Viewing the local antiquities

A Y-chromosome is no excuse for not having a pussy. Yes, I know, the mirror doesn't lie. Nevertheless, it's a feeble, literal-minded gesture to unzip and with trembling fingers point to a full-grown cock nesting comfortably on a bed of balls and pubes.

Hello! There you are, my snake, my drill, my hammer... The vocabulary of insecure boys is brimful of power drills and lethal weapons lurking beneath every bulging crotch.

What is pussy-like about this lovely, smooth-skinned cock, this beast that has so often sparked up at the mere fragrance of its female counterpart?

Let's unzip and take a look. Growing erect, free of his denim prison he unfurls, hardens, rises to the stroking teasing of a finger. Hard and agonizingly sensitive, he's a funny monster—even in the passionate folds of a tightly clenching vagina he sometimes becomes overstimulated, the moist ecstasy tipping over into pain for a moment. Even there, while I stroke this hard boner, she's in there. Right there under my skin curled around every cell in my body, the sturdy X embracing her spindly brother Y.

Of course, a pair of tits is no excuse not to have a cock.

I have never been with a woman who didn't have a bit of the cock about her. What woman doesn't have a cock? Doesn't even the most virginal virgin sometimes feel the urge to penetrate, to sink into the wet depths, to be an invading phallus with her fingers, her hand, and to become that mirror organ that already has a place made for it inside her? Some women have bigger cocks than others, but they all have one, whether or not they can find them. It only takes a bit of patience.

And how do we find our inner cocks and pussies? We get help. Vulnerable, curious and hungry we spread our mouths, legs, fingers and arms open to each other, inviting and getting invited. Entering and being entered. The specific gender combination is utterly irrelevant; only the game matters. The play of appetites consuming each other.

I found my pussy playing a game. She's right there. Growling, purring, from below the pit of my stomach to the deepest whorls of the cerebellum, she is me.

I don't want one; I have one. Wanna see?

5 Comments:

fresh. you're right john--micxing it up like this is a great idea.

By  laura the tooth, at April 21, 2005 11:53 PM  

Brilliant, but what else could it be? It's Mon!

I can't help it. He makes me gush.

;)

DTG xxoo

By  Anonymous, at April 22, 2005 3:51 AM  

This is one of my faves...a nice diversion from the ordinary

By  Anonymous, at April 22, 2005 12:47 PM  

This has to be the best PussyBlogging ever. I want Mon's pussy.

By  Virgin Slut, at April 23, 2005 11:43 AM  

Mon's mons posting has me thinking, it ain't so much what you got but what you do with it.

The studliest, manliest, cockiest men I've been with have been, by and large, born in women's bodies. And even though their genitals may look like mine... they sure don't use 'em like I do. No-Sir-Eee!

As for girlies, well, I've had some girlfriends who knew how to use thier cocks quite nicely too, regardless of whether they were born with them or bought them.

Fuck on Mons!

C.P.

By  Curious Pussy, at April 23, 2005 1:30 PM  

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