Objectifying Men

Disclaimer: This entry makes me feel like an asshole (probably because I am one)... but I wrote it anyway. You're welcome. I should add that straight men have been shaming women about their bodies for thousands of years.. and most still do it everyday. So fuck them. Enjoy!

As usual, I should have known better than to choose this one. His tinder bio (which I didn't actually read before swiping right) was very clear that he was looking for a relationship. When I finally read it (to try to find out why he was asking so many questions about my life), I told him I was only looking for sex. He said he would be alright with just a hookup, and we agreed to meetup for sex.

I really, really should have known better. From my extensive experience, I have learned that the "relationship type" of straight man has something horribly wrong with him (e.g. small dick, dick that doesn't work right, one testicle, severe emotional problems, adult acne, general ugliness, etc).

Even though he was looking for a relationship, I decided it would be fine because his dick pic was great (ask me for it if you want to see it), and his pictures were all very muscular. In fact, he looked scary-built.. like Flo-Rida (I would pay a lot of money to have sex with Flor-Rida; although I doubt he would be open to prostitution until he runs out of money).

So I chose to ignore my (justified) opinions about guys who are the "relationship type" and set up the hookup anyway.

So the entire evening was characterized by me being disappointed and resentful, but still trying not to make him feel woefully inadequate (which is not unlike the dynamic of my past relationships).

From the beginning... he arrived (an hour late). I was hoping for Flo-Rida, but I got Rick Ross (circa 2008). JK he was more like an amalgamation of the two: built upper body, but fat.

As you all know, I appreciate a good 8-pack (because it is both fashionable and functional), and I get them (with the exception of my thirstiest nights). I definitely need to be the thick one in the arrangement... so let the hypocrisy begin:

I stood in the doorway deciding whether or not to abort the booty call. He was wearing a large shirt, and I found myself trying to decide whether he had pecs or man-boobs. I took an inappropriately long time to weigh the pros and cons. This is what I came up with:

PROS:

1. He was there and willing

2. He had great shoulders

3. He was 6'3"

4. It was probably too late to call anyone else

5. His dick pic was good

CONS:

1. Fat

2. I was very sober

3. Fat

Fuck it... I decided to do it, knowing I could always kick him out later.

I offered him tequila out of the chicken teapot. He declined (probably because it was in a chicken teapot), but I was really only offering so that I could drink without hurting his feelings.

I took him into the bedroom and turned out the lights. I tried to do so smoothly as though I always turned out the lights (I never turn out the lights). There was still enough light coming from my window so that I could make sure he didn't have a herpes outbreak and put the condom on correctly.

He took his big shirt off and left his undershirt on. I generally don't allow them to keep any clothes on, but I was thankful he did in this scenario. It turned out that he had pecs and moobs... like with the moob sort of on top of the pec. It all rounded out to a full B-cup.

Where is a glory hole when you need one? He would have been perfect if I had only had a wall between me and everything but his dick.

I told him my favorite position was that one where he stands and I lie on the edge of the bed (like it's a gyno table) and have no contact with anything besides his dick. He tried to pick up my legs to put over his shoulders and I just yelled, "No!" in my usual demeaning tone. I turned my head away to stare at the wall and think about Flo-Rida (which seemed marginally appropriate).

I can't believe the scenario worked for me! He actually wasn't bad with his dick. Somehow I managed to get off in my weird minimal-contact position that kind of hurt my back. It was a Christmas miracle!

I walked him out quickly after that, citing the fact that it was late because he was an hour late arriving.

Overall, I made it work, despite being moderately appalled by his bmi. And I am really considering cutting a glory hole into one of my walls (I like to keep things classy in my house) just in case this happens again.

Thank you! I appreciate everyone voting! People voted for the Cuban... and I tried so hard!

Long story short... I may have yelled at him and called him homophobic... And he blocked me. <Womp womp>

So I jumped back on tinder to find a suitable replacement penis, which was not easy because the men in Budapest are not very attractive to me.

I was thrilled to find a very buff (and young) boxer (and former professional soccer player) who was willing to meet up for "dinner."

What he neglected to mention in his tinder messages was the reason for his trip to Budapest: getting dental work done. Apparently, he had lost his front 2 teeth in a boxing match.

He was mid-way through the process (of getting implants, I assume)... So he had temporary crowns or something for the front teeth... Which were super fucked up. They looked like chicklets to me. They were way too big for his mouth (and also too big to resemble human teeth). As such, they fit in his mouth at an angle. Well, not just one angle.. More like one was going one way, and the other another way... At 45 degree angles.

He reminded me of the landlord from "Breakfast at Tiffany's." If you don't remember, it was a white guy doing a very racist buck-toothed impression of a Chinese person... which was apparently ok in the 1960s (I'm referring to the racism, not the dental problem). #makeamericagreatagain

Thank God I'm not a face person! But even still... Holy shit was it distracting.

While he was from Switzerland, he had come to Budapest because the dental work was more affordable (perhaps because they give you plastic chicklet teeth to wear around).

He was actually quite pleasant (a quality I find very underrated in men). We did legitimately have dinner, only because I was traveling and was sure he wouldn't get the wrong idea about my intentions.

I chose a Mexican restaurant (very smart in a city with no Mexican population, I know), only because I could not eat Goulash for one more meal. My burrito (I think me eating burritos before sex must be a passive-aggressive thing I do) was surprisingly edible, although I had more margaritas than food. Also my standards for food were quite low after eating Hungarian food for a week (it is my humble opinion that there is a reason Hungarian restaurants are not thing elsewhere). I digress...

We went back to his room, which was in a very cute boutique hotel. Unfortunately, the prematurely bald white guy working reception was seated exactly 4 feet outside the hotel room door... And I'm sure he heard everything...

Keeping it classy, I pulled out my off-brand ziploc bag full of condoms (of various sizes) and lube packets.

I realized my hookup was not as slutty as I had hoped when he asked me about the bag.

"Why do you have that?"

"Why do you not?" I asked, although it was more a (judgmental) statement than a question.

While I didn't answer him on principle, I will answer it for you: it is because traveling with lube is a bitch. I used to have packets loose in the bottom of my purse, but they have exploded all over the contents of my purse on more than one occasion... Hence, the children's lunch bag.

"Do you always have that with you?" He pried.

"Most of the time," I replied, staring at his (ridiculously nice) abs.

He had an acceptable dick. It was probably 7 inches, with moderate girth. I didn't regret my decision to be there, but I also didn't think it was worth taking a picture of... Especially since he didn't seem slutty, I suspected it would have upset his delicate sensibilities.

The sex was mediocre at best, as he was clearly not very experienced.

When he was on top of me, he tried to support himself with his hands on my chest... Like a woman would.

"No! Off!" I said in the same tone I use with dogs when they jump on me or the furniture. If I had had a squirt bottle to spray him with, I would have.

He came too fast (maybe 10 minutes), despite me yelling at him I yelled at him a little, and told him that I expected him to get it right back up... which he couldn't... probably (at least partly) because I had scared him (and scarred him) and was then glaring at him.

I turned my head away and glared at the wall. It didn't work.

He eventually got it back up. He gave another mediocre performance during which I barely managed to get off.

That said, for the benefit of Mr. Clean outside the door, I made sure to keep my language colorful. Some excerpts included, "I want to see you stroke your black dick" and "fuck me with your big black cock."

After that, I told him to stop because I had to go back to my hotel.

He offered to walk me back to my hotel.

"No, thank you," I replied as nicely as I could manage.

"Aren't you scared to walk across the city by yourself at 1am?" he asked.

"No. I am very tough."

I guess I appreciate his concern on some level, but I was torn as to whether I would rather be mugged or have to talk to him for another 30 minutes. Well, not so torn. I chose the mugging scenario (although I did not get mugged). And anyway, I could have taken a taxi if I had actually been worried.

I don't think I'll be returning to Budapest unless I bring my own hired penis (when I'm ridiculously wealthy and can afford to pay for sex).

OMG thank you all for voting! You guys picked a really good one (on my @objectifyingmen fb page)! It went really well! Especially considering I did everything I could to give zero fucks.. such as eating the world's largest burrito beforehand. I also hadn't (and still haven't) shaved my snatch in way too long.

Seriously, my vagina looks like a Portlander's face... Patchy, effeminate, and homeless... But it's actually employed part-time at a coffee shop. I don't think I'm talking about my vagina anymore...

In addition to my burrito gas and scruffy vagina, I was also on my period. Well I wasn't exactly on my period, but I wasn't exactly NOT on my period... But it was fine; we were in his bed!

I also made him pick me up from the best/worst gay bar on the East Coast... Secrets!! if you love dick and haven't been... go! Go now!

But he picked me up and was even more muscular than his pictures... Yassssss!! I love it when that happens!! I didn't think he was as tall as he told me (6 ft), but... fuck it.

In case you didn't see the dick pic (you can still email me for it)... It was pretty great! He was probably 7 1/2 inches. I was pleasantly surprised to find it was girthier than I thought it looked in the pic.

His apartment was filthy to the extent that I didn't want to be barefoot on the carpet. Since I left with him straight from the bar, I asked to use the shower at his place (because I'm a nice person). I regretted it immediately. His shower was appalling. There was mold growing on older layers of mold which I can only assume had died of old age years earlier. (You can also email for a mold pic if you are so inclined)

Surprisingly, this was not the worst pre-hookup showering situation I've ever had (Africa comes to mind). At least I wouldn't get typhoid if I opened my eyes or mouth in the shower. That said, I do have a mold allergy, so I kept the shower very brief.

Omg it was all worth having to take Benadryl! He fucked me like the slut I knew he was. He even had his own condoms (which I inspected for expiration date and evidence of tampering)!

It started out with him touching himself (at my request) for my entertainment. Then it went into a 3-minute process of breathing and lubing to fit it in. #worthit

I would say he knew how to hit the spot, but he was so large that he was hitting every square inch of my vagina anyway.

I made him stay on top for an inordinate amount of time so I could stare at his ridiculous pecs. Oh. My. Gawd. He was dripping sweat literally all over me. It was amazing. He didn't even try to pull any shit that would warrant me threatening to hit him.

This is embarrassing... At one point, I remember listening to myself and thinking I sounded asthmatic. #hotchick

We fucked for over an hour (and multiple orgasms) before I really couldn't continue (and needed to sleep). Actually, I probably could have gone longer (and I know he could have) if I had been willing to walk bowlegged the next day.

He drove me to my hotel afterward. Which was nice. I guess it would have been nicer if it had been in silence...

I can't exactly remember why, but at one point he was impersonating me using a British accent...

"So did you know you were going to sleep with me when you first messaged me [on tinder]?"

"Of course!" I said without hesitation.

I paused. "Ok actually," I began, "sort of. I did have my gay friends vote on you."

"So they voted yes?" he asked, surprisingly nonchalantly. Maybe he thought I was joking?

"Well, they voted for you over another guy."

"So what do you do for fun?" he asked.

Oh boy. "Well, I write a feminist blog," I said, hoping that would make him want to stop asking questions. It didn't work, although his question was not what I expected:

"What do you think of that woman who made her own bread from her yeast?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You know, that news story about the woman who made sourdough bread from her, you know, pussy yeast. I thought you would like that."

I suddenly remembered why I prefer to pay for ubers than to let them drive me home. That said, I was beyond amused that his one talking point around feminism was vagina-related leavening...

Overall, I can't imagine this was a great experience for him, but it was fantastic for me!

This is the first MBA player I have slept with this year. Probably. And really, I don't follow sports... so he could actually be just a random 6'7" guy who has a great body and claims to be in the NBA... Doesn't matter. My vagina doesn't know the difference.

It started with a lengthy conversation with this very tall gentleman on tinder. The whole process took over an hour, but the highlights were as follows:

Me asking for a dick pic, him denying me the dick pic, me asking how tall he was, me telling him to uber over to my condo, and me calling the gate guard with the name of the gentleman caller (which I have forgotten completely).

Now the gate guards at my condo complex all know as much as you do about my sex life...

Anyway...when the basketball player gave me his number, I discovered that we had a text message history... Apparently, I had talked to him two years ago when the summer league was in town. It seems he had refused to send me a dick pic and I stopped talking to him.

This year however, I was feeling lucky.

By "lucky," I really mean "thirsty."

I also felt justified in not shaving anything (meaning my vagina) because I was still a little mad that he wouldn't send a dick pic. I had about 2 1/2 weeks worth of bush grown out... so maybe like 1/6 of my potential bush.

When he arrived, I served him tequila in my porcelain teacups that my godmother gave me (because that seems to make men uncomfortable and I love that).

I have a teapot shaped like a chicken (that is another story), but I forgot to use it. :(

I generally find it difficult to write about those sexual encounters that go well (as the entries are more like erotica than commentary)... but I'll try.

His dick was much bigger than I thought it would be. It was probably 7 inches long, but had substantial girth.

While I generally appreciate an uncut cock, this situation seemed different. He had too much foreskin... and it was way too tight around the head. I wasn't sure if it was even loose enough to push down. The skin was so long that it covered the entire head and then gathered a bit at the top. Somehow the dick in the tight skin reminded me of a youtube video of putting a diabetic foot into a compression sock... which is probably why he doesn't send dick pics...

I decided to not even try to move the skin. I just asked him to get a condom immediately.

Of course, he didn't bring any. Charming. And so unexpected <exaggerated eye roll here>.

So I grabbed a magnum from my top drawer and put it on him carefully so as not to disturb the foreskin situation.

It took me a minute (and a lot of gun oil) to get it in. But then, it was awesome!

I love love love slutty men! They aren't afraid to get up in there and beat it up. Also they don't cry if I have to yell at them (which happens fairly frequently).

I'm not saying all athletes are sluts... but... I'm not not-saying it...

I made him stay on top for an inordinate amount of time because the view from below was amazing (also I am lazy). His abs were on point, his shoulders were broad and his face I was ignoring. Because of his low body fat percentage, I could see every muscle engage, and that is one of my favorite things in life.

He got me off twice along the way, with him doing most (like 90%) of the work. #winning #nbasummerleague

It wasn't awkward until I almost had him out the door and he turned and said, "I am going to call you."

I stared at him for a minute, then just closed the door slowly with an uncomfortable look on my face.

Very smooth, Cristina.

Email me for the dick pic :) objectifyingmen@gmail.com

"So am I in your top 5?" he asked.

Um... thanks everyone for voting (on my @objectifyingmen fb page)! You helped me break a tie (and rob a cradle)!

Background: I was between fucking a 19-year-old NCAA football player and a 24-year-old Air Force guy. The teenager had better abs, and ultimately won the vote by a landslide. So I invited him over for sex.

I keep forgetting that teenage males make me want to punch them in the throat. This desire was elicited in me on a couple of occasions that night.

Now, as I'm writing this at a coffee shop, I am ignoring his texts like:

"So am in your top 5?"

This isn't the first time he has asked me this... it is probably the fourth. The first time (which was right after sex), I just laughed (which should have answered his question).The second time, I tried to deflect by asking why he wanted to hear about me sleeping with other guys... And the third and fourth times, I have just ignored the messages.

The only reason I haven't been forthcoming with him is that he seems too young to crush his spirit. I also feel badly blocking his number... but it will probably have to happen.

But, really?? Top 5??? Like ever?

Bitch please.

That said, he did have a really, really big dick (email me for the pic I took). It was big enough to make my gay friends wince a little!

He started the encounter by biting my neck... which was not as sexy as it sounds.. it was more like a painful predatory bite <occasion 1 of wanting to punch him in the throat>.

I yelled at him, and told him I would punch him if it happened again. And i kind of wish he had done it again so I could have (I should probably talk to a therapist about that).

I started on top, so I could ease onto his enormous dick at my own pace. That went well until my thighs got sore. I would like to say it was 15 minutes of me being on top... but it was probably more like 4...

He was not good from behind. He kept sticking it in too far and pounding on my cervix. After the second time I told him to knock it off, he lost his doggie-style privileges <occasion 2>.

I made him get on top. That wasn't the best either. I could work with it, but the rhythm was no bueno. I can't exactly articulate why it wasn't working better...

He tried to put my legs up behind his ears. I wasn't about to give him control of the depth with a huge cock and bad rhythm...

He tried again. I said "no" in a tone that should have been followed with a rolled-up newspaper. He also had the balls to announce, "When I tell you to do something, you do it."

Bitch please.

I laughed in his face. If he hadn't said it so timidly (like this was the first time he was trying out the line), I might have actually been mad. I gave him enough pointers while he was on top so I could get mine (twice).

Afterward, he insisted on flushing the condom down my toilet in stead of throwing it away like I asked.

"It's a fraternity rule!" he announced. <occasion 3>

I consoled myself by thinking about how much cheaper a plumber would be that if I had had to pay to sleep with a teenage prostitute. I don't know exactly how much that would cost, but I mean to find out before I let my appearance go.

Afterward, he kept lying naked on my bed.

I got up and put my clothes on... and he kept lying in my bed.

I brushed my teeth... and he kept lying in my bed.

"So..." I said as gently as I could (to avoid scarring him more than I already had), "I have to get up early in the morning..." He kept lying in my bed.

"Can I walk you out now, I stated. It should have been a question, but I really wasn't asking.

He finally got up and started getting dressed. And that's when it happened the first time:

"So am I in your top 5?"

I laughed and walked him out.

"So we can do this again next time I'm in town, right?"

Bitch please.

While his skill was lacking, he was still able to stay hard for something like an hour and a half (and had a huge dick). So thanks for voting! And please vote next time I can't decide! :)

Referred cocks don't always work out... but neither do the regulars or the bar hookups or the tindered hookups... because, let's face it, many of them couldn't fuck their way out of a paper bag. Or (like this case) they could, but the level of crazy that they are makes the whole experience a pain.

So... I have a very good friend who has similar taste in men that I do (rule of thumb: 8 abs, 8 inches). And she was sleeping with a particularly attractive former (but very recent) college athlete. When she became aware that he had a friend who looked just like him, I told her I was VERY interested in sleeping with him.

So we made a plan to meet them downtown after a long bar night.

He was just as hot as promised! Maybe even more so.

So far, so good...

He was so tall and built! His arms and shoulders were enormous and defined! In hindsight, it was probably because he was recently out of prison... which would also explain the bad tattoos he was riddled with.

I told him that he should take me back to his place. That was a big mistake. It turned out to be one of the experiences that has taught me to always hookup at my place if at all possible.

I got in his (muscle) car, feeling great about the situation and doing some tipsy flirting with him. Then he started to drive me into the woods.

Well, shit.

While he was potentially driving us out to somewhere secluded to murder me, he started telling my about his most recent ex. Specifically, how mad he was that she had filed a restraining order against him...

Well, shit.

I'm not sure which is worse, having a restraining order filed against you, or being too crazy to realize that you should never ever bring that up with a girl you are hooking up with (or anyone who isn't your parole officer).

I have no idea what possessed me to ask him why his ex felt she had to do that.

"No reason," he replied.

"Bullshit," I said, because apparently I had a death wish.

"Well, nothing really," he tried again.

By the end of our conversation, I discovered that it was indeed something... apparently he had shoved a loaded gun in her mouth.

Well, shit.

I should note here that I don't find dangerous situations exciting, so much as I just accept that they happen sometimes in my eager pursuit of the D. Thank God I am very tough.

However, I resolved to be more polite that evening (so as to not have a gun put in my mouth), and then never call him... no matter how good the sex was.

We finally pulled up to a small house in the woods. I felt some relief, but that was quickly negated by the fact that the house didn't have power or water.

He mumbled some excuse that seemed unlikely. Looking back, I'm pretty sure the house was in some stage of being abandoned... and definitely not his.

He was really, really built though. I could still see every chiseled muscle and prison tattoo (of which there were many) in the candlelight.

Ok, it wasn't candlelight... it was the light of a big camping flashlight.

He had a nice dick. It was probably 7 1/4 inches long. Cut. Straight. Medium-sized head. But the shaft wasn't as thick as I would have hoped for.. but still thick enough to get the job done.

He was nasty, and I love that... but I refused to let him play with my ass (on account of the lack of running water).

I also have a fleeting memory of us standing on his bed while he fucked me from behind. I don't know why that happened. Other than that, the sex was surprisingly normal (by my loose definition). He got me off twice.

Afterward, he refused to drive me back to my car until the next morning, citing his exhaustion. In fact, he even found his car keys and slept on them... I'm assuming so that I wouldn't steal his car.

I hate sleeping in the same bed as my hookups, even when I'm not concerned about being murdered in my sleep (which crossed my mind this time).

That said, my phone was dead and I had no idea where I was. I didn't think harassing him to take me home (or about anything) was a good idea... so I slept there. Somehow I didn't even get lice!

The car ride back to town the next morning was, of course, terribly awkward. That said, I don't think I felt it deeply, as I was just happy to have come away from the experience unscathed and sexually satisfied.

I am very tough, but I really should consider mace.

Have you ever thought you might die on your quest for the D? I would love it if you commented below and told me about it! :)

Let me start by saying that I am not proud of this story. It is from the distant past (not distant enough)... a past in which I hadn't yet realized that I didn't have to be in a relationship to get laid.

So I was in a relationship with a crazy person... He meant well, but he had done too many hallucinogenic drugs (like WAY too many).

I'm not being a bitch... and while I'm not a doctor, he was clearly touched. He would have fleeting episodes where he believed he was Jason Bourne (presumably because he had never read any other book series). While his Matt Damon episodes would come and go, he always believed that the government was watching him.

The only defense I have for dating him is that he had the largest dick I had ever seen on a white guy. It was an honest 8 1/4 inches and got rock hard.

Now for the embarrassing part (as though dating a burned-out lunatic is not humiliating at all)...

Let's call him Bane (not because he was ripped like Tom Hardy in Batman, but because it is close to his actual name... and he was the bane of my existence for a few months).

So Bane would stay at my apartment sometimes, but would always be showered and gone before I awoke because he had very early college classes.

On one particular morning, I got up groggily and stumbled into my bathroom to turn the shower on (as usual). However, that morning, I noticed something in the bathtub/shower. It was small (maybe marble-sized) and brown. I reached down to pick it up.

The moment I touched it, I knew. I just knew...

To confirm, I smelled it (worst idea I've ever had). Yes, it was definitely human feces!

You might think that this would be the most disturbing part of this story... but (sadly) no.

I scrubbed my bathtub and hands with chemicals that shouldn't have touched my skin.

Then I sent him a text I thought I would never have to send to someone I was dating:

Me: "Did you poop in my bathtub?"

Bane: "Why? What happened?"

Me: "One of us pooped in my bathtub, and it wasn't me."

Bane: "It was an accident."

I hated him (both in general and at that moment).

Me: "Ok. But why didn't you clean it up?"

Bane: "I thought I did."

Me: "With what? All my cleansers were still in the back of the cabinet."

Bane: "I tried to mash it down the drain with my foot."

There are no words. None.

I would love to be able to end this story with, "And so I broke up with him." Unfortunately, I didn't.

In fact, I kept dating him (i.e. being his keeper) until I hated him so much that I (albeit briefly) considered running him over with my car.

For the record, I'm not proud of that either.

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