Long gone were the days where sex was pre-planned, hints and dirty, sleazy words were dropped throughout the day. It would probably sound more like "Ooh when I get you tonight... I'm going to give you massive cuddle and we can both pass out on the sofa while you're on your laptop and I'm trying yet again to get into Game Of Thrones". Look at the screen; these fucking actors with questionable sexual preferences and orientation are having more fun at pretend-fucking than we do. Most of the time, when you freeze the frame at the right time, the bloke's flaccid immediately after pounding the bird anyway.
Kill, kill, kill, rough sex, kill, betrayal, ooh that's that metal throne I read about and it does look pretty hardcore, more rough sex... Where are all the dragons? Betrayal, kill, kill, Eww incest? I'll never shag my brother. Would you shag your sister? Ugh... More blood, I think Skyrim got their idea from this show, you know... Or the other way... That is my thought process whilst watching Game of Thrones. I usually go back to YouTube to watch more "20 Mysterious Photos That Shouldn't Exist But Does" kind of crap anyway. Then we'll Velcro our shattered selves off the sofa and go to bed. We really go to bed and wake up to a toddler whinging because he got stuck in his cot trying to jump out of it.
I digress. As I often do. It's like watching stupid YouTube tutorials that ramble the fuck on for 15 minutes before getting to the tutorial bit like "How to wing your bloody eyeliner" with my blogs, I have to admit. And it ends about a minute later. Foreplay, foreplay, foreplay, premature ejaculation, distress, dejection, frustration, dissatisfaction.
 |
| "I'll just slip into something more comfortable," she said. |
Yes... I will just get out of my comforting, ratty jammies and slip into a bone-crushing corset and a pair of thongs that might be a few sizes too small because when I got it I had a better vision of an exercising, "Baby is napping so I will just bust out a few hundred crunches" self. Sadly, I've been downloading a lot of E-Books and I've just been sat here for two hours every afternoon not reading my E-Books but playing fucking Pet Rescue Saga instead. But yes, let me just slip into something far less comfortable than what I was wearing so that we can get our sexy on. Something that will knock the wind out of me when I attempt to perform fellatio on you and give me a nasty, vicious wedgie as I try to slide down too. Never mind that I'm fucking up my make-up that I had put on because you cannot wear something sexy without completing the whole inhuman super model look. I can't initiate sex with this spot on my face. And once I get the concealer out, all my make-up wants to come out and play as well.
I can't fucking breathe and I think a part of this bralet is making mince out of my nipples. Somebody help. The tag is itching in a spot I will never be able to reach. Fucking cheap Primark lingerie. Where was I? Look sexy. Shit, I'm just going to take this all off and let it all hang out.
WHY.
I'll only speak for one man and it's because these days, I'm engaging in coitus with just one man. It's not that big a deal. It is eye candy, yes, but it is not that important. Still, I continually do it. Glutton for self punishment and all these fucking good looking women that catch the eyes of our men. No, don't look at them, look at me. Don't worry that my breathing is a bit shallow in this lingerie that is SO FUCKING UNCOMFORTABLE. Look at me with that same look. They probably do but us women, nothing is ever fucking good enough what our men give us, isn't it? Look at me with that same lust. They probably aren't looking at that woman with lust. They are probably pissed off that these ads with supposed "Eager Single Lonely Mums" keep cropping up when they are streaming a football match off a dodgy site just as the team is about to score. Like we are going to believe, us forever-suspicious that the man is having rampant thoughts of shagging eager, lonely single mums.
Do what makes you comfortable. Ditch the stupid tights that never seem to stay on and make you question just how massive are your fucking thighs as they roll off while you're in the middle of foreplay. The stupid, clippy things that are supposed to hang on to your equally silly, scratchy garters but somehow ending up threatening to anally penetrate you, making you freak out for a split second. Unless you are doing that professionally and your income depends on you looking as bloody lingerie-model-like as possible. In that case, you go get your game on girl. Get em good. Do extremely well and get that Sex Worker Of The Year Award. I don't judge you and what you do.
The only thing I'd suggest you do wear and keep on would be socks.
 |
| Sexy Socks. |
Studies made by "Them that have got brains and ideas" have shown that women are more likely to orgasm when the feet are warm. I don't know about you but I keep my bloody socks on most the time anyway and I always finish happy.
Socks, women. Happy toes, happy time. Even if it's alone time happy time, if you know what I mean, get your socks on and rock the fuck on.
I'm just going to sit here and think of a workout plan so that I can buy smaller underwear that don't look like it might be a table cloth of sorts and fit into it comfortably that I'll never carry out.
No comments:
Post a Comment