Women are not unicorns

My classmate Rimma confidently stated that she likes the smell of male sweat, so strong that.

Or, now I’ll tell you an unpleasant thing, my friend liked the smell of men’s pussy, you know, that tart, bitter hormonal scent. I understand that some people gag. Be patient.

I had a friend, married, she liked (Lord, how can I say this, okay, I’ll say it straight) to swallow. Well, she loved her husband for the taste. I told her: “Hold your horses, you might end up with protein poisoning,” and at least give her a damn.

No one has yet clearly defined the term “perversion.” For some, the frames are as narrow as the eye of a needle, but for others, an entire display case is not enough to fit it into the frame.

"First fart."

Well, how can I avoid this topic when each of us has gone through it. We are not fairies and have no different intestines from men.

Although I didn’t think so before and was very worried. One day, after a hearty dinner at my ex-boyfriend’s place, I asked to go home while watching a movie. I was worried that as soon as the session ended, there would be silence and my musical stomach would play Mozart.

— Stay, it will be fun. I also have a good French comedy.

“There will be a good comedy when my butt puts on a concert,” I quipped in my mind.

— I can’t, I’m sorry, my cat… was poisoned by something and has diarrhea. We need help. — “Lord, what am I talking about?” But, I must admit, the associations are appropriate at such a moment.

As a result, I carefully hid from each guy that I was a man. And who am I? Fairy, no less. Girls can't fart, poop, or stink. Girls should smell like lilies of the valley.

But as luck would have it, the epiphany came with just the man I wanted to marry.

We went to my place after another light dinner to meet our friends.

In my apartment, the four of us sat comfortably on the sofa, smoked through the window, drank wine and discussed philosophical topics. Everything was going as well as possible when suddenly something interrupted the conversation.

I looked incredibly beautiful that evening, perfect makeup, new dress, correct speech, no reason to discover that I was a farm guy.

You know the sound like your pants bursting? Crackling sound throughout the room.

And suddenly there was silence. Everyone fell silent. I am surprised by the resilience of my friends and men. Nobody even blinked an eye. Not a single muscle moved on their faces. After a couple of seconds, they continued to enthusiastically talk about female and male disagreements, something from the category of everyday philosophy of the sexes.

But I knew that I couldn’t help but confess. She ran to the toilet in horror. A minute later, my gentleman was already standing near the door and asked to talk to him. I opened.

— Everything is fine? How are you

— What a shame, what a shame. God, I must have eaten something wrong.

(he didn’t yet know that over the next nine years I ate something wrong many times, poor fellow).

— Come on, stop it, it happens to everyone.

— Well, how so, not in society…

— Come on, they all did it. And I. Girls are not unicorns who eat flowers and poop rainbows. You are people just like boys. We are all cut from the same cloth. Relax.

In general, he calmed me down then. I returned to the room, blushing, and no one neighed like a horse; my friends steadfastly supported me, exhaling tobacco smoke through the window.

Since then, there has not been a moment when I didn’t remember this incident without laughing wildly. Even now I burst into tears before typing.

You know, I am writing this story to the whole world and I understand that someone needs to relax the girls. My dears, I tell you with complete confidence that if a man loves you, then he doesn’t care that you are not perfect.

Maybe you shouldn’t spoil the air at the first opportunity, but you won’t be able to pretend to be a princess all your life. Sooner or later, a moment of epiphany will come: either he will get scared and run away, or you will realize that he loves you as you are, with flaws.

Here's another story from my mom. My parents divorced, as you remember, but even in their thirtieth year of marriage they were still strangers.

I remember how the three of us sat in front of the TV and sometimes exchanged remarks about what we saw, when suddenly a crackling sound escaped my mother.

I looked into her eyes in surprise. She panicked, pretending to be a princess, and put her finger to her lips, saying, don’t say anything, don’t let your father know. I turned my gaze to him, there really was indifference, he was absorbed in the colored box.