it’s a sex thing.


I’m over this being female thing.

Sure, we have beautiful, curvy, sexy bodies and are capable of stronger and more frequent orgasms than our male counterparts. But the more time I spend as a member of this blessed sex (ie; the longer I live), the more I start to think that maybe we’re really cursed instead.

We’re very clearly not meant to engage in sex with any frequency — at least, not as often as I’d be happy with. If we were, I wouldn’t be spending my day with legs crossed trying to use the lunch break that I don’t have to get antibiotics for the UTI that I do have. The more concerned I am about getting one, the more care I take, the more certain I can be that I’ll spend my next week expelling orange-tinted urine from Uristat and running to and from the toilet.

I’m also learning that finding a cock that makes me happy is a lot more difficult than if I were a man simply looking for a warm, tight cavern. It’s an ongoing battle. Perfectly curvy but skinny as hell. Nice full girth but stick straight. Hitting my cervix or barely making it to my G-spot. I love to be dominated, but having a second hole bored through my cervix is not my idea of fun. “Baby pound me!” is never the same as “Baby tear my cervix.” I guess for some people it might be, but I’m not one of them.

At least now I understand why men are less selective and women try to stick around — we just can’t give up a dick that works better than a dildo… and dildos work oh-so-well.


On that note, I plan on spending the weekend in bed with my laptop locked to and my right hand gripping one of a variety of toys. I need some me time, and while some find a bubble bath and a manicure ideal, nothing relaxes me more than a string of 8 or 10 self-induced orgasms.

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