I get it, and I came to terms with it. I will spend my life without tasting all the 'sinful" joys that everyone is talking about. I had the misfortune to have a direct connection from my vagina to my brain.
I tried some years ago to do one night stands, especially when George was screwing Mary or whatever her name was.
My friends assured me one night stands would be a sure way for me to get over him, and I would feel like a new woman having a Model in my bed.... even if he chewed on my toe nails. Maybe he was hungry?
Anyway, this is what I learned. If you love someone, and he farts, its smells like roses to you. And you stop the BJ and ask him "hmrflgslp do you want a chamomile for your tummy honey?"
I dont like cold encounters, My body doesn't respond properly, there is no climax per se and I have all the lucidity in the world to look at the guy and notice a dried-up booger in his left nostril.
I need romance, the fairy tale. To look at him and have Niagara falls between my thighs. Butterflies in break dancing in my stomach and feel so insecure about that beauty mark, over there, down below. I dont want "walks on the beach" and cliches, but have him fuck my brain with dexterity, before even touching me.
I dont want to hear " I dont want a relationship but I need you tonight". I need to see his eyes looking in mine and feel the exchange of energy, passion. Not him looking at my boobs and seizing me up.
I need to see him dying to kiss me, I need him to want to have sex with me, not just sex and I just happened to be there.
After many confused encounters, some pity fucks and awkward moments due to our need to unite with our true love, with boys who did not know what to do, what goes where and what to touch, I think that now, if a vagina tows a boat, mine wants a cruise ship.
And not any ship.
The goddamn fucking love boat.
Translated from Greek, originally published in A woman in this city ( Greece)