But I need to know, who the fuck are these libidinous women who love to get it on? The Samanthas of the world who wax poetic about their coitus comportment while I sit silently, sipping my Diet Coke, wondering if my inhibited Mormon upbringing affects my attitude toward sex.
Perhaps it was the messy abortion when I was seventeen that ushered in a decade of sexual complexes...Maybe it was Grandma sternly advising me not to let those boys touch my pussy cat or suffer God's wrath.. It could be my brother repeatedly calling me a slut when I had yet to allow a boys' eagerly clammy hands under the flimsy training bra for a grope.. Like a difficult puzzle, I have all the pieces facing upward, I just can't seem to fit them together to see the big picture... Whatever it is, my attitude toward fucking swings between excessive and repressive.
Who are these wanton women of the world who consistently crave sex more than my intense longing for Doritos in the midst of an awesomely horrific bout with PMS? Are they for real? Or is their rampant rapaciousness a finely constructed facade? Like two college girls tonguing at a party for the benefit of goggling frat boys, the promise of sexual capriciousness is merely the worm at the end of the fishing line. Once the boy bites, he's a fish out of water when trying to navigate the turbulent waters of the womans' real sexual nature.
Men can get their fuck on from a simple visual - a girl on the street, a picture in a magazine, a cartoon character (a male acquaintance who shall remain nameless once confessed to jacking off to Betty Boop).. Women need more. But what that 'more' is, I can't figure out.
I don't fuck for a shot to the old self esteem, can masterfully masturbate myself to orgasm.. And no it isn't the foreplay I'm after. I don't require foreplay, I generally like to get down to business as quickly as possible - all that namby pamby licking is for dogs.. Let's rock this and lets rock it now is the theory I generally subscribe to.
I am impatient in life and in love.. let us get to the delicious friction and thrusting already - like I said, repressive or excessive. And while the repressive is depressive, the excessive often feels fake. Many times I feel like I'm an actress playing a role, whispering the dirty nothings I've heard via porn, gyrating like the strippers men pay to see.
Maybe it's not the sex but the intimacy I fear.. the lionhearted act of allowing someone to see, touch, taste and feel me at my most vulnerable - but that's not quite it either.
Will sex ever feel as natural as eating or bathing or will I always feel excessive or repressive because I didn't grow up free wheeling around some nude commune learning to embrace my sexuality with fellow hippies called Moonbeam and Sunflower.