quizzical pussy

Last night, in the middle of an otherwise satisfying fap, I realized with not inconsiderable horror that it’s been I-don’t-even-know-how-long since the last time I squirted. It must be months. Months and months. One hell of a lot of months, at least.

There was a time in my life when I could barely use a vibrator for fifteen seconds without my pussy producing an enthusiastic dribble, and threatening much more. That time is gone, apparently, at least for the time being, and now I need to apply more time and attention in order to ruin my sleeping arrangements with puddles. Which really is probably for the best from a logistics standpoint because I need my beauty rest and prefer it non-soggy, all else being equal. Female ejaculation can be such a polarizing subject, even if we’re just talking about my brain.

But I miss those geyserly orgasms. They were so intense, so joyous. Of course a woman can have an amazing sex life if she never ejaculates, or even thinks about it. There are manifold ways to get off, and no single physical mechanism of orgasm is objectively better than any other. They’re created equal, like mankind. But also like mankind, once you get to know and love an individual in that created-equal group, you get attached and would miss it if it were to move to Jakarta.

So here I am in the Western Hemisphere realizing that I just don’t have the grit these days to hike to Jakarta every time I take my pants off.

Squirting, come home. I would like to have to lay down double-thick towels more often, and then maybe curse you when you ignore them and soak right through. Those were the days.

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