When Little Robots Attack

The first time I just hurt my foot when I stepped on one of the toy soldiers. I didn’t know how it had gotten into my room. Of course, I blamed my little brother. He had all the toys, especially miniature toy soldiers, robots and little green aliens. Some of them were cute. But, when I actually looked at the faces… they were threatening.

One morning I found one of the mini robots on my dresser and another on the floor below. My brother said he hadn’t been in my room and I kind of believed him. He’s a pretty good kid, for a little brother. I’m 9 years older so he doesn’t get away with much.

Anyway, I didn’t really think a lot about the little toys. I returned them to my brother and went on with life. I had a lot to do now, high school, friends and boys now that my parents were not treating me so much like a kid.

The night I found one in my bed… that was freaky. The sheets were still all pulled up, the bed wasn’t even rumpled. My brother couldn’t have done that. But, what could I tell anyone? I’d sound crazy. That was the week I was going to have the house to myself. I didn’t even have to babysit my brother because they were driving him out for some school weekend thing and staying over night to bring him home on Sunday.

I had friends over on Friday night. We made popcorn, watched movies my parents wouldn’t approve of. I don’t know why, they were pretty awful movies. After a few minutes we just kept laughing at how stupid they were.

Everyone went home. I went to bed, after cleaning up, of course.

I woke up, nude in my bed, my sheets and blankets pulled down past my feet. Little toy robots, aliens and soldier seemed to fill my room. Lined up along the top of my dressed, my night table and every other surface. I could see them on my book shelves, my computer desk. They were behind me on my headboard when I sat up.

I could see them, moving.

I dashed into the hall and locked myself in the bathroom. I would have called for my parents but I remembered I was alone. I don’t know what happened to my night gown. I didn’t want to call for help and have someone find me naked.

Then the first of the mini men started coming in, under the door.

Online Dating is Pretty Is Dead

 But real people, real friends, and real life are worlds more complex than everything these apps (and their infinite cousins) attempt to imitate. When “real life” is peppered with men at bars raising their fists to you; or male friends slinging pick-up lines that will never work before your eyes; or the knowledge that no space is purely safe for a woman to just be, we can’t rely on robotic dating apps to sort and harmonize our relationships with men. But it’s not totally the apps’ fault: we have to wonder what’s wrong with the men.

via – Tinder Is Dead.

I’ve never used Tinder. I really just added the conclusion to the post because I had to post the screen capture of that one part of the post. It is her re-post of something a man sent her on Tinder. Online dating seems pretty futile on a good day but something like this… it has to make you laugh (or cry later when you think it might be okay to be alone after all).

Are you a Sex Blogger Reader and Writer?

I read and subscribe to a lot of blogs. I am a blog addict. When I first started in 2009 I was just a blogger, then I realized I had better get to know some of the other bloggers who were in my niche. Being a sex blogger I didn’t really need friends to sell my content, but I wanted to know how other bloggers had their sites and I was always searching for ideas for fresh content. I commented like a mad person to get my name out there and that mostly did the trick. I started off like most people with a blogroll that consisted of people who had me on their blog roll. I don’t just blog about sex anymore, so readership is harder earned, but feels so much better. Now I just don’t care if people blog roll me. I read what I like. I comment because I have something I wanna say, and because I know bloggers love comments.

I do read other adult/ sex blogs. I use Twitter to connect to most of them and see what people are posting about. I also have a blogroll and I haven’t been on Blogger (with this blog) for at least a couple of years. So, I’m doing a few things right.

Sometimes I wonder why I write this blog at all. I’m not making money via Google. I don’t review toys (I tried it but to be paid in toys didn’t work out for me). I’m not very social so I’m not reading and writing the way Karen has written about in her post (see above). Maybe I just like a place to put these kind of things and thoughts when I do get something I want to add.

Decorate Cookies for Day of the Dead

dodcookieMy sister would love these. She decorated her whole face as a skull last year for The Day of the Dead (El Dia de los Muertos). They actually call it the sugar skull. You have probably seen it somewhere by now.

The Day of the Dead is not about Halloween or zombie movies. It is a real event in Mexico, a long time tradition.

Día de Muertos (Day of the Dead) is a Mexican holiday celebrated October 31, November 1st and November 2nd in connection with the Christian days for All Hallows Eve, All Saint’s Day and All Soul’s Day.

Family gather to remember and pray for deceased friends and family members. Traditions include building private altars to honour the deceased. The altars are decorated with sugar skulls, flowers and the favourite food and drink of the departed family and friends. Gifts and/or possession of the dead are left on graves. The living will spend the day (and possibly the evening) at the grave. They pack food and have a picnic in the cemetery.

Day of the Dead is not a grim holiday. Other cultures may not understand that this is a family holiday, a day of remembering and giving thanks for the people who have been important and valued in our lives. Pagans have a very similar holiday, Samhain, which is also based on remembering the past and celebrating the harvest in the present. In North America we call this Halloween, but it has lost most of the original meaning behind the holiday.

Prompt for December 4 | Project Reverb

20/20: Hindsight is the one thing we never benefit from in the present.  Is there one moment you wish you could do over?

via Prompt for December 4 | Project Reverb.

No. I don’t want do overs of anything unless it’s a single great moment. Even then, things are always better in the moment than the second time around. You can’t have the same reaction twice, especially when you already know how things are going to end.

Do you read the end of a book while you are still reading it? Life is like that. At times we would like to know how it ends, do we accomplish everything, or anything? How do family and friends do with their own lives? So many questions to ask and yet having the answers leaves us without all those questions.

I think we need those surprises, questions and all those moments of suspense and even fear. If we had a book of our lives to read from how dull that would be. To already know how your every moment will be…. Wouldn’t that be sad to just be waiting around for things to happen instead of wondering what will happen next?

I’m a Woman with a Moustache and I Don’t Mind

disguiseAt the great old age of 48 now, I still have the same whiskers on my upper lip which I have lived with since I was about 13 or 14. I have never tried to hurt, maim or kill my moustache. I have left it alone, in a live and let live kind of way.

It helps that my whiskers are sparse. I do have dark hair and the hair on my lip matches the colour of the hair on my head (or most of it now that I’ve got grey mixed in with my dark brown mane).

I live with my facial hair and I don’t mind it. I even have a bit of fondness for the facial hair – It makes me feel connected to other women in my family who have far more facial hair than I ever hope (or want) to have.

I remember the very first day I actually noticed the whiskers myself.

I was in our downstairs bathroom and I had leaned in for a closer look at my face because I had a zit (also known as a pimple). I still like to get rid of those. I squish them then put stuff on them to finish the killing process and decontaminate so they can’t so easily return.

Seeing darker hairs on my upper lip was a surprise. I’m sure they weren’t there before then. I hated them on sight. They were traitors to the young, perfection of my face. That face being one of the few things I actually did like about myself – and still do. Having whiskers was a shock. Only old women were supposed to get those kind of things, women going through menopause or women from hairy families. I had neither. I was about 14 and my ancestry was pretty slanted to the Celtic side.

I called in for reinforcements, my Mother. She looked and then looked closer. She said they were hardly noticeable unless someone was really looking for them.

So I took a step back from the mirror, which wasn’t much considering my face was almost pressed against the glass to start with. It was true! Once I stepped back and wasn’t focused on that area of my face, I really couldn’t notice the whiskers. If I looked, I did see them. But, I had to be looking pretty carefully.

So I wasn’t turning into some weird sort of man-beast after all.

My Uncle has had a full beard and moustache for as long as I can remember. As children we would buy him shaving cream, packages of razors and so on. Children sometimes have such great ideas but not the common sense to see these ideas through. He laughed about our gifts and after being embarrassed once or twice we realized a man with a full beard and moustache isn’t going to need shaving cream. Later I would try after shave, thinking he could use it like cologne. I never did hear either way about that one. Maybe he thought it was a good idea.

Anyway, at that young age myself and having whiskers I did picture myself growing a beard, thick and hairy as I went through puberty and all those changes. I would check my upper lip for changes, new growth, more growth – dreading to see a whisker begin to do so much as curl.

I was lucky in the genetic lottery. I never did get more whiskers, or thicker whiskers. I did have friends who were less lucky.

One young woman I worked with had to shave her face every day. If she skipped a day she had 5 o’clock shadow. From talking to her I know she tried all kinds of methods to get rid of her whiskers. Waxing was painful but seemed to give her an extra day from having to deal with them. She tried several of those gimmicks from TV ads. Some of them burned her skin and made everything worse. Not only did she still have whiskers but her skin was burned and red or even blistered too. I was so glad for my sparse little whiskers then.

We Women Do Get Whiskers

Women in my family have a small tendency towards whiskers, when we get older. My own Mother began plucking her face (not just her eyebrows) once she was in her 40’s. My younger sisters both had whiskers on their upper lip and chin by the time they were in high school. Mine may have started sooner but they were less visible.

When my Great Aunt Alice died one of the saddest things was the full beard she had which no one was there often enough to prevent for her. She was my Grandmother’s sister (on my Mother’s side of the family).

My Grandmother also had stray whiskers on her face, but I never saw her with a lot of them until she was quite a bit older, when I was far past being a kid myself. She was a plucker too. Interesting to note that I have her same pattern of grey hair mostly in the front too. Maybe we share our whiskery ways too and I won’t have to really worry about them until I’m 60 or so too. I miss her – in that way it’s an honour to share her whiskers and grey hair. I do think about her nearly every time I look at my face in the mirror.

But… I do Like Being Contrary

Having written all that, a funny thing happened when I turned 40-something and began to get whiskers on my chin – I began plucking them, pretty mercilessly, with tweezers. I’m far from being a bearded lady. I only notice one a week and I do pluck them as soon as I feel them.

The only difference with the moustache and the chin whiskers was my age. I did not like the hair on my chin making me feel old when I actually was past the age of high school and beyond. Nature’s little digs about our age are much easier to take when we aren’t old yet.

Moustache Growing Month: Movember

I Like Taking Myself to Bed

This is my contribution to #AdultSexEdMonth. This is personal and does contain mentions of taboo sexual fetishes and kinks. I don’t apologize for the contents of my sexual fantasies. 

I have a problem with sex. The problem happens when I involve anyone else with my enjoyment of sex. Masturbation is divine. You won’t catch me saying that to anyone, in person. But, masturbation is fully under my control, there is no feedback from cheap seats and I can do whatever I want to myself because I know what I like and how I like it. I explore self pleasuring – I’ve been doing it for a few decades and I’m just getting better at it all the time.

Why does sex have to be about more than one person? I think most people consider self pleasure to still be a selfish act. Or, something for only the lonely.

In actual fact, the best sex I have ever had (except for one very special situation) has been when I was alone in the room. Alone in the building even. In my thoughts I am sometimes alone on the planet even but for my trusty sex bot, or some weird space alien, or other creature from my imagination or readings of other people’s erotica. I do love a good story.

In my sexual fantasies nothing is taboo. I can masturbate my way to orgasm with fantasies of being abducted, alien men with extreme and unusually shaped cocks, age play (based on my own experience of being molested in a movie theatre – which does seem strange to me but nevertheless), sex with animals (the only time I like being near a dog) or anything else wild, dangerous and among the things I would never do in reality and would not even discuss or admit to anyone who knows me.

Having a great imagination and making use of it for your own pleasure does not make you a sexual deviant, it may make you a sexual oddity. But there is nothing law breaking about dreaming up assorted sexual situations while you lie in bed, sit at your desk or in the car… and give yourself a great orgasm.

I have learned to be quiet and fairly quick about it. I almost had my first orgasm when I was about 10. The sensations freaked me out so I stopped at the beginning of the build up. I had no idea why my body was reacting the way it was then. I hadn’t read anything about sex. Parents and sexual education in school didn’t talk about women having orgasms, how your body could flush with pleasure and then burst, all without breaking anything.

In those days I had fantasies about being looked after by a TV doctor, Dr. Kildare for those old enough to know or curious enough to look it up. Richard Chamberlain was the actor. I know this fantasy was based on my issues with my Father. I wanted that caring Daddy who would wrap me up in cotton balls, kiss me gently and make me feel good. I didn’t know about sex toys and had none. I used to bring things to bed with me and use them to play with myself. I won’t go into the assortment but, pens and pencils became my favourite bedtime pastime. Twirling a pencil over my clitoris was a good sensation.

My first orgasm came not from any understanding or knowledge about what I was doing. It was just an accident, on purpose. I was curious about the build up of sensations and finally became curious enough to keep going and see what happened next. I was a little frightened, maybe more than a little. Still, some part of my brain must have known it wasn’t unnatural, in spite of how unusual it seemed. After that first orgasm many more were to follow. By the time I was in my later twenties I was enjoying an orgasm daily. By myself.

I was a virgin, technically, until I was in my early thirties. That was the sex I mentioned earlier. We were both virgins, both the same age and both social misfits. We had been friends for years before sex came into it. We are friends again since the divorce too. So I am one of those old fashioned types who married the first man she slept with. By the way, having sex as a virgin, with a virgin was phenomenal. I doubt it would have been that amazing if we had both been younger. Without having the experience yourself I don’t think you can really ever know what it is like to have your body worshipped.

Anyway, back to the masturbation.

Masturbation can be done with nothing at all, this makes it very portable, mobile even. Sometimes I do like the feeling of something else touching me, something that does not return the feeling which I get from using my own fingers. I used to use the pencils and pens but I have since graduated to a vibrator. I don’t use batteries in it. For one thing, the noise is distracting and for another, I don’t need it to jump or shimmy or vibrate. I like it to penetrate me – but only the odd time. Mostly I like the vibrator (it’s a soft one, not hard plastic) to rub over my clitoris and push just inside the inner lips of my vagina.  I’ve read that vagina only has sensation, the ability to feel, for the first few inches. I have found it to be true. Although I can enjoy the fantasy of being penetrated by something huge, in fact, I enjoy the dip more than the fill up.

Our culture has so many taboos about women and sex, masturbation and virginity and there I was right in the cross-hairs of all three.  I haven’t slept around since the divorce and the marriage itself was light on the sex. But, I don’t feel deprived, anxious or abnormal. I love the orgasms I give myself. Men just seem to mess it all up.

My last actual boyfriend talked so much about how much sex we would have and then… he changed his mind. It ended up with me masturbating him and getting very little back from him. That just isn’t going to work out for me. It was ok for awhile but cock sucking is a double edged thing. I heard my brother and his friends call each other cock suckers and they didn’t mean it like it was a good thing. So, how can men expect women to become cock suckers if being a cock sucker is a bad thing? You can’t have it both ways. So, cock sucking makes me feel dirty, used and angry too.

So, sex with men has not really panned out for me. Men don’t really seem to get it. For one thing they focus on their own needs and when it comes to a woman they think of boobs and pussy, if that much. I want a man who knows I have a body, who discovers how aroused I can get by having my back stroked, lightly scratched and rubbed. I want a man who pats my bum and slips his finger into my pussy from behind. I want a man to explore sensual kinkiness and fetishes with me. I want a man who is masculine and knows what he wants but likes to have a woman in charge sexually. I want a man I can tie up, put in a cage and tease and torment and then laugh at him while he squirms. I want a man who can be a partner in my sexual fantasies and then add his own twist, or take over and become the Daddy who takes care of me but coaxes me to do bad things, naughty things…

I haven’t found that man. I think he might be available in years to come. Ordered online and shipped in a crate. I’d like mine to have a wind up key and an off button. It would be nice if he can also shrink in size for some of my fantasies about little men, like the tiny people from Gulliver’s Travels. I won’t go into details, just leave that for your own kinky, sensual imagination the next time you have some time to yourself and let your fingers do the walking.

Masturbation is very relaxing in the evening when you can’t sleep. (Just in case you didn’t already know).

Sometimes I Miss the Tiger I Once Knew

SherkanOnce upon a time, there was a young woman who was just dipping her toes into the social scene on the Internet. IRC (Internet Relay Chat) to be specific because these were the days before blogs and social media became something everyone knew. This young woman was pretty much one of the stereotypical nice girls. She hardly even dated because she was kind of a quiet, serious person and didn’t really talk to men. However, getting online and talking to all kinds of people from the comfort of her own home was fun, exciting even. She became an IRC diva.

This quiet, serious woman found herself made part of a group on an IRC channel. She had the feeling of belonging and having friends and she liked it. She began to flirt and play just as the others did. Back then IRC was new and talking online was a whole different game for people to learn to play. Many people were using the chat to ‘hook up’. Actually, many women were looking for romance and love and many men were looking for a good screw, with something they hoped was female.

So, this quiet, serious young woman met a lot of men online. A group of women in the IRC channel became known for trolling and taunting the men online, those who came into the channel looking for easy women. This young woman was one of the three in the group. The others were Lis and Vix, for short. They had a lot of fun baiting and switching and laughing at the horny trolls.

Then there were the other people in the group, the other regulars. Most evenings they got together and played Truth or Dare in the public channel. The serious, quiet woman had no sexual experience to play the game telling Truth about. So she took the dares, almost every time. She became smart at finding loop holes, or just storytelling her way out of it. A good time was had by all, regardless of whatever Truth or Dares were told.

There were other women in the group, but there were men in the group too. Some became friends, fairly close friends, with the quiet woman (who by this time wasn’t really all that quiet during the chat but was still fairly serious). One man in particular became a regular in the group and the serious woman liked him too. They talked, not just in the public chat.

He was married and wanted to divorce his wife. Things were not going well, she wanted out – or seemed to… You know how that story goes. In this case, the serious woman – though she really did like the man – pushed the man to stick with his marriage. She wasn’t 100% on her decision, she was kind of lonely and still single and not someone who was out there dating outside of her Internet chat ‘dates’. But, being the serious type she was, she did not think she could tell someone to end their marriage, even if she did consider it.

The man offered to come and visit the serious woman. It was a sincere offer, very unlike most offers which she heard from the horny trolls. But, she had her serious way and could not take that step into breaking up a marriage. So, time went on, they still talked and even traded home addresses to send real Christmas cards in the mail. After awhile, a year or so, the chat group broke up, as these transient sort of things will do. Someone had an issue with whoever was in control of the group and people were made to choose sides. Inside this side choosing the group dissolved.

The serious woman lost track of the man after awhile. She lost track of all her friends from the group within a couple of months to a year. She was sad about it but she had met other people and was fine.

A couple of years later she somehow found the man again. He was divorced (or separated) from his wife and living with one of the other women from the group. Not one of the two who had been her game playing friends but one of the women she had talked to in a more human to human way and had actually gotten to know a bit. Sadly, the serious woman was not one of those who saved every online conversation so the details were lost in the vast space of her mind.

The man and the woman both talked to the serious woman, and kept in touch for a short time. Then she lost track of them again as she so often does.

People will sometimes ask if you have regrets. I say no, not really. You can’t go back and change things anyway, so what is the point of thinking of anything you regret. However, when I think about it, I do regret not being a little bolder, thinking more about myself than the other woman and what was right and proper in a by-the-book way.

So the moral of the story… don’t try to live by rigid standards which you didn’t set for yourself.

Dare to Be a Feminist

Scoop.it: Dare to be a Feminist

My friend, Deanna, writes about a lot of issues to do with women. When I read them, I feel passionate, angry, etc. But, I don’t write about women’s issues or feminism myself. I don’t curate a topic about it. I don’t even look for or read about it.

I don’t think Deanna has ever asked me why. Maybe she already knows, or assumes I’m just one more woman who goes along and doesn’t think about the issues, or especially care. Maybe she thinks I prefer not to know and just walk along, blindly ignoring everything but what’s right in front of me.

That isn’t it. The truth is I just don’t want to keep fighting. I’m not the fighting type. I’m about keeping the peace, finding ways to work things out and getting situations under control. Women are natural peace keepers they say and I believe that to be true.

I grew up as the oldest of four kids. I looked after the others and myself.  I did it pretty well for a kid. My Mother was there. But, she was more like a back up plan. She liked (still does) being busy, always cooking, cleaning or planting something. She was a good Mother but she wasn’t always so hands on. That was me. I learned to keep four kids together when we were out and I learned to keep four pretty different temperaments together when we were home. Situations came up where there were disagreements, problems, even a small house fire, and I handled them all.

I’ve never been particularly into news reading. A headline will catch my eye. I am far more likely to skim the first paragraph then read on to find out the details. If the first paragraph engages me I will skim farther along. I have to be pretty passionate about the topic to read the whole thing. Seems far more people are like me than ever before, when it comes to reading news and blogs.

So, I don’t find the issues important to women first. I read it all second hand.

Don’t assume I’ve had an ideal life, never affected by anything. I’ve been molested as a young teenager. My sister was raped and would have been murdered if someone hadn’t heard her scream and come to look. All sorts of situations and happenings in my life, not all of them about sexual assault. I stopped reading the news or listening to the news a few years ago because I just can’t deal with more violence against women and how deeply angry I feel. You can’t live your day to day life if you are consumed by deep seated anger.

I find it hard to be social, to keep friends. I can be friendly and social in short spurts. I do it really well. People usually like me. But, I’m not connected to anyone, really. I’m isolated and most of who I am likes it this way.

So I don’t keep up with women’s issues. Not because I don’t care. Not because I’m not affected. But, because I’m too affected and I just can’t live with all the anger. I have to keep living and I can’t spend my time fighting everything and everyone. I have enough to do just to fight myself. To keep myself from hiding away from the world.

If you ask me, I will say I’m a feminist. But, it may be that no one will agree with me, or believe me, because I’m not a fighter on the outside.

Middle Aged Virgins are Real People Too

You’re Not the Only One

What’s so terrible about being a virgin that people feel ashamed of it and think they have to get rid of their virginity?

If you are a middle aged or adult virgin, you aren’t alone.

The general stereotype is to think any one still a virgin after age 30 or even 40 and beyond

  • must hate the opposite sex,
  • be very frigid or have sexual hang ups,
  • be very religious,
  • be gay or
  • be so ugly no one will touch them.

It doesn’t occur to people that some middle aged people just haven’t found anyone that interesting, attractive or desireable.

I was a virgin (not having sex with anyone) until the age of 32. My boyfriend and I were both virgins (we were the same age too). I would not trade my first experience for any of the younger, fumbling and painful sex my friends had as younger women. Having sex at the age of 32 with another older virgin was the best intercourse I have ever had. It was intense. Not because I wanted the sex, there was no desperation, but because my body was worshipped, explored and discovered. We knew each other, had become friends before becoming lovers and we both wanted to enjoy the experience. The pace was leisurely. We took our time, we talked and we found out everything about touching each other. I didn’t have an orgasm, that happened later, after we were together a few times. That first time we indulged ourselves and it was fantastic.

But, I had already taken my own virginity, as far as the actual penetration. If I had not, that first time together would have been less romantic, by far.

Being the first for your partner is hot, especially when you are a woman. (At least from my point of view). We married later, and divorced. I’ve had a few boyfriends in the years since – but have not been physically intimate with more than one of them. I still think of sex as something I choose to share, not something I need to share. That’s the big difference for me. I don’t want scratch an itch, I want to share an erotic, romantic and sensual experience with someone who cares about me. I don’t settle for less. That’s why I was never in a race to lose my virginity. It wasn’t about being a virgin, it was about being selective.

Virginity as a Fetish

It’s ironic that the very act of keeping your virginity turns you into a fetish. When men know a young woman is a virgin she becomes desirable. They want to take away the very thing they lust for. This was my experience as a young woman, a virgin.

Let’s be clear, the men don’t desire you as a woman, a person or someone they could really get to know, fall in love with and build a life together. No, all they want is sex.

On the Internet men would be turned on by my virginity and they would offer to have sex with me. Some offered to teach me, take me under their wing. They promised they were really ‘good’ sexually and would make sure the experience was ‘good’ for me too.

They couldn’t grasp the concept that I was a virgin by choice. I wasn’t feeling a pressing need to stop being a virgin for the sake of not being a virgin. Being a virgin wasn’t a disease I needed to cure, it just meant I wasn’t getting screwed.

I don’t know how the experience is for young men who don’t begin having sex right away. For me it was a mass of contradictions and my parents did not help. My Mother was not uptight about it. She left it up to me. But, as I became older and still wasn’t with any guy, she wondered why I wasn’t. My Father never bothered to talk to me about anything but I knew he expected his daughters to be “good girls”.

Friends, who were dealing with the same issues were more approachable, insightful and gave me real perspective. Most of my friends were virgins through high school. But a few had boyfriends they were having sex with. None of them went into detail about their first experiences. I know now they just didn’t want to be alarming about the pain and the disappointment. For a woman, losing her virginity is no picnic. It hurts! It hurts a lot. It doesn’t matter what kind of preparation you do. Don’t believe the romance novels! Having sex for the first time feels like you’ve just had a blunt object forced into your body. Oddly enough, that’s what it is.

I lost my virginity, the actual act of being penetrated, by myself. I bought a sex toy and late at night, when I was alone and fairly relaxed, I used it. There was pain. There was pain, not just at the point of insertion but all the way up inside. I did not see much blood however. The second time I did it, weeks later, there was less pain.

So there is the virginity losing reality, for women. It hurts, it’s not romantic and fun or easy.

Don’t give in to pressure to lose your virginity. Don’t sleep with some guy who just wants to screw you or pop your cherry. Think about how you will feel the next day when you are alone and he isn’t returning your phone call. (He got what he wanted).

Save your first time for someone who really will appreciate you, not just your virginity, but YOU. You are more than a cherry to be popped.

Why Are People Desperate for Sex?

I’m not pushing religion and saving your virginity for marriage. I’m suggesting, we have a choice and not having sex is not an unhealthy choice. Sex isn’t everything. We get sold into having sex before we are even into puberty. Everyone seems to have sex. Everyone seems to be having sex several times a week.

If you haven’t slept with someone in the past week you must be desperate to have sex. That’s nonsense. We are human beings not insects who only have one year to live, reproduce and then die.

When did people become so desperate and needy when it comes to sex? Who says we have to live that way?

Virgin Anatomy

 

I was a Middle Aged Virgin…

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