You’re reading this because you want to know, and you might even feel a tickle deep inside. And if you do, for the love of Goddess, enjoy it! Whether it’s the cast of stigma and shame that it has been burdened with, or the weakness in our understanding of it, “Pussy” is such a great thing of nature, that it deserves so much more recognition for its strength. I am pussy, and pussy is me. My need to be one with my pussy is rich, and I intend to make it all the wiser.
If I leave my understanding of pussy to science, I feel detached in every aspect. When I look at pussy in the perspective of long, unpronounceable Latin words and colorful, anatomical charts, my pussy seems without a soul. Not to say there is no room for scientific explanation, believe me, my loins sometimes behave in a way that can only be biological. But even when I leave my orgasms to electric or lithium operated tools and rubber, I am distracted by the barriers that block my human need for touch and turn me into a gyrating robot instead.
I speak a lot about men and the variety of ways I engage with them, but lately, it is with women that I feel the strongest connection and appreciation. This is new to me having felt guarded most of my life towards women. As a girl I was conditioned by society to feel threatened by other girls; hundreds of deep-rooted years of learning to be more desirable, so to marry and secure a place in this world. And it continues today, as pop culture often pits women against each other in an attempt to sell products that make us believe that one is better than the next. We can easily forget our human nature, that we work best as a community, offering our bosom when one is too ill, nurturing the belly when one is too weak, stroking the skin when one is longing for affection. How did we ever allow ourselves to get to the place where we would secretly wish for another’s failure for personal gain? This, to me, is the departure of our species as women, when we no longer nurture and we stand against each other with our arms across our breasts.
For me personally, I learned to form more meaningful relationships with women through motherhood, art, and now kink. When I first became a mother I didn’t have women that I leaned on. My own mother was not raised by her mother and didn’t seem to embrace mothering herself. I had no one to tell me that they also didn’t know what the fuck they’re doing, that their relationship with their partner is also shifting and changing, that they also have needs and no longer know if they’ll ever tend to them. I searched out the kind of woman who will bring out my best self, and who let me be needed so that I can help her, too. These women are my sisters, they are an extension of the woman who I strive to be, their infinite energy helps me to see and touch the world in places I’ve never been. As a dominatrix working out of a cooperative playhouse, I have a community of women with like interests. For the fact that we are generally physically vulnerable; no clothing to stereotype the other, no preconceived notions as to what we’re all doing there, no need to compete for attention or affection, we can be our truest selves. When women are together in an unguarded and supportive unity, I can see why the man has historically wanted to protect the woman and keep her safe, instinctively throwing himself against any imposing forces. It is not because women are weaker, or couldn’t hold their own when threatened, it is because their sense of nurture and communal strength is so strong and deep, that we could not have survived without it.
Still, when our pussy becomes the object that defines who loves us the most, and who we love the most, the pussy’s instincts become inhibited and confused about how to feel. And why is this? Because the pussy is where the sex happens, and when burdened with devotion, it becomes the cave in which we hide our love from each other, it no longer is the center in which we reach ecstasy and let our animal spirit out.
When the men went off to hunt, and the women stayed together with the children, surely you do not believe that a woman never answered the call of her own desire. Even today, when women spend regular time with each other, their menstrual cycles sync up, they naturally adapt to each other’s ebb and flow; which means that it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that they also got horny together. And what do women do when they are in need? They help, they lend a very helpful and loving hand indeed. It isn’t about being bi, or gay, or in a relationship, or even emotionally responsible for each other, it’s simply about fulfilling a need. Women are generous by nature. The women I have surrounded myself with are so hungry for life, yet so willing to be devoured, I am humbled regularly by what some will sacrifice to keep the peace.
Having spent so much more time with women in a sexual environment, I have learned that some of my own hang-ups are quite normal, and needn’t be a hang up at all. I revealed to my sisters that it is much easier for me to orgasm with, or in front of, someone that I don’t have feelings for, that I’m not even necessarily physically attracted to. In some instances, the more appalling or gross the man is, the more crude and obscene I can be in my own orgasm, thus reaching it easily and rather quickly, compared to my usual 20-30 minutes or never. It seems that when I have deeper emotions for someone, that it muddies the freedom I have to let go, that there is so much more at stake, that I end up caring more about their pleasure than my own. Almost every woman that I’ve told this to has quickly responded, “Oh I’m that way.” When I told this to an ex partner of mine, he said, “I hope you figure that out, what a shame.” Which revealed a fundamental difference in how we consider sex, intimacy, and our understanding of how the pussy works. To him, it is a shame that I have a harder time sharing or reaching ecstasy with someone I love, perhaps like withholding, or some kind of faulty disconnect that is tragically deep-rooted. That the word “shame” was used at all to describe what I felt to be an enlightenment, says a lot about the mind-fuckery we create in our heads around sex and love. The ability to produce an orgasm, as a means to express the depth of our intimacy, is an immediate form of pressure, which makes it impossible to let go for the “Big O.” Not only that, you are left with a trail of self-doubt that runs through both participants. The non-producer feels they have let the other down, or has to prove in other ways that they love and enjoy them, while the other feels ineffective and inadequate. And not to say that my ex meant it that way, more so, I’m sure he meant that it would be a next-level connection if you can orgasm with someone you are deeply in love with. I think that sounds lovely, too, but I don’t feel ashamed of the type of orgasm I reach, or that I have loved many people without the ability to have an orgasm with them. I am learning to enjoy my orgasm without pressure, that it doesn’t have to be racked with so much fucking romance. The most romantic feeling I have ever felt is the feeling of being understood. Which is probably why I’m feeling so lovey towards my lady friends.
What has felt like a greater shame, are the friendships I have lost when sex was taken out of our dynamic. In general, I think women want to have some sort of friendship with their lovers, at least I do. I have bedded men that, once sex was introduced, became attached in a way that we did not agree on. And I believe their attachment transpired because of my natural instinct to want to nurture and tend to them; feeding their bellies, their minds, and their libido.
While I haven’t figured out how to balance love, and sex, and exploration with men, I am deeply comforted by the fact that what I share with my lovely women will not be possessed, but rather shared like a recipe for love and affection.