You should wait at least three dates before you sleep with a prospective partner.
I really love how we’re all supposed to be virgins, until we meet the man who magically changes us into a raging nympho slut. Just for him.
Cause that seems realistic. I’m legitimately sitting here, doing nothing at all. Just waiting for mankind to rescue me from my totally boring and pointless existence.
Waiting for the one and only heroic man with the mightiest of cocks that might change me into exactly what he needs. What other purpose could I possibly serve?
That totally happens, you guys. You’re right. We’re all waiting for your penises to change the fucking game. They’re that powerful.
I can’t sleep at night knowing that my future husband is out there NOT being blown by me. Because I’m at home. Reading and knitting and being a very good woman to impress him. I bet he’ll notice me sitting here doing nothing. Super attractive.
I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to meet my knight in a shining condom doing this… but it’s in the rulebook so I’d better just obey.
I’d better not move, or even glance in the direction of another person in case I’m branded a slut. Nobody wants a slut. Until the wedding night.
Right? That’s super likely to happen in this fucking universe. It happens all the time. Only good girls get diamonds. It’s not like we could buy them for ourselves or anything.
Golly gosh. I just can’t wait for Mr Right to come along and make my useless, penisless life so much more fulfilling by demanding a shit tonne of my time and attention.
I mean, I have nothing better to do. It’s not like I have anything to offer except a nice tight squeeze.
But only after the third date. Everyone knows the best humans have the supreme self control that it takes to maintain their honour for about 6 hours, max.
That’s how long 3 dates is, by the way. 6 hours. Roughly. I also really love how the line between good and bad is so exaggerated that 3 dates…. less than a day in the office, that THIN fucking line… differentiates the virtuous from the scum.
In case you couldn’t tell, I’m being sarcastic.
The beauty of this generalized bullshit, is that it’s a surefire way to reveal who’s a cunt really quick. If I want to fuck a man, I will. (I mean so long as he’s a willing participant. Consent and all that.) And if he judges me for the sex we both fucking had, then I know he’s no great loss.
Besides. I get to keep the orgasms. I only wish that I was greedier and had more. Or maybe I wish they did a better job. They can’t take those away though, no matter what they do with that all powerful prick.
Then again, if it’s so powerful, how come I have a drawer full of more satisfying replacements? How come I’m more loyal to an inanimate object, than an actual human?
Maybe my sex toys didn’t pretend to be my fucking friend, only to disappear because of some misguided judgment or because they found a more virtuous hoe to bang. Or maybe it’s just that they don’t have legs to leave.
Either way, my satisfaction is guaranteed.