How I Found My Libido Again (It Wasn't the Vajankle That Did It)

How I Found My Libido Again (It Wasn't the Vajankle That Did It)

Vajankle.

I wanted to run out and see a car crash, the Hindenburg explosion, celebrity surgeries gone horribly wrong — anything that would supersede the image of that foot and what some person would do to it. I couldn’t stop thinking about that vajankle: who buys it; if it perhaps signals the end of days.

My newfound sexual liberation had come to a crashing failure. I shut down. I felt prudish and judgy, even though I truly believe everyone should fly their own freaky happiness flag. I felt — you guessed it — old.

After a while, Duncan and I finally had a night alone — just a couple sex nerds on clean white sheets. In the quiet of the morning, before the smell of coffee filled the house, before the neighbors’ bustle signaled the day had begun, I listened in closely on a small conversation.

SEX ORGANS: Hey, brain, you awake?

BRAIN: Yeah, but I’m surprised you are after last night. Apparently it’s not “use it or lose it.” You doin’ OK?

SEX ORGANS: Holy hell, yes. In fact, I think I’m going to be a little busy in a few minutes.

BRAIN: Maybe brunch sometime?

SEX ORGANS: My treat.

Originally posted on Purple Clover

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