“Baby…would you mind touching me…ever so slowly…You’re making me quiver”
I think every woman remembers the exact moment she heard “Would You Mind” by Janet Jackson. I was a sophomore in college sitting in my dorm room when my roommate played it. Our jaws both dropped, and we jammed that track on repeat until we knew every lyric. Because that song was as sex as sex gets. And it was about a woman’s pleasure. What will get her juices flowing, how dirty she wants to get, what she wants to do to him, and what she wants him to do to her. I think I’ve been remembering my sex life all wrong. I’m pretty sure Miss Janet gave me my first orgasm.
I’m amused when men think they have a monotony on nastiness. Talk all that shit you want about unloading in her face, having two or three at a time, eating ass, etc. Ha. That’s cute. You may have a little nastiness in you, but women?
Women are filthy.
The greatest gift you can ever give to yourself is to be (or be with) a woman wholly unashamed of her sexuality. Opening yourself up literally and figuratively for pleasure is a present that does not need to wait until Christmas. Because pleasure, if I may borrow words from Gordon Gekko, is good. Pleasure is right. Pleasure works. Pleasure is good.
(Quick housekeeping item – If you may be new to this site OR you are one of those men who believe the female body exists solely for your benefit OR someone who think modesty is the indicator of marriage material, you should move along. This site does not recognize the bullshit idea that classiness and sexuality in women cannot co-exist. Women are neither the whore nor the maiden. What a woman does with her p*ssie is no one’s concern but her own.)
From my first orgasm, my body has been on a search for the next one, a stronger one, a wetter one. I want the type of sex that has cream sliding down the insides of my thighs. I want the type of sex that spreads my legs across continents and sends my soul across planes. I want the D inside me, than in my mouth, than inside me again. I want the type of sex that leaves an impression, have my vajayjay feeling like it’s been bored through. I want the type of sex where I’m still tasting your seed as we walk into church and shake the pastor’s hand.
See, men, you might think you know what a freak is, but you do not.
Freakiness is not about quantity; it’s about quality. Let a woman put that p*ssie on you the way she wants to put that p*ssie on you? And you’ll realize how you know nothing. I’m trying to moisturize your beard as my throat closes around you. I’m trying to ride your face, slide down your chest trailing all of my juices, and impale myself on your D. I’m trying to be on your computer screen masturbating as your subordinates sit on the other side of your desk. I’m trying to sex you in the backseat while we’re in the parking garage. As Miss Janet said, I want the “skirt around my waist…wall against my face.”
What you want? You want an exhibitionist? Get me off in public? I want that. You want to blindfold me? Cuff my wrists and ankles? I want that. You want to wrap your hand in my weave, pound me in from the back, force my face into the pillow leaving an imprint of MAC on the sheets? I want that. You want to watch football all day Sunday while I lie across you and you work a vibrator in and out of me? I want that, too.
There’s a reason why men have always tried to subjugate women across the centuries and cultures. Convince us we have no power and we won’t unleash it. Make us believe being sexual is beneath us and we’ll repress ourselves. Force us to see our bodies as shameful and we will hide them. Men have been scared of p*ssie since Adam ate the apple.
What kind of liberator would I be if I wrote post after post about self-worth and not settling but didn’t encourage you to also see the worth in your orgasm? The female body was beautifully and expertly designed. Put it to work.
P*ssie is a helluva drug. 😉
Today’s Soundtrack: Would You Mind – Janet Jackson