Another woman massaged me while we were both naked

Georgina Hammerton: Week Seven


On Sunday, I turn 20. Unfortunately, my WKD teenage years are over. Just when I’d started to get the hang of them.

As I leave a time fraught with confidence issues and hormone fuelled temper tantrums, it’s clear that one experience stands out to truly free that nipple. Two decades of acting like a tit. And this is the moment that defined me.

I’ve always been a prude. Scared of nipples. Terrified of ball sacks. When people get naked, I giggle, laugh, cringe, and turn away.

Bunny tail or balls?

The best thing I’ve ever done to improve my confidence wasn’t reading about empowerment. It wasn’t deluding myself to believe that I had the potential to be the new Cara Delevigne/Adriana Lima hybrid.

It was literally just getting naked and letting an old, Turkish woman rub me down with oils whilst all my friends watched.

And then she washed my hair.

Her breasts were far from pert. And honestly, there was more rolls flowing around than a Hovis production line.

But by god, she was sassy. She didn’t care. Attractive, detractive, horrendous, stupendous, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t relevant. Confidence oozed from every pore.

As the most immature person currently living, I literally started hysterically laughing when her drooping breast accidentally dragged against my back.

But it made me see that a body is just a body.

Anticipation is high in the waiting room

Me and my friends all sat butt naked in a room full of other women and openly stared at one another. All very different. Some showing hours in the gym. Some showing hours at the kebab shop.

But they were all, in that moment, reduced to simply their basic forms as fleshy bodies. There was no judgment, no concept of anything aesthetic or any notion of the current social paradigm for what was attractive.

I’m not saying I now view scrotums as the next sunflowers by Van Gogh. I like it when a guy has metaphorical balls, and has the confidence to ask you out or make a fucking weird joke. But the literal balls I’m not so keen on. In fact, I actually really resent it when guys send pics of their genitals. If only you could see how quickly we take our finger off that snapchat.

N.B. (Please wait for a girl to really beg you to send those kind of pictures.) Don’t ever assume an invitation.

No thanks, Rob from Tinder

Then last Saturday as I was walking into a club, the bouncer took a look at my I’d, then back at me, then back at my I’d again and said: “Gosh, you’ve changed a lot since this picture was taken.”

Literally. WTF. This guy has clearly never been enlightened Hiram style.