If You Touch my Yoohoo, I’ll Kick Your Cookie

Quiver, mantrap, rosebud, jewel, cake, snatch, artichoke, venus mound, sugar basin, clamshell.

How many ways are there to describe the female sex organs? Literally hundreds! I have a whole book filled with awesome dirty words and I promise not to repeat the same one twice.

But why do we feel it’s necessary to hide behind innuendo and misdirection when all we are really trying to say is vagina, labia, clitoris, and vulva.  Shit, I use these words so infrequently that I actually had to look up the correct spelling.  Why does our current culture still pretend that woman are Barbie dolls with big boobs, no hips, and a smooth crease of absolutely nothing between our legs?

I think it’s my fault.

Seriously….I take responsibility for this.

In my past, I have encouraged men to think of my nooky as a snapping turtle that only a highly trained (and well paid) anthropologist is ever going to get near enough to identify.  I perpetrated the falsehood that my hoochie was an illusive and possibly imaginary beast, separate from me, running wild and free in the background of some tampon commercial. But I can assure you, MY YUM YUM IS NOT A SOFT WHITE BUNNY bounding through endless fields of lush green grass swaying in the gentle breeze, under a soothing blue sky!

Then to add insult to this injury, I bought into the falsehood that I needed to retrain this unicorn (read as shy, horny beast) into a flaming POWER PUSSY!

Able to climb tall poles! Soar through the air! And blind men with my pure sexuality!

While still retaining that ridiculous separation between my real self and the sexy stripper minx that could only emerge from my honeypot when I stood next to a pole.  What kind of secret identity is that?!

Knock. Knock. Hello? It’s reality at the door and she wants her money back.

If you really believe that you and your yoni are separate but equal, do yourself a favor and stop drinking the Kool aide. Your diddle is not a carnival that only comes in to town when the moon is full. It’s always with you and more importantly, it’s a part of you. It’s not a disembodied piece of flesh floating around in space.  You decide whether it gathers dust on a shelf or has three shows nightly.  And you don’t need a pole to put on a show… or to express your inherent sensuality.

In fact, you don’t need to do anything at all.  SURPRISE! If you are a real woman (and since you’ve read this far, I’m willing to bet that you are) then trying to hide your feminine sexuality is a complete waste of time. You can’t have a gold encrusted phantom penis no matter how hard you try to grow one.  You’re not fooling anyone and it’s kind of painful to watch.  So STOP!

Remember, Barbie dolls and their unmarked plastic crotches are for make believe. Plus, they already sell fleshlights online, so don’t bother trying to hide your sexuality in your pocket. It’s just going to wriggle out at the worst (or best) possible moment anyway.

Embody and enjoy your feminine power. Share you understanding and compassion with your sisters and friends. Teach the men in your life and in “polite” society  that your beautiful shiny box is nothing to be afraid of.  It’s where we keep all the fun stuff.

One in the hand is worth two in the bush

OR

Get your mind out of the gutter, it’s blocking my view