I used to have somewhat of a
dislike for your kind. I can't do that
anymore, not after
hearing you. now, if anything... I feel
sorry for you. I shouldn't, you don't want my
pity. If you're
happy with your life, all the
power in the world to you. I just don't comprehend how it is
possible for you to
want things as they are.
This is directed specifically at a few of you, the only ones like you I know. The four or five of you who collect in the dorm bathroom at three or four in the morning, early Saturdays (having been out Friday) or Sunday (from partying Saturday). You're always fairly drunk, not sloppy, you were sober enough to make it past the night checker, but quite drunk nonetheless. And always still in your glittery shirts and high heels just a bit too high for you. And you're washing the too much makeup you put on to win males, washing it off carefully making sure it's all gone before you sleep, so you won't break out from residue.
And you're always talking about sex. unsurprising. It's just how that startles me.
All I say now, is your own words I’ve overheard over the weeks. I do not speculate you believe this, or assume. I have heard the words from your own mouths. And I know you're not lying, because you're speaking to each other, as friends. A bit too loudly because you're drunk. but speaking frankly amongst yourselves. You don't even know I’m there, going about my own business but hearing you anyways.
But you speak of how many guys you've slept with. How huge this guy's cock was, or how ripped the other guy you did tonight was. This ... is not out of the ordinary. Not for college girls, or even those older in the "real world". These things are normal. it's what you say next, that makes me hurt for you.
You've slept with all these guys, easily one or two a weekend, if not a night. And you don't get it at all. You say yourself, with all these guys... you've never had an orgasm. and you kind of wonder what they're like. But you assume you'll never have one. Because whatever guy you're with, he finishes, and that's that. nothing for you, except the feeling you've done "what you should", climbing your social ladder. You don't “get” sex. You say this. You don't get what it's all about, you don't get the good feelings from it.
None of you have ever had a guy go down on you, not a one has even offered. And if he did, you wouldn't accept. you think it's *disgusting*, you think "down there" is unclean and foul. Yet you're more than happy to give HIM a blow job, no matter who he is. That's just what you're “supposed” to do, as a part of sex. You're more than happy to please him this way, but if he tried to reciprocate you would shun him as perverted. These are your own words.
You don't even know the full range of physical feeling possible. You wonder if you ever will. part of it is because it doesn't sound like he ever tried. And I guess that makes sense, especially if he's in a half alcoholic stupor, he won't have much desire to play nice after he's gotten what he wants. But you know the other half? More than half. You fear your own body. You don't know its own power or its own bliss.
You talk of how you don't understand when all your guy friends jack off. That that's, well, ok for guys, you guess. But you could never *touch yourself* like that. That that's vile and unclean and perverted (and you won't even say "masturbate". It’s "touch myself".) "I could NEVER see why a girl would want to touch herself.. like that". "Yeah... I could never imagine putting my fingers ... 'down there' ". You won't even say it. Vagina. Vagina vagina vagina. You won't even give it its proper medical term. much less any of its slang. cunt. What about that? Can't say it? Are you uncomfortable with that? You are. I’m sure those words make you squirm. You won't even say it medically. It's just "...down there", and you'll have nothing to do with it.
You're the people they made tampon applicators for, you know. You are so uncomfortable with the *natural* workings of your own bodies you need a shield of cardboard or plastic. All that odd oozy hole between your legs is good for, in your minds, is for a drunken, horny college frat boy to derive pleasure from. Other than that, other than your sex for standing, your sex for status and for "because this is what I’m supposed to do" it's good for nothing. It's certainly not for you.
Compared to you (hell compared to most people) I have no experience. at all. but you know what? I’d not trade places for the world. I can have more fun merely by myself than you do in your six-pack per weekend of guys. My body may not be as traditionally "beautiful" as yours, I may not have the Barbie-in-training thing going on. But what good is perfection if you don't use it. You're out there every single weekend having sex. and you don't really enjoy a moment of it. You'll never truly understand it, will you?
Just know the poor little geekling you pity for having no social life... herself pities you. Bodies are wonderful. They're natural and normal. And a lot of fun. I wish I could have you see this. I wish you understood. I wish you didn't fear your own flesh. More than I ever will express. You don't probably want my pity, you chose this life. But nonetheless... I’m sorry.