Vagina. Vagina. Vagina.
There. I said it. This post is about vaginas. There’s no need for us to be bashful about it. After all, vaginas are great! In addition to helping bring life into the world, they provide us with an exceptional amount of pleasure.
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It’s just that some are more aesthetically pleasing than others, and unfortunately, I am not one of the lucky ones.
I was a senior in high school when I realized that my vagina was not the belle of the ball. Before that, the only lady parts I’d seen consistently were my own, which meant that for most of my adolescent years, I was completely oblivious to my issues down below. However, on the night before high school graduation, a casual conversation with a close friend changed everything.
As we discussed the (literal) ins and outs of our newly-discovered sex lives, I mentioned the dilemma I was coming across while wearing lace thong panties for my then-boyfriend. I explained to my friend how there was a piece of thick, wrinkly skin down there that protruded from the side of my skimpy underwear, and that I frequently had to tuck it back in to avoid embarrassment.
I didn’t realize that this was abnormal until I noticed the confused expression on my friend’s face while I was trying to explain what it actually looked like. Needless to say, upon finding out that this was not an issue for her, I began feeling a little insecure. What was the extra meat doing in my panties and more importantly, who was going to want to eat it?
This was no laughing matter. If all of this time I’d had a vagina “plus-one,” why hadn’t anyone given me the heads up? Of course I was the one doing the daily maintenance on my flower, but didn’t I deserve to know that an extra bud had bloomed?
Someone had some explaining to do.
I remember going home that evening in shock. I closed myself in the bathroom, cut on the shower water so as not to be disturbed, sat on the bathroom counter with my handheld mirror in tow, and took a closer look at my special friend(s).
After closer observation of my jewel(s), as well as some diligent research, I came to the conclusion that I didn’t have to worry after all. The extra meat in my taco actually had a name, and I was not the only woman in the world who had it! However, being the over-thinker that I am, I still had some lingering questions that demanded answers before I could just accept my vaginal fate:
- How could having extra-large labia benefit me best?
- Would this be a selling point if I ever decided to sell ass for a living?
- Might this labia situation ever get in the way of intimacy?
- Was it likely to become a safety hazard during sex?
- Could I be held liable for suffocation?
- During childbirth, would someone have to hold my “flappers” so that the baby could come out?
- If so, who would be willing to do the job? Was there a designated nurse for that?
- We all know the risk that the umbilical cord can present to a baby, but would we have to consider my labia a similar liability? If so, was there an action plan in place for that type of situation?
- Did I really need labia or could I have them removed?
- Would insurance cover the cost of that removal? If not, should I have ice and scissors readily available to “get ’er done” myself?
In all seriousness, we each have imperfections, and I’m fortunate that my biggest problem is out of plain view. That is, unless those nudes I sent ever resurface. (You know, on second thought, I doubt one could tell that it’s me in those pics. Being that I pulled my labia up over my face.)
This original piece was written exclusively for In the Powder Room, a division of Hold My Purse Productions, LLC. Featured image © Maridav via depositphotos.com.