A man once said to me that I seemed more like a man than a woman. Very upsetting since I was naked at the time. To be fair, though, I am larger than your average duck. My voice doesn't exactly lilt softly along like aromatherapy and I know nothing about fabric softener or other primarily female wisdoms. But still....manly?

Though I wore a brave face, I was hurt. Am I not womanly? Do I not convey the ripe, fertile image of the goddess? Was it the tattoos, foul language and razor bumps? Did he see me pee standing up? I should've let it go, but I felt I needed to defend my femaleness.

"More like a man, huh?" I chimed, slipping my middle finger into my pussy for a good dab of slick and shoved the shiny knuckle in his startled face. I growled coquettishly, "DOES THAT TASTE MANLY TO YOU, BITCH?" He blinked at me while I smeared it across his lips. I felt so vulnerable. I'll show you, Mister Man.

Maybe he didn't mean womanly, maybe he meant ladylike...but I'm LADY-LIKE, aren't I? Now I was pissed, so I clicked off the porn and made my case.

I suggested that his view of women might have been forged by his mom feeding him, wiping his ass and acting all excited about every little stupid thing he ever did. And now a woman was only a woman if she mutely supported and praised him constantly. Just because I assert my needs and wants from my man once in awhile doesn't make me butch.

"You'll jerk-off to cum chugging maniacs on stage and screen but God forbid I want more dick than you're able to lay down... It's not that I have a healthy sexual appetite, OH NOOOO. I have a PROBLEM. It's not FEMININE. It's not LADYLIKE. Maybe I should hide my eyes behind a lace kerchief and say, 'No, no, please, you filthy beast, you're hurting me! A thousand times...NO!' Maybe I should shuffle along ten paces behind you, my wanton eyes fixed upon my bound feet. Oooh! Or how 'bout I chop out my clit with some toenail clippers and you can fuck me through a hole in a white sheet while I weep in discomfort?"

I was pretty worked u¼p by this point. I got up and pulled on a tee-shirt.

"You know what? I could trade my boots for pumps, I could get a manicure and start wearing underpants. I could train myself to swish a bit more. I could even learn to hold my tongue, wait my turn, be a good girl, mind my manners and all kinds of things to fit the bill. Be one of those independent-looking go-getter business types who kick ass all day in their high-powered jobs, but when they get home they're slathered in cheap vanilla creme de RiteAid purring from behind a Marie Claire that they're 'not in the mood'...I could be all those things right fucking now. But the sad truth is, little guy, I could still kick your ass. That's the bottom line, isn't it? When you say that I'm more like a man, what you're really saying is that you can't handle me. I'm not too much, you're just TOO LITTLE. I am all woman. I am a big fat iron-clad ovary rolling down the curved belly of Venus to crush you."

I picked up my keys from the bedside table and flicked out my three inch blade from the Swiss Army keychain. "Oh, yeah...I am all woman..." I started cutting the ropes off his wrists. "...and you're a PUSSY."

He got up and started to blubber and apologize while I threw clothes at him. I wasn't having it. My feelings were hurt.

"Save it for some other LADY." I started to unbuckle the chunky leather harness around my hips. My ROUNDED AND VERY WOMANLY hips. I pulled the greasy dildo out of its socket and handed it to him. I should've beaned him in the head with it, but that would not have been LADYLIKE. I sang victoriously, "THIS LADY is going to fix herself a cup of English Breakfast tea and steep in a peaches and cream bubble bath while listening to a Margaret Atwood book on tape. So run along now, you little fuck."

He struggled into his pants and hopped to the door where he stopped and looked woefully up at me. I grabbed his head, kissed him hard and cooed, "...and THIS LADY is never going to fuck you in the ass again." Hear me roar, BITCH.