The Other Brown Bag

Discretion is necessary for some people.

Not me.

I went to the bookstore today.

It’s time to add to the sexpert section of my library.

I know how to “do it”.

I desire to see what I can get my hands on.

I’ve been connected to my Divine Feminine for years.

My alter ego- inner vixen- the whore, she has a name.

Knowledge is power, the sex is better when you know what you’re doing.

Practice makes perfect when passion is pulled from pages.

More inspiration than guidance, you make do with what’s accessible.

Hopping on for a ride realistically requires a height and weight compatibility.

Although, we’re all the same height when we lay down together.

The books with graphics have gone too damn far.

Too far.

This representation, inclusivity, everyone should be there, is… Wack.

As fuck.

If you’re offended and triggered by how unlike you the woman image is, you need to grow up.

Maturity is understanding the instructions, use your imagination to picture you and your person

Doin’ it.

These bodies with weird spots and shapes does nothing to inspire intimacy.

It’s a distraction. A turn off.

A book that will remain off of my shelf.

There were workbooks, filled with questionnaires and puzzling deep thoughts aimed at manifesting connection.

No pictures. No illustrations.

No fun.

Intimate relations should never be so complex that it requires a deep dive into the depths of god knows what.

Not without professional help, not found in the relationship section at the bookstore.

Be for real. This is fantasy. Foolish.

Solo gets the job done, sure.

Let’s not make a night of it as the book suggests in no less then 120 pages.

Yes, a preventative measure against clitoral atrophy, but you risk desensitization.

Too much manual manipulation might break it.

A potential problem, the inability to get off by another’s hand,

or whatever.

The point is, don’t break it.

Let someone else play in it.

With it.

Be on it.

In it.

Enjoy.

The books are for sexual reference.

Guidance for carnal knowledge.

Intimate interpretations.

That exercise ball is full of possibilities now that you’ve read the right book.

A visual example of where I need to put my foot makes a difference.

Not a person finds ikea-like instructions supportive.

Another trip to another bookstore in search of a book with the best text to nice image ratio.

No luck to be had.

Looking for love “instructions” in the wrong places.

Times have changed, maybe it’s the people’s mind.

Closed off to the idea of accessibility for all in favor of text heavy admonitions that steal away personal choice for getting to it.

We must now be exposed to everyone’s privacy preferences even if the preference is none.

Being coerced to take it all at once.

The bookstore, a former space of free unadulterated literary explorations.

Scrubbed, sanitized, and cleansed of the very filth that made it great.

Enjoyable and exciting to explore has been finished off.

Enough already!

I’m getting my sunglasses, trench coat, and popping that collar to head to the place where satisfaction is explicitly sold in a myriad of ways.

Indulge.

Gorge.

You have access to booksss.

They give good head advice that includes imagery.

Super easy to follow.

Selections can be made with minimal frustration and maximum tomfoolery.

Descriptive debauchery accessible for all.

Because we all learn differently.

“Throw an extra copy into that discreet brown bag my good sir!”