I did not know it was going to hurt the first time nor the second or third time for that matter. I did not know I was supposed to feel good when it was over either. No one prepared me for either, the beginning, what should occur in the middle and definitely not the end.
What I learned about it, any of it, was from books and first hand experience.
My first hand experience over time showed me it wasn’t about me. In all other aspects of my existence I was being shown (programmed) to accept that “It wasn’t about me.” No matter how expert my techniques—you came to this with your learning and programming too.
A European brotha saw an African brotha’s penis and the envy started, because it was bigger. i.e. bigger house, car, diamond, bank account, friends list, followers, et cetera and so on. In the process of man being his human self; not considering the woman he went about teaching the rest of the world things about sex and women that do not apply to all of us.
Boys taught to believe that a big dick was needed to satisfy a girl. Grab those big breasts and give them a hard squeeze. Boys were also taught that the clitoris is her “spot”. Touch it and she gets wet immediately. Stick your finger inside, stick more fingers inside her—she likes that. He was taught that she loved hard thrust into her vagina. Get as far up in there as possible, yes. Add the girls that told him he has good sex and you have the Ego.
Is the head of your dick not the most sensitive part entering the vagina? There is a reason for that.
While a boy is squeezing my breast hard and digging for gold in my vagina trying to reach my Uterus he is bypassing my G-spot. The G is for Grafenberg. It is a small thing easy to miss really because it is only a couple of inches inside me. It is the spot that makes the orgasm flow through my entire body like a warm wave of water. Slowly from the top of my scalp down around my forehead, eyes, temples, sinuses, ears, cheeks, neck, shoulders, arms, wrist, palms, fingers, down my chest and back to my stomach and hips through the center of my being, down my thighs, my knees and calves, through my ankles around my heels, circling the tops of my feet slowly moving though all of my toes at the same time removing all stress, leaving me refreshed.
It is the orgasm I never get to experience because the boy has been programmed to believe some shit that ain’t true.
My Girl said to me, “first he takes care of me, then…” I have found often the “takes care of me part is rushed so that orgasm isn’t all that it could be, on my end I’m forcing because I feel him rushing. I feel him rushing to get me off so he can shove his dick in and out any way he wants to for as long or as short as he wants doing his business. Most often though the boy does not bother with “taking care of me first” leaving me with the mental fuck of remaining active and seemingly attentive, somewhat vocal the entire time waiting, wanting, privately begging for this violation of my body and my spirit to end.
I cannot talk to the boy about the sex he’s got us missing out on because of the “big dick, let me shove it in her vagina and make sure it reaches her stomach or put my finger in her and move it around or try to insert my hand—her clitoris is her Spot myths. Add the ego and leave me to continue to experience the boy rolling over and falling asleep while I suppress the feelings of arousal and cum catcher.
Laying there in the dark, able to hear his loud breathing, I think about all the little girls in other parts of the world experiencing the horror of having their clitoris vulva cut out in some sick ritual because someone somewhere along the way told the boys it was the spot; not possessing it would keep them from cheating because they lack desire. The lack of desire comes from the mutilation itself. The real “Spot” is a couple inches inside her in a hollow.
I lay there and realize that boys should realize porn is the movies and like many movies, a lot of things are hype. A boy being taught that licking the vulva is the only way a girl can cum and then only having intercourse with her night after night after night. I wonder how many beds in America this happens in as I tell myself I will try to talk to him about this matter tomorrow…