Sex With A Sexpert

Humerotica

Some things you need to know before you bed a connoisseur

I give this information sheet to all my potential mates before we do it. It just helps ease their anxieties and reminds them that despite being a world-renowned sexpert, I am just a little girl who wants them to put their big strong arms around me and hold me tight.

Before our date tomorrow I wanted to send you this brief missive about your impending adventure with Christine Stevens, sexpert supreme.

First all, I know you’re both nervous and excited.

I mean, it’s kind of like, if you were a golfer, somehow you got scheduled in a foursome with Tiger Woods. You’d be stoked, for sure. But you would probably rush out to the driving range and hit about a million balls in a last futile attempt to become a decent golfer so you don’t humiliate yourself.

You don’t need to do that with me.

I might seem like I’m the Tiger Woods of sex. But I’m just an ordinary woman.

Sex with me is basically the same as sex with any woman. Don’t expect amazing Minnesota Fats billiards shots. I’ll not be doing some Michael Jordan hook shot. (Did he make hook shots? What’s a hook shot?)

I’ll just be fucking you. Plain and simple.

I don’t even know. How can a woman know such a thing? Of course if you ask a guy he’s going to say, “Oh yeah, you’re a really good lay. The best ever.”

What else can he say, if he likes having balls? Because a woman would definitely kick if you told her, “No, not so good.”

But you hear things. I think if you are not such a good lay, you might hear it through the grapevine from one of your cunty girlfriends that “Bob said the sex wasn’t that great with you, Christine.”

See, that’s because Bob, I’m sure, had his expectations built way up. I mean even that guy for the Mets who hits all those home runs, even he strikes out sometimes.

Or to be more feminist and to refer to a fantastic female athlete, even Serena Williams double faulted every now and then.

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