“Hot Tips For Fucking Girls”


candy hearts

As I’ve mentioned, one of the best things about having a blog is that you can see what search terms people use to find you. As you can imagine, with a blog titled thefuckingfacts.com, I am privy to what are probably the most pervy Google searches out there.
Lately, a reoccurring theme has become apparent. I’ve studied the patterns and the outcome is this: people really want to know “how to fuck girls”. It seems like all of you have asked Google some variation of this question in the last 30 days. Maybe it’s Lena Dunham’s influence; Girls’ sex scenes can make fucking look awkward as shit and pretty damn confusing. Which, from my personal experience, I would say it often is. I’ve never done it in a construction tube, a-la-Tiny-Furniture, but I have found myself in a fair share of compromising and confounding situations.
Anyway, the point is: as a girl*, this question warms my heart. I love sex. I love it best when the person/people I am doing it with know what they are doing. And really, the only way to know what you are doing is to ask.
To all the earnest, brilliant, thoughtful people brave enough to confess that they do not inherently know how to fuck (who does?), who as a result are probably the very best of lovers (communication is key!), I applaud you. Good job. As a result, I will try my very best to use my woman-powers for the greater good. And so, to answer your question, here are:

 Three Hot Tips For Fucking Girls

Tip 1: Avoid using the word ‘girl’, unless you know they are into it.

Here’s the thing. I am a straight up cis-girl. I was born with female parts, I love my tits and my clit and all those things, and I talk about my menstrual cycle as often as my brother talks about his illogical devotion to The Toronto Maple Leafs (which is to say a lot). And still, I don’t love it when the person I am fucking calls me a girl. When I am watching music vids and curling my hair with my girl pals, then I am a girl, reveling in all the pop-music, bubble-gum ideas of girlhood. But, if you wanna stick your dick or your fingers or whatever in my cunt, then you better call me a fucking woman! I am an adult, with agency, and control and a hot, woman bod, with curves and fat and all the nice things that make me a total womz. I am not “girl”, or “your girl”, or “baby girl”.

My roomie & I, being girls.

My roomie & I, being straight up girlzzz.

But that is just me. This rule may not apply to all people, just like almost every single rule that ever was, really. Some girls LOVE being called girl, and that is cool too. Nothing is hard n’ fast, but maybe  just ask your pal what word they prefer before you start pet-naming them anything at all.

Pluuuusss, the word girl is pretty gendered. Maybe you know the person you are fucking is, much like myself, a woman born with female anatomy who feels comfortable in that identity. But, not everyone is. Some people identify as trans or gender queer. They may have female or male anatomy, but may not identify with the societal category of girl or boy/woman or man. They may not call their bits their penis or their vagina, they may not want to be called he or she, and they may not conform to the traditional and restrictive gender binary. To use gendered language can be hurtful and cis-sexist. To learn more about trans identities, go here. To learn more about some aspects of trans culture, go here or here.

Tip 2: Don’t Assume A Thing, or, Consent Is Hot As Shit

So listen, the truth is, I can’t really tell you “how to fuck a girl”. I could tell you how to fuck me, and I am a girl, but that is not really the same thing.
The snowflake metaphor is always applicable. No two people are alike, and no two people like the same thing. Some girls like having their nipples sucked; some like having their hair pulled; some girls like having their back rubbed; some like missionary; some like it standing up; some girls only want to do it on Fridays; some girls only want to do it with their socks on. Some girls call “sex” penetration. Some girls call “sex” oral. Some girls call “sex” something you have never even imagined before.
What woman want, counter to what that shitty Mel Gibson movie from the 90’s may have taught us, is pretty fucking diverse. As is the definition of sex. Considering all the many variables at play here, answering the question of how to fuck a girl is pretty much impossible. So, I can’t tell you how to please your female friend. But, I bet she can. And so, my advice is to ask her, not Google.

Ask her if she likes her clit to be touched, and how. Ask her if she likes her neck to be kissed. Ask her if she likes penetration. Ask her what she would like to do, how she would like to do it, when she wants to do it, and where.

This kills two birds with one stone (or feeds two birds with one scone, if you find bird-killing metaphors offensive). It teaches you how to be the best fucking lover you can be, because you are listening to your partner’s desires. And, it ensures that you are engaging in sexy times that are totally consensual. Consent is pretty much the hottest thing ever. In this weird, sex-negative world we live in, it can be pretty hard for a person to figure out what they want to do in bed. Practicing good consent, by asking your pal what they want to do/if they like what ya’ll are doing/if they are comfortable, helps both you and your sex-friend ensure you are doing things that you both really, definitely, want to be doing. To learn more about consent, read this awesome article.

Oh, and if you think all this asking business sounds clunky and awkward, don’t worry, it isn’t. Just try it. It could feel weird at first, but practice, throw in some dirty words, and you’ll be asking all the best questions and communicating like a champ in a matter of minutes. Here are some practice sentences you can try at home: “Baby, I want to suck your cock. Do you want that?”; or,  “Does this feel good?/Was that good?”; or,  “You have the most hot fucking bod I have ever seen. Can I touch it in all the places you like best?”.

Thing 3: The Clit Might Be A Safe Bet/Foreplay Is Generally Appreciated

Again, to be doubley clear, I can’t tell you what women want. Some want it fast, some want it slow, some want it rough, some want it soft, some want to top, and some want to bottom. But, I felt like if I didn’t provide at least one practical tip, brains may just explode with my annoyingly theoretical musings and my insistance that there are no right answers, ever. So, a practical tip: it is often true that girls, or women, or anyone at all really, like a bit of foreplay. Rushing into things can sometimes be a good time. A lunch-break quickie, a before-the-kids-get-home get off, a middle of the night fastie (I made that word up) – they can be hella fun. But, often, a bit of warming up goes a long way.

So, if penetrative sex is the end goal for you and your sex-friend, try warming things up before moving on into insertion. Foreplay is great for a few reasons. It gets blood flowing, making genitals erect. It gets the juices…juicing, making genitals wet and making penetration much more slick n’ slippery n’ fun. And it gets the brain in the right position, helping one forget the details of their day and get into the moment.

Foreplay can include some of the following fun things: give the ears and neck some amorous attention with your lips/mouth/teeth; talk dirty!; sweetly stimulate them nipples with fingers, mouths, or even clamps if all parties are down with that; focus on the clit with your fingers or your mouth; REALLY FOCUS ON THE CLIT; and then focus on the clit some more. If both parties have consented, foreplay could also include things like: spanking, bondage, blindfolds, and sex toys! Really, the options are endless, and I encourage ya’ll to experiment with the wealth of fun things bodies can do together before penetration happens.

Oral is a great way to warm up.

Oral is a great way to warm up.

So, them’s the tips.
To sum it all up: the best way to know how to fuck anyone at all in the way that they want, is to ask ’em.
But, I do hope some of the above provides some good initial guidance.


*I prefer tough-as-fuck woman, but whatever. I’ll go with girl in this instance to conform to internet vernacular.

Go Finger Fuck Yourself.


Two babely friends of mine,  A and T, recently put out an awesome, inspiring, titillating, panty-dropping, ‘zine.
The subject matter: orgasms.
A and T, being both babely and brilliant, got in touch with a whole bunch’a folks and said “Listen, we want to talk about women’s orgasms, and we wanna talk about ’em now.”
Well, I am paraphrasing. What they actually said:

“We all have different bodies, so it makes sense that we would have different orgasms. With this in mind we have collected personal stories about women’s orgasms and made them into this ‘zine to hopefully help other women better understand that their pleasure is theirs alone and not what society says it should be. We recognize that gender is fluid and performative, and that “woman” is an unstable category, and thus we welcomed submissions from anyone who has ever identified as a woman.”

Pretty smart, right? I love this point, and I love this ‘zine. It has inspired me to rethink coming, masturbating, fucking, and feeling pleasure, and these are the kinds’a things I was already thinking about all day every day.
It has made me want to write about clitoral orgasms.
It has made me want to write more about the infamous G-Spot O.
I want to write about different kinds of coming,
about self-induced coming,
about the feeling of that earth-shakin’, heart-poundin’, thigh-quakin’ orgasm,
and the just as valid feeling of that quiet-warmth-that-creeps-up-inside-you-gently-orgasm.

Because A and T are totally right. The societal pressures put on women to simultaneous be both sluts & sweethearts makes our ability to quantify, identify and experience our own pleasure on our own terms pretty fucking difficult. It is so hard to just feel straight up good in yer bod without worrying if the other person is feeling good, if you are looking good, if you are doing it right, if this really is an orgasm, plus a whole big butt-load of  other unnameable insecurities.

So, I am going to write more about all that next week – about coming on our own terms, by our own hands. Unfortunately, these days my fingers are too busy doing…other, more interesting things…and I haven’t had a spare second to write a whole new fresh post. And so, in lieu of hot tips on finger fucking yourself and attaining that elusive O, I am instead going to reprint for you here my entry in The Orgasm Zine. I promise to post more helpful information next week. In the meanwhile, please consider this half-true story some erotic inspiration.

Better yet, if you want some real, serious, turn-you-on-and-lay-you-out stimulation, and you happen to be in Halifax, Nova Scotia, you should come see myself and a slew of other folks read our own orgasm accounts…aloud…in public.

The date: this Wednesday, June 20th.
The time: 8 pm.
The place: One Block Barber Shop.


Girls Just Do*

When I was younger, I thought girls just didn’t.
My boyfriends would touch me with their calloused farm-hand hands, and I would think: “Oh, that feels nice.”
But I never thought I could touch myself too. Masturbating was for Boys Only. Girls didn’t get to control their coming.
Then, my cousin moved in.
With five years on me, she had it all figured out. She knew how to make Kraft Dinner and how to count cards; she knew that girls do it to, and she even knew that girls could do it with each other.
Best of all, she knew about Prince.

My cousin would have her girlfriends over and I knew that behind locked doors, they were doing more than painting their nails and reading Tiger Beat. I knew they were touching each other, bodies pressed tight together, hands searching between the tight folds of tight denim.
I would be outside the door, my ear pressed tight to the wood, my hands pressed tight to my chest, my thighs pressed tight together, and wondering:  “What magic tricks do they know?”

But, I didn’t have the words to ask. So instead, I turned to Prince.

When the house was empty I would sneak into the basement (then a bedroom for familial refugees) and steal her Prince records. ‘Cream’,’ Gett Off’, ‘Little Red Corvette’, and ‘Raspberry Beret’ would ricochet through the house at full volume.
It was Prince who taught me where to put my hands.
His voice would slide over the lines:

“It’s your time,
you got the horn so why don’t you blow it?
You are fine,
you’re filthy cute and baby you know it.”

and I would slide down my underwear.
He would shout out:

“I clocked the jizz from a friend of yours named Vanessa Bet.
She said you told her a fantasy that got her all wet, wet.
Something about a little box with a mirror and a tongue inside.”

and my fingers would slip down between my legs, my body shouting out to be touched.

While Prince sang about needing her body from dusk ‘til dawn, I learned my own body.
I learned how to work my clit, move my fingers in circles ‘til I was throbbing, ‘til my legs were shaking.
I learned up-strokes, down-strokes, and backwards strokes, moving one finger and then two in endless patterns, making my whole, small, self quiver.
I learned how to dip my fingers inside me, curl them up and press hard, and then even harder.
I learned that I could make myself come even quicker than my boyfriends; that my soft fingers were even more proficient than their rough ones. I learned that girls do it to, that I could do it to.

Girls just do.

* For the sake of my flabbergasted family members reading this post: this story is in part fiction. I do have a bevy of older, smarter, better-looking, and queerer cousins who I have been following around and mimicking my entire life. Some of them have, at times, lived in my parents’ basement and some of them do LOVE Prince. But, I swear, I never listened in at the door, and that wasn’t me who borrowed (and scratched) your CDs, I swear.