I am a failure as a woman

Don’t they say, “three strikes, you’re out”?  And I mean not in that game baseball.  Smell of stale peanuts and men in pyjamas…I mean in life.  It is such a popular expressiomn that government policy has been framed on it.  Thinking of that famous Bill Clinton policy about criminals getting locked away for good.  He wanted to be ‘tough on crime’—even though as a human he probably didn’t want to be like that at all.  But hey, that’s politics.  Right?  The art of doing what the other side wants us to do so we don’t lose credibility to the undecided.  

Do wishy-washy people rule the world?  Is that what the silent majority really is?  People who can’t make their minds up?

What provoked all this navel-gazing?  It happened.  I stood to pee.  Once again.  I can forgive the fugue of the first time, a few days after my bandages were removed, and I was in a haze of painkillers in the middle of the night and literally whiffed as I reached for something that wasn’t there anymore when I went to pay, and then goofily, and privately, laughed it off, perplexed nevertheless, sat and peed like a good girl.

The second time it happened, I gave myself a ‘bye’ as I was two sheets to the wind.  Also goofy, just in a different way.

But two days ago, wide awake, stone cold sober, just busy, I stood to pee, before realizing that I couldn’t.  What gives?  Is that a case of failing to be present?  Can I beg for a whipping please to correct that mistake?  I’ll get back to you on that.  I need all the excuses I can get.

But this one stuck with me.  It was the third strike.  But it also came so long after surgery, over 6 months.  How many pees does it take to learn how to pee?  To make it automatic?  Given that I still look nervously at the faces of the other women who are also peeing in public restrooms, worried that they might be worried about me, I am not optimistic that I can learn it any faster.  Maybe I won’t ever.

It doesn’t work as a woman to pee standing up.  I’ve tried it.  You probably too.  Ladies?  When I have tried it, it just comes streaming down my legs.  Actually, that sounds rather grand.  One leg.  And that is including when I straddle someone with intent to pee on them…instead I end up peeing on myself.

A bit disappointing given they have paid to be peed on, and here I am peeing on myself.  Is that a ‘two for the price of one’?  I was never into golden showers but these people are, and the only way I can deliver is if they glue their tongues and lips to whatever rivulet is running down my leg and calf…This is a core skill.  Needs work.

In the meantime, I marvel at my vulva.  If I hold my labia open when I pee, quite the stream can flow.  Confession.  I smell my fingers after.  They smell heady and giddy-making.  If I could eat myself out, I would be in the deepest pretzel you ever saw.  Maybe I’d never come back.  A modern Orobourous.  Is that a new version of chasing your own tail?

I love the smell of my quim.  So much that I can think of no other better thing to do than to start selling my knickers.  I have assembled quite the collection.  I look forward to the systematic process of knicker-wearing for the scent-loving crowd, putting them in zip-loc bags to preserve freshness.  I can’t wait to label them.  Brand name, date worn, length of time worn.

More importantly, I am thinking about diet.  What did I eat that will have flavoured my juices?  What we eat goes straight to our sacred sauce.  Most frequently I smell of pineapple, because nary a day passes without me munching on some.  Generally, a fresh fruit diet makes you smell good.  Preservatives, onions, meat, cured meat more than anything are things which make you smell rather off.  Bad breath, bad tasting cum, bad smelling pussy.  Unhappy bedfellows all.

Bananas are touted for making cum taste good.  Not something I know.  What I do know is that pineapple and spices like fenugreek, coconut water in large quantities, all make you smell like a spicy and delicious piña colada down there…a rather winning thing.

Being a woman, being anything, shouldn’t be hard, it should just be.  But I can’t help but find that aspects of it are challenging…unlearning a lifetime of being a boy is challenging.

Do you think this is just a case of getting used to a new body?  What about the mind?