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I put the cool in ejacoolation

08-17-14 | 6:13 a.m.

Wow. Two years. I wander in thinking...I wonder what's up with good old Diaryland. Last entry, 2012.

What's happened in two years? Well, much of the same bullshit insanity that I experienced (and shared sans filter) since I joined. But the only thing anyone would care about (besides the lesbian sex in my car, the Big Break-Up with my best friend, the night I showed my tits to a packed bar, and many more grand and stupid events) is that I discovered first hand that female ejaculation is real.

Real messy.

Okay, back up. *blur the image, fade into the past, focus on me focused on the computer trying to decide with zero experience exactly what sex toy might be the magic wand Hubster needs to find my G Spot*

Here's the thing, when you've been riding the same pole for twenty years, there's a glorious level of intimacy, a shared agreement of non-judgment and flowing love and support. In other words, the longer you fuck the same person, the higher and prouder your freak flag flies.

It was time for little ol' me to stop being the odd man out when it came to orgasm parties. We had discovered through trial and mostly error that my relentless masturbating as a teenager had ruined me for anyone to ever get me off without an inexhaustible tongue, back-up batteries or permission to just get the fuck away from me and let me do it.

Had I only known the misery seed I was planting in the midst of my future marriage, I'd have taught myself to come in a porn star position. But no....I was too busy learning how to do it with my legs together staying perfectly still as one would do when one would surely die if one's father barged in.

Anywho, I was fairly confident the old man could make it happen with a little help from something that would stay hard as he was so eager to not do. I should have known better by that point, but despite my carnal wisdom on the topic of what tosses him spewing over the edge, I couldn't stop myself from saying "Holy fuck don't stop, you're gonna make me come this way."

"Okay, okay, oh...oh....OHHHHHHHHH FUCK HERE IT COMES I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY AHHHHHHRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!"

*sigh*

SO, there I was, trying to imagine what the inside of my vagina would like best. There were giant phallic nightmares and little ridiculous things you put over your finger. There were creepy skinny things that look like lollipops going limp. And then, there was this.

Now, I don't know what the interior of my vagina looks like, I don't have a GoPro or anything. And I certainly had no idea how I would choose the right tool for the job without burning through several. But at that moment...my vajayjay whispered to me.

If you buy it, you will come.

And who am I to ignore such tantalizing advice from my beaver? The thing has always been good to me.

So I forked over $60 for a dildo that looks like...well, frankly it looks like a plaster cast of the inside of a vagina. And waited excitedly for it to arrive. Along with all the free shit you get when you spend $100 or more.

When the box arrived, I tore into it like a kid hoping something good is under the socks and underwear her aunt just gave her for Christmas, tossing aside the bullet vibe, the butt plug, the rabbit vibrator, the handcuffs, flogger and blindfold until I beheld the pink key to my G.

*angels sing, sunlight breaks through the clouds, my vagina contracts rapidly as if applauding*

That night, with much anticipation, the Hubster set to work. There were critical adjustments made, angles calculated, speed variations accounted for, proper position defined, and when all was perfectly calibrated, I gave him the all clear.

And he went to town.

And I went to TOOOWWWWWNNNNNN. Like, six times. And I finally had to beg him to stop before my brain started bleeding or something.

My first thought as mental coherency returned was, "My junk feels like it went ten rounds in a boxing ring."

My second thought was, "I feel kind of wet."

Kind of? Okay, I sat up and looked at the Hubster as he was kneeling between my legs, a wide and fantastic smile on his face. Propped up my elbows, I smiled back and opened my mouth to congratulate him on his successful completion of Getting Me Off: Advanced Course when he parted his lips and said...

You squirted.

Now. It is in the moment of the reveal that my brain makes the connection between his words and the fact that I feel like I'm laying in a pissed bed.

My only response....Get the fuck out of here, seriously? Now his calm façade breaks over the rocks. He excitedly recounts the whole thing, using words like "splashed" and "all" and "over" and "my" and "junk" and I can't help but get caught up in his celebration of being repeatedly hosed down by my genitals. I mean, the man was so enthusiastic in the telling of the tale, how could I not join him?

Finally, I had to break up the rave because the sheets were rapidly cooling from hot post-sex we're so pleased we don't care to cold, who the fuck peed the bed, I just rolled in it.

We got up.

We turned on the light.

We saw the aftermath.

We bought a mattress protector.

Oh, by the way...missed you assholes. That is all, carry on.

I put the cool in ejacoolation - 08-17-14
STFU - 09-08-12
Be careful, people - 07-17-12
bow chicka bow wow - 07-03-12
Phoning it in - 07-01-12

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