I used to think that if I wished really, really hard at 11:11, or helped withered old ladies to the other side of the street, that someone would fall in love with me. I was passing out charity and timed prayers in exchange for love. Not that I’ve changed or anything, but I have shifted my point of focus. I no longer wish at 11:11, and I let the elderly walk themselves across the road.

Now, my wishes tend to come off with my clothes. Instead of wishing for love, I wish for orgasms. I wish that I could say I am lying.

I wish that he would find my clit.

And not mistake it with the side of my leg.

Let me position the stage. Well, more like the futon. Ok, actually more like the floor in between the couch and the ottoman in the basement of my house.

Try not to be jealous, it was incredibly romantic. A total booty call. He was horny, it was late, he came over, we fell off the couch at some point. That’s the romantic story of my life. Oh, he brought a condom. I mean, it’s not roses or anything, but…

I hate that beds are now whatever is handiest. I still like beds better, just thought I’d share in case my future holds more men than my present.

In any case, we were at what I like to call step three of making out. Bases leave too much room for confusion, and despite what you might think, not that many guys understand baseball. They think home comes before first base.

So step three consists of the woman’s shirt off, her bra off, – this isn’t required, just recommended – her pants undone, and his pants on the floor. Although, it is my experience that his pants may slip off “accidentally” in the very beginning. And, of course, kissing is still involved. Probably a more passionate, less deliberate, sloppier version than earlier.

I will try to stay on topic…he was on bottom. He flipped me onto my back for better, uh, access, and started rubbing the inside of my leg. He continued to rub somewhere in the general area, but not quite close enough. I tried to move his hand over, but he thought I was – he thought I was fingering his skill. He was somewhere between my stomach and my thigh…

In other words, he didn’t have a firm grasp of the female anatomy.

Now I own a vibrator. It finds my clit every time. I’m sort of afraid I might realize I like it better than men, but I’m not willing to give it up and find out. We work as a team.

It is important to realize that for women, penetration isn’t usually enough. Find a diagram, memorize it. It could save your sex life. Maybe your life, depending on how important sex is to you.

A tip: Gentlemen, if your girlfriend has a vibrator, either master it better than she did or ask her to hand it over. Because trust me, she just might find out that it hardly strays off target. And that could run your relationship dry.

As the saying goes, talk is cheap, and I’d prefer action anyway. If I have to, I’ll draw you a picture. Make my wish come true…