My c**t is your c**t

Belinda is hurt.

Very hurt.

That is why

She is

Writing in short sentences

Like this

I don’t want to bring the subject back to me all the time because as I’ve said, it’s not all about me. Except it is. But since I set up my blog, I’ve found that instead of support from women I seem to get outright hate.

What’s the problem? I mean we all have cunts. And that fact alone means we need to support each other in a world where we are constantly stalked by misogynistic penises. It’s not as if our cunts are different. Ok they are. Mine is a really hot cunt, probably hotter than yours. But it’s still a cunt. And just because I spend my days fucking for the feminist cause it doesn’t mean that women who are say, selling cakes at kindergarden stalls, have cunts that are any less interesting than mine.

I think the problem is that women hate me because they hate themselves, especially their own bodies. It’s sad. Of course it's totally understandable if you don’t have a body like mine. But hey, it’s not all about you. You know I have a really simple solution. If you hate your own body, you can share the love. Why not take all that self-hate and instead turn it into love for another woman? Like me, Belinda. Support me. Support my cunt so I can take on more of those penises. Because in the end it’s all of us who benefit.

The Glass Ceiling

Carrying the mantle for radical feminism between my legs isn't easy. Not even for me, Belinda Swallows - wife, mother, sister, daughter. Actually none of those are true except the last one but it sounds good, doesn't it? The point is I am a woman. A woman putting her arse, pussy and breasts out there in full view of men, just to get a better deal for other women. And instead of every single woman getting behind me and admiring my hot figure, they write to me and abuse me, saying that my fucking has nothing to do with eliminating the glass ceiling.

That is absolute rubbish. In fact I took a major step on behalf of all women this weekend when I was in bed at S's place. As I wiped at least six gallons of cum from my face I looked up and found myself staring at the mirrors on the ceiling. Yep, a glass ceiling. It made me so angry that I turned on him and demanded to know why I didn't see it before.

"Well you crawled into the bedroom on your hands and knees. And then I pushed your face down into the pillow and fucked you.

"If I'd known I was going to get fucked under a glass ceiling I wouldn't have done it," I said. "You've violated my rights you bastard." I felt really strongly about this and I didn't want S to think he could get away with asserting his male dominance and further damaging the political, economic and social rights of women without a fight. I had to stand up for women everywhere.

S said he was really sorry and I immediately forgave him.

"What can I do to make it better," he said?

"Well," I replied, "I think I have to redress the balance of power in this relationship."

"How about if I tie you up, slap you and call you a dirty, cheap, slut whore?"

I smiled. "That would be perfect" I said.

Economics: It's panties

People often ask me, “Belinda, how is that having gallons of cum all over you, helps further the cause of women?" Thing is my orgasms are not just mine. Ok? They’re for everybody. They’re for all those women who are afraid to let the world know they’re not wearing panties. And in many ways that’s no different to women in cleaning jobs who are fighting for a better wage. Because sure, they might be wearing panties but what they want are nicer, lacy, more glamorous satin panties. And the only way they’re going to get them is to get more money for their work. That means finding their collective voice against the fucking male partriachal society that keeps women in cheap panties. Cunts.

And that’s where I come in. I figure that if I’m unafraid to lean over to three guys in a bar and say, “Fuck me hard,” then other women will do the same. And guys will get the message that I know exactly what I want. Like they do when I get my tits out before they ask me to. It shows I’m in control. And while it may sound light years away from those poorly paid women cleaners, it's pretty obvious that if they see me out there, fingering myself and demanding orgasms, there is an undeniable trickle down effect. God, that’s made me so horny I need to go and finger myself.

Feminism laid bare

People think it’s easy being a sex blogger. They think that it’s just about the sex. But that’s just typical of this patriarchy we live in. That’s why I just say, fuck them. Then I do. It’s much easier than writing thoughtful essays on the way forward for women (don’t waste your time girls).

Take it from me, sex is the biggest political statement you can make as a woman. That’s what radical post-feminism is all about: thinking about cock, begging for cock, bending down having cock pushed into you, lying back sucking cock and looking at cock.

Someone said to me the other day,“Woman, you are a kind of like a huge shining dildo for the sisterhood.” I guess I am. If that is what it takes to get respect then bring it on. The thing is that is why guys are drawn to me. It’s not just because I walk around with my bazookas hanging out. No, they respect my position as a woman. Especially when sucking cock. They know that I am using my brain when I do it. And they fucking respect it. By the way, notice how I have been learning to use short sentences. Like this.

Anyway the other day I was at the gym. Every guy fancied me. I could just tell. And I didn’t even have my PVC sports bra on. I did a quick calculation and figured if there were sixty guys, there must be sixty cocks. But they all stopped what they were doing and I could tell by their puffing and panting they wanted me. Sorry guys, but this woman’s already got a hot and sweaty date tonight. (Get it? Clever huh?)

I can’t go anywhere without men leaving their wives for me. Women beg me to stay at home and get my groceries delivered.

"Please don’t lure our men with all your talk of cock," they say. We cannot possibly be as seductive and sophisticated as you."

Even if I did take their men home I would make them wait. That is what radical post-feminism is all about. They would probably have to wait until I’d frigged myself at least ten times. God, I am one horny bitch.You know, nobody had thought of sex before I wrote about it. I introduced the world to threesomes. And fisting. I like to fist myself. For me it’s one of the ultimate symbols of my power as a woman. That proud fist cocooned inside that moist soft place: Hand in feminist glove. If I could use my fist as a tampon I would.

Some people say to me,

“Girl,” (for that is what I am)

“Girl,” they say, “it’s all about you”

And I say, “No it’s about you. It’s about you adoring me. That’s why I can do the things I do.”

When I write things like “today I sucked cock,” the subtext is much deeper. I’m actually drawing on metaphysical assumptions of feminism as a body of thought, and French post-structuralist theory. Anyway it doesn't matter because they just lap up whatever I say.By the way, if anyone calls me a dirty slut whore I immediately list my radical post feminist credentials and put on my brainy face. That's if it's a woman. If it's a man I just lie back and beg for cock. See? It’s always on my radical post-feminist terms. That’s the difference between me and girls who just put out. People say I fancy myself but if you were me you would too. Only you’re not.

Anyway I’ve got to go now and write about cock. And bull.