TITLE    : Build Me a Woman
STORYID  : build-me-a-woman
SUMMARY  : Here are the specifications for the Perfect Woman.
AUTHOR   : Cal Y. Pygia@lit
DATE     : 2010-01-11
CATEGORY : adult-humor
FLAGS    : 
TAGS     : |nature|galatea|pygmalion|perfect woman|evolution|human|technology|aphrodite|


Women aren't all that sexy, not without a lot of help. Hairstyles, makeup, shaving, depilation, exfoliation, the costumes of fashion, lingerie, plastic surgery, nail sculpting, and fake tits all help plain Janes (including some of the biggest names in Hollywood) appear to be what, in reality, they are not: glamorous beauties. Take those "beauty aids" away, and what's left? Not much.



Well, that's not true. There is the mouth, which is always good for a blowjob. There are the hands, which are always good for a hand job. There are the cunt and the asshole, which are always good for a fuck. Chicks, even the kind with dicks, are veritable fucking machines in more-or-less human form. The rest is mere fluff.



The problem is that a guy can't fuck a chick forever. There has to be the in-between times when he's recharging his battery for the next go-round. Usually, that's when the bitch will want to talk. It's not if, but when (which is usually any time her mouth is not stuffed with a cock) she'll talk. Women are hard-wired to chatter. It's a flaw in their design--and a major one, at that. Evolution still has a long way to go in perfecting the so-called better half.



In case Mother Nature is reading this article, here are a few suggestions.



Bring the level of estrogen down--way down. Somewhere in the neighborhood of the estrogen levels in the typical male should be about right, with just enough more to maintain soft skin, full breasts, and a round ass. The result? Sexiness without PMS. Women as well as men can live with that.



While you're at it, Mother Nature, why not get rid of the whole bloody mess of menstruation? There has to be a better way to prepare for unwanted eggs. Couldn't her vagina ripple and undulate, like her throat does when she's choking on dick and swallowing sperm, and eject the increased volume of milady's uterine lining that way, without all the emotional drama and bloody histrionics?



Replace the cunt with a marsupial pouch. Cunts are ugly (even hairy-legged feminists admit this). They're wet half the time, with mucus or blood. They have a tendency to gape, which is rude, to say the least. They lack the tightness of the anus. A marsupial pouch is better, because, if she's not really on the Pill, as she claims to be, or the condom springs a leak, she has a built-in baby carriage for the brat, free of charge, that she can take with her anywhere, even to bed (for more sex, of course). Such a pouch, in addition to a pussy, also has the advantage of milady's being able to use it as a purse.



While you're at it, Mother Nature, designing a better woman could mean making milady's sexual signals a little--or a lot--clearer. After all, among other female animals, the mating messages are pretty clear. Why shouldn't those of women be? Take the baboon. She lets the male know she's in the mood when her whole ass puffs up and turns purple. If that's not enough to get his attention (or make him barf), she then emit's a peculiar scent, crouches in front of him, and sticks her purple, swollen ass in his face. Usually, he gets the message. There's no reason that the human female couldn't develop steatopygia, a lavender ass, and a cunt-scented stench instead of a flirtatious look and a coy smile, right?



But, wait! There's more. Milady, as she exists now, even in her Angelina Jolie or Pamela Anderson incarnation, leaves a lot more to be desired for the discriminating man of the world. Take her nose and mouth, for example. Mother Nature could and should rethink these features, taking a leaf, so to speak, from her design of the anteater. Sure, women--or some women, anyway--have kissable lips, but men would be better served if women's noses and mouths were combined. That way, instead of milady sticking her nose into an anthill or some other place it doesn't belong and using her long, worm-like tongue to trap ants on its sticky surface, she could shove that lengthy proboscis down the length of her guy's penile shaft and use her long, sticky tongue to Hoover him the way only a woman equipped with an anteater's nose and tongue can suck.



Let's replace her arms with octopus-like tentacles while we're at it. That way, she can wrap her guy in her arms for a closer-than-close hug or twirl these appendages around his prick, apply the suction cups along the tentacles, and masturbate him the way no woman armed, as it were, with mere hands could ever hope to do. If Mother Nature decides to give milady the same chemoreceptors she's seen fit to place on the octopus' tentacles, milady can taste his cum while she beats his meat, the same way the cephalopods taste whatever the hell they wrap their arms around at night (which is no one's business but their own).



Let's tighten up milady's asshole a bit, too, and shrink it down to size so guys have a really snug orifice for rear-entry entries.



That should about do it. If Mother Nature adopts these suggestions, the resulting evolution of the modern female should result, in a million years or so, in the Perfect Woman for everyman. Until then, alas, guys have no option but to continue to seek pleasure with inferior models like Jolie and Anderson--or there's the alternate route of body modification, which is offered by human technology.



Jim Morrison, of The Doors, used to sing, presumably to Mother Nature, "Build me a woman." His specifications were few--two, in fact--and simple: "Make her ten feet tall. Build me a woman I can ball." In ancient Greece, Pygmalion sought to improve on natural woman by creating Galatea in his own image, out of stone, and, ever since, men have been reinventing various versions of the ideal woman. Nowadays, they tend to do it with chemistry and plastic surgery, instead of marble, a hammer, and a chisel. In some ways, we have come a long way.



Even so, we have a long way yet to go, in the quest to manufacture the perfect woman, and it seems that even the maddest scientist (or artist) is unlikely to introduce as perfect a woman as Mother Nature can produce, now that I've given her the specs she needs to get the job done right: lower the estrogen, a marsupial pouch, clarity concerning the times that she's hot to trot, an anteater's combined snout and mouth, tentacles with suction cups for arms and hands, and, finally, a tighter, smaller asshole.



Now, all we need to do is wait a million years or so. . . . 

