To be read with tongue firmly placed inside of cheek: ;-))
I’ve been thinking a lot about sex lately. Not about how much I’m not having it (I’m heading into my third year of celibacy), but about the act itself. The mind is a powerful thing. I’m getting used to the fact that my sex life is all in my head. It’s kind of nice there, actually. I can have a long term relationship with my imaginary, superstar boyfriend; kiss on my lovely, imaginary girlfriend – and no one gets pissed. No one. I’m not worried about learning if my boyfriend is really married, or if he’s really gay, or if he’s a basement dwelling donkey fucker. I don’t have to worry about hate crimes, or buying condoms, or shaving, or being attractive, or trying to make someone like me.
And I never, ever, ever have to “service the cock.” You know what that is right? Well, besides being my own made up name for it, it’s the act of having the dude you’re with stand up in front of you, fully erect, waiting expectantly until you suck his dick. Phil was really into it, among other things, and I acquiesced, thinking he was playing Porn Star again or something. (Phil likened himself to a porn star.)
Remember, I was Nineteen. I’ve only done it a couple times in the 27 years since – and both times I’ve felt degraded and used –because ultimately, the sex afterward turns into some kind of hate bonking. Either way, those guys, the “service my cock” needle dicks don’t ever call you again.
It’s the weeding out the needle dicks that has always been my biggest problem.
But here’s my question: Why do women like that? Better yet, why do men THINK women like it? I don’t get it. I just ended up in a crying puddle the next day, feeling bad about myself. I don’t WANT to feel bad about myself. I never did.
But someone wanted me to.
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