For all that I write about sex, I’m a pretty private person. Wrapped up somewhere in being a dominant, introverted voyeur is the impulse to hold large parts of myself in reserve. Of course, there are people whose natural, infectious joy bumps me off the sidelines – people like Molly Moore, the curator of The Pussy Pride Project, (and the mistress of many things. The woman wears multiple hats and looks lovely in all of them).
I’ve been following The Pussy Pride Project for awhile. I don’t like body shaming, (or any shaming for that matter), and the idea of a sex positive project aimed at highlighting women’s relationships to their genitalia appealed a great deal. Of course, if didn’t occur to me to contribute until Molly asked me to, and so, because it’s Molly, I’m setting my reticence aside to discuss my cunt…because, to me, it will always be my cunt and not my pussy (no offense preferrers of “pussy”. It’s just a semantic thing).
To be honest, I was pretty ambivalent about my “female parts,” as my mother calls them, for much of my life. And really, when you grow up thinking of your genitalia as your “female parts” you’re probably not going to get all attached and romantic about them.
Despite that, some of my earliest memories involve sexual pleasure, which was a mysterious and much sought after thing when I was little and having orgasms by accident. As I grew older, I explored many aspects of my sexuality, but I never took the time to deliberately acquaint myself with the portions of my anatomy that produced all that sweet, random feeling because we didn’t talk or think about that in my family. Oh, my goodness, no.
The question of grooming went equally unaddressed. I left it all wild and silky, not because I preferred pubes, but because it never occurred to me to go bare. It wasn’t until I was in my mid-twenties, when a partner shaved me for the first time, that the eroticism of being hairless made itself known. With each pass of the razor, the place I’d always thought of as my “female parts” became, irreversibly, my “cunt.” The orgasm I had directly afterwards was a game-changer. He went down on me, smiling the whole time like the keeper of ancient secrets, and I came so hard I nearly passed out. Since then, I have always shaved or waxed or done some combination of both, not because I want to fit some modern, hairless aesthetic, but because I feel everything so much more without pubic interference. I wouldn’t bother if that weren’t the case. I do it purely to please myself, and the results are worth the effort.
Despite all that, I didn’t give my cunt serious consideration until after I had my daughter. I know that I’m stating the obvious when I say that your body changes a lot during pregnancy and birth, but I was unprepared for how much. In my case, my body changed for the better, though it took several months and many ice packs before I wanted to find out.
Before my daughter my clitoris was temperamental and somewhat “demure” as one lover called it. My labia were fairly flat and unobtrusive. Everything was seemly – my vagina and its attendant parts folded themselves up into a tidy little package that responded when opened but didn’t make demands.
After my daughter was born, things got interesting. Suddenly, my clit was fuller, more prominent and much more sensitive, (ie: “demanding”). My outer labia, once so discrete and lady-like, is now fuller as well – so full that they look sort of plushy and plump, even when I’m not turned on. The folds of my inner labia have changed as well. They look more ruffled and pink, and the one on the left sticks out, so that every now and then my cunt looks like it’s sticking out it’s tongue. I love this, by the way.
Compliments…I have been complimented, which is lovely and curious. I’m always happiest when compliments have less to do with aesthetics and more to do with how my body responds. My cunt has never been called “perfect” though it has been called “perfect for me.” Frankly, I don’t know if there’s any such thing as “the perfect pussy.” I suspect not, just as there’s no such thing as perfect breasts or a perfect cock. I do think, however, that there is such a thing as the perfect fit, but that subjective assessment depends entirely on who you’re with.
At this point in my life, I can say that I have a fondness for my cunt, though it still confounds me at times, especially when the stimulation that works one day, doesn’t work the next. Even that makes me smile though. Like many women, I’m complicated and slightly perverse. I love what I love, and I want what I want, and though my heart is strong and constant, it is anything but predictable. I love that my cunt reflects that.
If you’d like to read more posts in The Pussy Pride Project, click HERE. Or press the the picture of the pretty, suggestive flower. I know I would….