The other day I was talking to my friend about the prospect of hooking up with a friend of a friend who lives next door, making him incredibly GD (geographically desirable). She ultimately decided that she didn’t want to bang him, because she simply didn’t think he was attractive enough. She noted that she had managed to sneak a peek at him once, sans-shirt, and from that moment on lived with the concrete knowledge that his extensive network of back muscles was undoubtedly the most attractive part of his body.
“Just look at his back during sex,” I told her, momentarily forgetting that women aren’t licorice sticks capable of bending to and fro.
That’s when it hit me: The unbearable truth that, when it comes to sex, women are at a major scenic disadvantage.
Think about your average romp. What does your partner see? Your face, your tits, your legs, your ass—basically every inch of your bare, naked body is exposed to the lucky son of a bitch who gets to take you to pound town. No matter which way he takes you, he gets to see everything. And what do you get to see? His face, or the inside of your eyelids, or nothing at all, if he has half a mind to do you from behind while you stare at the wall and pray to God he doesn’t thrust your head straight into the headboard.
Am I insanely prude, or is it impossible to catch a view other than the underside of a guy’s chin and the rest of his tensed-up O face? Whether you’re under his bod or riding him dirty, you’re pretty much getting one, singular view. I guess you could look down, but the idea of seeing my stomach all scrunched up makes me want to cringe and replace all the contents of my refrigerator with celery sticks and whatever tea the Kardashians are half-heartedly promoting this week.
I get it—guys are visual creatures. I know he’s thinking, “God damnit I love the way dem titties jiggle,” while I’m thinking, “I hope he wants to snuggle and browse puppies on adoption websites when this is over.” But women aren’t always thinking sappy, emotional shit when we’re in bed. Sometimes we just wanna fuck, and I mean really fuck. Why can’t I ever look at his perfect man butt, or abs, or tanned, muscly calves? Why am I stuck staring at his red, veiny face, scrunched up into a frown while he fights his own body and attempts to last as long as possible?
I guess my only logical solution is to install mirrors all over my bedroom, or play a slideshow of his nudes while doing the deed. Guys will automatically think I’m a freak, but what do I care? I’m just tryna get the best out of my libido while I hover around the age of my sexual peak. Biology really fucked us on this one, ladies—no pun intended..
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