You’ll Never Miss The Water (Until The Well’s Gone Dry)

Let me set the scene: it’s two weeks ago and I was having a C- grade make out session with a man. The making out seemed rote, almost perfunctory, there was a sense of urgency that seemed impersonal. So as I found myself on my bed, half in, half out of my clothes, legs caught in my skirt at an unfortunate angle, I was not really ‘feeling’ the whole sex thing. He however was. Now, I don’t know if any of you have ever been in this situation but if a girl’s not ready, you can tell. Not by facial expressions or lack of reciprocation, although those are helpful, but by other more physical signs. However, a bit like a lack of an erection in no way means you are a minger, a lack of lubrication in no way means that this all has to end. In fact, it is really cue to keep going, switch things up. Don’t whatever you do try to force either a flaccid penis into a well lubricated vagina, or a hard penis into a dry vagina.

Just don’t. It’s not going to work no matter how acute an angle you lean on it, not if you hold it and jam it, not if you squidge lube everywhere. Stop it. Stop it now. Leaning has never forced a penis into a vagina and it never will. In fact I think leaning is my number 1 most hated sex move. If it starts with leaning, it’s going to end with me saying “Oh you’re done? Ok then.” Back to the point: me and this bloke, we’ll call him Steven, are making out, I finally untangle myself from my clothing and he does the lean. I shuffle about, try to focus on something hot (hi James Deen!) and make appreciative noises. But he is still doing the lean. Eventually I sit up and try to kiss him to see if it helps. In the thirty seconds we are making out nothing happens down there. Nothing. He pushes me backwards, and I think maybe this could be going somewhere fun. But no, it’s time for more leaning. By now I’m not even making noises, I’m just lying there stressed out at my malfunctioning vagina. So Steven goes down on me. Now normally this would be super hot and I’d be all into it, and there’d be tingles and jingles and exciting fireworks in my head. But no. Nothing. Because all I can think is: “IT’S NOT WORKING, NOTHING’S HAPPENING, HE’S GOING TO TRY LEANING ON ME AGAIN, ARGH WHY IS NOTHING WORKING?” And true to form, I am soon regaled with another lean.

At this point, I start laughing, because that’s exactly what everyone wants to hear during sex: laughter. He looks at me and smiles, and I say “I just don’t think that’s going to work right now, how about we…” but he cuts me off “I just really want to have sex.” Boom. Not ‘I really want to have sex with you‘ but ‘I really want to have sex’ like he wants to have sex with anyone and I happen to be here with my legs open. Even though it hurts, I think, “Hey, we’re naked, we all say silly things!” and I explain that yes, that’s nice, but it’ll take some time to get the motor running.

Soon, everything starts working, and we have sex. It is… ok. He finishes and I am nowhere near. As I realise that he thinks this is code for “Na-night!” I sit up. “Are you done?” “Yeah” He starts to lie down in a curled up shape. At this point I do something was possibly not very ladylike but which needed to be done. I grab him by the arm, fling him halfway across the bed, and sit on him. He looks at me, puzzled. I lean forward and put my boob in his mouth. “Bite this” I say in a monotone that Daria Morgendorffer would be proud of. I spend a minute or two enjoying myself. Then I hog the good pillow, the one without mascara stains on, and go to sleep, reminding myself that this, that he, cannot ever happen again.

Pictures from These Americans and HizerJason‘s tumblr. Title courtesy of Ray Charles.