Tag Archives: twat

Doing My Bit to Curb Surplus Forests

One of the things about suddenly becoming single — in the midst of a harrowing depression — is that I tend to begin to neglect myself. I ran out of hair removal stuff about six weeks ago and have continuously forgotten to buy it every time I’m in a drug store. Finally, yesterday, I remembered.
Thus, I have taken to my bush like Weyerhauser in the Amazon, my friends. Clearcut, baby. (Okay, I lie. I favour the landing strip. There are some things I just won’t do to my clit, you know?)
There’s something nice about going to bed all sexed up even when I know it’s just a solo show this evening. I don’t care.
I know there are some guys who favour the bush look, but ugh. No. Just can’t do it. The funny thing is, I’ve never been into ridding all the hair beyond the bikini line until the last couple years. Now I love it. It feels cleaner. There’s nothing like hair down there, and panties, and a pair of jeans, and SITTING on it all to make you feel like you’ve got some groin-area sweatbox going on. I love a shorn twat in a pair of jeans. It feels great. Much, much better. It also makes sleeping naked a little more fun ‘cos I’m more susceptible to breezes and such.
Yeah, I used to be a very Amazonian woman. Strange how drastically I’ve changed that way. I guess the moral is to never presuppose something’s not for you until you’ve tried it.
Anyhow, I have nothing more to say. I’m naked, ready for bed, and things are liable to get much more entertaining than if I were sitting here tapping out words for you to digest.
Which brings to mind a great saying from one of my favourite writers, Truman Capote: The good thing about masturbation is that you don’t have to get dressed up for it. (And Steff ads: Or make dinner, or wash the sheets, or sleep on the wet spot, or pay the bill, or say the right thing, or laugh at jokes you’ve missed the punchline on, or make sure you’re not caught eyeing some sexy beast across the road, or… or… or…)
My bed no longer beckons. It bellows. So, adieu.

Twats and Knives: Together at Last

I was sent this story recently by a reader, detailing about this new trend of women going under the knife to alter aspects of their vaginal regions. I’m sure there are valid reasons to do so from time to time, but really… what the fuck are people thinking?

Plastic surgery is something I despise. Packaging, that’s what our bodies are. I’ve spent my LIFE trying to come to terms with who and what I am. I grew up believing that my ample ass was something disgusting, and I was always under the impression I was far more than just imperfect, I was just physically wrong.
But, hey, the first thing guys seem to wanna grab is that ample ass. And now I have no intention of taking it all off, despite minimizing its spread in the recent past. Hey, real estate’s the best investment you can make, and mine seems to be going up in value.
Fact is, we’re constantly under scrutiny – from our banks, our lovers, our employers, people on the street. Hell, about the cruelest thing one can do to themselves is to buy one of those 10x magnifying mirrors, don’t you think? Why don’t you just run out and buy a lifetime subscription to therapy while you’re at it?
Me, I use a standard mirror. I just lean in real fuckin’ close, you know? Does the trick. For now. One day, the eyes are gonna go and I’m gonna need one of those big-ass look-at-me now glaring glimpses at my imperfections, but I’ll be ready for that day when it comes.
Now, one of the fundamental differences between our sexes – get ready, here’s a newsflash – is the fact that the cock is on the outside of the body, and vagina’s bits and pieces are all inside us. Everyone knows guys are hung up on their dicks. But what about chicks?
Fact is, we’re twat-conscious. Most chicks are as clueless about their twats as the guys we latch onto are. Ever taken a look at your vagina? Yeah? How’s that workin’ out for ya? Tricky, hey? If not, well, you’re probably not missing out on much, since you’re liable to feel a tad self-conscious once you rig up the mirrors to angle a look at your privates. You gotta spread ‘em for a look at it, baby, and that’s seldom ever the best way to get introduced to your kitty.
I remember seeing a posting on someone’s blog a long time ago juxtaposing an image of a woman’s mouth in a sexy pout, and another woman with her mouth wide open, readied for an invasive visit by a dentist and a drill. The author asked the question, which would you rather see? He then alluded to the overwhelming tendency in porn today to show women spread-eagled with their vaginal lips spread wide open.
As a chick, I find it unattractive. But I’m a chick, and I know guys see things differently, so I’m over it. I do, however, agree with the post’s author, and I have to wonder: These women going under the knives, are they seriously looking at these porn-based images as a measuring stick for their own attractiveness? Why?
Taking cues on genitals from porn is like expecting to look like a Vogue model after you’ve showered and made yourself up. How about a fucking reality check? How about realizing that the beauty of vaginas is the fact that each has its own characteristics?
An interesting artist in the UK has done a line of photographic collages called “Cunt Flowers,” and one of those images is what you find here on this post. The artist gets what I’m saying – pussies offer an incredible assortment of appearances, and the beauty is in the variety. We’re not cookie cutters, people, so why the hell are we trying to cookie-cut our cunts?
It’s time we stop letting the beauty industry and media inflict insecurities and doubts upon us. It’s time we stopped paying thousands of dollars to fix what we perceive to be imperfections. We would never fix the exterior of our cars and ignore the engine, would we? So why the fuck do we apply that methodology to our bodies?
Start thinking from the inside out. Touch your cunt. Believe your men when they express passion for all you have between your legs. If he wants to go down on you and enjoys tonguing and playing with you, then get the hell over yourself and let him. He’s the one who sees what you truly offer; you and your headspace probably don’t know dick. Or, twat, as the case appears to be.