This is my cunt. I like the word cunt because it feels right to me, kind of cozy and mysterious. The biggest mystery of my cunt is that all five of my children came into the world via this passageway. It is also deeply amazing to me the pleasure that I feel both with partners and alone. I feel blessed by a beautiful body. But I haven’t always felt so good about myself.
The experience of birthing my second, and youngest, daughter was one of the most empowering of my life. My eldest daughter was born via emergency c-section, a far cry from the homebirth my husband and I had planned. So to have the opportunity to naturally, vaginally birth my youngest daughter was very important to me.
I believe it was my issues from my past that kept me from being comfortable in revealing my pussy. The punishment I received in early puberty made me feel it was bad to show it - it was trashy, filthy, ugly. Until five years ago I never felt comfortable revealing myself, when the mental, emotional, physical and sexual abuse of my past was superseded by my desire to be seen as beautiful in every way.
I remember being a very small child and engaging in very innocent exploration of my own sexual anatomy. I discovered my clitoris, though I didn't know the word. And when I was in kindergarden we had a sex ed. class about where babies come from. We were shown with dolls how the man inserts his penis into the vagina. On top of the revulsion I felt about this (I was still in my "boys are icky" phase), I fully made the connection between the sex I was being shown and what I was doing with my own body. They didn't mention the clitoris at all, and I took that to heart.
My conservative Christian parents had taught me that certain parts of me always had to be covered up and never seen; my pussy was one of these parts. Because of this I never gave my pussy much thought; it was nothing more than a source of embarrassment and shame. I never even really knew what it looked like until my teenage years. It took me until my first experience with a tampon to actually take a mirror and examine myself “down there”.
When I am talking about it casually, it is my vag, or va-goo if I am in a silly mood. When I am feeling particularly Feminisity (fuck you “Sheath For A Sword”) or Earth Mother Birthing Goddessy, it is my Yoni. I whisper into my husband’s ear that my Pussy is wet, or tell a lover I would love to lick her pussy. When I banter with my best friends we become increasingly ridiculous and come up with deliciously dirty alliterations delving into pearl clutching obscenities. But whatever it’s called, one thing is for certain: it is pretty fucking amazing.
My pussy is special to me because I didn’t always have one, because I have worked so hard to be able to have one. I always struggled with my gender identity and, in particular, having male genitalia, as it never felt right to me. In my darkest times, I could not go to the bathroom without thinking about taking a butcher’s knife to my genitalia.
My relationship with my vagina has been characterized by guilt for most of my life. My earliest recollections of any awareness of my vagina was when I was a young girl and my mother told me if I ran the water over it in the bathtub that I would get warts. I don’t know why she told me this, but from that point onwards I believed that touching it and making my vagina feel good was wrong. It was something I should feel ashamed about and keep a secret.
My Yoni is a sacred gateway, one that has known both sides of the spectrum of bliss and misery. The profoundness of my journey with my vulva is a long tale; however, a very simple story of an experience I had in the past year of my life seems a fitting one to convey my awe for this Jewel between my legs.