me to say that Ella hasn’t already said in her own post, but let me just lay the bottom line out for you folks again: when we write about sex we are never doing it for you. We are not inviting you to tell us about your dick. We are not saying we will date or fuck you… we’re not even saying you’re a candidate! And the minute you approach us spewing this repulsive harassment that you’ve tried to disguise as a compliment, you’re permanently ruling yourself out as a candidate, because you are actively demonstrating that you feel entitled to us.
As Ella says:

I do not exist to arouse. Sometimes I write erotica, but that does not mean I am personally interested in your arousal. And I am a woman who writes about sex, but I am not a woman whose sexuality you are entitled to.

Preach!

Dear Glamour: Say What You Mean

I read an interesting article in Glamour the other day. This article was by a nice young man named Jake. Jake’s column is called, “Jake: A Man’s Opinion.” As a new reader of Glamour I was instantly relieved that they took the time to ask a man his opinion on something, because when I’m flipping through magazines aimed at women there are two things I want to see: make-up tips and what men have to say. I think that on the whole everyone in my readership can agree that women (Glamour’s assumed audience) in particular never hear enough male opinions.

Anyway, here I am flipping through a “women’s” magazine filled with ads for fashion design by men, perfumes by men, and articles on how to meet men, and I find this piece written by a man titled, “We Need a New Word for Cuddling.” It’s an opinion piece where Jake tries to be funny while he pleads for us to abolish six words from our dating and sexual lexicon: cuddling, chemistry, G-spot, make love, doggy style, and orgasm.

I hope you’re wearing your rain slickers because there’s a storm a-brewin’.

In Jake’s opinion the word “cuddling” is juvenile and you can’t have a serious conversation when you use it. “Say ‘cuddling’ five times out loud and you instantly feel like a five year old.” Okay, fine, you know, I will admit that there’s something about the “dl” sound in cuddling that does make it feel youthful. I will also admit that cuddling, by nature, is something that many of us associate with young things: we cuddle our kids and we cuddle baby animals. Jake thinks we should call cuddling “couch time” or “pillow time.” Because those don’t sound childish at all.

Next up: “Chemistry.”

“I don’t want a science experiment; I want a connection. (But I don’t want to say ‘connection,’ because that’s too New Agey for a first date.) How about ‘vibes’? ‘Dinner went well – we had good vibes.” I could say that with a straight face.”

“Connection” is too “New-Agey” but “vibes” isn’t? In my mind Jake has morphed into a beach bum carrying around a guitar and a bong. Anyway, whatever you want to call it is fine with me. I like vibes, but I think that when Jake says good vibes he’s not talking about my kind of good vibes.

Magic Wand Original

 

NEXT!

“G-spot: I feel gross even typing that. But it’s not just something you can ignore. Can we just call it ‘the zone’? As in, ‘You are totally in the zone now.’”

Why does G-spot make him feel gross? Because it’s in a vagina? Because of that study that claimed that female ejaculate was nothing but pee? I mean, blessedly for Jake’s girlfriend he recognizes the G-spot’s importance, but he never explains why it’s gross. Did he have a run-in with a G-spot in the midst of a bacterial infection? Has he seen a horror movie where a woman’s G-spot exploded in a rain of spiders? Does it have to do with pus? I think everything is gross with pus.

But I don’t think any of those things happened. I don’t know what happened. What I do think is that it’s pitiful that a grown-ass man is frightened and disgusted by the very mention of the G-spot. It turns him off! What a shame for Jake, because some of us are turned off by his alternative, which makes me think of football and city planning while my vagina dries right the fuck up.

“Make Love” is up next, and he thinks it sounds like something you’d hear in a Saturday Night Live skit. His alternative? “Melt.” I have no opinion one way or the other on “making love” but I can say with certainty that I don’t want to replace it with the word for what a face does when you look at the Ark of the Covenant. You’re not batting a thousand here with your suggestions, Jake.

 

We’re finally approaching the end of the list. “Doggy style” should be replaced with “wrestling” as far as Jake is concerned. I’m sorry to tell you this, puppy play enthusiasts, but Jake is certain that no one wants to be compared with a dog. “I repeat: no one.” All I have to say about this is that if we took Jake’s suggestion I would actually watch Wrestlemania.

And finally “orgasm” reminds Jake too much of sex-ed class. It’s too clinical, but “cumming” is too pornographic. God forbid we use clinical or pornographic terms to refer to sexual activity.

Jake’s complaints that I have the most issue with are the obviously ones where he says certain words are “gross” or “too clinical”. One person’s discomfort prevents him from using real adult words to say what he means. This is like when we deny children agency over their bodies by calling their genitals things like, “Wee-wee,” and “Coochie,” because we’re too ashamed of words like vagina and penis. It’s ridiculous. Words have meaning. Say what you fucking mean.

Jake ends his article with, “And next time you’re melting with your boyfriend, I hope he’s in the zone.”

What a sweet sentiment. This is for you, Jake:

be less of a cockburn

Online Dating Mistakes and 5 Steps to Avoid Them

Since I deactivated my OKCupid account, I have been contacted by considerably fewer ignorant dicks looking to score.  However, I still have a personal Fetlife account, and that still nets me a couple messages from horny strangers every month or so.

Erica Grigg, one of the founders of GetLusty.com (which I write for, and which you should read) posted a Facebook status saying that she hated getting hit on by “stupid men who don’t read her profile.”  Erica is married, and it’s pretty apparent that she’s monogamous.  The man that sparked this status messaged her to say, “You look gorgeous… i will love to connect with you on here, get to know each other better and see where it goes from here.”

From the tone of her status, Erica sounded pretty annoyed.  I can’t blame her.  I’m annoyed every time I get a message like that.  Don’t get me wrong – I’ve never bitten anyone’s head off for hitting on me, but heaven knows that I’ve wanted to whenever someone does it the wrong way.  Let me assure you, there is a difference.  Today you’re going to learn about the wrong way to hit on someone, and then I’m going to give you five easy ways to send a message that someone will want to respond to.

Mistake #1:

You don’t read their profile.

Who gets on a dating website and doesn’t read someone’s profile?  Are you really that desperate?  Are your standards really that low that you don’t care who you have sex with?  Maybe there’s some strategy in playing the odds… after all, statistically, the more people you message, the more people you should get a response from, right?  Well that’s not going to happen if you try to sow your oats in the wrong fields.

Reading someone’s profile  has many benefits.  For starters, reading a profile gives you an opportunity to determine whether you’ll be able to pretend to like them long enough to bone them.  Or maybe you’ll realize that you actually want to get to know them.  But it gives you something to talk about, and more importantly, it keeps you from making…

 

Mistake #2:

Messaging someone when it’s never going to happen.

This isn’t me having a defeatist attitude.  This is a huge example of trying to sow your oats in the wrong fields.  There are circumstances that absolutely preclude you hooking up with your target.

Is your target in a relationship and monogamous?  Chances are that you’re wasting your time.

Are you a man messaging a lesbian?  WHY DO YOU THINK THAT IS A GOOD IDEA?  Do you just look at someone’s sex and profile picture and start messaging?  My ex’s OKCupid and Fetlife profiles both said lesbian, and yet the messages from men kept flooding in.

Just don’t do it.  Unless you’re on a dating website for people looking to cheat on their monogamous partners, don’t message monogamous coupled people.  Thinking about messaging that lesbian to see if she wants to suck your dick?  Take your head and slam it vigorously against a wall, then see if that still seems like a good idea.

 

Mistake #3:

You send a one (or two, in some cases) line message… or you don’t send a message, and just send a picture instead.

There are plenty of ways to do this wrong, and there are almost never situations in which you’ll get a response when you do this.

Doing it wrong:

“Hi beautiful, would love to get together with you.”  “Hi sexy, would love to connect and see where it goes.”  Etc.

Why it’s wrong:

I’m sure that when you’re writing that message, it seems pretty harmless.  But when I receive that message, I have a few different feelings all at once.

  1. I feel like you’re using a word like “beautiful” or “sexy” to objectify me, assert dominance over me, and condescend to me.  It doesn’t feel like a compliment, it feels like you’re two steps away from sitting me down and mansplaining something to me.
  2. I feel like the compliment is artificial and is only there because you think that the only way to speak to a woman is by talking about her physical appearance.
  3. If you have never seen me, then I am immediately angered by your assumption that I am attractive.  It implies that you’re desperate and/or have no standards.
  4. When you say something like, “See where it goes…” or, “See what happens…” I know where it’s going: nowhere.  What you have implied to me is not that you want to get to know me as a person – you have implied that your only interest in me is the sex you think you’re going to get.

Doing it wrong:

“You are so sexy.”

Why it’s wrong:

You haven’t started a conversation with me at all.  You have indicated that all you care about is my physical appearance.

Doing it wrong:

” l’ll be they guy you do butt drop and facesitting on…” or anything else sexually explicit

Why it’s wrong:

I actually got that message on Fetlife.  I don’t even know what a butt drop is.  It’s not the first explicit message I’ve received, and probably won’t be the last.  You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t get moist the instant a stranger offers to choke me with his dick.

Doing it wrong:

Pictures of yourself naked or of your genitalia.

Why it’s wrong:

If I have to explain this for you, end your search now.  You are clueless and you will die alone.

 

Mistake #4:

You don’t have a profile picture or any information in your profile.

Maybe you were just so eager to hook up that you forgot to upload a photo or write a few lines about yourself in your profile.  Maybe you didn’t know what to say, or you weren’t satisfied with any of the photos you had.  Refrain from messaging anyone until you have written a profile and put up a photo.

If you have a profile but no picture, then your blank user picture is a question that I want an answer to.  “That’s shallow,” you say!  Is it really so shallow for me to want to avoid meeting someone that I’ll recognize from America’s Most Wanted? ?  If you don’t have a picture but I do, you have me at a disadvantage.  I’m not okay with that.

If you have a picture but no information in your profile, then my mind automatically fills in your profile for you.

Jusy say no, folks.
Yikes.

And if you don’t have any information – no profile, no photo, nothing – then you don’t even register as a person to me.  You’re a ghost in the machine.  An annoying ghost with bad spelling.

 

Mistake #5:

You don’t drop it once you’re told to bug off.

After a response declining his advances, one man who messaged my ex said, “So you don’t want to hook up?”  My ex responded, “That’s generally what lesbian means.”  If I recall correctly, the dude didn’t stop sending messages.

Persistence isn’t your friend when you’re rejected.  Ten more messages aren’t going to change someone’s sexuality, make them any less single, or make you any more interesting or attractive.  Ten more messages are going make you look pathetic, and they’re going to get you blocked and reported.  And if someone doesn’t respond, there’s no need to send an inflammatory message – it’s totally unnecessary, and it’s definitely not charming.

Harassment isn’t sexy.  Once I’ve told you that I’m not interested, please don’t keep messaging me.  Even if you think your messages are friendly (“But you’re so pretty!  I’m really interested, are you sure?”), they show me that you’re incapable of respecting my wishes.  If you’ll ignore me when I tell you to stop messaging me, will you ignore me when I tell you to stop following me, or to stop trying to have sex with me?  It’s unsettling.  Leave me alone and move on.

 

Doing it right:

1.  Find the right site.  Facebook isn’t a dating site.  Don’t try to hook up with people you barely know on Facebook.  Try to find a site that caters to your needs.  Is religion a big part of your life?  Try ChristianMingle or JDate.  Looking for a basic dating site?  OKCupid works.  PlentyOfFish exists.  Kinky?  Use Alt.com or something.  (I’m not saying that Fetlife can’t find you a date, but it is not, by definition, a dating site.  So stop messaging me like it is.)

2. Take a nice photo of yourself.  A photo with your face in it.  We don’t care about your bare chest or your genitals.

3.  Fill out all the sections of your profile, and try to make it interesting.  Don’t lie.  Let your personality shine through.  We want to know who you are and what you have to say about yourself.  If you just talk about your career and list your interests, you’ve only given us the equivalent of what we could have learned by hunting you down on Facebook.  Do you feel like you know someone when you’ve only read someone’s work info and the list of things they liked?  If you do, you might have issues – those things don’t tell you who someone really is.  They definitely don’t tell you whether you’re going to like someone.

4.  Read someone’s profile.  It contains vital information: gender, sexuality, relationship status.  It also contains the information you need to send a message that’s actually going to get a response: hobbies and interests.

5.  Compose a message.  Try to make it more than one line.  I’m not asking you to write someone a novel, but make it a message that’s worth the click it takes to open it.  Aim for at least three sentences. Don’t use terms of endearment in your first message to someone.  If you’re going to give a compliment, give it in a full sentence: “You have a beautiful profile picture.”  instead of,  “Hey beautiful.”

Ask questions so that the person you’re messaging has a reason to message you back.  Don’t include anything sexually explicit, because it’s just not sexy and it’s going to discourage someone from responding to you at all, let alone to say, “Buzz off.”  Spell check your message before you send it.  The easier it is to read what you’ve written, the more likely someone is to respond.

Ta-da!  You have sent your first message worth reading.

Welcome to the world of people who receive responses.

Fellow victims of unwelcome digital advances, I would love to hear your horror stories.  What’s the most absurd message you’ve ever received?

Why Your Screen Name Didn’t Make Me Wet

Every time I foray into online dating, I am met by some things that compel me to promptly foray right back out.  I think about it whenever I decide to check my OKCupid account late at night, or whenever I’m eying some of the “Meet in North Carolina” groups on Fetlife because I find myself very, very desperately wishing I had a regular sex partner so I wouldn’t have to do all the work.  I haven’t checked my OKCupid account in a few weeks, but yet again, I’ve found my mind wandering back to dating on the internet because of a conversation I just had with one of my best friends.

This particular friend was displeased with her eHarmony experience, but mentioned that she was thinking about re-activating her account on the site.  Because misery loves company, I said, “Why not try OKCupid?  I’m on there!”

This blog post was spawned because of the following conversation:

She:  “What should my name on this site be?  I don’t want to put my last name on this profile  I was thinking about this.”

Me:  “Yeah, I think that’s great!  It doesn’t give too much away.”

She:  “You don’t think it’s dumb?”

Me:  “No.  Seriously, once you see some of the names on this site, you’ll realize that you could have named yourself PeckerMcDongHat and still come away looking like a being of superior intellect.”

Which brings me to my point.

I know that the internet is a very big place.  I know that screen names are things that you can agonize over for hours because you want to choose the right one.  I know that some people are reading this and scoffing, “Yeah, well what does Sugarcunt even mean?”  (Exactly what it says on the tin, bitches.)  I’m not saying I have the best name on the internet, and I’m not here to offer any better suggestions.

I’m here because, if you have named yourself, “Oralmaster66698,” chances are that I’m just not going to be compelled to hit you up for a date!  Or even a no-last-names sexual encounter, for that matter.  When I get a wink from someone with a screen name like “bAbiGuRLLL,” I groan and delete the notification immediately.  “BigCock4U2Day sent you a message!” translates to, “Call your friends over to point and laugh.”  MakeUMyBitch247?  I’m going to laugh in your face if you approach me with the assumption that I’ll submit to you.

Here’s the thing.  I know it’s mean.  I know it’s judgmental.  But I’m on a dating site to judge you.  On this site, yes, a first impression is everything, because unlike real life, I can block you if you annoy the shit out of me.  In real life, it takes slightly more effort to avoid you based on a first impression (I solve this difficult-to-avoid problem by never leaving my dorm room), and because of the type of person I am, I’m more likely to judge you based on your typing skills than I am on your appearance.  You have more chances if you have the balls to approach me in person, because it will (hopefully) take you longer to out yourself as a moron.  “That’s not fair,” you cry.  Is it fair that you’re going to decide you don’t want to date me because I’m fat?  Well, on a cosmic scale, maybe not really, but on a scale closer to home, yes, it is.  You have the freedom to bypass me because I don’t meet your weight requirement.  I have the freedom to bypass you because a screen name like wAnT2cMipussy indicates that there’s a 95% chance that you don’t meet my intellect requirement.   I enjoy clever screen names, or original-sounding screen names.  I will even grant my attention to people who use small parts of their names as screen names, because I have met some people that I really like that do that.  When I see a screen name advertising the girth or tightness of your genitals, or your super dominance, or your ability to beat your face in the general area of your Shift key with impunity, I mock you and then I sit down to write blog entries like this.

And now I’ll nitpick a little further.  If your screen name has to do with fly-fishing or hunting and your profile says you love nothing but sports , you and I are not going to exchange messages.  If your screen name specifically mentions sports, I’m going to be skeptical of you.  I will block you if you message me and say, “You’re a girl” (strike one) “that plays games?”  (Strike two)  “So do you like, play Xbox?”  (Strike three).  If you send me a message that says nothing but, “hey,” I will not respond to it.  If your profile states that you are “looking for your redneck Romeo,” or a “girl to have your babies,” please don’t message me.

I’d sooner send a wink to PeckerMcDongHat.

(Disclaimer: I didn’t reach out and deliberately select these screen names, but they probably exist.  Rest assured that these were chosen at random and were not intended to represent any real individuals that I have had contact with.  I have much more scathing things to say about people that I’ve had to reject personally.)

How To Cockblock Yourself With Me

It has occurred to me that since I’m blogging about my sex life, I’m probably going to repeatedly talk about how I don’t get any, and then I will follow those comments up with jokes about fucking anything that moves within a 20-mile radius.  (Unfortunately, I don’t have many opportunities to do the latter, but I do make light of my sexual eagerness on a frequent basis – possibly more than I make light of my lack of dating prospects, which is a joke that has very thick, firm, turgid roots that thrust into the moist, silken soil of reality.)

The talk about not getting any isn’t much of an exaggeration.  I’m not a virgin, and I have been in relationships in the past, but the fact of the matter is that I get hit on… maybe twice a year.  Three times if the moon is in the second house or something like that.  I’m 5’0, fat, and the only thing scarier than the size of my ass is the shit that comes out of my mouth.

On the occasions that I do get hit on, there really isn’t such a thing as “hit or miss;” usually, it’s just “miss.”

#1. “And then you’ll drink my piss.”

After I ended my engagement of five years, I eventually changed my relationship statuses on Fetlife back to “single” and “unpartnered.”  An individual with some similar kinks that I had briefly conversed with before, and later accepted a friend request from, took this opportunity to ask me to dinner and the exchange of fluids.  I was delighted by the dinner invite, but also apprehensive, and I made my concerns known – I was newly single and, while interested in getting to know him, wasn’t promising any kind of sexual encounter with a complete stranger.  I was under the impression that he understood, as we continued swapping some flirtatious, geeky banter as we debated restaurant choices… and then he said something about dessert being “cum and piss.”

“Uh, no… no promises there.”  I generally tout myself as being immune to awkwardness, but had this conversation been in person, I would have sat there thinking, “…awk-waaaard.”

It’s not like his suggestion wasn’t catering to my fetishes, although I had previously told him they were very conditional, and he didn’t meet the conditions for them at the time.  It was just that, after every time I backed off and reminded him that it was just dinner, every response was the equivalent of, “…and then you’ll drink my piss!”

We continued trying to make plans, although I was booked for several weeks straight.  When I suggested a more appropriate time the next month, he told me I would have to keep him interested until the time came around.  There’s something about a man two decades older than me playing hard-to-get that just doesn’t sit well with me after he has demonstrated that he seems to think that dinner was the equivalent of purchasing a ticket to ride.  Instead of jumping on my reply, I let the response notification linger in my inbox for a week, until it was joined by a notification for a follow-up message, which I now copy and paste for the reader’s benefit, drunken typos and all:

“Well I see that by your lack of response that you didn’t want to slide your meaty, dice-rolling sausage links across the keyboard to feign any more indifference, and you’re probably because with your boyfriend already, and even if that hasn’t happened, there’s always another anime sap who would let you move into his off-campus trailer and eat all his pockey kawaaii!”

This experience has allowed me to reinvent an old cliché: “Hell hath no fury like that of a middle-aged man scorned.”  Especially the middle-aged man scorned by a younger woman.

#2. Sending me a picture of your cock.

I’m also a (rather disenchanted) member of OKCupid, and I received a few messages and a phone number to text from a conventionally-attractive fireman that lived about three-quarters of an hour away.  Because my membership to OKCupid began in an attempt to get myself out of my “box” and to try meeting new and different people, I opted to begin texting him, figuring that perhaps we had more in common than our listed interests indicated… and he was over 6’5”, so why not give him a chance?  (Being fortunate to have missed the height classification of “dwarfism” by about two inches, I have a thing for the abnormally tall.)

The first message he sent me was an MMS file, which my Droid requires me to manually open, instead of automatically showing me whatever gets sent my way.  Given the number of texting horror stories that I’ve heard from my friends about receiving unsolicited dick pictures from random dudes, I dashed off a caveat as a response before viewing it, saying, “If this is a picture of your cock, consider this conversation over.”

It wasn’t!  I explained why I had been wary of getting e-rectioned, we spoke for several days, and eventually, as it always will when I speak with someone, the conversation began to encompass our sexual preferences and experiences.  The fateful day came when he, as some half-brained heterosexual males may be wont to do, decided that the time had come to show me his genitals.

But he figured he’d be a gentleman about it.
“Want to see my dick?”

The problem with this question was (and still is) that looking at dick doesn’t get me off.  For starters, I find pussy much more visually and sexually appealing, purely visually speaking, and beyond my love of hardcore pornography, I’m really not much of a voyeur at all. In almost all things in life, I just don’t like to watch.  I don’t like sports, but I’d rather play them than watch them.  When one of my friends is controlling a single-player video game, I want to beat them to death with the analog stick, because no matter how proficient they are, they are doing it wrong.  I have to leave the room when someone from an earlier generation is using a computer in my presence.  This strong preference for action rather than spectatorship is practically in my blood.  My late grandfather, who was a student driving instructor for a brief time, called it “white knuckle time” every time he got in the car with someone else.  In his memory, I have perfected my heart-attack face, complete with my patented Grip Of Death and Shriek of Rising Blood Pressure.  So no, gentlemen of the world.  Unless you’re packing (and I mean literally packing a Mr. Softee, because I find dildos endlessly entertaining no matter what their application in life is), I really don’t want to see your cock before I’m the one pulling it out of your pants to play with it.

So as not to appear frigid, I figured I’d take the neutral-but-reluctant route: “Uh… I’m indifferent. :|”

AND LO, THE PHALLUS SPRANG FORTH, FLOODING MY SMS INBOX IN ALL OF ITS DECEPTIVE-CAMERA-ANGLE GLORY.

Indifferent didn’t really mean yes or no.  He didn’t violate me.  I could have just flat-out said no.  But only in the movies does a professed lack of interest really mean, “DO IT, SHOW ME, YES, TAKE ME NOW.”  Because I’m not a femdom porn star, if I ask a partner if they want to eat my pussy, and they say, “Uh, I’m indifferent,” I don’t rip open the crotch of my panties and sit on their face.

#3.  “It’s not a booty call.  I was wondering if you wanted to suck.”

Let me confess… despite my high standards and the title of this blog entry (“How To Cockblock Yourself With Me,” just in case you’re floundering amidst this sea of text), Conventionally-Attractive Fireman actually didn’t get axed for the dick picture.  And no, it didn’t have anything to do with his professed height, which I did have the common sense to question after he sent me a photo of his junk with the camera angled up at it from the bottom.

No, I didn’t cut CAF loose after the dick debacle.  I figured, with my new lot on dating, I would continue to withhold judgment on this potential suitor!  I figured it made sense to meet him in person and see if he was as boring as he seemed.  It couldn’t hurt unless he was a serial killer.  It’s not like I was getting any younger, any less horny, or any less single.

We didn’t meet immediately after the dick incident.  Because he was about 40 minutes away, I declined a date offer one day, because I didn’t want him to drive all the way to my campus just to see me.  When he was passing through town, we opted to meet up for coffee on a Saturday afternoon.  He was indeed 6’5”-ish.  My head came up to his stomach.

We ended up sitting outside of the coffee place in the sunlight (boo, hiss, evil daystar, etc.) for about an hour and a half.  The entire time he talked about his career.  No, I don’t have a deep, long-standing curiosity about the intricacies of physical training and fighting fires, just in case you were wondering.

So after he departed and I started spending the remainder of my weekend hanging out with people I actually had common interests with, he started up a conversation around midnight.

“Did you have fun today?”
”…well, I didn’t hate it.”

I know you’re slapping your forehead.  Believe me, in retrospect, I am too, but hear me out.  He had a Modern Warfare 2 poster and he commented on something that reminded him of Starfox during our coffee date.  (You’re laughing at me, “High standards she has,” you say.  You probably think I put out if they have a Playstation 2, and if you do, then I have painted myself incorrectly – I’ll only give video game head to gamers playing on classic consoles.)  No, okay, seriously, the reason these things mattered is because I figured, “Maybe we really do have some interests in common and we just didn’t get around to discussing them during our date.”

You and I both know that if this had been the case, this sucker wouldn’t be in a blog entry that rivals The Bible in length.

He asked what I was up to, I informed him that I was watching a film with some friends.

“Oh, you’re busy?  That’s a shame… I was wondering if you wanted to meet up and have some fun.”
”Haha, what a sweet sentiment.  While I appreciate it, I don’t do booty calls.”
”It’s not a booty call.  I was wondering if you wanted to suck. ;)”

After I barely contained my animalistic lust, I promptly took a cold shower and never contacted him again.

#4.  “Well I get that you’re big… but I don’t have a problem with that as long as you’re clean.”

Do I even have to elaborate on this?
It wouldn’t be very characteristic of me not to.

Another keeper from OKCupid.  This guy actually was interesting and had things in common with me – in fact, he was original enough that he had my attention from the first message, which was refreshing.  The conversation quickly graduated from site messages to text messages, stepped up from mundane to sexual, and I was baffled by how non-skeevy he seemed, even when he was talking about having sex with me.  (Over the past six months, anyone that has attempted to sext me has been laughed off and has made me very uncomfortable.  Not because they were talking about sex!  But because somehow, they failed to ignite the quick-start match between my legs.  Because they were creepy.)

The conversation went from the idea of a sexual encounter within a relationship to a hook-up, despite the fact that I had never hooked up with someone I hardly knew before, and didn’t think I was capable of “casual sex.”   We finally ended up whittling these plans down to something immediate: we were going to fuck when he got off work at 7 AM that morning.

The anxiety set in around 5.  “Oh god, what if he didn’t look at all my profile pictures and doesn’t realize I’m actually fat?  What if he didn’t read my profile, where it says, I’m fat?”  I promptly dashed off a message that basically said the same thing – “You are aware that I’m fat, right?  I don’t think it’s a problem, but I don’t want you to assume I’m some skinny chick with body dysmorphic disorder.  I’m a fat chick and I want you to make sure you know what you’re getting into.”

“Well, I get that you’re big… but I don’t have a problem with that as long as you’re clean.”

Here’s the thing.  This dude was a “fat dude.”  6’4”, broad, and what most people consider “fat” because he had a gut and some girth on other parts of his body.  You would think that he of all people would understand that being fat does not automatically make one disgusting, ugly, unhealthy, unwashed, slovenly, gluttonous, unintelligent, embarrassing (or embarrassed), desperate, angry, depressed, or <Negative Adjective Here>.

The only thing that differentiates my 5’0 fat self from a 5’0 skinny someone is that I’m fat.  I weigh more.  I have a very shapely, round, soft body.  I have calves that could crush the skull of a Kenyan wildebeest.  The fact is that all of those adjectives can apply to a thin person, and few people are going to assume that they do purely because of their body shape.  Living in a culture that touts being skinny as an automatic equivalent to being “healthy” ROCKS!

I’m not what I’d call a model of health, and I’m definitely not in the gym every day, but being obese does not automatically mean that I’m inferior to the rest of the world, or the epitome of every negative quality that a human being can possess.  Whenever someone I’m about to hook up with says, “Okay, I get that you’re a big girl, but I don’t care so long as you’re clean,” my first reaction is to KICK HIM IN THE BALLS because me being a “big girl” automatically means that I don’t have the hygiene practices that are standard for most people?

I hooked up with this guy. I will never be contacting him again.

(Author’s note: I am not a man-hater.  I haven’t received even a minimal amount of interest from women or anyone outside of the gender binary, so I have no horror stories to present to you from those arenas yet.  Trust me, it’ll happen eventually.  It’s an inevitability.  If I try to come, they will come.)