A Virgo explains sex, in the throes of needing to get laid so badly that life is even more painful than the evil ovaries she is harboring within.

Many, many years ago, there was a nagging and baffling pain in my side that would follow me for a few days each month and then fade away. I don’t think I ever mentioned it except to a doctor who told me it was ovulation pain (mittelschmerz), and something few women experienced.

Yay. For. Me. Searing pain on each side of my pelvis to remind me that I was, indeed, able of creating life even though I was told I couldn’t have kids because of the slant of my uterus (and didn’t I prove that doctor wrong!).  Even today, there are times when the “discomfort” almost convinces me that its a good idea to take a fork and gouge out my ovaries. It kinda hurts. A lot.

Many years later, I noticed that right around the time the pain hit, all I thought about was sex. Dirty, nasty, cannot-walk-for-days, I-don’t-want-to-know-your-name-just-fuck-me sex.  This led me to my conclusion that reproduction isn’t so much about creating life with the one you love, but its purely on an instinctual level. That the two (to twenty) times each month I wanted freaky, all-encompassing, no-need-for-foreplay-because-I’m-ready, fuck-me-raw sex with anyone who walked by was merely a biological function (as opposed to the less frantic, slightly more romantic sex that requires at least a first name). Otherwise, sex was only on my mind maybe 50% of the time. There was a noticeable freak difference in many, many ways. Ahem.

Tonight, I ovulate. I ovulate like I’ve not ovulated in months. I am a professional, please don’t try this at home, yo.

Its bad, worse than normal. I’m pretty sure its because I have nobody to screw and my ovaries are throwing my eggs at me, laughing.

I’m afraid to go to bed, because I may break it.