"You just need to get laid"

Ahh the joy of having guy mates! Now I'm not saying that this isn't completely true but it's the last thing I need to hear. My application to the nunnery is currently sat in my career applications folder, but that doesn't mean I should start taking up the STD acceptance game. It's not just the difficulty of finding a man that is attracted short geek and wouldn't run away after ripping my clothes off just to be swallowed by cellulite. It's also the whole modern sex game. Sex is not what it used to be. It's become so generally accepted as a tool in any advertisement  argument or friend cement that there is nothing taboo about it any more. In my last relationship Chris actually vocalised the fact that in a modern relationship it is acceptable for him to expect a blow job every other week.
Men have become more and more demanding in the bedroom. I'm generally an accepting person but when I guy suddenly starts trying to move your body into impossible positions it gets me just a little bit wound up. I'm not a fucking gymnast. Have I ever mentioned any Russian DNA in my family tree? Have you ever seen me in a contortionist show? No? Well then what makes you think I can use my toes to scratch my neck.
I blame Bill Gates. Him and his stupid computers have made it possible for every man on the planet to watch porn stars who are all silicon receive the only bone in their body in a continual thrusting as they tie their legs around their neck in a nice neat bow. It's seen the development of sex grow to a disgusting level that can be tracked from the time that my disgusted brother turned to 16 year old me and exclaimed 'she put her finger up my butt' to the modern day when my student states 'I'm technically still a virgin as I only ever have anal sex'.
Is this what is expected of women now? Am I to survive the world of modern dating with a belly full of semen and a sore arse?
Maybe I should just accept this new form of sexual conduct, especially considering the two most recent men in the sexual history. I've only just realised how similar they are. I remember them both in a series of numbers: 12,10,3,7 and 26.
12 is the number of minutes spent in hot, sensual foreplay leading me to be a 10 on the horny scale. This then plummets to a 3 when despite the promises and my best efforts i realise we are doing missionary again. 7 is the number of minutes until I notice his face is scrunched up and I should be making some sort of noise about now. Finally 26, the number of butterflies on the Chinese lampshade and the number of things I have managed to organise in my head while he proves once and for all that size DOES matter.