type of sexual arousal. And if for diagnostic or therapeutic purposes it is necessary to collect sperm, but the man cannot, then the medical worker puts on a glove and massages that very place.
Dear ladies, don’t be surprised if your husband asks you to wear a strap-on, he’s not gay, he just wants to get that same pleasure.
I had a friend who with her boyfriend (almost her husband, they had been dating for so long) had anal sex in his direction. Don't think about it, she didn't look like a stern, masculine aunt who dominates her perverted sexual partner. This is a beautiful long-legged girl with light brown curly hair, facial features like Khodchenkova, dressed in a shawl and midi skirt.
My eyes also widened when she shared such an intimate detail with me in the solarium. I spent the whole day thinking about how easily she discusses such things in public places with a not very close friend.
Apparently this is liberation.
Or some form of perversion.
Or am I simply behind the times, and women should give all men a prostate massage so that he doesn’t go to his lover?
My dear readers, if any of you suddenly judged me for a second for writing so openly, then drop it, don’t read.
But I will continue anyway.
Life is too short to be afraid of being judged.
Once, by the way, I talked to my mother about my nephew’s masturbation, that he didn’t need a girl yet, supposedly it was too early, and he already copes with his hormones with the help of masturbation.
Mom asked: “What is this?”
I answer: “This is masturbation.”
She meaningfully: “Ah.” This is what polite people say to hide their misunderstanding.
I decided not to educate her about this in her seventh decade.
Mom, if you're reading this, know that I didn't come up with this. The Bible, which you love so much, says this. There was an Onan who practiced coitus interruptus; for some reason handjob was named after him.
Back to homosexuality. Here’s another example: two women of about forty, but very beautiful and obviously rich, recently approached me, gave me a lot of compliments and invited me for a cup of coffee.
Women do not meet people like themselves on the streets. No heterosexual woman would make acquaintances so daringly. In a beauty salon, yes. Mutual friends, yes. Friends in misfortune, perhaps in a bar, or at the gym, yes. On the street, no.
This is what men do in order to later get them into bed. It's not bad. It’s just that this way of behavior is characteristic of the stronger sex and lesbians.
I refused, but later I told my husband that I had never received a better compliment in my life.
Between us girls, we love competition. And if a man admires us, it’s nice, and if a woman, then doubly so. After all, if your opponent likes you, it means she recognized your superiority. You win.
Well, maybe we don’t think so directly, but somewhere deep down, I believe, we do.
Well, that’s probably all on the topic of same-sex love, let’s move on to the next chapter of my life.
“What if I’m on a vow of celibacy (the existence of which, of course, only God knows)”
Another story that left a mark on my life.
I really thought that if the mountain does not come to Mohammed, then Mohammed has no reason to try.
They assured me that everything was God’s will. Single and older friends from the youth Christian community constantly said that if God does not give you a husband, then he has a different plan for you.
There was a little happiness on their faces, and I’m sure each secretly wanted to quickly get married in order to prove to everyone that there was no curse on her. Oh, sorry, celibacy.
Well, what is this if not a curse?
You want sex, you want a handsome, smart, kind, sexy, preferably financially secure man next to you. And here it’s “on you”, you need to dress decently, behave decently, be an obedient and exemplary Christian, because there is no place for harlots in heaven.
So you stand in a dilemma: bright makeup is not allowed, God does not want it. You walk around pale as a moth, and pretty boys pay attention only to those whose natural beauty outshines all the other parishioners.
Brad, really?
That is, in the battle for the best guy, the one who doesn’t need makeup a priori wins.
And the dull gray mouse gets exactly the same mediocre guy. And everything would be fine, because there are a lot of couples like that, and they live happily, love each other (I don’t mean it as a reproach, forgive me for God’s sake if I offended anyone), but there are also those who don’t settle for the average, give them the best .
I'm very ambitious. I always wanted to be on top.
I don't think I'm giving up yet.
Every time I increase the upgrade level to reach new heights.
Now I’m thinking about going to Hollywood, I’ll start with small roles, and then we’ll see how it goes. Look, in this life I’ll star in the main one.
Then, at fourteen, I didn’t want to agree with the vow of celibacy. She constantly tried it on herself and threw it aside with contempt.
I prayed that God would not give me such misfortune, that he would bypass me and reward Olya, well, let Christina, Nastya, Valya in extreme cases, but not me.
They are all married now, just like me, but then they were so afraid. They were afraid, but did not show these feelings. They held firm.
I was the weakest of all, the first to start putting on makeup, and so brightly, to be sure. I didn't even give up on getting David.
He was in a relationship, and I asked him to teach me how to play the guitar, suggested we go for a walk, supposedly discuss the Bible, and arranged gatherings with mutual friends at his house. All this was seasoned with a ton of makeup and a deep neckline.
Even after that unfortunate under-kiss, I carried out attacks on the poor couple of guys in love. I think these were attacks on my loneliness. I fought him desperately.
I went to clubs, met with guys in between, until I left for a bigger city, where, as I wrote earlier, I almost locked myself in a monastery for three years.
Do you know what was there? Three years of celibacy. It’s so funny, I fought with him so much and lost. Beaten and defeated, with my tail between my legs, I resigned myself to this fate and stopped trying.
In the dorm, I was a nasty nerd who, at twenty-three, could go into the kitchen and rip someone's stereo cord out of the socket because I wanted to sleep. The whole floor was having fun and listening to this music, it didn’t bother anyone, but they were afraid of me. I complained,
