I think this might be the 3rd post that I’ve written inspired by a question from the same person. Cheers Dude – your inspiration is always great.
The question was: Do I like big, muscly guy, is it more attractive. And the further and elusive question of: What do women find attractive in men.
Well, I can’t tell you. Because I don’t know women. I just know myself, sort of. So anything that I answer in relation to those two queries will categorically be what I think and not what women as a whole think. But what I will say that’s across the board is that women and men are the same, we’re human and everybody wants something different.
Of course we all want the same fundamentals; food, shelter, to be engaged in fulfilling tasks and to have meaningful companionship. But the nuances of these are what makes us individuals.
So question one – do women prefer big muscly guys? I think everyone appreciates a body that has been looked after, it would be futile to dispute that. But where is anyone’s cut off point or benchmark description of ‘looked after’? My own personal tastes are in the moderate category for a number of reasons.
What do I mean by moderate? Well, unless you’re living under a rock on Pluto with your eyes closed and fingers in your ears then you’ll be aware of the Magic Mike film franchise. And even if you haven’t seen the movies, you’ll have seen the posters. Everywhere. Well that’s not moderate, anything in any of those posters is unequivocally not to my taste. It’s all a bit much for me. Your average rugby player, that scene of Daniel Craig coming out of the sea, Khal Drogo – all too much for me. It’s overdone, it’s past sublime and into the ridiculous. But only in my opinion. Take it down a notch or 7. I’d say GAA player build or soccer player build, that’s what does it for me. Fit, possibly with amazing thighs and some nice arms and not an over pronounced 6 pack. That’s what I like. That’s what makes me go a bit pervy and want to ogle. And let’s never forget a nice, high, firm arse.
Anyone who is too fit though is intimidating. I hope you guys know that?
If I’m with someone who’s got zero body fat then I’m less likely to get naked in front of them. It’s scary and I feel like I’m going to be judged. I feel like I’m being assessed and that I will undoubtedly come up short.
I’m a confident and fit enough person, fitter at some points than others. But even at my fittest I’ve always had cellulite and a wide, flat arse that has never, ever been pert (Jesus, why am I revealing this?) but crucially I’ve never been really fully happy with my body. And I feel acutely aware of these flaws when I am with someone fitter. I just want to feel that someone has possibly got their own tiny flaws and that they aren’t looking for mine, that they’re not thinking in their head; this girl isn’t in my physical league. Or worse, this girl could be hot, if she toned up a little.
And before you start shouting that none of you are thinking this, I already know. But it’s an internal dialogue that I have with my confident self all the time. But it remains a fact; I wish I was happier with my body than I am. Can you imagine walking around all day being happy with your body, can you just imagine the peace of that?
Well I can’t.
This doesn’t affect me all day every day. But at least once a day. Sometimes more. And as I’ve said, I’m a confident enough person, I can squish those thoughts and get on with things. And when I’m about to have sex with someone I like? I can slay those thoughts very successfully and get on with enjoying myself.
But when it comes to me fantasising about someone their body actually rarely comes into it. Once again, sorry guys.
When I think of someone that makes my cunt ache and slicken then it’s what they’ve said to me, what they’ve done to me and what they’ve looked like as they’ve said and done these things to me. The hottest person I’ve ever been with is not the hottest person I’ve ever been with –if you follow. He wasn’t the fittest or the tallest or the best looking (he wasn’t unattractive by the way, not in the slightest) but thoughts of this man sent me crazy. Even his voice makes my nipples hard. It’s just him. How he is, what he can make my body do and how I felt when I was near him. The thought of him kissing me, fucking me, the memory of his cock pounding into me these were the things that I played with in my head. That I still play with in my head to get myself off.
But I didn’t desire him because of a six pack or arms larger than my thighs. I just desired him – the rest was inconsequential. I wanted to lick and suck and bite and take every piece of his flesh.
I wanted all of him all day long.
But I’ve been with super fit guys, guys that were ogled by other women, guys who looked great on the beach let’s say. And sure I did love looking at them and touching them – but not any more or less than anyone with a body not as toned. Your physique might catch my attention on the street or in a bar but it’s not what will hold my attention. Sometimes not even long enough to get me into bed.
And right on cue we have a recent example from my dating life. My friend, we’re going to call her Lucy, brought me to a singles night – there was some free booze and some free food – words that will always count me in. It was good fun but by the time I met the boy in question it was late in the night. Even still we hung out and it was immediately apparent that something was going to happen and it did. He was funny and a bit bold and I loved how he was dressed and how he carried it. Taller than me, even though I was wearing heels. Clearly fit as he was wearing a fitted shirt. And the holy grail; he was not wearing boot cut jeans with trainers. Nope, he had on brogues and straight leg navy chinos. Showing just enough of how fit (the way I like) his body was. And damn right I was into it. Topped off by him being a pretty good kisser.
But as mentioned by the time we met him it was quite late. So after a few more drinks I felt it was time to drag myself home. When I said this, he wasn’t happy to let me go. Nice. So he insisted I took his number. Again, nice. I took it, he made me ring it, so that he had mine and then he tried to get me to take him with me. I was too tired for any performances to be good so it was never going to happen.
I’m not sure how, but as I’m leaving he spots a euro coin on the ground, he picks it up, hands it to me and says “Here you go, make sure you call me tomorrow, no excuses”. It’s so fucking ridiculous he just about pulls it off. I lap up that cheesy stuff sometimes.
I go home happy and fairly entertained.
The next day I get texts from him, all of them ending or leading back to, why haven’t I called him yet. So I do, we chat, have a laugh and agree to meet up again.
A week after we met we meet up again. And drunk Abbi was not deceiving sober Abbi. He is hot. And he is fit and he is once again very well dressed in a way that showcases a type of body that I like but not in an overt way. I’m still into it.
My god am I still into it.
I’m going to diverge here for a tiny bit and have a wee rant. Well, I’m not having a go at anyone per se. More likely I’m showing some personal character flaws but here goes.
I got to thinking after that guy arrived – and to be fair it’s probably something I have actually thought and said before – but my guess is that 90% of the dates I’ve showed up for either with boyfriends or for first dates like this, I’m guessing the guy was thinking “You look great”. I’m not awful looking, I’m fairly handy with the hair and makeup and I will usually be showcasing some nice physical feature with my clothing. Be it my legs or my cleavage. The point is I’m sure I’ve been wearing something that has turned the guy on, or that he’s thought looks well.
Now. I can’t tell you how many times that has happened in the reverse. Because it’s so rare. I’m not saying guys haven’t made an effort I’m just saying it’s been rare that it’s been anything that I thought was particularly good. And when I’ve picked the outfit it doesn’t actually count.
I would just like to go out someone and for them to regularly turn up wearing things that make me want to grope them. Just as I feel sure that I regularly show up wearing something that is a turn on.
And I think this must be typical for a lot of girls. We’re always there with the short skirts or the slinky dresses or the tight jeans or the strategically cut tops. When we’re going out – we are making a certain effort that I (Personally) don’t find reciprocated and Jesus – I’d really love to experience it even for a little while.
Now I’m not saying I’ve been going out with guys who wear bin bags I’m saying that it’s all been a bit nice. Safe. Unadventurous. Unexciting. It’s just never turned me on.
I’d love to go out with someone who wore stuff that turned me on – just something a bit stylish.
So here I am. On a date with a boy who has shown up in a head to toe outfit that turned me on. I wanted to be seen everywhere with him. I wanted to be photographed with him. Ok, not literally. But kind of. I felt we looked great, you know? Not crazy, hipster, inexplicable catwalk stuff – just a tiny bit stylish.
But I didn’t sleep with him.
I did not take him home.
Well. As much as I was into him physically and sartorially…. It really was all style and no substance. Not that he was thick or uninteresting, he was neither. He was smart and well-travelled and had a lot to say. It was just a shame that it was me doing the driving.
I would ask the questions and come up with topics which were the catalysts for our conversations. But he didn’t ask any back. I had to interject with my answers to the questions I’d posed – where I could grab the chance. It was me coming up with the guessing games as to what the other people in the bar were here for, the best toilet graffiti. I actually feel like I couldn’t have been more engaging and charming. (Which I suppose is what I would think!)
So I made the decision that I wasn’t bringing him home. When he asked if I wanted another drink I said it was late, I had to go. But as we walked up the stairs to go out the main bar he slipped his hand in mine and softly said “Ah come on, we can have one more, surely?” And he nodded towards the end of the bar where there were two perfectly positioned seats.
But this was the first time he had so much as brushed off me all night. Our knees are now intertwined a bit and he leans in and kisses me. Fleetingly. He leaves his hand at the small of my back.
All of which would have been great if he had done it a couple of hours ago – but he didn’t. It was only when I said I was going to leave that he made any physical effort to show he was into me.
And only then did he actually ask me about myself. Just a shame that those questions happened to be about why I couldn’t bring him home and why did I have to be up so early and what was stopping me from letting him come with me…..
We finished our drinks and he slipped his arm around me as we walked out. And I loved it. I caught a glimpse of us as we passed a window; we looked every bit as good together as I thought. Well in typical me fashion I thought I could have looked a bit fitter but still – pretty good for a kind of warm night in Ireland.
It was barely 100 meters to a cab rank and he opened the door for me to get in, which is when I turned around and said oíche mhaith. “Are you serious?” was his response. Yes, I’m afraid. I have to go home and get the house ready for my Airbnb guests tomorrow. “Ok, oíche mhaith so”. And he closed the door.
I got two texts from him that night, offering his cleaning skills – which was cute and I believed there was no sulking. But then I never heard from him again.
What’s the moral? There’s no moral but there are two lessons. One, as much as I thought George Michael was always, always wrong when he said ‘Sometimes the clothes do not make the man’ – it turns out he was right. As custom designed from my aesthetic fantasies as this guy was, and as much as I did actually want to sleep with him, by the end of the night I didn’t. He did not make me feel like he had any real interest in me and I don’t mean that in a wants-to-marry-me-and-give-me-babies way. I didn’t think he really desired me for even that one night. It wasn’t until the very end that he deigned to put a hand on me. Now I think if you’re into someone there’d be some tell-tale body language throughout the evening, no? Even if you’re only into having them that one time.
That coupled with not really asking me anything about myself? Well my conclusion was: he wanted a ride but he wasn’t going to be doing anything to see if I was having a good time in bed because he wasn’t doing that for the evening leading up to it. And that was a damn shame as I had thought he had that glint in his eye…..
I can’t sleep with someone if I don’t believe they are into me. Or indeed if I feel I won’t be getting anything from it.
So daters out there. Be engaging, ask questions, try and even ACT like you give a fuck about the other person and who knows, I might* just sleep with you.
I don’t know what other women want and I don’t know how they feel about guys being built. But I want someone who acts like they really want to sleep with me all the rest I couldn’t really care about.
*No might about it. If he’d made 1% more of an effort I would have. If he had even kissed me for longer than 3 seconds at a go… he’d have been in my bed faster than you could count the number of questions he asked me about myself!