Clouded by insecurities, ignorance and inability to appreciate male genitalia, my lesbian lovers often associate my passion for the strap-on to presume I wish I had a penis or that I love penetration so much, I would eventually leave them to be with a man. These highly convoluted assumptions couldn’t be further from my truth.
While I do NOT wish I had a cock and embrace every bit of woman I am, I will not deny my perverse pleasure of intermittent penis envy which has become a dynamic ingredient of my sensualist essence. The meaning behind the subliminal power of the strap-on, while relative to the user, is most certainly tied to mental empowerment and something I only occasionally desire.
The empowerment I experience when wearing a strap-on not only comes from the anticipation of using it, but also from the physical connection I feel to it when it’s attached to my body. In my case, the empowerment is both mental and physical; while many argue the logistics deem this impossible. For those who say: “It’s a fake cock with no feeling. It’s all in your head”, I’d like to elaborate.
My clitoris is an enormous gift from the Gods, and I mean that literally. I have met many a “clitoris” and must say, I proudly accept the award for the John Holmes of clitoris! My magnificent muscle is continually excited by the slightest of friction. Its 8000+ nerve ending pathways can be felt halfway up my abdomen and sometimes, even in my nipples. The trace of a finger across my bikini line or the flick of a tongue on my nipple can almost bring me to orgasm. Anatomically, I believe myself to be an anomaly.
The moment I step into my harness, the cock becomes a surreal extension of my massive clit; taking my two inches to the height of six. The cock and I become one. Trace the veins of the glass and my clit will jump from the touch. With each long slow stroke of its shaft, the glass grazes my swollen head leaving it throbbing with anticipation.
I imagine her uninhibited and sensual, placing her silky soft lips over the head of my pulsing cock. I feel the warmth of her mouth radiating through the glass, warming and wetting my cock for entry. She grabs my shaft and slowly guides it in. My clit can feel her pussy pulling the head of my cock deeper while she sets her groove. I follow her lead, rocking my cock into her rhythm, gliding the top of the harness across her clit, while kissing her groans deep into my throat. I rock her faster, our clits are slapping in sync, we are about to come and she says, “Come inside me.” I thrust deeper and felt myself explode inside her. She grabbed my ass pushing me deeper just to make sure she got it all.
Yes, the cock is not real, but the unremarkable physical sensations I experience from attaching a strap-on are anatomical and cannot be argued by anyone unless they were in my body. Combine my anatomic anomalies with the mental dynamics of being a true Sensualist and you have one empowered bone to be contended with.
