
The female orgasm…
This isn’t an invitation for all the wannabe Lotharios on is-a-c to start telling me about how I need to get more ‘experience’ or grow a bigger cock. Those things I am well aware of.
Some background—I am a 30 something guy, shockingly average sized penis but nonetheless pushing into triple digits on the lady-front. Some asians, some latinos, posh brits, chavs, some wannabee models and more than a few land-whales—a solid equal opportunities mix. Don’t pay for it, except that Filipino in Hong Kong who tricked me with a game of Connect Four, but that’s another story.
I would be the first to admit that my technique could be improved—I would never be so arrogant, a man can always work on his game. But I have experienced enough screamers and enough stiffs to realise that, unlike the glib comments by the fat slags on daytime TV, it isn’t men who are the problem—some women are just unbelievably difficult to get even the slightest murmur out of in the bedroom.
Yes I get it, every women is different. But it is the sheer lack of consistency that pisses me off. It’s like taking a nice shiny car for a test drive—it looks good from the outside, but jumping behind the wheel you find the pedals swapped, the gears in reverse and the sound system glued on Radio 4. The Ford Fiesta you had the other day was screaming her head off, but this Renault won’t get out of second gear. Why? Why am I spending my precious evenings learning a new set of controls like I am in trying a new Cessna in Microsoft Flight Simulator, or just doubling up my gym routine on some unresponsive tart—I could be doing better things, like reading or washing the dishes. I guess it comes to a point in a man’s life when bad sex just isn’t worth it anymore.
Thankfully I am getting to the age when some of these bints have the courtesy to say ‘I’m sorry but i don’t think I can cum tonight’. Thank god! It’s the equivalent of the engine warning light coming on. No need to fiddle with it anymore, finish off what you are doing, grab a beer, leave it alone until further notice, maybe have another go in the morning (their brain is less self-loathing at this point) and plan your escape to greener pastures.
We all know it is in their heads. All this chat of ‘knowing how to use it’, girth, blah blah…. It’s all just cover for the fact a shockingly high proportion of women cannot get into the right headspace to enjoy sex until you make them feel comfortable, like they are some fucking puppy moving into a new home or something. This is not going to happen—I mean, what a ludicrous investment proposition! Keep fucking me and maybe, maybe, I might enjoy it eventually. Or parachute out of that clunge and go hunting for a less damaged specimen. Easy choice in my book.
If this was men cruising around the dancefloor not sure whether they had the right mental fortitude to maintain even the limpest erection then I think we would all agree that that person was wasting their fucking time. It is just plain manners after all. I don’t pretend to know how to salsa dance so I don’t seduce women with the promise of my salsa repertoire—that would be false advertising. Why do women seem to get a free fucking pass when it comes to the bedroom? (don’t get me started about padded bras, how is that allowed in this day?)
So women of the world—sort your headspace out, find out what gets you off, produce an instruction manual, pass it to me while I am fingering you in the taxi home, and stop wasting men’s precious time with mediocre sex. Cunts.
Nominated by Dick Malone