trillonious monk

PAUSE.

Hold the phone. Hold that thought. Hold your oozing panties for all I care—but we need to take a moment and discuss the sexual rhetoric that comes, unforgivably, with the curves of a woman’s body. Don’t get me wrong. I am a lover of the cock. The cock is something that I love. I like the cock so much that I am willing to write, unabashedly, that I love cock in a series of three repetitive phrases as hitherto demonstrated above. But if I can be completely candid with you, the male anatomy is rough, rigid. Naturally so. It is not supple and soft, nor is it rhetorical. And with a woman’s body, there is an art in persuasion, something written in her body, in the contours of her curves and in the swing of her hips. There is something beautiful there, something not to fear or suppress or eschew, because any self-aware woman will admit that her sexuality has the power to convince, to sell, to prove. And we, the hapless victims of both men and women alike, we have no option other than to concede. And while this is not some feminist call to gather round all the beauts of my gender, post-coital cigarettes and sexual prowess in flight, we all should cheers to the infallible beauty that a woman uniquely possesses. Every woman.

(Source: nevver)