Lessons Of The Clit

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I must declare here, that my boyfriend states that I have a 'miraculously small clit,' and I myself, having never been much of a cliteral girl, will have to take his word for it. Why am I telling you this? Because, your clit, large or small, is important. There are lessons in the clit. And in the Labia. And in the vagina.

Before I discovered the size of my clit, I was plenty aware of it's sensitivity. Direct contact is too intense, actually painful, especially with all the 'elevator button lovers' I have had (you know the type: just like the elevator button, they believe the more often & the harder they press the button, the faster the thing will come). Well, I avoided direct contact where possible. Oral sex? No, none for me, thank you. I'd happily suck away on cock, but when it came to parting my legs for someone else to lick & suck, no way.

Surprisingly, despite the mythology that states a man who is offered a blow job will be distracted from any mission, my offers of same didn't serve to release me from what felt to be the obligatory reciprocation to be orally pleasured. In other words, my lack of willingness to receive seemed to upset many a lover. (Unless they were the ones who wouldn't go down on a girl anyway, which is another column entirely.)

While the puny physical stature of my clit combined with my lack of interest in it's direct manipulation may seem to you to diminish my clit's value, I can tell you that it was never deemed worthless. I'm a penetration girl. As my Labia move during sex, my miniscule love button gets all it needs. That, and I have one hell of a vagina, with a ready g-spot. If exam rooms were more ambient, & the use of speculum & swab a tad more repetitive, yearly exams could send me to the moon.

Perhaps my clit is more of an innie than an outie ~ and so while having a small visible head, it's root runs deep, straight to the inner walls of my vagina. Who knows?

But the fact remains, oral sex, dealing with the visable (or nearly visible, as my boyfriend would say) was off limits.

I dated lots of men. I let men into my life. I let them in literally. It was easy. They were always attracted to the pretty, intelligent, confident, out-going, vivacious me. They were equally smart, strong, brash, charming and attractive. But they never seemed to be able to deal with me when I had those Sheryl Crow 'Are you strong enough to be my man' moments. Eventually, I always had to dismiss them because they lacked an ability to be sensitive with me.

In short, when I was at my most tender, I found them abrasive. As abrasive as I found direct contact with my clit to be...

Huh. Could it be that my clit was literally trying to tell me something about my relationships?

I submit as proof my current boyfriend: The first to be as tender as he is smart, capable, sexy, witty and strong. And the first to make me cum from his oral ministrations. He remains, because of his other qualities, the only one to make me cum thus.

Coincidence? I think not.

As additional proof of this theory, I submit to you the story of my sister.

Only 18 months apart in age, raised in the same home, we were, and are, incredibly different women. I dated often. I brought men home to meet the parents. I dated men the family never knew about. Hell, I dated men I never knew much about. My sister on the other hand has, to date, brought a grand total of two men home to meet the family. Yes, two men in nearly 40 years.

While I know it is safe to say she dated more men than that (and my next few paragraphs will illustrate that I am not making assumptions), only two were found worthy of bringing around to meet the family. It's safe to say that my sister had commitment issues. Fear of intimacy issues.

When we were both in our mid-30's, we had a rare and powerful conversation. Like many a conversation between sisters or close friends, I cannot recall how it began, but the meat of it goes something like this:

Sister: "Oh, I hate oral sex too."

Me: "Really? I thought I was the only freak."

Sister laughs: "Likely it is genetic."


Sister continues: "Or maybe it's just a girl thing and no one talks about it. Like we are supposed to like oral sex cuz men like oral sex, and we want to be equal. All I know is, the mere suggestion of a man looking at me down there..." :shudder:

Now the pause is from me, because I awkwardly realize we do not have the same problem for the same reasons.

My sister is so wrapped up in her thoughts, she doesn't seem to notice my silence, and continues: "The idea of someone, a man, staring at me there - it's too intimate. Like he's literally going to see inside me..."

Now perhaps you could make a feminist argument that women have been socialized to find their pussies unattractive, or at least culturally privatized. But as noted above, I did not have that problem. (Then again, she's an attorney & I'm a sex worker, so it's debateable. But I always see this as an 'in common' thing, with both of us being intelligent and very vocal about what we believe is right.)

Anyway, my point is, my sister was having sex. She was avoiding oral sex, but she was having sexual relations. Yet in all of those years, only two men were brought home to be acknowledged as men in her life. Only two men were deemed close enough, intimate enough to see her family.

My guess is that the second man, the one she married, has orally serviced her. Because she no longer has intimacy issues. She's been happily married nearly 7 years.

So the moral of this column is this: Figure out what your clit, what your pussy, is trying to say. Because if you do, life, or at least relationships, will become easier.

This article previously ran in my column Amazing Gracie: Her Body Of Work at For The Girls dot com


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