Unless you ‘enjoy watching football’ or something weird like that, you probably didn’t watch the Super Bowl on Sunday. And, unless you are the kind of person that watches concerts on snapchat stories without skipping through, you probably didn’t watch the entire halftime show either. But you saw that one part. You know the one I’m talking about. Those three seconds of Shakira wiggling her tongue while making a sound that I can only describe as “blwalwalwalwalwa!”.
Well, I did, and oh boy, did it make me feel some type of way. I instantly flashed back to being 17, lying on my couch, watching my now-ex-boyfriend spend ten seconds clumsily exploring the depths of my womanhood like a blind miner, before saying those fateful words, “Did you cum, babe?”
No, Josh. No, I did not cum.
To describe the surface-level knowledge my ex-boyfriend had about a woman’s body is to describe the knowledge my two-year-old cousin has of the conflict in the Middle East. I think he thought of breasts as two squishy penises, and that touching them felt the exact same way. He thought that inserting a tampon was masturbation. He knew what a clitoris was but considered it more along the lines of a big, red “that was easy” button to push once in order to immediately trigger orgasm. One time, we went swimming while I was on my period, and he asked me to “just hold it so you don’t attract sharks.”
I think the reason why watching Shakira’s tongue was so much better was not that her ‘flapping’ motion and howling was an ideal technique, but the fact that anything was better than the wet ‘poking’ sensation of what could only technically be called ‘oral sex.’ Also, on God, Shakira can get me there.
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