I have a cunt, a beautiful cunt that I douche and trim with precision from time to time…and that’s just how this brownie rolls. I lived a large majority of my life never looking at my cunt or appreciating it. But after years of never examining the glory between my legs I finally grabbed a mirror, snatched the panties off, squatted, took a deep breath, placed the mirror between my legs and gazed at the image I call Gigi, my cunt, my friend, my vagina, my giver of many gifts. Enclosed in my hair adorned oyster I found many things including 2 holes (the urethra and vagina), my tight anus ( a 3rd hole) and a dangling beautiful bit we all collectively know as the clit. My cunt is spectacular!!! Why you ask? Well, she’s elastic and I can squeeze, push, tighten and grip…
But wait, there’s more!
The female climax, a delightful surge, flood, torrent, rush, women can experience not one, but four ways; clitoral, vaginal, blended, and multiple!!!! If that’s not frickin’ amazing, what the hell is?
So, despite the misery of pushing out a baby, bloody menstruation, clots, cramps, and the occasional yeast infection, having a cunt is wonderfully fabulous and I don’t envy men one bit. If you’re lucky enough, you have man or woman that knows how to activate these blissful amusements and if not, you have your hands and the occasional arsenal of toys. Whatever your method, ladies, we’ve got it made…I call for celebration! A shout, a cry, throw your panties up and hold your drinks high and yes please, light that spliff.
Most importantly know your cunt aka clam, French dip, penis fly trap, cave of wonders, bearded oyster, pink canoe, pink fortress, soggy box, baby cannon, hippo’s yawn is the prettiest, most fuckable, loveable, delightful gift in the whole wide world. Make merry dear friends!
Light and Love
Wildly Cunty JB
Everyday Questions of a Wildly Cunty Woman
Should I shave?
Should I shave my legs or just my arm pits?
I don’t know what to eat. Should I eat?
Where’s my bra?
Where’s my shoe?
Where are the keys?
Dishes again?
You’re still whining?
Seriously?
A Celebration of Sagging Tits, Stretch Marks and Adventure
Naked, examining this body I’m wearing, I see things have changed a bit. My arms shake, my waist slopes a little different, tiger stripes line my lower waist, and I haven’t felt this sexy in forever! I’m a woman, my body has done some amazing things and now after a decade of self-loathing, I realize, I’m kind of fucking amazing and I can swim in my glory and brag a bit because…
Why the fuck not?!?
I remember being 17 looking at my 115 pound physique and thinking how inadequate I was. I even had an ex-boyfriend tell me I looked weird because I had thick thighs. Makeup has never been my friend, it either aggravated my oily, pimply skin, or made me look like I was trying way too hard to be cute, none of which make you cute. Men were toxic for me and so were most members of my family. Not intentionally, but I realize they’re just children in aging bodies, what guidance could they have possibly provided? Now a mother, wife, train wreck myself I see the freedom in the honesty and the love in it all.
I’m 30, I have four kids, a divorce that has left me scarred and scared that one day I’ll be murdered in my bedroom by the man who claimed he once loved me and….
I can vividly imagine him stabbing me and it’s terrifying.
My list of mistakes is long and to be honest, they make me kind of happy. Most people look at me and assume I speak about having 4 kids, a failed marriage, not finishing college to become a nurse and instead joining an abusive cult that would steal almost a decade of life, the father of my first two children, TIME, and cost me thousands of dollars in lawyer fees.
No, no you silly bastards….Those things just happened…it’s called life and I don’t regret them. Hell, I’m a half way decent person because of them.
My list of mistakes, the ones that cause me shame are the ones that live deep within. The scars on my soul, on my spirit, scars you can’t make go away, the ones that stay forever, leaving their mark, their filth. But as the sunsets and the moon lights of the dark sky, I’m reborn, awakened, and thankful…
Foggy and relieved to release the pain that is suspended in my gut, in my chest, in my mind, I continue…
So as I admire my breasts, that hang a little lower than they used to because they have fed 4 children and have satisfied the whimsy of my husband, I hold my head up. As I look down at my once elegantly sloping waist and see stretch marks that cover its canvas, as I look at my legs and see the scars of long walks up and down a rainy ass mountain through thicket and trees, I don’t feel ashamed, I don’t feel ugly, I feel decorated. I am decorated with a brilliant story that covers the reaches of my body. I am decorated in the tragedy and beauty of life and rather than loathe it, I love it.
