In Tatters

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I knelt at His feet in the utter mess I’d made. My struggle to succeed was stark. No one had ever seen me so disheveled…in such embarrassing circumstances. As He cleaned me up for the second time two minutes, I looked up to meet His steady gaze and tried to gauge his reaction. Disgust at another disastrous, completely unimpressive act of service? Frustrated at my inability to get it together? Sadistically amused at another ridiculous unglamorous predicament I’d once again found myself in? I knew he was taking in every fucking minute detail of the wreck before Him and squirreling it away in the vault of His mind, but what did He feel? His stoic expression offered me no hint. Without comment He stood firm in front of me. Fuckin unwavering. He hadn’t walked away. He hadn’t stepped back. I swear He may have even leaned in. As soon as I’d semi-collected myself, I began my third attempt even as I tried in vain to push the remaining proof of my ineptitude out of view, hoping it would simply
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My Self-Underappreciated Pussy & Football

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Last week while crammed in a NYC streetfront pizzeria complete with another diner less than an inch from my shoulder and well in hearing range (~shrug~ city life LOL), a heated and passionate debate sparked as I took a bite of my favorite ginormous greasy slice.  Sherpa and I had somehow wound our way into discussing arguing DEBATING female masterbation, specifically my own current lack of inspiration and desire to do so.

Meh.  I get like that sometimes.

Sherpa - specifically TPL - was fucking appalled.  How could I be so dismissive and unappreciative of my pussy?!?

The mind-boggling yet surprisingly fantastic analogy: 
Sex = football. Masturbation = watching football.

If my team (partner) is IN the game (masturbation with Him present or at the very least firmly/deeply in my headspace)...

Oh hell yeah...I am ALL in!  I am enthusiastic as fuck, my jersey on, and ready for MANY MANY MAAAAAANY Touchdowns!!!  There is gonna be cheering and moaning and groaning and a mother fuckin band on the way to VICTORY, where my pussy will be a soaked, trembling, and exhausted.  I'll have a grin I can't quite wipe off my face and will glow for days from basking in the sexy hot energy.  ~sigh~

If my team (partner) ain't in the game (masturbation withOUT my partner either present or mentally in my headspace)...

Me:  I struggle to get into it.

 Sherpa:  So what if your team ain't in the game.  Make use of the amazing pussy you've been blessed with.  ~hands shaking for emphasis~  It's still FOOTBALL!  Watch porn.  Read porn.  Do whatever the fuck you need to do, but enjoy that experience!

Me: ~sad shake of my head~ It's like turning on the TV on Sunday only to find the Browns playing.  Yeah...it's technically still football, but it ain't good football.  It ain't even decent football, and it definitely doesn't end well.  Instead of cheering, I just end up cussing and asking myself WTF is wrong with this damn team!  Ain't no band playing.  No touchdowns.  No orgasm(s).  If I don't get distracted channel surfing, I might get lucky with a sorry-ass field goal or two that provides no relief (win).  I only walk out of the stadium dejected and ready for a damn nap.

Sherpa:  Never associate masturbation with the Browns.

~shrug~

I thought over our conversation several times in the following days.  I appreciated his passionate advocation for my pussy.  In fact, I marveled at his conviction.  However, try as I might, I couldn't summon the wonder or level of awe and appreciation he held so close to his heart for women's...sexual sports equipment.

BUT...He's right.  My current apathy is a damn shame.

It's mine.  I love it, but I'm not in awe of it.  I don't cherish it and bask in it's phenomenal abilities.

And I fucking should.

While I love to masturbate when I have a partner to fantasize about, if I lose that mental sexual connection...my interest in my pussy and self-pleasure plummets like a deflated football.  I can hold it in my hands, but that bitch don't fly for shit.

I've known for a long time that my sexuality is very partner-centric and dependent on our combined sexual energy.  In a way, that's my natural failsafe.  Despite what some have referred to as my "force of nature" sexuality, my sex drive only gets flipped on with a rare partner who inspires me mentally and emotionally, whose energy blends with mine to create a Super Bowl of heat and passion.  Tightly interwoven with my sexual DNA is my M/s s-orientation and my S&m needs.  Without some mixture of those elements, it's just the Browns losing another football game in a nearly empty stadium.  ~yawn~

Then last night I heard a man say this line on TV:  The Pussy..."the most powerful force in the universe.  The source of all life and pleasure and beauty."

WOAH...  Pause | Rewind 3x

Ho-Ly Shit.

I've spent the day digesting this idea, and now I get it... Sherpa's AWE.  If I broaden my perspective beyond my own narrow sexual-idiosyncrasies...how earth-shatteringly BADASS is the Pusssy?!?!

I need to stop focusing on what it can/can't do in the moment and instead also embrace ALL it has done and could do.  At the 10,000 foot level, I take in all it's done...the pleasure...the destruction of property it has caused lol...the lives it has given...the decisions it has inspired...my Pussy stuns me with its talent, achievements, and power.  Holy shit...yes, Power...the impact it has made over the years.

Huh.  A lot to take in and rearrange in my mind, but one thing I know.

My underappreciation of my Pussy ends today.

Just plugged in my vibrator.  I need to enjoy the gift I was born with tonight to the fullest.  ")
~DominaKat

P.S. Thank you Universe and Sherpa!  I knew there was a reason for that momentary shift in energy around me.  ~HAT TIP~

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