The Vagina Whisperer
I was speaking with a friend of mine about my odd and sexually intriguing situation. It seems I have a way with women, the kind of power that I would assume most men would love to possess. The truth is, women fall in love with me all the time. And I don’t just mean admiration — I’m talking deeply erotic love.
As a heterosexual female, I don’t really have much use for this power, being that my intentions with women never end up with the desire for any kind of physical consummation. However, I cannot say that the sexual element is non-existent. In fact, it’s very present. The only difference is that it takes place completely in the mind.
My friend said that over the years, she noticed how women — particularly straight women — seemed to fall all over themselves when I was around. I noticed this too. In fact, I liked it. I like to attract women, to tease them. To be brutally honest, I like to drive them crazy — I suppose that’s one of my kinks. I like the idea that they are nervously treading upon ground that they might not ordinarily traverse — dangerous, emotional territory. I’ll go so far as to say that, if I were a man, I’d probably have a raging hard on because of it.
I just don’t want to do anything with it. I don’t want them to touch me, nor do I want to touch them. I don’t want to see them naked, in lingerie or in anything but street clothes. I have absolutely no attraction to them physically — it’s all about what’s inside their minds, how willing they are to allow for fantasy. I don’t want their bodies. I want their minds.
But they, the women, don’t know that. That’s why it’s such a dance. It’s the dance of the tease. My friend calls me a vagina whisperer. She says that on some level I’m transmitting a message to the woman who might be susceptible to my kind of charm — a message that reads: “You want me so badly, but you can never have me. But, please… keep trying, keep trying…”
Back in the old days, when I first started noticing that I was a vagina whisperer, I thought that what I had was some kind of male energy and that that was why I attracted straight women — very few lesbians seemed to fall for my “whispers”. The lesbians knew better — they sensed I wasn’t going to go through with anything so they probably just perceived me as a big faker. But I believed I was generating male energy — I needed to think this because I didn’t want women to want me for being a woman, I wanted them to fantasize that I was some kind of male androgyne, some crazy freak of nature that could satisfy their every desire, simply by directing them over to the infinite power of their own imagination.
And while I might have had some gender identity issues myself, the real wake up call came when I realized that, no, the women who fell in love with my whispers were not in love with the male fantasy that I had for myself — they were in love with exactly what made me a woman: my softness, my ability to allow for fantasy, my willingness to play. Where I saw myself as this gorgeous girl-boi, they saw me as this curvaceous woman who didn’t want to “ram it in and get it over with.”
I appealed to women because they didn’t want male aggression…they wanted fantasy. And that, I was always up for. Men don’t have the patience for this kind of slow dance. And while — for heterosexual women — the male body will always be the object of beauty, strength and power — the vast field of erotic mystery that is the female mind can only ever be known by another woman.