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.


Au revoir la Nouvelle-Orléans, jusqu’à la prochaine fois.

So I’m sitting at my hotel at the moment waiting for the time to pass so that I can make my way to the godforsaken greyhound station and hope that my 24 hour trip back to West Viriginia is not full of scary shit like my trip to New Orleans was. Spending 6 hours trapped on a bus with someone who had very very bad gas to the point that I had to hide my face in my jacket so that I didn’t dry retch was bad enough. Let’s not go into the fact that I had to come face to face with dirty underwear sitting on top of the toilet roll holder in Atlanta. Because every woman needs to see that when they are dying to pee.

I’ve sworn next time I’m just going to pay for flights. Unless greyhound have started doing a direct service that doesn’t take me half way around the states before getting me to my destination.

On the plus side, New Orleans sure knows how to put on a party. Mardi Gras was… well. Amaze. I have a suitcase full of beads (they are being used as padding for my breakables).


I have a cat-woman leather mask, a headband of feathers that make me look fabulous and so many many beads that I’m not sure what to do with them all, so I left them decorating my hotel room.


My bead haul

The best bit? I didn’t flash my girls once for beads.

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