In this day and age, there are endless Instagram infographics to tell you how to be sexually liberated, and I really thought I had swiped through enough to internalize that there is no shame in my pleasure; there is power in my horniness. However, all these lessons came crumbling down around me when I finished masturbating only to find that one curly little pube got stuck to my vibrator and it looked exactly like Charlie Brown.
The wind was knocked out of me. The football had been pulled out from under me right as I dealt a major kick, only this time, I was Lucy and Charlie Brown. And my vibrator was Charlie Brown, also. It was terrible.
To go from the ecstasy of orgasm to the horror of looking down to discover a single pube is lodged to the head of your flesh-toned vibrator such that it strikingly and undeniably resembles the child with major clinical depression Charlie Brown is a drop in emotional altitude so severe it could burst open your human eyeballs, probably.
As a child, the Peanuts taught me many things: that the holidays are the worst time of year for mental health, that having a swaggy and popular friend who dresses amazing and is a dog won’t help with your despondency or fatalism. But I would lose all those lessons in a heartbeat if it meant not having to feel like I just pounded my clit with Charles Schultz’s iconically weird and inexplicably bald (save one enervating hair sprouting from the top of the forehead) boy character’s head.
In fact, I would go back in time and assassinate Charles Schultz to prevent this from ever occurring, but the technology isn’t there, so I’ll have to make to make do with the technology that is here (suction vibrators that will make it look like my clit is being sucked into the eye of a tiny storm, which is hot).
So learn from my mistakes, because for me, they are irreversible. Now when I get horny I immediately start humming “Linus and Lucy” by the Vince Guaraldi Trio, which I actually love, but it’s not worth the cost of the trauma.
