Penis Envy

I made the mistake of working on a new, exciting and fun! translation late last night, so when I finally got into bed beside that snoring creature I refer to as French Hubby, my brain was buzzing and I just could not sleep.

Casting about in the bed for something to play with, I found a knobbly knee and entertained myself considerably by smooshing the flesh from underneath the kneecap, up and around the sides of it, to make a smiley face.

Minutes ticked excruciatingly by. I then hit upon the brilliant idea of conducting wobbleability tests on the nearest pair of buttocks. This too proved to be loads of fun.

When my roaming fingers eventually encountered a soft, slug-like appendage, I knew I had struck comedy gold! I poked it (gently). It moved! I poked it again. It shrugged irritably. I gave it a full-on tickle and its owner snorted loudly and rolled over and away from me. *sighs*

I don't really want to BE a man, but I would like my very own todger to play with, as and when the fancy strikes me. There's something so ludicrous about the wrinkliness and mobility of a sleeping trouser snake! It doesn't seem fair that a man can get instant hilarity by playing with his tallywacker, whereas it simply doesn't work like that with our neat and tidy, tucked-away bits.

Your thoughts, Ladies?