A cavernous vagina

I was talking to my friend, Bitching Broad, about a guy she recently met. "He's really nice, he's cute, and I think we would be great together even though I don't know him that well," She confided.

"Nice! You should flirt with him more." I couldn't wait for her to get some action on the off-chance that it would make her more happy. Or at least distract her from bitching to me about every detail of her life.

"Well, I don't know. I mean, he's Irish," she said with a meaningful look.

This did not make sense to me. From her tone, I could tell that she had something against the Irish. But I had always assumed Irish was good, what with the gorgeous accents and all. "So?"

"Well... you know what they say about Irish men, right?"

I was very confused now. "They like beer? And you're not okay with it?"

"No. You haven't heard this, seriously? I heard that Irish men have small penises."

I laughed. "Really? Because they don't." In my sex psychology class, we learned all about penis size and how race is not a reliable indication of penis size because those generalizations are stereotypes based on socioeconomic hierarchies. I explained this to her, and then reminded her that a small dick wouldn't be the end of the world. Especially since she hadn't even asked him out yet.

"Well, I just can't date a guy with a small dick. It has to be big."

What was this? Bitching Broad, who constantly complains about her lack of game, refuses to date a guy with even an average sized penis? I started yelling at her, but she clarified with a story: apparently her ex-boyfriend, who devirginized her, told her that she couldn't orgasm from her G-spot because her vagina is too big.

"What does he mean, too big?" I asked angrily.

"I don't know. He said it was cavernous."

I internally laughed at this word choice, but had trouble imagining how a vagina could be so vast as to preclude sensation. I had no choice - both as her friend and as a woman in a state of disbelief - but to reject his criticism. "That's not possible."

"Really? Are you sure?"

Since I couldn't picture how this cavernous vagina deal would work, I told her I was sure. And then wondered... is that possible?

Where's the action?

Valentine's day is tomorrow. I know what you're thinking: "Why aren't you dating?"

... you were thinking that, weren't you?

Okay but if you weren't, now you are.


Well my friends, I'm not going to lie. The men at my school are gay. Gay or socially inept. Gay, socially inept, or taken. And sometimes all three.

I've been trying this new thing though, called "shopping for sluttier clothes." Now before you tell me that I shouldn't have to look slutty to get a man's attention, I should clarify: I don't have to. I can wear some pretty boring clothes and get attention (especially if I sing really loud in the subway. And even then, some of those sidelong glances are pretty lusty). But if men are going to gaze anyway, why not look absolutely delicious and make them sorry they're not getting off at my stop? Honestly, it's the only cruel thing I'm capable of doing to strangers. And lately, I feel like doing bitchy things.

Other than fantasizing about men fantasizing about me, though, I've been pretty celibate. Some of you might be thinking "That's okay! You don't need a man, you just need a vibrator!"

To you, I say "I don't have a vibrator." And even though I do have fingers, I forget about them. I'm a sexual person and all, but every time I think to myself "I'm going to masturbate tonight!" I end up forgetting. When you have to remind yourself to masturbate, I have a feeling you're not really into it.

I did have phone sex with The Ex a couple weeks ago. I don't really regret it, and I probably wouldn't have done it if I wasn't drunk at the time. Oh yeah, The Ex! What's with that? I haven't mentioned him in... a month? Well, he calls me almost every day and we talk. It's not awkward and I'm not obsessed with him and I don't notice it when he doesn't call. I think those are all good things, and I'm glad we have what appears to be an understanding. And I'm glad we're not together. Now I don't feel guilty for lusting after the cute boss in my office or putting Adam Brody on my desktop.

It's nice to be single. Happy Valentine's Day!

Sex education

Every Wednesday during my psychology lecture about sex, there is a flamenco dance class in the studio next door. Today, while we tried to hear our teacher talk about boners, I listened to the rhythmic stomping of the dance class.

I turned to my friend sitting next to me and told her it sounded like sex. She considered and then shrugged, not finding it quite as amusing as I had.

When the tempo increased and the stomping got louder, I gave her a meaningful look.


Oh... yeah, I take a class about sex. And guess what? It's fun to learn about sex! Who would've thought? As I learn more and more about arousal and the penis from a detailed biological perspective, I feel like more of an expert. I then think to myself, "Know your enemy." I then laugh at my own joke. Penises are definitely not the enemy; I have more trouble looking at the diagrams of vulvas than the penises.

My professor is really awesome, and in every class he tells us an anecdote from his personal life. This usually ends with him trailing off and leaving us to our imaginations, which delights me because he usually looks embarrassed. Today he was talking about a woman he dated one summer who wore Coppertone sunscreen all the time, and said that every time he smells Coppertone now, he instantly thinks about sex/intimacy/her. I've never experienced the same thing, but... Has that ever happened to you?

Handjob post

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