A woman’s body?

So, it seems I’ve attracted the attention and ire of  the “outrage for hire” brigade. I suspect it was always likely to be a matter of when, rather than if, so at least I’ve got it out of the way.

So what, pray tell, was the reason for incurring their wrath?

Well, it appears, I had the audacity and temerity to say that my body is a woman’s body and, that in doing so, I was being cis-sexist and trans-exclusionary.

My simple, and in eloquent response to that is that they are talking bollocks.

I am, after all, a woman and, if you prefer, a cis-woman. However, in the context of my use of the term “woman’s body”, that “cis” prefix is nothing more than meaningless padding.

Why meaningless?

Simply because the term “woman” in the context that I use it means all women, be they cis, trans, or any other label they prefer to use. The basic fact, and the central core of my point is that anyone who identifies as a woman is a woman. There is nothing exclusionary about that. I use the term “woman” as a shorthand for all women, regardless of their assigned gender at birth, or their reproductive biology. If you accept that definition then, from there, it follows that all women, have women’s bodies and that there is nothing cis-sexist or exclusionary in that either.

In my own personal context, my own “woman’s body” happens to have breasts, a clitoris, a vulva, a vagina, a womb, ovaries, etc. Mine does and, I think it’s reasonable to say, so do the bodies of the majority of women. Yes, some cis-women, as a result of surgery may not have all of those parts, but that doesn’t negate the fact that cis-women are the majority, that this is true. However, not all women are cis-women, and as such, their bodies may (or may not) have penises and testicles. They are, however, in my opinion and mode of belief, still women’s bodies, because they are the bodies of people who identify as women and, therefore, are women.

When I blog, I am generally blogging about sex and the people I have had sex with. Over the 30+ years that I have been sexually active, my partners have all been cis (or at least were presenting as cis when I had sex with them). Again, this isn’t prejudice on my part, nor is it exclusionary, it’s just simply a fact. In that context, when I use the terms man/men or woman/women, in my blog, there is an implicit assumption that I am using the cis variant of those words, but I am not excluding anyone, nor am I being biased in favour or against anyone. I am simply recounting my experiences from my point of view and my assumed point of view of the other participants in the activities I am recounting.

Now, the purpose of this post is not to change anyone’s mind. It was simply to illustrate that people, particularly those of a self-righteous disposition, are often far too quick to assume a negative interpretation of something, without bothering to avail themselves of the actual facts, simply because that snap condemnation fits their narrative. Perhaps these people just need to lash out, and adopting a position of righteous indignation whenever they find something they can take exception to provides them with outlet, or a coping mechanism of sorts. Of course, the could also just be bullying narcissists who get off on attacking people to attract attention to themselves; who can say?

Language is flexible and always evolving, but language without context is merely words; context is everything. Attacking someone’s words without first trying to understand their context or the meaning intended by the person who wrote them is just lazy bias on the part of the reader – it is nothing more than noise. The fact that some people need to take offence simply to validate themselves is a pity, but it reflects more on them than the person they are taking offence at.

All about boobs

Why is it that, in our society it is perfectly acceptable for a man to bare his chest in public, whereas, in the main, it is utterly unacceptable for a woman to do so?  Why, when the sun is beating down, Master C can whip off his top in public, yet my top has to remain at least partially covered?

OK, so while Master C’s chest is broad, well-muscled and quite hairy, mine is smooth and has two rather large, bouncy appendages attached to it, but so what? In terms of the relative amounts of exposure, they are exactly the same.

So why is it that a man’s chest, no matter how awful, is socially acceptable but a woman’s chest, no matter now nice to look at, is deemed inappropriate for public consumption? Why are my boobs deemed to be offensive, inappropriate, morally scandalous, etc., yet any Rab C wannabe can whip off his string vest and flash his moobs and no one bats an eyelid?

Personally, I see this as discrimination. Did we girls ask for our mammary glands to become sexualised? I’m pretty sure we didn’t; but yet, if we tried exposing them in public, we could be done for indecency.  Indecency? Really?  Have you seen what some guys inflict on the poor unsuspecting public?

Now, in all honesty, I don’t really want to see even more flesh on display in and around the High Street during the summer.  And while I’m quite happy to get them out, where custom allows, at the beach, on in the privacy of my own garden, I very much doubt I would bare them whilst going about town; there’s a time and a place after all.  But, my point is, should I not at least have the choice to do so? Failing that, should guys be forced to wear vests?

I do wonder sometimes if our society has its priorities seriously mixed up.

Now, when it comes to my own boobs, I have something of a love/hate relationship with them. They are, very easily, my most noticeable feature.  At 34DD, they aren’t by any means massive, but they do get a lot of attention.

The Hate:

As I’ve just stated, my boobs get a lot of attention, they have done since they first began to swell when I was 12. Now, I don’t mind attention; the fact I write a sex blog kind of implies that I am, at least, a bit of an attention whore, but I do wish men would actually try and make eye contact with me some times. I am, after all, a living, breathing human being, and not just simply a life-support and transportation system for a pair of breasts.  Now I accept that men, and indeed a lot of women (me being one of them) like boobs and men are biologically programmed to ogle them, and I am more than happy to be ogled, but here’s the thing, they don’t talk back, and a little appreciation of the bit that does talk, when it is talking, and not just wrapped around a guy’s cock, would be nice.

Another issue with my boobs is that for one week in every four, they hurt like fuck! I have to sleep in a sports bra; I frequently have to wear two bras for additional support.  Showering the week before my period is due is a particularly painful experience; and as for being touched … well just don’t even go there. Sex during that particular week is something that has to be approached very tentatively and my boobs have extremely minimal involvement (which is a shame, as I love having my boobs played with during sex).

Then there’s clothes… Bra’s in particular can be a chore. Trying to find a nice/pretty/sexy bra that is comfortable, provides adequate support and doesn’t cost a fucking small fortune is extremely difficult.  But it’s not just bras, clothes in general can be difficult.  Being of otherwise average proportions, trying to find a dress that doesn’t just hang down from my boobs can be difficult.  Almost all of my dresses have to be worn with a belt. Now, I love sites like ASOS, their stuff is affordable and it’s nice, but I do wish they would occasionally employ some larger breasted models so that women like me can have a more realistic idea of what their outfits will actually look like when someone of a slightly top-heavy variety tries to wear them.

Then finally, there’s the biggie, which put at its simplest, and given my family history is that at some point in the future, they are very likely going to try and kill me.  Having lost my gran to breast cancer a few years back, and with my mum having recently had a lump removed (she has made a full recovery thankfully), it’s one of the reasons I devote so much time raising money for breast cancer research.

The Love:

Despite all of the above, and sometimes, in some instances because of it, I do, however, love my boobs.

Firstly, and somewhat ironically, my boobs get a lot of attention, and they have done since they first began to swell when I was 12.  As a result, I was always getting chatted up by boys in school and, as I got a bit older and going through my “promiscuous phase”, they definitely got me noticed, and almost certainly contributed to me getting shagged.  They also get a lot of attention from they men and women I have sex with; a different sort of attention, granted, but it’s an attention they enjoy very much, and leads me to my next reason.

They are super sensitive.  I am one of those lucky women who can come  simply from having their boobs and nipples stimulated. If you don’t believe this is possible, try this article from “Sex With Emily”. I first discovered this, on my own, when I was about 13.  Of course, I didn’t know it was an orgasm back then but it felt fucking fantastic.  It wasn’t until a few months later that I experienced an orgasm through rubbing my clit that I discovered it was a very similar sensation. When I was with a boy, I loved having them play with my boobs, whether through my clothes, or, with the more adventurous ones, when they put their hand up my top, nudged my bra out of the way and gave them a proper grope. My knickers would be wet with anticipation just at the suggestion that I was going to get my boobs felt up.

That hasn’t changed as I’ve got older.  Sometimes, when we’re lying snuggled (and fully clothed) on the sofa watching some late evening shite on the telly, Master C can bring me off just through gentle caressing and the occasional nipple tweak.

I love playing with my boobs and I love having them played with.  I love having them kissed, licked, squeezed, teased, nibbled, caressed and I especially like having a load of hot, sticky cum dropped on them.

On the whole, even though the hate can be quite intense at times, especially at the aforementioned time of the month, the love complete outweighs the hate.  In a very real sense, my boobs make me the woman I am. I just hope I have them for a long time to come…