why am i saying this again?
If you hate men and choose every moment you can find to pick holes in them, it doesn’t make you a feminist. That’s not the definition of feminism and you branding your sexism under it is literally damaging. It damages the very clear beliefs that women should be afforded equality, should be seen on the same level as men in the work place, in a bar, on the street, in all media and represented in our government because women ARE on the same level as men. You trying to infer feminism is something else makes people who already scoff at women’s rights see feminists as ridiculous and allow the mockers to feel they can dismiss genuine concerns with your trivial bullshit.
Today I had a barrage from someone claiming to be a victim and said that’s what feminism is and why she is one!
What the fuck?!?!
Feminism is not about playing the victim.
Feminism is not about hating men.
Feminism is not about imposing sexist points of view on matters purely because you feel like it.
If you wish to pick holes in my life and more specifically the fact that I’ve slept with a lot of women then guess what? You have a point. You could speak with me, ask questions and you’d likely see that I’m not a womaniser. I’m not a misogynist. I have never treated women with contempt or as lesser beings, I just like sex and there was a time I didn’t want a relationship. The same goes for women who like sex but want to stay single, they are not misandrists. Feel free to take issue with someone seeking a plethora of sexual partners for whatever reason you choose. Sexism or some perfected male dominance is not what I was doing. If I were gay and slept with men in this fashion would you believe I hated men? Would you believe me to be a misandrist? No. And here’s the truth. Here’s what you should really ask.
"Did sleeping with many people make you truly happy?" Because that’s the really fucking interesting question.
I can honestly say, I enjoyed myself. It was fun and I had a great time. Meeting someone, flirting, the two of us making little advances towards getting into a bed together and then having sex was great. I can also honestly say I never enjoyed sex as much as when I’ve had some relationship and communication. Outside of a relationship is less fulfilling. That’s the truth but now as a single man, I’m fairly comfortable doing the whole meaningless sex thing again. I haven’t yet but doesn’t mean I won’t.
Back to the people claiming to be feminist. You depress me.
Today is the birthday of Emmeline Pankhurst. Today is also a day I had an argument with a woman attempting to belittle the work the suffragettes did without even knowing it. Everybody, each and everyone of us has a fucking duty to actually think before we speak. The things you say and do, hurt. They have repercussions and if you insist on flying one causes flag but demand something else you’re no different to a political party like Britains first or UKIP, claiming to wish a return to British values whilst actually seeking racist actions. You look pathetic and besmirch the facts that matter.
I was a feminist but I’d call myself a humanist more and that embraces everything in my opinion. I want equality for all and I don’t need to hear your prejudices simply because you don’t believe that you have any.
Read more books, form a better understanding of yourself and the world and then fucking grow up.
single in a technological age
Before my recent venture into heartbreak, depression and an attempt at killing myself, I have never used a dating app.
In the past there was no necessity for one. I simply found a friend, went to a bar/coffee shop/supermarket/open bit of greenery and started talking to women. I may get a number, a kiss and even times sex right there and then. Not a boast but a fact (and a boast). This time however, the selection of friends to hit up a bar with is sparse not to mention the funds with which to enter said bar and enjoy a drink there if no woman of desire around.
Tinder. A friend suggested it. “I’ve fucked two girls on there.” He’s pig ugly and possesses the wit of a small horny virgin so if he was sleeping with women, I have a chance!
My first venture into online dating. As I found the app and started to download it, I swear I felt the clouds above me start to engulf the sky and loom ominously over me. If God were real this would be the moment his voice would boom out “Don’t do it! You meet women all the time, just sleep with them. You’re pathetic.” But as he doesn’t exist, the voice was mine. I had a point.
I really haven’t had a problem meeting and picking up women before. Then again I’ve never been properly engaged before. Once at 18 but that wasn’t by real choice. Back then I reacted by fucking everything and it wasn’t a healthy summer to go through for many reasons. Now here I am, a few weeks shy of my 31st birthday. Semi drunk, incredibly horny and nowhere to stick my penis.
I opened the app. Had a moment of pure horror as it asked me to log in via Facebook. Fucking Zuckerberg now wants to know who I’m trying to shag…even he’s judging me. How would this work? Would accepting this mean I am telling the world I am on tinder? Will mother cheeky know of this? All my friends? The women on Facebook I haven’t slept with, surely they’d see this and now think me pathetic. After a reassuring google told me that my Facebook account wouldn’t start leaking all my details out into the world, I went ahead safe in the assumption that my dalliance shall remain covert.
It took less than 30 minutes to get my first match. A 27 year old brunette called Anna. Cute, short, a shot in her bikini suggested that her body was ridiculous and she lives less than 2 miles from me or in terms of London transport, no distance at all. This is important. I’m on tinder because I’m horny, I also don’t have the funds to go crazy on public transport so if I can walk to her place and back, that’s a major plus. A thrifty online dater?! Form an orderly queue ladies! I start chatting “we matched, I’m saying “Hi” what brings you on tinder?” That was over 2 weeks ago, utter radio silence.
What is it Anna? What did I do wrong? Was my opening line boring? Did I offend by asking you to validate your online dating motives? Are you a boring fucker and the prospect of opening a dialogue seems so exciting it seems daunting? Are you a seasoned agoraphobe and worried that you’d have to leave the flat? Trust me, we don’t have to leave your flat! Anna slipped away, Katie was next.
Katie, a pretty 31 year old mixed race woman (not important but then for some reason I felt compelled to include this information? Likely says more about me on some level) again, a stunner and possibly the cutest smile I’ve seen. I thought I’d be a little different…
Hi, answer these…
Red or White wine?
Pasta or Salad?
Winter or Summer?
Shoes or Trainers?
Stay in or Go out?
Sex or Kissing?
Read the book or Watch the film?
She replied, giving answers - she got 5 correct if you’re wondering - we chatted for a bit on and off over the next few hours. That’s when I got her number and got in touch on whatsapp. It was at this point, casually flirting away, I took a look at her picture/avatar/mug shot that we all put on our profile. She looked totally different to the point where I didn’t recognise her. I sent a snap of myself saying “So unlike my pics I’ve not shaved in a few days (depression beard) are we a fan of beards?” Then I followed up with “I’m totally going to need to see yours, no dick pics please ;)” which I believe is the third time I’ve used a “wink” in a message to anyone other than the HMRC. Honestly, filing in a tax self assessment is easily the most fun I have finishing emails with kisses and calling the person reading it a cutie. With Katie however. Nothing. No reply to my beard or comment and certainly no return picture. Her profile went cold and her picture changed to an older, younger Katie within the minute. I like to think I caught her in her ruse, maybe she just isn’t a beard lover?
Two matches down, several others that didn’t reply or just stopped talking. Since when was getting laid such an ordeal? Is this what it’s been like for others all this time, is this the reason I was hated or envied by several men from the past?
Then we had Harriet. No friends in common, something that prods abject horror into me on that infernal site so it was a definite plus. Harriet, 28, very very pretty and only 3 km away…I’ve no idea how to switch back to miles from km…in her spiel she is doing an MSc, is still fairly new to London and most importantly she wrote “Here for some fun if you know what I mean :p” I’ve no idea if the tongue is better than the wink but the rest of it sounds promising. As I’m debating it all she writes to me. An hour later I have her number and arrange to meet her for a drink at 5, which is only an hour away. She arrives, is just as pretty and says in this seriously sexy, husky, posh voice “Thank fuck you look like your pictures.” A sentiment I am equally pleased at. We go for a drink, flirt, she’s incredibly timid for someone so forward. She asks “if you don’t mind can we watch the football a little later?” I’m not sure if she was reading my mind because as I was travelling to meet her, I was devastated when I realised I’d miss the game myself. We watch it, we drink more, she casually strokes my arm or finds any excuse to touch me in general. She eventually says “we’re not far from my place.” this I already knew and that’s why I suggested meeting where we were. We leave the pub, head back towards hers and as we’re walking, edging closer she says “I’m not going to kiss you mind *******!” WHAT? For someone so forward, who’s spent the entire night saying filthy things and being overtly suggestive (there are literally dozens of examples) she now tells me this?! I try to counter attack, “That’s ok, I’ll just settle for a blow job.” She laughs, a good sign I think, then…”Ok. See you then.” and with that she’s gone! I get home to see my ex has put a picture online with her new guy tagged “#Love” and feel a little sick. She’s only been fucking him a Month and a day or two. “Love”? Already?
So now here I am. Back with Tinder. One girl, a nurse, has been messaging me non stop but still hasn’t given me her number. Flirts, teases, is clearly interested but playing the long con and to be fair, I don’t know if I can be bothered with that.
Feel free to call me shallow. I use the app for sex with a pretty girl. I haven’t lied about that and haven’t told anyone I want a relationship or even dating. I’m here to have fun, sex and that’s really it. In all honesty I wouldn’t be good for anyone in any other capacity and a man still without a job and soon without a flat is hardly the ideal catch! Still. The evidence is in, tinder is hard work and unless this one girl decides she wants to meet up I’m swiping left on the whole thing.
Give me some cash, decent clothes, a good friend and a bar any day over this shit!
i can only apologise
I know I went away and since I came back all I’ve done is talk about her. I am sorry. It’s not something I can do in the world where people know me, know who I am and who she is (was?) and I promise you I’ve done it anyway. Talked about her until one friend called me pathetic. So. Without wishing to further alienate everyone, here’s some updates.
* I am starting a new job on the 18th or 21st of July…the 18th will be my birthday.
* I’ve been ruthlessly going through tinder and am currently flirting a lot with one girl in particular.
* Said girl hasn’t yet/refuses to give me her number, but she is still cute and I tease her a lot.
* I’m still drinking but not on my own anymore
* My ex posts pictures of her online with this new guy. He posts a lot more. In his they are kissing. That’s tough to see and tough to ignore.
* She came back to get a bit more of her stuff. I saw her vibrator and a very expensive set of underwear I bought her but never saw her in have gone.
* I’ve not slept with anyone else but really fucking want to.
* I’ve not slept with anyone else but really fucking want to.
* I’ve not slept with anyone else but really fucking want to.
* People are ridiculously nice and it’s appreciated even if it doesn’t quite pierce through my numbness.
* I returned the engagement ring I bought for her but they don’t give a full refund because it is no longer classed as an engagement ring because that’s bad luck since it’s been bought as one already. They refunded me for a friendship ring, which means I got less than half of the amount I paid for it.
* I can still flirt.
* I’m doing my best to find people that find me interesting, funny and ridiculously hot.
* I love you all.
* I don’t want to be in love again for a long time.
* I’m a little worried I may become an utter tart again and push people away.
* I miss my friend.
* I’ve not slept with anyone else but really fucking want to.
just when you thought it was safe to get back into the water
Don’t mean to alarm/upset anyone but I may have been having sex till 5 o’clock this morning and then from 8 till 11 today…and once again in the shower! Which is easy when you know how.
It wasn’t great, I didn’t stay hard the entire time which was an endless source of frustration but still…
Watch this space.
In light of my impending virility, I am inventing a morning after pill for men that will change your blood type.
who the fuck am i?
I’ve waited three years for any signs of life in my pants and on the 22nd of June at 1:30 in the morning I had the first yawning’s of a semi erection. Here’s what I’ve never been able to translate to my largely female following on here, not a brag, more a statistical fact but this is me so take it as you wish, the biggest issue with becoming impotent is your complete loss of identity.
I don’t ever write about penis envy because it’s something I’ve never thought about. Your dick is ugly, it hangs there like a drooping dog, falling helplessly over a scrotum filled with two testicles (if you’re fortunate) and lies dormant begging for titillation. Too stoic and even lazy to urinate by itself, it needs your hand to point it in the direction of the toilet/wall/motorway overhang/empty water bottle/ex’s bed sheets it is about to soak unless of course you have the innate desire to piss over yourself, your shoes or in your own trousers. Yes we can make it jolt with the same muscles both genders use to stop themselves from peeing but the moment is fleeting and hardly impressive, like a person letting out one last convulsion before they die. The ugliest of appendages. Unless it is hard.
Whether a man is gifted or among the less physically mature it matters not when he’s hard. Proud and filled with not just blood but the unforgivable urge to penetrate the soft delicate walls of the nearest cunt. I know you hate that word but it’s how it thinks and as I said, unforgivable. A hard dick is us saying to the world “I am about to fuck you. Hard and in as powerful a manner as you can stand.” and with it comes confidence. Thus even when it’s not there the confidence oozes through all, be they fans of intercourse or not, just the knowledge that you can.
One day you wake up and it’s gone. One of your testicles is gone. You lack the ability to envisage your identity. The body has said it cannot possibly create testosterone. You are therefore no longer able to penetrate the world, you have to learn to live a life where you develop moobs and very sensitive one’s at that, feel decidedly weaker, witness your thighs and bottom change shape and cellulite begin to develop & wonder of this is in part psychosomatic.
My dick was the same lifeless symbol it had been for the majority of my life but was now without the chance of being anything else.
I was no longer the alpha or the beta.
I was as good as dead but with sore breasts and I cried. A lot.
For the past 3 years I developed a new branch for my sense of humour. Other days I was miserable. Bi-polar living but really just long bouts of depression with the odd good spell thrown in. I realised I’ve never got over “her” and the “she” wasn’t one but all of my big loves. I realised that I never will be over these times in my history. I’ll think fondly of them safe in the understanding that love being the circular little shit fucker it is that I’ll fall again but happy to exclude past loves from the present I’ll put them out of mind unless I split from new loves. Then I’ll feel the emptiness, real emptiness where you can’t feel anything in your chest as the person you base your dependence [sic] on starts to drift away and you hate yourself. I’ll feel it, I’ll be helpless and then I’ll bang her sister. Or maybe I’ll find love and it will stick around in-spite of how my past experiences may have conditioned my romantic destiny.
I re-discovered real jealousy and paranoia. The sort that makes you hollow, unable to breath or sleep at night for months on end. The kind that makes you tear yourself apart through psychoanalysis and search for answers to questions in the wrong place. I hated myself. I felt bad for those who had wronged me and ashamed that I’d made them do it. I was too nice.
Then in my lowest point I had a heavy and disappointing bout of racism. On a bus one day I was sat next to two brown men who clutched bags to their chest and spoke in a language I didn’t know. They stared at their watches or messaged everyone in their phone when they weren’t reclining in their seats with eyes shut and mumbling. I was going to die at the hands of terrorists and this was happening now. Stuck to my seat with fear I waited for the first stop on the journey to run from them, why was nobody else as scared as I was? I felt sincere dread and it felt just like every other part of paranoia or loss or jealousy or the fact my dick didn’t want to work. I was hollow, I was empty and I wanted to cry.
Twice in my life I’ve thought about killing myself. Once when I discovered I wasn’t going to be a father and the girl I loved had invented the pregnancy and once when for some reason I felt like nothing and truly believed the world wouldn’t miss me. Both times I envisaged my funeral, who would be there, who would cry and would I be fondly remembered or put in the ground without much of a fuss. I can’t tell you how close I came because for the life of me I truly do not know. Both times a voice spoke to me (no not God, unless he has my accent) and said…
"Oi! Mate. You scared? Don’t worry yeh. You’re doing ok you know? Now see what’s bothering you and face it."
…I’m paraphrasing but then private conversations with oneself aren’t for others ears.
So there I was on this bus. Scared of brown men with bags so to escape the terror I thought I’d face it and talk to them. “Where are you off to?” I felt the words leave my chest more than my mouth and fear clung around for a while. Turns out they were Indian, one of them had lived here for 9 months and the other guy was visiting. I’d only gone and fallen victim to the overly aggressive media view of terrorism and the fact I was scared of them absolutely said more about me than them. At last I had a genuine reason to feel regret, shame, stupidity, disgust and hate for myself.
I got home and decided on two things, both mutually exclusive.
1. I will never be myself again until my dick can be erect.
2. I have to live in the present without fear of what may be.
There was a third.
3. Talk about it.
but that was a long time later…it’s where writing everything down and posting it in all it’s inarticulate, sexy glory on tumblr came in.
Today I write this on my phones notepad before I paste it to my tumblr and post it for your enjoyment or your general dismissal. I cannot control which. I have a semi working penis and with it a new hope of regaining/discovering who I am. My dick has been in my hand and nobody else’s. I haven’t had sex. Yet.
Nothing is your fault. You’re doing the best you can. Happiness is there if you want it.
I’m not a successful self made millionaire but fuck it, I just think that makes me more qualified to tell you in all earnestness what’s working for me.
I’m sexy, I’m fun and I’m gaining (even more) confidence with everyday. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be 30 in a week. Someone wrote to me on here after I said my dick worked saying “your dick works? Who’s better than you?”
We’re just getting started.
Tonight I got into bed, brought my knees up planting my feet beneath my bum and lifted my pelvis off the bed. I then held my dick in my hand and thrust my hips to wank instead of moving my hands just like I did when I first played with myself and thought this would make me better in bed. I thoroughly enjoyed myself until I came and shot right into my own eye!
I haven’t had sex yet. I’ve just been masturbating…a lot. Like too much. Like it’s red. He needs time.
After a quick calculation today isn’t 1,251 days since I last had sex, it’s actually 1,263. So there’s that…
Just discovered yesterday was national kissing day and was also the 1,250th day since I last had sex!
just before i go to bed…
My alarm just went. 1200 days since I last had sex. Blue ball.