Breasts – a public entitlement rant.

I have boobs.

The hyperlink here is to my other rant on objectification by random strangers on OKC if you wanted to read about me going off my chops in a different kind of way.

Yes, yes I do. They are on my chest and are quite the size. They are out there and it doesn’t matter what I wear, you’re going to notice that they are there.

Now usually I go about my business and not get hassled at all. But I’ve recently noticed that not only are certain strangers feeling that because I have a dress on that has the girls on display but especially when I’m in a corset – these same people think that they can waltz straight up and stick their hands all over my cleavage.

So let’s start with a cafe that I went to not that long ago. The waiter, whom I didn’t know from the next waiter that worked there, thought it would be awesome to wrap his hand around my waist as he gripped my arse and told me I had a great rack. But not to worry, he’s gay!

Oh, I thought. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise that being gay meant that anyone was entitled full access to my body. I must have been hiding behind the couch the day that memo was distributed!

To be fair, I was rather shocked by this man telling me he’s gay – yet at the same time objectifying me to the point where I wanted to punch him. I just wanted a fucking cup of coffee not to feel like my self worth had been trampled all over but then told to not say anything because well, you know, he’s gay!

So I left the place feeling confused and somewhat affronted. I was confused because I didn’t say anything, which is so unlike me it’s not funny. However I came to the realisation that being that I know so many gay men, I have been giving them a free pass when it comes to perpetrating behaviours that make women uncomfortable because they are gay and somehow that makes it ok.

Cue to a play party I went to at a place where all the staff should know better. There was this younger lass I’d seen around but had never introduced myself to in my travels who beelined for me as soon as we got in the door and stopped to say hello to some people we knew. As she was coming at me like a great white shark for the kill, I may have looked at her confused, but that didn’t stop her attack. Her hands started to raise and I thought, oh, this strange young lady is going to give me a hug, why is a total stranger about to hug me? She better not hug me!!! PERSONAL SPACE ALERT!!! But no. Oh no. Her hands smacked straight down on a tit each as she beamed at me and said “I hope you don’t mind, but they look so fantastic in your corset that I just had to race over and touch them”.

I was there with my partner at the time who was meant to be dominant and thought that he may pull her aside to have a quiet word with her but he didn’t. So instead she got faced with bitch queen, I will tear strips out of you with a sweet smile still plastered on my face – working the door at Hellfire for so many years has taught me a lot. Let’s just say she won’t be touching anyone she doesn’t know without asking first ever again.

Well what all these incidents have cemented for me is that it doesn’t matter if you’re gay, straight, bisexual or a fluffy fucking unicorn filled with sweet and sour lollies – you just DO NOT TOUCH PEOPLE WITHOUT THEIR PERMISSION!

Why yes, yes sir, I am feeling a bit ranty at the moment because for a long time I’ve put up with people wondering over and coping a feel of my breasts while they simultaneously tell me it’s ok because;

a) they are gay
b) my boobs were talking to them
c) they had to feel if they were real or not
d) that they really were as soft as they looked
e) they didn’t realise boobs came in this size
f) could they please also stick their face in there?

So that got me wondering at which point do we draw the line? Which point do we say, no, this is unacceptable behaviour. Not only from the gay community but the straight community. It’s like strangers walking up to overweight people in the street and telling them that they need to lose weight for their own health. You think that poor person isn’t aware of their situation? Just like they must think that I magically get up every morning and not see how big my boobs are. Dude, I haven’t seen my feet when I looked down since I was 12!!!

Well I will be quiet no longer. The last guy that tried to walk up to me on Oxford Street after a night at Hellfire with his hands held out like he wanted to smother my cleavage in them ended up bouncing down the street on his arse. Granted he was also being an absolute cuntmonkey with his comments to my wife too – you don’t talk to ladies that way, otherwise ladies get pissed off and you end up looking like a knob. No more free rides people!

Touch my girls at your own peril. I will be suitably violent first and ask questions later.



Don’t forget to send me any Kinky Q & A questions you may have at spankalicious.co@gmail.com or through my contact me page! No question is too silly and if you want to remain anonymous just let me know.


Sexism in wanting a child free womb

I read an article today about a woman, aged 30, who sidestepped her doctors and went directly to a gynecologist who did the procedure for her, the procedure being sterilisation.

I wish I’d thought of that.

But her story so closely resembled my own. Her fury was my fury. I felt it all and I knew where she was at.

Since I was age 19 I knew something was messed up with my insides. I rode my doctors ass about it until at age 24 they finally decided to do an internal ultrasound which showed in that instead of small ovaries mine were about 10 times the size due to cysts. Finally, they tell me I have PCOS (Poly Cystic Ovary Syndrome).

Hormones man, apparently it’s all in the hormones.However in the meantime they put me on the pill and told me I’d never have children. The more I took the pill the heavier I got, the more doctors told me that it was PCOS causing my rapid weight gain and subsequent issues. When I was told that children were not an option because of the disease I thought all my dreams had come at once because I’d been pestering my doctors every year since I was 19 to have my uterus removed. It caused me pain, there was no reason for me to keep it. Plus, I didn’t want children.

I threw the pill away gleefully. I started to drop the excess weight without even trying. I got back to closer to what I used to weight and I didn’t give up on asking for my sterilisation.

I was consistently and routinely told no. Every. Single. Year. Apparently I wasn’t allowed to make this decision for myself until I was about age 35. At which point if I still wanted to rip my insides out then I may state my case and they may agree to it.

Apart from the rage I felt at being turned away, year in year out, I felt rage that men on the other hand could go get a vasectomy without being told they weren’t allowed to incase they ever changed their minds.

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No, I am not your object.

This post is brought to you my ranty mcrant pants. And the fact that men would rather treat me as a piece of meat than having a normal conversation.

More and more I’m starting to get annoyed with OKC.

It’s pretty easy to tell you why too. Because the men that message me seem to think that they are doing me a huge favour by telling me how awesome my tits are.

Or how beautiful my smile, if only it was giving them a blow job.

What the ever-loving fuck people?

Is this just me?

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Sexual objectification in the weird way…

As you all are aware, I wrote a note about why I loved sexual objectification in my personal life and why it made me so hot.

Well, last week I saw this picture in the newspapers:

And to be honest, it made me a wee bit uncomfortable. I mean, sure, he has nice boobs. A bit of fur is never frowned up. But the context… Being on stage, accepting an award and having the hostess rip your shirt off mid-speech. Now if that was a woman she’d be justified in turning around and bitch slapping that silly bint to pluto. I know I would have.

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Meet my Fuck-Off Fairy… Hullo!

I read this article online over the weekend and it resonated with me a lot.

I think because I used to be the person that didn’t say no to anything and ended up saying yes to everything. Then I found in my early 30’s that I no longer was saying yes to things that I didn’t want to do, or give permission for.

“The Fuck-Off Fairy is a special kind of fairy. She shows up on the night of your 30th birthday, while you are sleeping, and waves a magic wand over you.” Article can be found here.

click image to go to source

No seriously, fuck off. (Click pic for source)

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Pubicitis? The pubic hair debate.

I’m not sure y’all are aware, I had a moment late last year that I decided to let my hairs grow.

Well while perusing the paper today at lunchtime I came across an article that made me giggle. No seriously, it did.

Here’s why:

American Apparel Mannequins

I love love love that these mannequins have nipples and pubic hair showing in the underwear. I find it exhilarating that American Apparel love to push societal boundaries so. I really do. It makes my heart sing.

Lately I’ve been re-growing my pit hair too. It’s not at this stage yet…

Emer O’Toole shows off her under arm hair on morning TV in the UK.

But then I figure what if it does get to that stage? Then who cares?

Well no, I still do care. I’m more comfortable than I was about it last year. In so much as my friends and family are now used to seeing some fuzz under my arms and not tell me to go shave. Well, that’s more family telling me to go shave that is, my friends just don’t give a flying toss about what’s growing where. Unless it’s some weird growth on my face or something…

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