Cunnilingus

Cunnilingus: (n) the act of orally stimulating the female genitals

I never try to fix my light switch when there’s an electrician in the room.

I know this sounds like an obvious statement, but we know there are individuals who are so sure of their own ability that they would go ahead and fix the light switch with an electrician nearby.

Perhaps they would consider it initiative.

Maybe they would insist it was a showcase of their self-confidence.

But as for me, I think it’s arrogant, shortsighted, and can result in a light switch that does not work.

For thousands of years, we have viewed human sexuality through the peep hole of the male penis.

Movies, songs, books, conversation—all have insisted that if a woman can be dominated by an erection and adequately tosseled through intercourse, she will be delighted—and also submissive.

The fact that nothing could be further from the truth does not seem to hinder the proliferation of this idea. It has been my finding that the best person to talk to about human sexuality is a woman. Just as I would trust an electrician with my lighting concerns—because he knows the inner workings of the wiring much better than me—I likewise would listen to a lady explain how her wiring works.

If a woman is not sexually engaged and passionately involved, then sexual intercourse can quickly become boring, perfunctory, and appear to be a male-controlled activity, only bringing ultimate satisfaction to the man-person.

We live in a society that still giggles, sweats and becomes extraordinarily nervous when the word cunnilingus is said aloud.

Although a woman would probably tell you that stimulating her genitalia through making direct physical contact with the clitoris with fingers or tongues is an extremely strong provider of an orgasm, men still insist that they do it with their penis, which has proven to be a much clumsier and ineffective apparatus.

A side note:

I once sat in a workshop in which a young man was giving a report on speaking in tongues—and he unfortunately had confused the word cunnilingus with the word glossolalia. Half the audience was unaware, and the other half of us did not know whether to burst out laughing or sit very still—to protect the young man from the memory of a life-long trauma.

Yet, even when I’m involved in glossolalia, I always use cunnilingus if I want to satisfy my lover.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Click

Click: (n) a short, sharp sound as of a switch being operated

If the entirety of the stupid things I’ve done in my life could be written down, all the books in the world would not contain it. (Well, perhaps
a bit overstated.)

But I’ve never met a stupid idea I wasn’t willing to consider if I thought it advanced my cause or gave me a shortcut.

Many years ago, when my children were younger, we traveled the country as a family band. It was like the Partridge Family without the cuteness, obvious talent and painted bus. Instead we had a car, and found an old trailer, which had sat in a farmer’s field for two years–abandoned.

Not knowing anything at all about such matters, we liked the look of the trailer on the outside, so we bought it for $350.

It probably was not worth $3.50.

Not only had it been unused for two years, but it was also twenty-five years since its manufacturing. The wood was rotten, the tires completely dry-rotted, and all the wiring shot to hell.

But we hooked it up anyway.

Amazingly, much of the time it functioned–awkwardly. It looked horrible, but it carried things and limped along behind our car.

That is, until one night, in the mountains of California, the electrical system decided to have a nervous breakdown.

We did not know what to do. It was pitch black outside, there were coyotes everywhere and I had a fourteen-year-old son with me–the only one awake–to try to crawl back in the trailer and fix the lights.

After fiddling with the wiring, we got back into the car and they worked for about twenty minutes.

Then, all at once, we heard this clicking sound. Rapid. Almost like someone was sending Morse Code. And along with the clicking, the tail lights joined in, blinking.

We kept tinkering with it, trying to make it work. There was even one interlude when it stopped clicking for about thirty minutes. We were so relieved that my son actually went to sleep. To this day, he tells the story of nightmares of being chased by a “clicking monster,” and the horror of awakening once again to the same sound.

Mile by mile we held our breath–fearful of the dreaded click.

It wasn’t until the next day, when we reached a town and pulled into a repair shop, that we discovered there was nothing wrong with the trailer or the wiring. It was the switch on our car’s headlights, which decided to take this particularly bleak evening in the California hills to become temperamental.

Every once in a while I’ll hear a sound which ever-so-slightly resembles that clicking.

Losing control, I pee my pants a little.

 

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