A discussion on fucked evolution. Literally.
For the past two months, as some of you already know, I've been all gooshy and runny over the development of an entirely unexpected long distance love affair with a man who's been a wonderful friend to me for the past 4 years. Now, those who know me and my lover, respectively, would likely imagine our joint interaction as civilised, erudite, logical, rational, and loving in a decidedly pragmatic fashion. While this may all be true, what none of them suspect is that the two of us are also closet sex freaks. I'm not talking Jackie Collins sex, either - that steamy but oh-so-femininely delicate sexy freakiness that reads so well in pulp novels. I'm not even talking Penthouse sexy freakiness, the kind you read about in the Forum section. Even that's too polite. We've reached a far, far lower common denominator than that. We, my friends, are a pair of closet Hustler sex freaks. The shit we write about doing to each other rivals even the horndoggiest XXX script you can get your hands on. Christ, if we actually manage to do all of that in reality, we'll never leave the apartment. We'll just be naked the entire time, starving and unbathed but still rabidly obsessed with doing freaky sex things to each other into perpetuity.
come hither - back off
Unfortunately, my logical, rational side has broken through my incessant, dirty dirty fantasy life. I've had to accept the harsh truth of life as a woman. I know what's gone on in my nether regions in the past, and I have third hand, second hand, and even first hand knowledge of other women's nether region woes as well. I have, in fact, been mentally bemoaning the very basic structural nature of female human anatomy and wondering what the hell caused things to go so horribly, horribly awry. I've been overcome with the sad realization that, as much as my brain would love to feel all dirty freaky for large portions of the day, my body may well have other ideas, simply because everything is in the wrong damn place.
What the fuck happened with evolution anyway? Was it asleep at the wheel? Yeah, sure, fine, so it hasn't been that long since humans started walking upright and subsequently having sex face-to-face. But evolution didn't seem to have any problem evolving our spines for that, now did it? So what the hell is up with the G-spot and the clitoris? Could you possibly find a more inconvenient location for either of them? For example, have you seen the kinds of sex toys there are for G-spot and clitoral stimulation?
Oh yeah, like that's ever going to occur in nature. Then there's the ever-popular dual action vibrator, The Rabbit:
The fact that these and so many other sex toys for women are so obviously bizarre and alien-looking should be a pretty clear indication to all of you that there's a serious compatibility problem between cunt and cock.
Finding the G-spot, first of all, is like finding your contact lense on a glass floor. The thing is so elusive it wasn't until recently that the majority of doctors were even willing to accept the fact that it actually existed. And why is the G-spot still on the wrong side of the vaginal wall? It's on the side closest our stomachs, not our backs. Do a little visualisation here involving pointy bits and buried sex troughs. Face-to-face sex being as popular as it is, this is a big problem, since the pointy stick, when jammed in the general direction of a sex trough, normally hits the back wall, not the front. The G-spot's also buried under an inch of flesh and is quite whimsical in its willingness to participate at the best of times. And it's about 1 1/2 to 2 inches up inside the vagina - not 4 or 5 or 6 inches, thereby working well with the average-sized penis. Oh no. So the poor man, in order to try and satisfy both himself and his mate, has to do all that thrusting all the way in and out instead of just heading all the way in and taking it easy, thereby conserving energy for the pursuit of interesting peripheral activities. Either that, or he has to fight his natural pointy-stick-jamming instinct and do the whole peekaboo routine of sneaking into the vagina only up to and slightly past the G-spot and then quickly exiting again. Here I am - no I'm not! I'm here - I'm not! Here! Not! Here! And if a woman wants her G-spot stimulated during actual intercourse, she either has to have sex in the oh-so-intimate-and-romantic doggie style - a position fine for fucking, but not so fine for lovemaking - or wrap her legs around a man's waist and tilt her pelvis and then hope for the best in order to aim the penis in the right direction. Besides, waist-wrapping is not as easy as it looks. Depending on body design for both participants, sometimes it's not even possible. After all, you have to have at least some flexibility for that, ladies. I've heard horror stories of men, in their enthusiasm, grabbing the legs of their mate and pulling them up around the guy's shoulders, resulting in sudden shrieks of pain from those broads who are a bit on the stiff side as every muscle in their groin region is ripped to smithereens. And man, speaking of groin muscles, they better be pretty sturdy to keep those legs up there if there's no adequate resting room for linked feet on the man's backside. A woman can end up walking around afterward like she'd ridden an obese horse for 8 hours.
It's because chicks are too easy, is why. If we all stopped any vaginal sex session that didn't hit the G-spot, things might actually start happening, evolutionarily speaking. Of course, that's easier said than done. Even when there's no G-spot stimulation, vaginal sex still feels so very good. No, the sex may not be good in the orgasmic sense of the word, but there's definitely a deep-seated, primordial-instinct-in-the-brain-to-be-fucked good that goes on. And that's good.
Then there's the clitoris. Outside the vagina. Oh yeah - that's smart. I'm waiting for the evolutionary development of a wee bumpy suction cup on a man's crotch a couple of inches above his penis. Or a wee tentacle. Not only would it be practical, it would just be so cute to watch it wiggle when my mate gets excited.
Oh sure, oral sex takes care of the clitoris quite well, but don't you think it would be more convenient if both men and women could get off simultaneously a little more often? It's a form of communication, after all, and everyone knows that if a couple isn't communicating on the same wavelength, shit can start to hit the fan. It's an emotional intimacy issue, is what it is. The clit is simply not very big on emotional intimacy-building. It's far too busy getting off to give two shits about eye contact or men actually being able to get stimulated by the clit at the same time the clit is stimulated by them. That sucks. No pun intended.
Now, this talk of biological fuck-ups is in no way meant to take men off the hook. Guys - generally speaking, when it comes to your knowledge of the female body, you act like developmentally delayed five-year-olds. You're not nearly as successful at getting your women to come as you think you are, because the majority of those women insist on faking orgasms to keep from damaging your already overly inflated sexual ego. Not me, man. I don't care if my mate's willy goes limp in disappointment - if I don't feel the need to squeal like a pig, I'm not going to. It's for the good of humanity. Holy jesus fuck, ladies - what are you doing? No wonder men don't know shit about how to work a clitoris or stimulate the G-spot - or even finding it, for that matter. You're making them think they already know. It's people like you who create misery for other women who have to endure a man attacking the female body like it was a dead deer the guy just took down on a hunt. Snap out of it. So your man might get his feelings hurt. Men deserve to get their feelings hurt. That's how men learn - through humiliation. I mean, when's the last time you've seen two guys having a heart-to-heart talk about their feelings? Now, when's the last time you've seen two guys stuff their passed out drunk friend into the trunk of a car naked? I rest my case.
Why aren't there geneticists on this matter? (Not the drunk-trunk-stuffing - the G-spot / clit conundrum.) Why are they all busy and engrossed in stem cell research and disease-curing and shit when they could aspire to help create the ultimate, always regular, always reliable female orgasm? Hey - the guys who invented Viagra won the Nobel Prize. If any scientist managed to achieve G-spot relocation, there'd probably be a world vote to kill Bill Gates and donate all his assets to such a genius.
Guys don't know how lucky they are. Really. Oh sure, we females may have the opportunity to have two orgasms of totally and completely different sensations, but that's only if anyone can find and then hit the damn things. It's like lawn darts for the blind. Men get to have sex, and enjoy it even when it sucks. I mean really, guys - even lousy sex for you gets you off. How bad can it actually be? We women, on the other hand, don't get to have sex. We get to have the equivalent of an Easter egg hunt / Twister combo pack.
Of course, my lover is arriving in 10 days to assist in the search, and he's stated his express willingness and excitement at the prospect of conducting said search for as long and as hard as it takes. When it comes to coming, ladies, sometimes the journey really is more important than the destination. If, during our first time having sex, it turns into high farce, with lamps breaking and underwear getting wrapped around feet and elbows accidentally blacking eyes, even with no orgasm in sight, it will still be fantastic sex for me, because dorkiness has its own sexual charm. Besides, I suspect he probably wants me to come more than he wants himself to. OK, OK, maybe not more than he does, but at least as much as he does. Even then, that's a rare thing.
So yes - while I do think scientists should seriously explore taking genetic therapy in a whole new direction, I really don't need vaginal spasms every time, all the time. I'm certain to give an A for effort to a man with whom I've been willing to coin sexual euphemisms that involve fondue equipment. That's love - freaky Hustler-grinding, G-spot-where's-waldoing love.
make idle gossip (21 comments so far)
Last 5 entries:
Hosted by Diaryland