ALWAYS.
We compare size, we compare style, we compare the fact you weren't the first guy who was out of condoms and "didn't think it was a problem."
We also compare our lovers with our girlfriends.
We giggle over the fact that both our guys paid us the exact same compliment:
"Your pussy is perfect."
Yes. Thank you. I know. Worship at the alter of perfection.
We wonder why every male seems to think the Cock Selfie is a turn on, why they think we always want to cuddle and why they often care more about being Instagram friends with our siblings than we do.
And often we wonder why communication is so much harder than their dicks.
My current complaint--
Men who use sex shaming.
We, as women, have been deceived to believe that all men want is sex, all men care about is sex, sex, sex, sex, give men sex and they'll be happy little monkeys!
FALSE.
I have never met a man whose sexual appetite could keep up with mine.
E V E R.
Because the truth is that a lot of women want sex MORE than their partners.
And why not?
Women are built to have multiple orgasms, to enjoy prolonged intercourse while men just roll over and fall asleep.
Of course I'd want it more!
I get off more.
(Literally, it's like always in threes, unless the guy is a real flailing, fumbling buffoon).
Cue Monsieur Clitoris, the lover I was currently lusting after.
No, I'm not gay.
(I kissed a girl once and that was more drama then I ever thought possible without actually sleeping with someone so I concede my "Open to Experimenting" hat & concluded instead that women are bat shit crazy & I'm enough wackadoo for one life, thank you).
But I do tend to be attracted to sensitive, artistic, somewhat effeminate men.
Like, if I had a dollar for every time a friend thought the guy I was dating was gay I'd be leaving the Dollar Tree with my arms full.
Arms FULL, my friends.
So ok.
Maybe I set myself up with this one.
He did write me a love song before we'd even had sex.
Maybe I should have ran screaming into the night.
But he was so fucking cute.
And wore bow ties.
And he kissed by the book.
(Whatever the fuck Juliet was saying).
So we meet, we date, we make violent passionate love to each other.
And he L E A D S me to believe his lustful appetite is right on par with mine.
He titles me "Lover" and delves into detailed description & anticipation of all the things he has yet to do to me.
Hot Hotty Hot.
Cut to tragedy after drama after shit show bombarding his life and I don't see the Mother Fucker.
For WEEKS.
Once in a month, but whose counting?
So I begin to regret my former Fuck Exclusivity Agreement because that was with the understanding that we would actually, you know.....
Be Fucking.
So. Ok.
It's cool.
We're all adults here.
Let's discuss this dilemma like adults.
'Maybe if you don't have much time to get together we should consider making our relationship open. I would still love to date you but I don't want to put pressure on you to be my lover if that's not what you're looking for right now."
And then guess who suddenly decided there was "no point" in seeing each other this week because I had "thoroughly deduced what was possible between us" and it was clear I had "already made up my mind"?
Monsieur Clitoris.
Ahem.
Are you SHAMING me for wanting SEX, sir?
Am I being PUNISHED for not sitting around in my drawing room waiting for the one dewey morn you may decide to grace my vagina with your presence?
You're seriously just going to never have anything to do with me again because I was trying to suggest a solution that would suit both our needs?
You think you have possessive ownership of my body when it's not even important enough for you to make time in your busy schedule to be near it?
FUCK YOU!!!
And how dare some supposed bohemian make me feel guilty for wanting to get my sexual needs met.
Was sleeping with other men my first choice?
No fucking way!
But I had no idea what the fuck I was to this guy, we'd only started dating before I suddenly stopped seeing him.
And what girl wants a sexless lover?
I wasn't his girlfriend.
I was his lover.
He must not have understood what that word meant.
It's hard for Mangina's to think when they have to spend so much time changing their tampons.
So this is what I decided--
Women have a right to get their emotional and yes--gasp--sexual needs met from their partner.
And if their partner is not interested in making any of those needs a real priority, then the woman is entitled to look elsewhere for satisfaction.
I cannot BELIEVE that Monsieur Clitoris was such a child to not even TALK to me about what we both wanted and needed and what our expectations were from one another.
What a disappointment.
The next time a guy shows up in the middle of the night with his guitar I'm kicking him out.
The Fucker could have at least had the decency to use me for sex.
That's all I wanted!
Fuck.
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