September 26, 2012

Taking the “D” Out of Desire

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Her fingers are inching their way up your inner thigh and her nails begin to lightly scratch your skin, as goose bumps form among your sparse leg hair. You can feel the warmth of her hand approaching your cock and its boys, who yearn the touch of soft, female skin. This might very well be their day of glory. Suddenly, the gorgeous young dame looks at you with deep green eyes, opens her nearly pastel pink lips and carefully asks, without losing her gaze, “Are you nervous?”

“Nervous, naw not me. Keep going,” you say, praying that she doesn’t get too nervous before her hand makes its way upstream. But alas, she pulls back. Your cock will remain without a soothing hand to hold for some time longer.

Such is a game my friends used to play in junior high when our hormones were raging. Raging as hard as those freaky-deaky kids at Avicii (myself included). Since actually touching a penis in those days may have been deemed unacceptable, we played pretend by reaching over a boy’s pants, ever so close to his one-man pants-tent, just to pull away with flushed cheeks and the desire to go so much further.

Lo and behold, junior high is behind us and we have now reached the age where skin-to-skin contact is socially acceptable and often highly encouraged, especially from people like me who see shirts as merely an accessory to keep my nipples warm at night. We are in college now. No longer can anyone stick a ruler between you and your partner at the school dance to make sure there is plenty of distance. We are free to be intimate. Free to be sexual. Free to be wild! And, believe me, plenty of us are.

Yet, unfortunately, given these freedoms, we are now missing a piece of the puzzle, which is none other than — Desire! In bed, I want to be tortured with desire. I want to be begging for more and denied any satisfaction. I want to be on the edge of orgasm for days or weeks at a time (can we limit that to two weeks? A girl’s gotta get her’s eventually, or I’d be as jittery as a three year old after downing a triple espresso shot).

The goal is to make ’em wait. Girls, make guys wait to see you fully nude, wait to feel your hard nipples graze their chest, wait to warm their cocks inside your not-so-furry muff. But, I must ask, what type of lovers will appreciate such prolonged foreplay and no real playing time? Maybe appreciate is even too strong of a word. Maybe the question should be, what lovers will just label you a prude and peace out to go find some down ass bitch in Pixel Alley at 1:27 a.m. on Wednesday night? After all, Wednesday is trivia night and she may be a winner, and therefore that much more likely to fellache you. And for the etymological lesson of the day, this down ass bitch could also be labeled properly labeled as a fellatrix, or one who gives fellachio, to use the correct Latin suffix.

In my experience, the good ones will not ditch you for the Pixel Alley fellatrix, yet the other 77 percent might very well be gone after you refuse take off your panties. For instance, my best guy friend Steve is one of the good ones (but even if that wasn’t true I couldn’t say so here because he knows that I write this column, and may stop buying me Bloody Marys on Sundays if he hears me talking smack about him to all of Cornell). Steve was into this chickadee who had brought him home multiple times just to fall asleep shortly after, refusing to give any or even to get any. After many a sleepover with no touchy feely action, my friend was done. It was not that he was expecting anything major, but he wanted something nasty to look forward to. There is a balance to be had here.

There is no reason that girls and guys must have intercourse or fellache each other (And, I repeat, “each other,” occurring simultaneously (recommended) or one right after the other. Remember, guys, if the getting (head) is good then give back a bit of that goodness). Such acts can wait a while, although, in this candy shop, taste testing is always welcome! The first few hookups with a new person should make you feel as nervous and excited as you felt that day in gym class when you were guarding Sally from behind a bit too close during basketball. You knew that was the most action you were going to be getting for a least a few years, and it made you swell up with desire. Nowadays, many may jump the gun in having sex, but girls, jump off that gun, no matter how smooth, and hard, and shiny it looks! Let us wait this one out. But, be weary of amping up the excitement too much because there is such a thing as blue balls, and it can be deadly if left untreated. Just kidding, I don’t think that’s true, but who wants to see blue balls in the first place, gross.

Mona G. is a senior in the College of Agriculture and Life Sciences. Erotic Epiphanies appears alternate Thursdays this semester. Feedback and submissions may be sent to monag@cornellsun.com.

Original Author: Mona G.