I'll have the box lunch please

When it comes to bedroom olympics, all men are not created equal. This can be a good thing, or it can require a certain amount of theatrical embellishments and the delicate balance of continuing to sound like a porn star while simultaneously drafting a to do list in your head for the following week (and you know you've all done it so don't even bother trying to lie to me).

Mind you, I don't condone the "fake". I've never done it and I never will, but there are fragile ego's involved here and no matter how much bravado your man has dripping down his chin, this must be taken into consideration and handled accordingly.

Communication can be a tricky thing in the boudoir. Especially if you're having a one or two-night stand or if the relationship is new. Hell, I've been with someone for years and still couldn't find an opening, pardon the pun, to bring up what often turns into a sacred subject. How do you tell your beloved, sorry, but you're hung like a 4 year-old and if you don't jam me like you're trying to pile-drive your dick through a cement slab I'm going to slip into a coma. And don't think I won't fire up my electronics after you fall asleep so I may actually feel a moment of pleasure in my nethers. Tricky sitch, this is what I'm saying.

I love men. My motto? I gotta have the dick. I might someday let a woman mack on me for awhile, but in the end, I must have penis. I love just about everything about the opposite sex. The way their thighs curve towards their hip bones. Their broad shoulders and carved biceps. Even their musky odor. I love having my small hand enveloped by a man's. I love running my fingers across their head. And I love sucking cock.

Every person I've been with romantically has had something to offer. Some little personal idiosyncracy, quirk, skill, or craft that they brought to the bed, the floor, the backseat of my car. But some have been a disaster of momentous proportions. And guess what fella's? We bitches tell our friends. All of them. When you suck at it.

Despite the many hours of fun and frolic I've had playing pimp and ho, I've unfortunately had terrible luck with people trying to go downtown. And in case you have't a clue what I'm talking about I'll spell it out for you. Cunnilingus. Tasting the cookie. Carpet licking. Munching Box. Basting the clam. Muff diving. Enjoying a tuna taco. Diving at the Y. Cunt sucking. Surrendering the pink.

I'm not sure if I have some fucked up anatomy or something, but I've had more disappointing experiences than not. One guy I was with went after me like a hyena on a fresh kill. Fuck dude! All that shit is attached and I'd like to keep it that way! Another guy dove in like he was trying to win the blue ribbon at the state fair's pie eating contest. Settle down there Sparky! We've got all night Mr. Turbo Tongue. Are you actually chewing me like a dog on a bone? OK, time for you to come back up for air and leave my Nancy alone. Psycho.

And you all quit it with that alphabet shit. I know it was a funny routine by Sam Kinnison a hundred years ago, before he smashed his fat guts out on a desert road in Nevada, but it's fucking annoying! It's does not get anyone off and frankly, it will do the exact opposite you thought it would. So if you're spelling your name with your tongue, stop it, or I will yank your ears off and stick them up your ass. And don't think I won't know when you've thrown a random "W" in there. CAUSE I WILL!

The best thing we can all do is ask, talk, listen and learn. Shake it up a bit. There's a lot of body parts to play with, don't neglect anything. We're all different and we all like things done a variety of ways. You have to stay on your toes because preferences are rarely constant over a lifetime. What blew your dress up last year might not work next time. The finger swirl that made your eyes roll back in your head has been replaced by the bent-over backwards thrust. Altoids are out. Friction-activated heated Astroglide is in.

In closing, I must recommend that everyone in the free world read this. Be you man, woman, or my incestual cats. It should be printed and posted in every bathroom in every bar in every galaxy. It's not the box bible by any means, but it's the most comprehensive thing I've ever seen written on the subject and I found myself audibly shouting in agreement while reading it.

Then I went and wacked off.