Strange thoughts trickle into your mind at 3:30 a.m., that dull, fuzzy cross-section in time between “I’ve had four hours of sleep, I could just get up” and “It’s two hours until the alarm goes off, I could still get some sleep.” Trouble is, time stops in that no-Sandman’s zone, and I nether get up nor fall asleep. What happens in the meantime? I think about stuff I don’t get around to thinking about during the day. And having had this irksome non-sleeping pattern my whole life, I have had ample opportunity to think about a LOT of things. In fact, I think I may have already thought about everything at least once.
Orgasms. For animals, specifically. For female animals, precisely. Do lady animals ever really get their groove on? I mean, clearly they come in heat, and are completely open to the idea of making a jungle love connection… but as I ponder this at 3:30 a.m., it occurs to me that while I’ve seen plenty of male animals satisfied with their close encounters, I’ve never seen a female animal express the same. Yet, they’re still quite willing to keep trying. And, as human animals can attest, there is a far and wide difference between being interested in sex — participating even — and getting any satisfaction out of it.
Can I get an “Awomen!”, ladies?
I think about all the cats and dogs I’ve had in my life. Seen them participating in what nature calls them to do, but it seems like it’s all about the male. Male cats essentially overpower the females, sink their teeth into their necks just far enough to get a good grip but not actually draw blood, and from all the howling that goes on, it’s clearly good for the guy. I’ve heard cat pensises have barbs on them. Hmmm. Maybe it’s the lady cats howling after all. And not in a good way.
As for doggy style, bitches have it goin’ on. I have heard that after a male dog ejaculates and is ready to hop down and run on his way, a female dog has the ability to clamp down her vagina on the male’s penis and trap old Rover boy until she gets some satisfaction. God/dess, that is brilliant. Wonder how many kegel exercises I’d have to do to develop that kind of muscle control. Let’s see… one… two… three…. (Don’t mind me while I continue quietly in the background).
I reflect back on the many horses I had while growing up, and how breeding day would be a big event at our little pasture. There’s be beer and merriment, and we’d have someone serve as a priest and marry the happy couple, and once even put a bridal veil on the mare. And while this was all good fun for the people, the stallion at this point is nearly bursting with trembling, sweating, snorting lust, and the mare (if she’s ready – if not, Mr. Studly will get a mouth full of hoof) has her tail up and is peeing a stream that seems to contain something that drives a stud into pheramonal madness. The horses aren’t interested in all the human folderol and fiddledeedee, they want to get down to business.
For all the pure, raw, sexual energy of a stallion, however (and they’re equipped with penises the length of your arm), the actual act is pretty pathetic. A dramatic mount, and a grunt, grunt, grunt, heeeaaaaave… and he’s spent. And so God/dess is my witness, I have seen mares turn their heads around and look back with disgust and disappointment at all this ado about nothing. Sadly for horses, they only breed once a year and they have teeny little brains the size of walnuts. By the time breeding season rolls around again, the mares forget how sorely dissatisfied the last encounter was, and they fall for it again.
So. I thunk and thunk, and in all my life, I’ve never seen a female (non-human) animal scream or shiver in shimmering delightful satisfaction after having sex. Come to think of it, I’ve seen many a mammalian vulva in my time — cats, dogs, horses, cows, sheep, pigs — and have never noticed a clitoris on a single one. Maybe this is Mother Nature’s way of being kind. I mean after all, to give a four-legged animal a clitoris when she can’t reach it would be downright cruel. Dogs and cats excepted, of course, because if they had them, they could reach them just fine. And as their well-adept at using their tongues, well… who would actually NEED a male mate anyway. If I had that sort of flexibility, I’d probably never leave home. So… there you go. That’s why Miss Purry and Fifi don’t have clits. They’d be so good at pleasing themselves, there’d be no future litters to pass on the bloodline.
I thought about the unfairness of all this in the animal world — the males getting all the joy, the females getting nothing but the weight of pregnancy and the pain of birth, and then little ones hanging from their teats until they’re old enough to be kicked or nipped away, and I think it’s just entirely unfair. But maybe I’m wrong – maybe there ARE clitorises out there in the animal kingdom, or maybe compensatory HUGE G-spots. So, I sought to answer this question in the way we all get fast semi-accurate information nowadays — I posted my query on Facebook. The few who responded told me that female Great Apes have clitorises, and know how to use them. But aside from that… no hard and fast answers.
So… I put it out to the online universe… How do Miss Purry anf Fifi, and Trigger and Bossie and Bessie and all the others, get their groove on? Or do they?