quizzical pussy

Clifton Overmangle has offered to have sex with me if I start playing reindeer games with him again. O frabjous day!

Now, I understand that when you share your sexuality with someone it’s a beautiful gesture of sharing and trust, or whatever. Please don’t think I aim to take that for granted. But, if I don’t even want to talk to a guy anymore, the promise of sexual intercourse with him may not qualify as the lure to end all lures.

Also, honestly, it’s a lot of responsibility to fuck a virgin. Too much, by my reckoning. This is dealing with a complete unknown. I realize that anyone new you’re fucking is an unknown, but a virgin like Clifton is unknown even to himself. I’m not talking about lackluster sex here; that I would understand and overlook. It worries me more that there’s no knowing what might happen afterward: would he click his heels and dance a jig? Would he sock me in the mouth for besmirching his innocence? Would he huddle in a corner and sob, ever so softly? Not even he knows! That’s the kind of scary I feel I’m getting too old for.

What really gets me is that he clearly thinks his cock is such a brilliant incentive that it could persuade me to magically not be utterly sick of his bullshit.

Hey, virgins: people that fall all over themselves to pop your cherry are creepy and sad. Take your time, have fun, and may your first experience be less awkward and more satisfying than most. Please don’t mistakenly assume, though, that all of us unhymenated harlots are out here gagging for a chance at you. We’re having plenty of fun amongst ourselves. Oh, and for everyone’s sake: shun the frumious Bandersnatch, will you?