A huge literary pet peeve of mine is the way some male authors describe women. With just an excerpt of a character description, you can immediately find out if a man wrote it, thanks to the sexist prose. More often than not, the existence of these female characters in real life would be anatomically impossible, but that doesn’t stop them men. Have you seen r/MenWritingWomen?
Recently, this tweet by @jelenawoehr blew up and I participated too, but it was too fun to just stop with one example.
Since I also have a penchant for writing things that make my mom ashamed, I’ve written a few examples of how it would be if male characters were described the way women are by male authors.
Content warning: Graphic descriptions of certain appendages. Hide your mom.
General disclaimer: My writing is not usually this bad, I swear.
And away we go.
1. Let’s go globe-trotting.
I couldn’t help but be hypnotised as he bounded up the stairs, the twin globes of his butt rippling and bouncing in sync. He wasn’t young, but the youthful grace about him proved that he had the pelvic stamina to create a satisfying symphony out of stirring & thrusting, enough even to make up for the failings of the male species as a whole.
2. There really is everything at this store.
Chad had a plain face and was not much of a looker, but it was obvious he was well-endowed even when he was fully clothed. Visitors of his convenience store almost always did a double take upon first laying their eyes on him. Good thing he was behind the counter most of the time, effectively hiding the front of his pants from prying eyes, for how the ladies would get their shopping done otherwise, no one knew.
3. Sorry, Star Wars fans.
My mouth went dry at his shapely nakedness, at the 200 pounds of delectable flesh stretched out on my satin sheets. I couldn’t help but notice how everything about him was big. He had a thick neck, a torso like a cement mixer, and thighs strong enough to carry the weight of the world. But the best of all was his member, a protruding lightsaber blinking at me with a come-hither motion. “Oh, come I will,” I exclaimed before pouncing on the bed.
4. Men, ugh.
The CEO I was expecting wasn’t who was waiting for me when I stepped into their office. When I fixed an appointment with Avery’s assistant, I had been expecting your typical CEO — a confident woman who knew what she wanted. I had been expecting a woman, period.
But the Avery waiting for me was decidedly not who I was expecting.
a. He was a man. Ugh.
b. He seemed too young to have accomplished all that I’d read about.
I quickly cast my eyes around the room to see if this young thing was in fact who I was supposed to consult with.
5. “Upward trend”.
As he moved around the conference room discussing the upward trend in the graph onscreen, my eyes remained glued to the very obvious outline in the front of his pants. How was I supposed to focus on my team’s performance this quarter when I could only think of how men like him got anything done when they had an all-powerful rod rearing to go between their legs?
6. Good ol’ Gary.
Gary worked sixteen hours a day and had no social life. Each time Riya ran into him, he seemed to have aged a decade, his hands calloused, and his hairline receding. But what did looks matter? At 32, Gary was past the age of marriageability anyway.
7. Had to throw in a bad pun here.
His testicles burst forth like twin pool balls and his aching member stood up like a cue stick he couldn’t wait to use to sink into her hole.
8. A powerful woman and her husband.
The Mehtas were an odd couple to say the least. Mrs. Mehta was tall, assertive, and had a voice that could command the attention of everyone in any room she spoke in. Mr Mehta existed and that’s all there is to say about him.
9. “Traffic cone”? Drive me crazy, why don’t you.
For me, the male form is delectable. The way the thick muscles constrict around their necks, the sinewy ones on their back that ripple when they stretch. I love how their torso tapers into a V, much like an inverted traffic cone.
The best poets have tried and failed to write about the thin veins that meander around the penis and the warm balls adorably settling on either side of the rod, like a supportive bra. Take care of it well enough and it will languidly grow to its majestic size. Well, for some. Adorable, no?
10. And finally…
He wore a fitted neon green jersey, tight shorts, a Nike headband, and white running shoes. His nose was a bit on the bigger side, but his full, moist lips, smiling in a way that showed he knew he looked good, very much made up for the plainness of his face.
Honestly, I’ve never laughed at my own writing this much before. This was delightfully bad and I think I’ve permanently ruined by writing style with this cursed post. Oh, well.
As much fun as this was, there really are books out there which describe women in much worse ways than this post. It really makes me hope that a writing conference like the one I made up in an old satirical article actually did exist. Until then, satire will have to do.