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Thursday, August 13, 2009
PENIS ENVYI have a severe case of penis envy at the moment. I love a man’s
penis when it is fully erect, the way it accelerates like a Ferrari from flaccid to erect, in seconds. I
love its silky hardness, its tensile strength and its solid weight. I love its aerodynamic shape which
glides through vaginal tissue like a hot knife through butter. I love the way it twitches and pulses on
ejaculation.
It's
a beautifully-engineered piece of equipment. There is nothing in the world quite like it. A
dildo, no matter how realistic, just does not come close. One could argue that a dildo is always erect,
therefore always ready for action, but where is the fun in that? It is the fact that erections are not
a permanent state of affairs that make them so special.
If I had a penis I would take regular breaks while at the office to nip to the gents
and stroke it into hardness. I would knit it woolly covers to keep it warm in the winter and let it hang
out my fly to catch a tan in the summer. I would hang weights off it to strengthen it, and then do penis
stands when it was strong enough to support my body weight.
I wish I had a penis…but not if it meant giving up my clit. Nothing
is worth that
sacrifice.
Monday, August 10, 2009
I TREAT HIM GOOD...OCCASIONALLY.I belong to the group of women who treat their men mean to keep them
keen, but occasionally I like to make my man feel like he’s a king.
Greeting him at the
door in sexy lingerie after he’s had a hard day at work wouldn’t do the trick. He’s a telecoms engineer
and spends a lot of time outdoors, so the first thing on his mind when he gets home is a shower. If I’m in a really
good mood I will scrub his back and wash his hair for him. The next thing is his stomach. He loves home cooking,
which is a bit of a problem as I’m not a good cook. Thankfully, he loves to cook, one of the reasons I chose him
to be my man, so it’s all good. But if I want a night of passion, I don’t want him slaving over a hot stove,
so I order his favourite West Indian food and have it delivered by the time he gets out of the shower.
If
I’m pampering him on the weekend the routine is slightly different. I love to share a bath with him, but he’s
not one for lying in a hot bath as he doesn’t like his balls overheating. Occasionally I insist. Well, demand
really. More often we have a shower together and end up having hazardous sex in the cubicle—him lifting me although
we are both wet and slippery, rather than me bending over and having both feet safely on the ground. Afterwards, I give
him a nice firm, total body massage.
Some of my friends say that they would not play around their men’s
feet even if they paid them, but I have no problem cutting my man’s toenails. He has some tough, macho toenails
that require toenail clippers. Truthfully, I’d rather cut them than have them cut me.
I don’t
mind treating him like a king occasionally because when he treats me like a queen it usually costs him a lot more: a day at
Sanctuary, flowers, Thorntons chocolate, my favourite Shiraz and lingerie—well, that’s for his benefit, so it
doesn’t count. For my last birthday he even wore a pair of leopard print man-thongs, which he hates, just because
I love the way his buns look in them.
It’s good to treat him good because he treats
me better.
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