Social Sway by Anita Hotty - WordPress.com

play4boy kissesCurrently I have begun a relationship of open origin. His ruin, I feel,will be a fluff wipe off his shoulder (although passion inside assuresme I am a fantastic lover). I frustrate over how blind a man can beto the tender truth of a woman’s heart (or, once again, am I speakingfrom myself?). He will circus his travel from one woman to the nextas a commodity lap along the fun romp circuit without even calling tosay why he is late.Do I want to be a man? Is that the foolish desire I am asking myself?Lord knows I have ached to feel the sensation of a cock that only a sexchange could cure me. But rather, No. I wish to continue my claimas mature status. My womanhood for simply my sex grants me thisassertion.Still. I wonder into myself what is it about my gender that commandsproduction of the centerfold flesh exposures society so speedily gobblesto satisfy its appetite for visual stimulation? My compulsions driveme into the classic liberation of October 1989 (all this time I mistookMs. Anderson as another well-known icon). I gaze my curious aweand view this woman’s representation as the blanket appeal mediawide. What special zing wangs Playboy readers to love you althoughthey never really know who you are? How come your hatted vagina isthe shadow of millions of multitudes that decorate their imaginationswith the symbol of your stand? What hypnoticisms linger your poutinto the beds of hungry horny admiring appetites, or especially thosefirm in their denial (although they cannot help themselves but to beattracted to your outer self)?I am a woman who is absolutely swept into an unknown inquisition,for I cannot direct you to what I am pointing at. This lack for clarityis a strange new phenomenon that has been milking its way into apatient boiling fester. My wonder sits itself comfortably and comesout to visit on only unplanned occasions. Tonight is apparently one ofthese eventfully empty, yet thought-provoking moments.Perhaps my unnecessary dilemma tips gender scales beyondcomprehension? I amuse myself that you might be as flustered by myuseless ramblings just as much as I, yet you still feel that I am sayingsomething truly remarkable at the same time (or am I sourced by myown internal hypnoticisms?).A man has his way. A woman is a way – an unexplainable phenomenonthat we can all nod our heads in unspoken agreement. We all knowwomen will forever appeal to whatever our eyes are drawn into; thisunmistakable meditation pull that beckons us to look even when weWILD 181