The jig is up, ladies. We’ve been found out. Now that studies show women are just as sexual as men, if not more, we can no longer pretend to be less into sex, less lustful, less visual, less turned on, less naughty, less bored, less anything. The world now knows that we are as guilty as any old horndog this side of the Mississippi of wanting to get up on that shit, and how.
Unforch, the big diff here is that after centuries of systematically brainwashing us into thinking we can transcend all sexual needs, don’t care about sex and aren’t turned on by anything not tied by string to an engorged diamond (dick), we’re not really ready to unleash the dam just yet. So if you see me walking by, and the tears (of repressed desire) are in my eyes, look away. Because while you were telling us we didn’t need sex as much, we used the time. We GOT SHIT DONE. Reasons we won’t be tapping into that untapped reservoir of rampant lust just yet:
You’re obviously not ready for this jelly.
Game of Thrones.
Catching up on old New Yorkers.
Leaning in.
Don’t feel like playing the part of pre-Victorian era whore tonight.
Macrame.
Fine, still scrapbooking.
Decided to pick up a Master’s instead.
Pinterest anxiety.
Started watching Scandal.
(Fritz.)
Actually tired.
Getting ready for summer.
Putting the no in nympho.
Bitter.
Jealous.
Resentful.
Facebook.
Antibiotic-resistant strain of gonorrhea going around.
Instagramming desire through muted pastels.
Took up knitting instead.
Really good at knitting.
Master of self-control.
Strange rash.
Vagina no longer up to code.
Writing down serial numbers for all major electronics and appliances.
Visiting grandma.
Stopped waxing.
Decided to be a foodie.
Afraid to lose all currency with opposite sex.
Getting really into Russia.
Considering taking up bartering.
Frasier reruns.
Carving apple heads.
Harry Styles.
Have to get up super early for a meeting.
Reading about maritime disasters.
Cataloging scabs, bruises.
Might only be into group sex now.
Kidding.
I think.
Waiting on a study.