My pussy is not a delicate flower, dammit!

I have yet to meet a woman who’s told me she gets really good’n’fucked as often as she wants it. In fact, I often meet women who say they’d like some hardcore drilling a lot more of the time. But let’s put these other women aside for a moment, and I’ll just tell you about my relationship with Pounding (and I capitalize Pounding because it’s a truly sacred thing, the way one might capitalize Jesus or Cheesecake).

To be frank, I’d like some good hard fucking a lot more often myself. I’ve been in relationships where I’ve asked for dick with some intention behind it, and my partner - full of love and respect - has said, “I can’t do it. I don’t want to hurt you.” For fucks sake, I thought, where are these dudes getting the idea that they’re going to hurt me? I thought, “they know that babies and other crazy shit comes out of there, right?” And then it occurred to me. Flowers. Fruit. While men’s junk gets compared to serious things from the Table of Elements and rocks, my vagina is likened to orchids and cherries. You don’t seriously screw an orchid or a cherry (with a clean conscience anyway). So, I’ve decided that I want to launch a campaign of truth around my panocha. When I think of my vagina, sure she’s cute and flirtatious, but when it’s time to get down to business, my ruddy little petunia turns into an angry beastess of lust, a hungry orifice. She doesn’t want kid gloves, she wants the big girl treatment.

Just fyi, I’m clenching my teeth right now for effect. Anyway, a bit of advice: if you happen upon my path, you’d better bring your P game.

x( . )( . )x,
v
p.s. Become my friend on myspace: www.myspace/comthevirgieshow