Demise of the Mythical Chubby Chaser

Apparently, there’s no longer any such thing as a guy who is attracted to chubby, or natural-looking women. ‘Chubby chasers’ are a myth. And so is anyone who doesn’t mind a bit of hair down there, I’m guessing.

The truth is, anyone who sleeps with such a woman is actually just a low-status guy, who can’t get with properly attractive women, so we pretend that we like another type of woman instead.

Obviously, this revelation means that everyone is attracted to the same type of woman and her physical appearance is the most important thing. Being attracted to someone on an interpersonal level is a total waste of time; it doesn’t matter if your potential mate make you laugh, or make you feel safe, or excited, or challenged. Or if they are some total idiot who bores your cock off. It’s all about their waist measurement.

Also, physical chemistry does not exist –  and the buzz you feel when you get close to a partner who would make healthy children with you, that’s all a load of scientific mumbo-jumbo, too. It’s all about dress size. If you say otherwise you are lying.

If this is confusing for you, the easiest way to remember it is this: it’s not about whether you are actually enjoying your time in the company of the woman of your choice. Her looks and waist size are a symbol of your status as a man. After all, this is mostly about impressing other guys, right? The two of you can be having an absolutely horrible time together, and that’s fine, just so long as she is skinny.

The demise of the chubby chaser is bad news for nearly everyone. For skinny women, it’s bad news because it means all of a sudden a lot more really boring men will be chasing after them. For chubby women, it means they have to admit that no one was ever really into them, and all their many boyfriends past and present were lying. For ‘high status’ guys – and those who treat dating like a video game – it’s bad news because it means there will be more competition for the ‘actual’ sexy women they used to have all to themselves, supposedly. I feel for them, I really do.

But for low status guys, like me, it’s actually OK. Me and my cock are both pretty good at pretending we like all sorts of different types of women, and while some of whom look like bikini models, most of them do not. And I don’t have to worry about all the skinny but boring women either, because I never have to talk to them.

So a moment’s silence, please, for the death of the mythical chubby chaser. From now on, I will only pretend to find plus size women attractive.



Joanne: Hammock

(First episode is here).

When I was really young, I used to have a dream that my body was caught in a net. I think it was the first sign of my true nature.

As I lay in my bed, I could feel my arms up above my head, held there firmly but gently, and my legs were fastened to the foot of the bed, so that I could move about, but not get free.

I had a lot of flying dreams as a girl, too. My skirt would catch on something as I walked along, and then I’d trip, and somehow I’d fall upward, and find myself floating up over the forested mountains near my home, well away from the world below.

One night when I was about ten, the dreams came together.

I lay suspended above the bed in the net, but this time, it moved upward above my house, and took me helpless into the air, where I floated for what seemed like hours, with my arms pinned fast above me, writhing about in joy.

It was like being tied to a magic carpet.

JJ_GC_sp_ps_24When I was a little older, at the age of thirteen – about a year after I had found out what my clitoris was for –  I went to my friend’s beach house, and they had a hammock.

I lay down in it and instantly had that sense of being on the bed-net again, spread out and floating in the horizontal.

Then my friend came in with me and we lay there together, giggling, idly swinging.

That night, I dreamed of being tied up on the flying carpet again.

This time there was a man on it, controlling it. He was very good at it. He steered us out past the desert and towards some islands over the bay, where we landed, but I remained tied.

I woke up from the dream and it was very early.

I crept out of my room to the hammock on the porch, and I climbed in and lay there with one hand above my head, pretending it was tied. I masturbated with the other hand.

I had never had more than a few orgasms at a time before.

That morning on their back porch, with the sun just rising, I had nine.

I don’t own a hammock right now, but, sometimes, when I lie in bed with my arms up, I can feel myself gently rocking, and the old magic feeling returns.


That’s My Name

As soon as my husband left for work, I got all dolled up and went to bed.

Pretty soon I was in heaven, and floated along until mid-morning having one long, searing orgasm after another. Everything else just faded away. It was wonderful.

Then the phone rang.

I answered after five rings, still gently attending to my sopping pussy, because I really didn’t want to stop.

‘Hello, is this Janet Marsh?’ said a woman’s voice.

‘Who?’ I said irritably. I didn’t know who she was talking about.

I really wished she’d go away so I could send another wave of pleasure cascading through my body. Then I remembered.

Janet Marsh.

That’s my name.




Out Come the Hotties

It is Spring where I am and the city is suddenly full of attractive women in sundresses.

Every year I wonder the same thing.

Do they uglify in winter? Do they hibernate?

Do I only notice them with their legs and shoulders exposed?

Surely a hot woman is still hot even in winter dress. Especially as I generally consider myself a ‘face’ man, first and foremost.

Or maybe, my own sexuality rebounds with the return of warm weather.

Next year it will be the same.