I like it when I am Me.
It's not easy, with this going here and that going there. Giving so much of yourself to other people that you're left with an empty reserve in the give-a-fuck-tank for yourself. Things begin to slip by the wayside, starting with how you feel about yourself. And then one day you wake up and realize it's been so long since you've gotten laid that you're not even sure if the kids are still calling it "getting laid" and by the time you figure it out you're not in the mood to masurbate anymore.
I've had more knives on my crotch than a post-op tranny. My cooter tried to kill me. It was the best horrible thing that ever happened to me; disease division (non-dead). It changes the way you flirt when the area that you once divined your sexuality from becomes a source of suffering. Every time I experience a flushed giggle I expect a gynecologist to rush in with a speculum to "have a little look."
I don't feel attractive. Probably never have. But you can sure as hell bet that you turn off the possibility of deriving joy from being on nude display after you've had a group of interns tour your twat.
I'm sorry fellas, but "drop your knees" means something different to me.
I guess I can be a little... well, fuck. I don't know what you pussies would call it. "Blunt?" "Overbearing?" Maybe even "crass" or "crude."
I like that one, Crude.
Sounds like a combination of Cunt and Rude.
I gave up beating around the bush. (Obviously. See above.)
Not looking to get a piece of ass every time I turn around made me find pleasure in other things. Which not only enriches life with wonderful new experiences, but also makes it all the more wonderful when you finally do get railed. Here in lies the rub; When you have zero self-esteem and even less confidence, you not for one moment ever think that people are interested in you. And feeling that alienated from social interaction, coupled with an inability to flirt at more than a 3rd grade level, effectively makes me feel as inadequate as I was before my pussy went on a power trip.
And then came mid-thirty-quittryingtoweaselitoutofmeyouassholes-something and all of a sudden I felt like Jenna Jameson on the set of all six hundred Fast & Furious movies. (That's porn, right? Sounds like porn. I don't watch movies that are not Harry Potter. I just assume something called Fast & Furious is porn. I'd never pay to see it, because I get all my porn for free. But it's called This Girl Is Good or Housewife Doesn't Know and stuff. Thanks, RedTube.)
It doesn't take a genius to see that I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about regaining interest in fucking like bunnies. I had become rather adjusted to knowing people from a purely NOT "please touch my boobs" point of view.
And now that's over.
I make lewd suggestions to myself for no reason. My anger can be turned with a wink. I can easily be dissuaded from a strong opinion, for example, by a strong man. Hell, I've been known to drop a good-looking argument for a good-looking girl. My level of creepiness now permeates the air and infects everything I do. You can nearly count on me to make every situation slightly uncomfortable for everyone involved; while nobody else knows why.
All because I remembered that dudes like to fuck.
Sure wish people could see what an expert on gender studies I seem to have become.