ClueChick: real clues from a real chick

I think I will never fail to be amazed at how very many men think that their penis is the one and only selling point when picking up chicks online.

It's not only the profiles or CL responses that consist of a few "words" and a picture of a cock, but it's also profiles or responses that have no photo but a lot of words about the owner's cock. Is there really so much pressure on men to have big cocks that they can't imagine that a woman could possibly care about anything else? If so, where is this pressure coming from? I mean, I enjoy a big cock as much as an average or small one, but it's nowhere on my list of required characteristics. If I were going to be shallow about the cocks I fuck, I'd go into more detail about shape and proportion than size, anyhow.

I, of course, would have to be pretty hard up to respond to an ad or an email that consisted exclusively (or nearly so) of a photo or description of a dick, but let's talk about this a little bit more. Why don't cock shots make me hot? In part, it's because almost every guy has one, so it's not like its presence sets him apart in any interesting or useful way. In part, it's because relying on it demonstrates a lack of imagination that I assume would translate to extremely boring sex. In part, it's because I also envision that extremely boring sex would be extremely cock-focused. And, hey, I love me some cock, but, really, no matter how fast and easy I am, I want to start with face, mind and body.

Face: I fully admit that I am a shallow bitch. If I don't think you're attractive -- and I'm not saying you have to be Denzel Washington (sigh!), but attractive -- I'm not going to want to kiss you. And if I'm not going to want to kiss you, I'm not going to want to get naked with you. And if I don't want to get naked with you, it doesn't matter how gorgeous or huge your cock is.

Mind: I don't even have anything interesting to say on this topic. We all know the brain is the biggest sex organ. Let's move on.

Body: Do you move your body like you really live in it? Do you seem to take joy in it and think creatively about using your whole body to seduce me? If not, again with the not getting around to seeing your cock.

Ultimately, I think the weight such a large proportion of men seem to put on their cocks as the only important thing in a casual encounter demonstrates yet another way that our society is deeply fucked up about sex, so even though I find it kind of pathetic and annoying in the individual cases, as a trend, I find it depressing.

I think I'm gonna go pick up someone smart, hot and creative to drown (ahem) my sorrows.

Posted by ClueChick at 3:45 PM in snarky | Permalink | Comments (9)

A newish friend was asking me recently what some of the lessons or benefits I've gotten from casual sex are, and I was able to articulate one to him that I haven't really managed to identify previously. Let's see if I can recreate a reasonable explanation here:

Growing up, girls -- well, probably everyone, but I think especially girls -- get a strong message of how important it is to save sex for marriage. There's a lot of acknowledgment that loads of people have sex before marriage, but even then, the dominant paradigm is that sex is a Big Deal, and you should only do it when you're in a committed relationship with someone you love.

And on top of that, there's this weird fetish our culture has for female virginity, so especially when you're young, you get a lot of rhetoric about how important it is to be sure, to pick the right guy, etc.

I remember a having a discussion in high school with some friends about which would be worse: to be raped or to be murdered. Read that again; I'll wait. Smart, thoughtful girls actually had a conversation wherein there was serious consideration of the question of whether it might not be better to be dead than to be raped. That is fucked up.

But the point, here, is that there's a lot of time and energy going into giving people the message that sex is HUGE, and that, if you're a girl, at least, you're a prize, and you should be sure not to give yourself to just anyone. ("Why buy the cow, yadda yadda?") And I'm not saying that people, especially young people, shouldn't be smart and thoughtful about sex, picking when they want to do it and with whom. But I am saying that the current dialogue about it is fucked. And not in a good way.

And one of the great great things that casual sex has done for me is allowed me to stop thinking of myself as a prize that I award to someone for being the nicest guy or the smartest or the hottest or the nearest or whatever -est he happens to be, and, instead, to think about what I want out of sex. I'm not someone's prize; I'm my prize, and my reward is that I get to to what I want with my mind and body, when I want, and with the person (or people) I want to do it with. I'm not having sex to pat some guy on the head to say, "Hey, man, nice work! You win the good guy award! Have some pussy!" Instead, I'm having sex because I like sex, and it's what I want to do.

And despite having a couple of kickass awesome relationships before my casual sex days started, I think I'm a better lover now than I was then. Not because I have any great new techniques (though, let's be honest: I may), but because I'm choosing for myself when I take my clothes off.

Posted by ClueChick at 9:56 PM in uncategorizable introspection | Permalink | Comments (3)

So, I have this friend. He's a smart, capable, fit, entertaining guy in his 30s. He's great! Except, he exudes that air.

You know the air I mean. It's that air of desperation. It's the air that precedes him when he walks into a room so all the nice women there know to avoid him like the plague, and all the mercenary women perk up and think, "Oh, hey, I can string this guy along for months before he catches on that he's not gonna get any..."

This guy isn't looking for casual sex; he's looking for a serious relationship leading to marriage, and he's utterly miserable about the lack in his life. Seriously, he can't have a conversation without bringing it back to this at some point along the line. It kills me.

Why? Because if he weren't so achingly, painfully, heartwrenchingly desperate, he might have a chance. But I like him, and even I get the willies when he's around women who are potential matches, because I can feel all his clingy little psychic tentacles reaching out with trembling, pathetic hope that maybe... possibly... could it be...?

I want to tell him to chill out and relax, but, of course, that's no help, because, well, he really does want a girlfriend, and unless I have some specific suggestions as to how to chill out and relax, he maintains himself in this incredible downward spiral of flailing desperately, which makes any potential partner nearby flee in horror, which leads to more flailing...

So, listen, I can't tell him this, but I can tell you:

The absolute first step to being hot is not to need to be hot. In fact, it's not to need anything from the stranger you're meeting-and-maybe-interested-in. It's all well and good to need things from your friends or from your partner, but if the first sense I have of you is that you need me, you can be damn sure I'm going to run screaming. And the people who find that hot? Watch out for them. Abuse comes in a hell of a lot of forms.

This friend of mine, he has several great hobbies, which he continually talks about as ways to meet women. It's true that hobbies are great ways to meet new people, but you should be doing them for yourself above all. As long as every act you engage in is oriented toward finding someone to hold you at night, you're going to give off that air.

My advice is this: Find yourself. Make yourself a whole and happy single person. Create a life that is complete and fulfilling to you. Then figure out how to make a space in that will be comfortable and inviting to someone new, who might like to come home with you and spend the night and maybe make a life together, if that's the sort of kinky shit you're into.

Posted by ClueChick at 10:13 PM in misc tips | Permalink | Comments (5)