Glass + Cum = Broken Dreams

Originally run on 23 February 2009. Image from Google.

A Rebuttal to "Orgasm Shatter the Glass Ceiling" by Rachel Rufrano, 2/17/09

In my many years of cracking safes and romancing ladies, I have learned a thing or two. One of these facts is that women are much like safes: They’re about three feet tall, weigh a couple hundred pounds, contain precious secrets that must be hidden from the world, and it takes a steady hand to get anything from it (them). What I am saying is that making a woman come is much the same as cracking a safe. I took umbrage with Rachel Rufrano’s article because of its over-simplification of (straight) human sexuality. But also because I’m pretty sure it was making fun of my cock (which doctors tell me is perfectly proportioned for a man of my height). Then again, I whenever I hear people laughing in public I think the same thing, so that might just be my problem.

First off, some women simply cannot have orgasms. Now, I can already hear the cynics clucking their tongues and scoffing “Maybe not with you,” but it’s a physiological fact, damnit! There is no amount of jaw Olympics, pleading or sitting on the drier that can play that card any differently. Yet, somehow, they still manage to get on with their lives and be healthy, contributing members of society. Many of these women also manage to have fulfilling sex lives despite this perceived disability. Believe me, I’ve been turned down by literally dozens of them. Human sexuality is complicated and frightening enough without fixating on one particular event that might not even happen. And another thing, as far as equal rights go, aren’t there more pressing issues to deal with besides climaxing. We can all agree on that one, right?

I think we can all agree that there’s nothing wrong with women pursuing the orgasm. I personally have benefited from taking part in this noble quest, but with that said, if coming is the only thing that defines a worthwhile sexual escapade (sexcapade) then you’re probably going to be mightily disappointed. Take me, for example. I’d love to own a Porsche, but it’s probably never going to happen. Does this keep me up at night? No. Do I go into every car and compare it with this pneumatic piece of German Engineering? No. What I do is appreciate the Honda Accord that the Lord has blessed me with and I try to be thankful for every experience I have with it (Ladies, if any of you would like to be compared to a medium-range Japanese automobile, drop me a line).

What I’m getting at here is that female sexuality terrifies me. Even more so than terrorism. I mean, vaginas—ew. And don’t even get me started about menstruation. Female genitalia are like a sick parody of a Giger painting, all those folds and tubes. Who has the time to figure all that out? Not me! If women figure out that we’re not the gate-keepers of their sexual fulfillment, what else can result but complete and total anarchy? And I won’t stand idly by while Miss Rufrano dismantles the very core of our society.