In the beginning, there was the male orgasm. The female orgasm was sort of a fortunate afterthought when it happened.
Then my mom’s generation came, pun intended, and started squawking about equality in all things. Suddenly, we had noticed we were getting the short end of the stick and men were to blame.
Research began. We discovered, or anyway named, the G-spot.
Don’t know where your G-spot is? No problem.
Here is a pamphlet.
Here is a book.
Here is an instructional video tape.
I am teaching a seminar on how to find your own G-spot.
Here are some conveniently shaped toys designed to discover that spot.
Check this out! A map to your G-spot!
With convenient labels!
For $20, a woman will come to your house and show you where yours is.
Some universities now offer a G-spot major.
Hurray! Success! Now every woman can find and use her G-spot. Sort of like teaching a Girl Scout troop how to use a stud finder. So what’s the problem? We provided you with all kinds of instruction. You STILL haven’t found it? No, you definitely HAVE one. We all have them. Just root around in there. There are special plumbers you can call. Here’s a dowsing wand. Go to town. Take your time. Use mirrors.
Well, I wash my hands of you. Clitoral orgasms are a thing of the dark ages. A straight woman who doesn’t use that G-spot – look, I don’t know what to do for you at this point. It probably atrophied and fell off. Or maybe you’re some kind of genetic freak. Or more likely just stubborn. And repressed. And Republican. And Catholic. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a self-actualizing seminar to teach about the dangers of meat, eyeshadow and Jane Austen novels.