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Monthly Archives: June 2015

I know you’re thinking about my penis…aren’t you?

Being a certified nymphomaniac isn’t easy.

You’ve got this reputation to uphold. And THEN – you’ve got this reputation to unfold. What can a nice girl do!

I always thought men liked sex and lots of it. Boy was I wrong. Men want to be the object of your romantic affections, they want to pick out furniture with you, they want to watch tv with you, and then – only then – do they want to get lustful.  ‘You only want me because I’ve got a big..’ they say, when you admire their assets in the early morning light. Yes, and?

The penis is a bit like the lesser spotted marsupial mouse.  It only comes out at night – and it goes right back in if it sees anything dangerous, like the hot glance of a lecherous woman.  Just about any shock can cause it to keel over in a faint, paws in the air – the faint tinkle of a daughter’s giggle as she surfs youtube in a room far below, a position which doesn’t quite work, the sight of an unopened condom, a stray thought streaking across the dark alleys of the mind like a black cat…

I wish I’d never said I liked sex a lot.  I wish I’d said I was a shy spinster awaiting her awakening (but never quite coming awake) by the right man.  I wish (short of actually being that shy spinster) I was a better actress.  Sex is fifty percent genuine delight and fifty percent acting, so maybe instead of sex ed at schools, they should have half-hour drama lessons instead.  Yes, your penis is big enough.  Yes, you satisfy me supremely, my darling. No, I’m not the least bit horny – not unless you are, sweetie.  Yes, you just gave me the biggest orgasm I’ve had this week.  No, I never notice other men, really!  Nymphomaniac – who me?

Anyway the funny thing is, I’m not a nymphomaniac, not any more. There are any number of things I like more than sex – lying in bed with a book, a nice warm cuddle, sleep. For some reason, though, my baby clings to the belief that I’m a fiery hotbed of desire, liable to explode if I don’t get my daily satisfaction. But I AM satisfied, I insist. He heaves a suspicious sigh. Are you sure? Because I’m not getting any younger, you know, and I may not be able to keep up with your incessant demands.  What incessant demands? The ones I think you’d make if you really were a nymphomaniac.

Ah,those ones. I give up!