Character Body Size

Sheesh... You guys actually made my curiosity get the better of me: I clicked on Show ignored content to see what the blonde goblin has been to up again to have riled up even the folks whom I don't normally see butt heads with her.

And yup, it was all as expected: waltz into a thread, drop her obviously superior opinions, and throw a fit when everyone doesn't immediately bow down in worshipful deference. It would be mildly amusing if it wasn't so exhaustingly predictable.
 
AH, new writing exercise idea: write all descriptions as specific, clinical, and numerical as possible. Extra credit if you use niche measuring systems. Perfect for the Wa'ahians who use tiny pebbles and call them stones for body mass (by the Virgin Mary's holy panties, stone come in all sizes, you deserve to be bullied too!) and the Freedomnians who will even measure things in MILFs and Ducks just so they can avoid meters.
 
Sheesh... You guys actually made my curiosity get the better of me: I clicked on Show ignored content to see what the blonde goblin has been to up again to have riled up even the folks whom I don't normally see butt heads with her.

And yup, it was all as expected: waltz into a thread, drop her obviously superior opinions, and throw a fit when everyone doesn't immediately bow down in worshipful deference. It would be mildly amusing if it wasn't so exhaustingly predictable.
There's still plenty of time for her to talk about how much she loves writing with her best friend and then he'll show up and they'll talk ad nauseam about their shared Angels and Demons universe and like each other's posts for an entire page.
I just wanted to help people....
Sorry Clint. Always a chance a thread will go pear-shaped whenever Temu Regina George shows up. 🤷‍♀️
 
Sheesh... You guys actually made my curiosity get the better of me: I clicked on Show ignored content to see what the blonde goblin has been to up again to have riled up even the folks whom I don't normally see butt heads with her.

And yup, it was all as expected: waltz into a thread, drop her obviously superior opinions, and throw a fit when everyone doesn't immediately bow down in worshipful deference. It would be mildly amusing if it wasn't so exhaustingly predictable.

There's still plenty of time for her to talk about how much she loves writing with her best friend and then he'll show up and they'll talk ad nauseam about their shared Angels and Demons universe and like each other's posts for an entire page.

Sorry Clint. Always a chance a thread will go pear-shaped whenever Temu Regina George shows up. 🤷‍♀️
If you're going to call people names, at least have the decency to quote them or tag them.
 
On-topic: I think newer authors who are getting their feet wet for the first time with writing erotica fall into the hole of rapid-fire listing out the exact dimensions of their dream woman because that is how they envision her in their minds. And if they're just writing for themselves, then why not set the exact picture that they want to read about? It's my belief that the advice of using adjectives and other stylistic devices instead of precise measurements comes from practice and a realization that if one wants others to read and connect to their work, they need to let the readers' mind do some of the legwork to encourage investment in their prose.
I think that this is helpful. There are some writers here who are great at just enough description to allow the reader to construct their own, personalised pictures. Mind you, I am no longer able to to write a story without somebody's voice ringing in my head saying 'but what was she wearing?', but frankly I needed that. Possibly many of us are far too invested in the mental undressing to have considered the dressing sufficiently!
 
Nothing makes me click away faster from a story that the narrator or character giving their vital statistics in the first couple of paragraphs. It just tells me that the story with be shallow, concerned with appearance and the superficial, rather than emotions and motivations.
I think you can get away with objectifying a character as long as the story itself doesn't. Imagine a story starting like this. Would it work for you, or would you still nope right out of it? (And yes, I spent too much time on this.)

"Thirty-six D."

"Bullshit."

"Thirty-six D," Nick repeated, tossing two chips into the pot. "I'm telling you, gentlemen. Those are the numbers."

"Twenty bucks says you're wrong."

"You're on."

The four young men had claimed the dining table in the corner of a college house party that had, somewhere around eleven, abandoned any pretense of being a civilized gathering. Music thundered through the walls, someone was doing their best Bon Jovi in the kitchen, and why someone was running around dressed as a half-naked pirate was unclear to most but enjoyed by many.

None of this particularly concerned the gentlemen gathered around the poker table, though, for they were discussing Megan.

"How the hell would you know?" Daniel demanded.

"Because I saw her shopping."

"Shopping?"

"Yeah, Victoria's Secret. Last Saturday."

James lowered his cards. "You followed Megan into Victoria's Secret?"

"No! Jesus Christ. I was there with Amanda."

"Who's Amanda?"

"My girlfriend."

"Thought your girlfriend was Sophie."

"We broke up."

"When?"

"Tuesday."

"Bro, it's Thursday."

"Can we please focus?"

Oliver, who had been quietly rearranging his chips, looked up. "So you were in Victoria's Secret with Amanda, who you've apparently been dating for like forty-eight hours, and you happened to notice Megan buying a bra?"

"Yes."

"And you happened to see the size?"

"Yes."

"And memorized it?"

Nick hesitated.

"I mean she's got fantastic pair of tits."

"Solid argument," James conceded.

"Besides," Daniel interrupted, "thirty-six D sounds about right. Have you seen her in that black top? Christ almighty."

"Which black top?"

"The one with the little buttons."

"Oh, that black top."

Four heads nodded in appreciation.

"Speaking of which," James said, "what do we reckon her measurements are?"

"Thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six," Daniel declared immediately.

"That's a song, you moron."

"What song?"

"Baby got back, I think."

"I dunno. Her hips are wider than that," Nick said thoughtfully. "Thirty-eight, maybe. She's got that whole hourglass thing going on."

"And the waist. Jesus. You could practically get your hands around it."

James leaned back in his chair, playing with the cards in his hand.

"Five foot six?"

"Five seven," Nick countered.

"Five five," Daniel said.

"She's five foot four," Oliver supplied.

Three pairs of eyes turned toward him.

"What?"

"She's five foot four."

"How do you know?"

"She told me."

"When?"

"When we were talking."

"Talking about what?"

"Stuff. I dunno. Her height."

"Well, aren't you a fountain of fucking information?"

Oliver shrugged and picked up his beer.

"Brown eyes," James continued.

"Green."

"Blue."

"Hazel," Oliver said in a way that settled the discussion.

"Goddammit, Oliver!"

"What?"

"Stop knowing things!"

Oliver held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Beautiful hair, though," Nick said, studying his cards. "That sort of dark, chestnut brown. Goes all the way down her back."

"Great legs, too."

"Fantastic legs."

"And that ass."

"Oh, don't get me started on that."

"I'd marry that ass."

"You can't marry an ass, Daniel."

"I dunno man, your mom did a pretty good job."

James laughed so hard he nearly knocked over his beer.

"Seriously, though," Nick continued. "She's got to be one of the hottest girls on campus."

"Top five," Daniel agreed.

"Top three."

"Number one," James said solemnly, raising his beer in tribute.

The other two raised theirs.

Oliver did not.

"What?" Nick demanded.

"Nothing."

"Come on. You don't think Megan's hot?"

"Of course I do."

"Then what's your problem?"

"I just think it's stupid to spend ten minutes discussing someone's bra size. It's juvenile, and it says absolutely nothing about her. Do any of you even understand how bra sizes work?"

"What's to understand?" Daniel asked.

"Jesus Christ." Oliver shook his head. "It's like the ratings on Literotica. You look at a number and think you know how good the story is. Sure, it might give you a rough idea, but it's an approximation. At best. You still have to actually read the damn thing."

James frowned. "Did you just compare Megan to a porn story?"

"No, you idiot. I'm saying there's more to a woman than her measurements."

"Well, aren't you a fucking philosopher."

Oliver opened his mouth to respond, then stopped. His gaze had drifted somewhere beyond Nick's shoulder.

Nick noticed. "Oh, fuck."

Oliver said nothing.

"She's standing behind me, isn't she?"

Oliver gave a slight nod.

There was a sudden, terrible silence as Nick slowly turned.

Megan stood behind his chair, a rolled-up copy of the campus newspaper in one hand. She was, as previously established, a very attractive young woman. Dark chestnut hair, hazel eyes, a spectacular figure, and an expression suggesting that someone was about to die. But her eyes weren't on Nick - they were locked on Oliver.

"Too little and way too fucking late, Oliver."

He winced.

"Megan!" Nick exclaimed. "We were just-"

THWACK.

"OW! FUCK!"

THWACK.

Daniel yelped and nearly fell off his chair.

THWACK.

James attempted to escape beneath the table, but Megan caught him across the shoulder.

Oliver quietly put down his beer.

He looked up at her.

"Can I just say that I wasn't actually-"

THWACK.

He rubbed the top of his head.

"You were sitting with them."

"Fair," he said, eyes downcast.

Megan stood over the four men, breathing hard, the newspaper hanging loosely from her fingers.

"Thirty-six D?" she repeated.

Nick winced.

"Well, I thought-"

"You thought?"

"That's what I saw!"

Megan stared at him before something seemed to occur to her.

"Wait. You were watching me shop for underwear?"

"No! I mean, yes, but not watching watching. I happened to be there!"

"Jesus Christ, Nick."

"It was a coincidence!"

"Was it also a coincidence that you were standing outside my economics lecture yesterday?"

"No! I was waiting for Amanda!"

"Who's Amanda?" Megan demanded.

"My girlfriend!"

"Thought you were dating Sophie."

James made something fo a strangled noise.

Nick closed his eyes.

"Can everyone please stop asking me that?"

Megan looked around the table... Four grown men. Three empty pizza boxes. Twelve beer cans. A collection of poker chips worth six bucks. And a comprehensive statistical analysis of her breasts.

She shook her head.

"The fuck is wrong with you. Unbelievable."

"Megan," Daniel ventured, rubbing the back of his head. "Look, we didn't mean anything bad by it. We were just saying you're gorgeous."

"Oh, well, in that case."

Her voice was dangerously sweet, causing Daniel to smile hopefully.

"Really?"

THWACK.

"FUCK!"

Megan threw the newspaper onto the table.

"Enjoy your game, gentlemen."

She turned and stalked away, disappearing into the mass of dancing bodies.

For several seconds, nobody spoke, then James scratched his head.

"So..."

"No," Oliver said.

"I was just going to ask..."

"No."

James hesitated.

"Do we think it was thirty-six D?"

Oliver hit him with the newspaper.

Then we do a scene break, switch POV to Megan, who'd dart out of the house into the pouring rain (oh yes). She'd stop under a large oak tree that offered way less protection than she thought it would.

She wipes her face. From rain or tears? I'm not sure. But suddenly the rain stops. She looks up, and sees an umbrella, a large, dark blue one, held by a woman standing beside her.

"Don't listen to them," the stranger would say. "They're idiots. Inbred Neanderthals."

Megan would stare.

The woman would be perhaps a little shorter than her, with blonde hair, a gentle smile and the sort of calm expression one might expect from someone who was entirely at ease with herself.

Megan might have found that composure irritating, had she not noticed that the woman was holding the umbrella almost entirely over her, leaving her own shoulder exposed to the rain.

Goddamit. Another plot bunny. I'm going to have to write out the whole thing.
 
That's very clever (as I would expect from you). Technically different to what I said:

"the narrator or character giving their vital statistics in the first couple of paragraphs"

I was thinking of instances far clumsier than that.in any case, that was really a description of the guys, and the male gaze, not Megan.
 
I think the only story I use exact measurements is because I was trying to show the mindset of the POV character. It's the way he viewed women. He uses different descriptions at the end of the story. I'm not sure any reader picked up that intent, but there was intent.

To an earlier point, just before the thread got ugly, there are specific measurements that people cling to about themselves. For example, eing 6 foot tall vs 5-11 can be part of their psychological make up (I've never had to worry about that distinction -- I'm looking up at either).
 
@THBGato

I get it. Like anything with writing, it can be done well or it can be done clumsily. A lot of stories start with something like

[Opening paragraph]

Oh, wait, I haven't told you about myself. I come from Chattanooga. I'm blonde and have stunning 44DD tits that guys like to play with. I shave downstairs, and love wearing Victoria Secret underwear around the house, especially their pink satin romper (product ID: 11267823)

On the other hand, and while this is just a quick draft, I hope this suggests there is going to be a story with a character coming soon.

I was someone for exactly one month. Cassanova magazine's Miss July 1965 - 5 ft 6, 126lb, 34-27-34 with pert 32B breasts. Ten years on and I'm nobody again, but at least I'm a nobody with great vital statistics. I've clung to those numbers for dear life and, to my credit, they've not expanded an inch.
 
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@TheRedChamber that Marilyn Monroe fact is wild. i always thought she was tiny, but 34-27-34 is actually... substantial. makes the "pinup" image feel more real, less airbrushed. do you think writers use the specific measurements to signal "petite" because they think it's more submissive? seems like a weird assumption to me.
 
@TheRedChamber that Marilyn Monroe fact is wild. i always thought she was tiny, but 34-27-34 is actually... substantial. makes the "pinup" image feel more real, less airbrushed. do you think writers use the specific measurements to signal "petite" because they think it's more submissive? seems like a weird assumption to me.

LMAO - 34-27-34 is not “substantial.” This would be an XS or S in the US, likely a size 0 or size 2.
 
Sorry, Clinton. You accidentally stumbled onto one of the AH landmines. All you did was post a link you found helpful for visualizing. It had the vaguest hint of writing statistics into a story opening, and a lot of folks knee-jerked to opposing that instead of responding to what you actually posted.

Your link could be quite useful for someone who has been writing stat cards for descriptions and wants to change that. Hopefully, they can find it buried under all this muck.
 
It's perfectly acceptable to drop measurements in the appropriate context.
This argument was definitively settled by Anthony Ray on May 7th 1992, with the release of the Masterpiece "Baby Got Back" which spent 5 weeks at #1 on the Billboard Chart.


Yeah baby, when it comes to females, Cosmo ain′t got nothin'
To do with my selection, 36-24-36? Ha-ha, only if she′s 5'3"


#thread
 
@gradeajade

Honestly, I've never been able to visualise these numbers or calibrate what they mean.

But I have to confess I do like petite and skinny women*. And I'm certainly not against submissive**

(*as well as more than occassionally enjoying tall and buxom or even just plain large)
(**or indeed dominant, as long as she's got a sexual philosophy)
 
I think you can get away with objectifying a character as long as the story itself doesn't. Imagine a story starting like this. Would it work for you, or would you still nope right out of it? (And yes, I spent too much time on this.)

(snip)
No. No you didn't spend too much time on this. You spent exactly the right amount of time on it, albeit not enough for us to be fully satisfied. Keep it going to completion, please.

And I want to watch.

(yes, I know, THWACK)
 
I mention height weight and hair color. I leave the rest to the reader’s imagination. I might throw in, have curves or girl next door. Or a phrase like”in the looks department I’m no slouch” If outfits are important to the story I might describe them.

I write in first person past tense, so I like to sound like someone describing themselves.

I leave the details to the readers imagination.
 
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Maybe with the wrong crowd for that, hun.
It does seem like that sometimes.
Sorry Clint. Always a chance a thread will go pear-shaped whenever Temu Regina George shows up. 🤷‍♀️
In my opinion, the thread was already heading towards pear shaped before she arrived.

It's not your fault that everybody seems to have worn their cranky pants today! It's a good thread.
Thank you! (y)

You are helping people, just perhaps not in the way you had envisioned.
when "the best-laid schemes o' mice an' men" go awry.

Sorry, Clinton. You accidentally stumbled onto one of the AH landmines. All you did was post a link you found helpful for visualizing. It had the vaguest hint of writing statistics into a story opening, and a lot of folks knee-jerked to opposing that instead of responding to what you actually posted.

Your link could be quite useful for someone who has been writing stat cards for descriptions and wants to change that. Hopefully, they can find it buried under all this muck.
Thank you.

Letting people see how wrong they are about the numbers they put to a character versus real people with those numbers is absolutely helpful.

https://www.007b.com/breast_gallery.php. Is also a good resource for real breasts presented in a non sexualized way.
That can be very helpful. Thank you very much! :)

It reminds me, I keep thinking I'm gonna write a story where a woman's breasts point in different directions, or one is larger than the other, because that's all true to life. But when I get in the heat of the moment, it slips my mind.

I get so tired of reading about "perfect" breasts...and all the other things about the perfect character.
 
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