Listen to Your Crotch


It’s not quite the Roxette version, but it applies. Don’t use only your ears when he’s calling for you. If you grant him access, you’re also accepting the fact that oxytocin will be released, making releasing him back into the wild difficult (unless he’s a horrible lover).

I don’t have a vagina. I haven’t even been able to borrow one lately. It’s not great. Willy’s not happy. Then again, I just saved 50% on dinner. Anywho, I found one online willing to have a conversation and enlighten me to the challenges of ownership.

“Hello, Miss … um … how should I refer to you?”

“You can call me Princess.”

“Fine. Princess, what’s it like, dealing with penises and all.”

“Well, it depends on what they are attached to.”

“Ah, so size doesn’t matter.”

“I didn’t say that. Let’s say size doesn’t matter if the penis is attached to a wonderful man. Otherwise, yes, size certainly helps.”

“Anything else? Shape? Color?”

“You’re not listening. Sex isn’t purely physical for me.”

“How about the balls?”

“Look, your hanging ovaries aren’t of particular interest. Show me that you know how to be a gentleman. Do you know how to treat a lady properly?”

“More foreplay?”

“Yes, but that’s not what I’m referring to. Do you open and hold doors?”


“Pay attention to me while you avoid checking out other princesses?”


“Communicate with me?”

“Check. Here I am–ears wide open.”

“Consistently treat me right and you’ll have more sex than you can imagine.”

“I have quite an imagination.”

“It’s no match. I have yet to meet a dick I can’t outrun.”

“Lovely. How many orgasms do you have in a typical week?”

“As many as I want.”

“Come on.”

“I’d say ten or so. They’re easy to come by. I had three last night.”

“Jesus. After one, I’m ready for a nap. Two and my internal organs ache. Three and it’s time to charge the paddles.”

“Sounds like you need more exercise.”

“I exercise plenty. Take note of all the reading glasses around my house. Speaking of exercise, what types of visual aids do you employ to hasten the process?”

“Mental imagery.”

“Oh, like two eighteen-year-old catholic school girl virgins locked in sixty-nine?”

“Gross. No, like one kind man with great arms, deep blue eyes, and defined abs lying next to me on a blanket at a secluded beach in Mexico. We watch the setting sun, while sipping champagne and professing our love to one another.”

“All right. Expedia, here I come.”

Although I am a veteran, I still have much to learn. The biggest challenge has been maintaining the patience to tolerate her changing moods, priorities, and preferences while adjusting my actions accordingly, so I can spend more time with her. If she’s not in the mood, I must resist my urge to assume the blame and force my way back. Unlike penises, vaginas sometimes need alone time for introspection and healing. When access is re-granted, I must show adequate appreciation and proper care, taking responsibility for any oxytocin leaks I cause.

How good was this post?

Click on a star to rate it or just sit there and stare.

Average rating 0 / 5. Vote count: 0

No votes so far. Oh, for fuck's sake, help a brother out. Click a star, puh-lees.

Since you found this post good ...

Follow me on social media.

About the author

Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.