Whiskey Clit: The Problem Is Real, Ladies

Ah, yes, whiskey dick. That often talked about, frequently chastised, sexually inconvenient condition that so many of us have fallen prey to after a long night of binge drinking at the Ruby Room (or whatever your local last call haunt is), and then stumbling home with whatever last call scraps looked fuckable enough for the night. It’s an embarrassing thing, really, one that is the starting point of so much shit talking. It’s inconvenient and it’s frustrating, and so many boys out there have been had their reputations ruined because of it.

But I’m not here to talk about whiskey dick today. I think I’ve done enough of that already in my lifetime. Instead, I want to talk about the much less known condition: whiskey clit. Because, in the era of modern feminism, for every male state there is a female equivalent. And in the arena of alcohol-induced, subpar sexual performance: whiskey clit is a thing. And, of course, I would only know about it through personal experience, but it stands to reason that if a guy can’t properly sexually perform due to over intoxication, do women suffer from the same thing? Yes. Yes, we do.

But whiskey clit is an interesting phenomenon because the female genitalia is not required to stand tall and ready for the sex act. In fact, one of the main design flaws with the female genitalia is that there needs to be no arousal, no interest, no prerequisite lubrication or stimulation in order to engage in fucking. Which is probably why the whiskey clit is such an under reported incident: you guys just haven’t noticed. But I have noticed.

Yes, because while in the throes of getting down while supremely wasted, I have noticed (on occasion) that, holy shit, something is a little off here. Something…isn’t quite working. As I lie there in heave-ho, or (as tends to be the case) with the face of some boy between my legs, it suddenly occurs to me: I’m too drunk to cum. Shit.

And, yes, it is embarrassing. As I’m lying there on my back with his tongue all up in me, and between this mild case of the spins and the elevated heart rate, do I sit up and say, “Sorry, baby, I’m just not feeling it tonight.” Well, the answer to that is: no. I never do that. Mostly because I’m selfish, and, hey, if he’s down to keep going while I cycle through the peaks and valleys of sexual stimulation, reaching at some points what I think might be really, really close to an orgasm, but, then, fuck, something just isn’t working right down there cuz I’m way too drunk, so the elusive orgasm evades my grasp yet again. I try. I try to push myself. I try to find my orgasm. I ask for more anal stimulation. I ask for penetration. I ask for nipple torture. Face fucking. Asphyxiation. You know, the standard things that get me off. But, ugh. Oh my god. I think I’m just going to lie here and feel angry that I can’t orgasm until I reach that inevitable moment of, “I’m over this. Can you leave?” that seems to punctuate all my whiskey clit interactions. Because heavens knows that faking an orgasm is never an option. Never.

I have never, in the history of fucking, been called out for having whiskey clit, or for the crazy things that being drunk and knowing that I’m not going to nut inspires me to do. But, then again, I’ve never met another woman who would admit to having whiskey clit. It’s just not something that has come up in conversation in my little knitting circle. And no man has ever confronted me about it, nor have I ever overheard my lewd male friends bemoaning the event of whiskey clit quite in the same way that I hear my girlfriends talk shit on the whiskey dick. Part of this (I believe) is due to the aforementioned lack of female stimulation within the sex act, but there’s another part of me that also knows that something else is behind the lack of conversation about (the generally socially irrelevant topic of) whiskey clit: the myth of the female orgasm. Perhaps the reason that no one has bothered to mention that alcohol can get in the way of a lady’s orgasm is the fact that no one is really paying attention to a lady’s orgasm in the first place. So when it doesn’t happen, no one complains. No one bats an eyelash. No one cares.

Which circles us back to the larger issue at hand: why does nobody care about orgasm? Jesus, this is so infuriating. But this is the kind of thing that I bitch and moan about at length on a regular basis, so, rather than diving into that can full of orgasm-less worms, let me just say: sorry if I blew the lid on whiskey clit, ladies. I know that this was something we never really talked about because it’s kind of hypocritical for us to constantly lambaste men whose dicks are dysfunctional because of booze when we are equally dysfunctional when totally drunk. But I’m trying to change my whiskey clit policy from anger and frustration at the other party for not being able to get me off when it’s clearly totally my fault to being able to initiate the conversation of, “Hey, random dude from bar, I think I’m too dunk to cum.” I don’t want that line to come off as a total shocker when I lay it out there. And for all the other ladies who know what I’m talking about (yes, I’m looking at you, my fellow drunk sluts. I know you ladies have my back on this one), if we’re not cumming, it’s important to let the other party know what’s up. And if you’re too drunk to cum, then, maybe we should start being honest about it. I’ll drink to that!