Pussy Armada

Is my pussy a weapon? Well, I suppose the answer to that question depends on who you ask; query the betighted broad I took out with my patented "Flying Twat Smash" maneuver during my previous career as a professional jello-wrestler, and she'd likely tell you to stay the hell away from my pussy at all costs. If you consider menstrual craziness a subset of the general pussy jurisdiction, then back last fall - when I had my four-month-long Period of the Ages - my Tunnel of Love was a fucking WMD. I was a hormonal nutcase, and was the first one to admit it.

I have also often employed my pussy as a smuggler's device, though I hardly think that this use of the organ can be qualified as weaponization. Back in the days when I traveled extensively for bidness, before the horrors of September 11th, you would never find me on a domestic flight without a Pussy-Pak, a plastic-wrapped "leaf" of "tobacco" and some papers. What? I liked to smoke, and often found it difficult, in my business capacity, to find the time to procure the "brand" of "tobacco" I liked while on location. Also, I have been known to secrete other "substances" there from time to time, like in my early twenties, when fleeing a raided party on foot, hoping that's the last place "they'd" look for the, erm "baby powder". Ahem.

While I shy away from pussy-blogging specifically, and in general all sexual subjects in which a light sort of self-deprecativeness is impossible - I don't want to appear coarse - I will say that, to my knowledge, the only thing I've ever threatened to withhold the pussy over is immediate chocolate gratification. Like, "Honey, if you plan to get laid tonight, would you stop on the way home and bring me a Hershey bar? Thanks, dear." Oh, hell yes, I admit it - if that flappy piece of meat between my thighs can procure me some chocolate in a time of need, I will use it, and fuck you for even thinking I shouldn't.

But - jewelry? Vacations, dinners out, flowers, marriages, the lot? No. These are mostly things that I bestow freely on the people that I love whenever I am able, whether they are fucking me or not, and so I expect the same. If Mister MacFarland, my only sexual partner, shows up on my birthday without a present, I'm going to expect a damn good makeup present at some later date, and will certainly fuck him that night if he asks, regardless of whether he came up with the goods or not. The two things - pussy and goods/services - simply are not fungible, not in our marriage, anyway. Hell - I had a lot more money before I married his broke ass and started spitting out his babies. If I really wanted jewelry and cars and such, I should have stayed single and childless and bought them my damn self.

And, for the record, when I was single and childless and dating single men, I can honestly state that I never withheld sex out of some bait-dangling plan, some pubic carrot-and-stick game. Sometimes, yes, I'd fuck a guy right off the bat, if I felt like it. Sometimes I knew right away that I wasn't interested, and never gave the guy any ideas to the contrary. Sometimes I thought I wasn't interested at first, but then came to be incredibly attracted to a person I had become friends with, and then, after suitable notification, the fucking would commence...but I never had a hard and fast rule about when it was right, or when it wasn't. Every situation is different. There is no magic number of days that must elapse before the event takes place, no magic dollar amount that entitles a date to a piece of ass. This is not a contest. It just depends.

The proof of this pudding I'm spouting? I fucked Mister MacFarland on the first date. I had no intention of it happening - it was just a first date, and I didn't know him that well - I hadn't even shaved my legs - but it just happened. It was a love at first sight kind of thing. I'd been celibate and off the dating market for a year or so beforehand, we met, we went out, and we just...leapt on each other. We were married almost exactly a year from the night of our first encounter. If that makes me a whore, so be it - I'm a whore with a happy and fulfilling marriage. If any of it makes me coy with regard to the power of my pussy, then so be that shit, too. It is what it is - take it or leave it - but it works for me.

All this is not to say that I don't use my tits as a weapon. Oh yes...children....(as Eric would say)...I have been known to fling those rock-solid mammaries around like nunchuku; eye-poking, back-stabbing, black-eye bestowing behemoths they are - and that's only when I'm jogging. Yes, my boobs are weaponry, my own silk-and-lace clad arsenal. When I was nursing, I used to chase Mister MacFarland around the house, trying like hell to "paintball" his slack-ass with my leche de madre. I will gladly flash cleavage to get out of a speeding ticket, too, and if I thought it would get me discounts while shopping I'd fucking go topless. Look - I have to cart these monsters around, I have to suffer the back pain, the posture issues - and I'm not a big woman. I'm just generously endowed. If I gotta pay the price for 'em in physical comfort, you can bet your last bottom dollar that I'm going to get whatever use out of 'em - within the confines of a marriage, that is - that I can derive. I defy you to give me one good reason why I shouldn't. After all, every man I know proclaims in public that "he don't like big old huge titties", yet seems to have an Achilles Heel for them in private. Unless you're all a bunch of fucking liars, they shouldn't give me an edge.

Also, let this screed not be taken as a statement that I have not seen pussy used as a weapon. Oh, yes, Intrepids (as Velociman would say). I have seen a big old nasty stripper gal do things with her genitalia that would make nuke-sniffers like Kim Jong-Il sit up and take notice. I have also known dirty sluts whose VD trail might classify them as a biohazard, those Typhoid Marys - or Herpes Helens - as the case may be. I have seen evil bitches married to men who were truly in love with them twist the pussy like a knife, just as I have seen the phallus used in much the same manner. I know what Acidman is talking about - I've seen it done - but I think that there are more women out there who just want to be loved, who use the pussy to get a simulation of that feeling, than use it for malicious purposes. And you know what? More power to those ladies in the former category. If the men in their lives are such rampant assholes as to withhold love and intimacy, then let them withhold the pussy until these men at least learn to convincingly act like they give a shit about them.

Anyway. I'm going to stop now, but I could go on and on. I shouldn't have even chimed in - I feel certain that none of the Divas want another woman, especially me, treading on what is their domain - but I couldn't help it.

Pussies? Weapons? For Queenie, a target-rich environment.

Posted by Queenie at April 1, 2005 04:13 PM