Blue Balls: Fact or myth?

There are very few beautiful creatures on this planet that are so amazing that they can get wet without as much as being near water. 

Women are one of them. 

We understand why you tune out from the penis up when we rub up against you or why your jeans suddenly shrink a size (or three) when we look at you with those sexy “fuck me” eyes. 

We love to watch as all the blood rushes from one head to another. We turn ourselves on for Christ sake, we expect nothing less from you.

It turns us on to turn you on. This is somewhat because we love to have that element of control over your personal “growth”, but also because, contrary to popular understanding, women like to fuck just as much as men do. Our libidos are as high as yours; too bad our pay scale couldn’t follow suit. Just sayin’. 

That bulge in your pants means we gonna get some. Guess what? It excites us, too. That blood rushing South - we get it too. That tingle you experience in your jeans - we get it too. Our cute clitorises just don’t quite jump out of their place the way your eager parts do.

The process of turning our brains off long enough to stay engaged in sexy activity is not an easy or quick one. Once we’re through the checklist (Did I leave the stove on? I really need to get a new bra!) we have to tune into our pre-childbirth and/or youthful glory to release that waterfall of fluid between our vaginal walls that has become somewhat of a desert after the ripe age of 30. 

Our clitoris, vaginal walls, and labia are all swollen AF from the time we become stimulated. Much like your penis. We’re in it to win it [an orgasm]. Much like you. 

So, when that sexual encounter comes to an abrupt stop for any reason (crying baby, realizing you did in fact leave the stove on, a knock at the door) we understand that there’s some discomfort when things aren’t completed.

Why do we understand such a thing? 

We. Experience. It. Too. 

Men have carried out the age-old tradition of crying “blue balls” when things don’t go quite as planned for thousands of years, presumably. While we’ve been led to believe that this is a legitimate unpleasantness that could lead to death *eye roll* we’re beginning to see that it’s merely a ploy to get us to finish you off out of sheer pity. 

We see your blue balls and we raise you a blue bean. Sure, the clitoris may be smaller in size to your penis but it packs a 10,000 nerve-ending punch. 

You think you have it bad walking around with a rod between your legs? Try walking without rubbing that nervy bitch the wrong (right?) way. 

Here’s the deal: No matter what the reason for sexy time to come to a halt nobody suffers less than the other. Therefore, nobody owes anybody anything. Equality at its finest. 

**If there is any opposition to this please feel free to tell the opposing party to “fuck yourself”. You can mean it both literally and figuratively, however, the emphasis should most certainly be on the figuratively in this case. 

The cure for all things blue - including mood - is a little rubby rubby. 

Get yourself off! Not only will that orgasm resume your normal penis and clitoral shape to pre-arousal times but the endorphins are going to rock your world. If the sexy stopper was something that either partner can take care of take turns taking care of it while the other takes care of themselves. 

As a secondary option, a good ol’ cold shower or even an ice pack oughta help. It’s obviously not as fun as a little diddling but it will at least reduce the swelling. 

You gotta grab the bull[shit] by the blue balls on this one and call him out when the expectations to finish him off start. Then, grab good ol’ reliable non-speaking B.O.B, tell your man to go answer the door while you go flick your blue bean behind the locked bathroom door.