Since I have nothing else to do. Nowhere else to go. I might as well talk about squirting.
Wonderboy’s sleeping. In a puddle. And it’s my fault.
Let’s stop there. Okay, men have orgasms which explode. Ejaculate is not the tidiest or nicest thing to have on your egyptian cotton sheets or what have you – grandma’s leather chair – but it’s to be expected. Men feel (are?) entitled to come all over the place because that’s what they do. It might be messy but that’s the way it is. (Of course I’m not stepping in to the conversation of the appeal of bukkake and that sort of thing and how it might be entwined with actually not embracing manly ejaculate and the mess. Not now, anyway.)
I’ve heard stories like everyone about the girls who won’t go down, won’t swallow, won’t look at it or smell it. Who make men feel like shit – or like they have a smelly old bag of disgust and filth between their legs. Well, I’m not one of those girls. Dicks are fascinating. They smell different, they feel different and they taste different from each other. For me it’s a miracle to hold a penis in my hand and see and feel it twitch and grow. It’s quite wonderful, actually, especially with someone I love. (That someone would be Wonderboy.)
I also love to see, taste and feel him come. I do admit that the come itself is a little icky for a while (when it’s still jellylike) but if the man’s healthy, it actually tastes good and smells like chlorine. So it essentially smells like a cleaning product. How disgusting. I’ve never been angry if a guy came in the wrong place. My sheets, clothes, hair or face have never been so dear or fealt so fragile that a little spit could ruin them. (I am not counting coming inside of me when they were not supposed to because that is a whole new ballgame.) I wipe a little with a paper towel and that’s the cleaning I feel I need before cuddling. Later on there will be time for a shower.
So. Back to business. Why do I say it is my fault that the sheets are wet? Why do I have this sense of guilt? (I first wrote quilt. How cute is that for a mistake?)
Well, do you remember the Sex and the City episode where Carrie farts in Big’s bed and the rest of the episode is spent with her whining to her friends that they haven’t had sex after that – so it must be because of the fart. Even the spokeswoman for free sex, Samantha, calls it “A huge mistake” and continues “Women aren’t supposed to fart, have B.O. or use tampons”. Women’s bodies have to be made out of porcelain. That’s exactly what the entertainment industry is giving us. Women without body hair, with so much make up they can’t smile, with artificial body parts. (You know what parts I’m talking about.) The women in porn are there to look good, not to show real emotion or lust. Because lust is just never tidy. That’s not how the body is built.
In order to put an orifice to another orifice there needs to be lubricant. Some of us are blessed with a lot of moisturizer. And for sex it’s a good thing. It’s an enjoyable thing. Unless the partner is an asshole and thinks it icky and doesn’t want the sheets to get all messy. You see where I’m going with this? The presuppositions covering women’s own self image – but also their image of their (male) partners – only achieve one thing. Women who don’t enjoy sex for the fear of seeming undesirable if their bodies get out of control. Which is kind of the whole point of sex.
I’m one of the lucky ones. I have a loving partner who had read about female ejaculation (what are the odds?) before we met and I dazzled him the first night we spent together. He loves to take it on his face, on his hands or his cock because he knows it means I’m enjoying like crazy. It’s a huge relief on a guy who is always worried about his partner not getting a kick out of him.
And still. I feel guilty for the wet bed. It’s my fault. But I try to think about it as a reminder. Rogue and Wonderboy had amazing sex here 8th of june. Because, in the end, which is more important, tidiness or fulfillment?