An Ode to My Meaty Pussy

Content Warning: self-harm, abortion

O pussy, my meaty pussy. 

How you’ve been loved and loathed, cherished and condemned, pounded and pushed aside.

Puberty hit this body early, it sprouted breasts and hair and drew attention we didn’t want and didn’t know how to handle.

You didn’t look like the ones I saw in my many books about puberty and changing bodies or the early-aughts internet porn I’d discover and erase from the family computer history long before Pornhub was a thing.

You’ve been called too tight, too loose, too hairy, too bald. 

You lived behind a wall of shame for so long you thought you’d never get out.

I kept you there because society called you secret, religion reserved you for reproduction, culture dictated that you were dirty. 

I don’t remember the first time I wanted to take a pair of scissors and slice your low-hanging inner lips, but I was young. Over the years while I shaved you bald because a boy asked me to I’d picture the blade of the razor coming loose and doing the job for me. 

I wasn’t alone in wanting to alter your appearance.

In a 2019 global survey of aesthetic/cosmetic surgery, labiaplasty was the 17th most popular plastic surgery among cisgender women. The number of labiaplasties performed in 2019 reached nearly 165,000, a 24.1% increase over 2018 and 73.3% more than in 2015.

All over the world people want to change the appearance of their pussies to fit a “norm” that doesn’t exist.

Pussies are as unique as people - no two are the same and we’re all allowed to style them differently.

On the latest iteration of The Kardashians, Khloe laments the thin gusset of Kim’s Skims (Lol I get it now) not being made for her larger lips - “Is it supposed to just cover my clit?” - and unknowingly welcomed me to The Big Puss Club. I felt as seen as my camel toe in too-tight pants.

Even as movements to embrace vulva diversity like The Vulva Gallery gain momentum, there’s still a little thing called porn to remind the differently-vulvaed that we are just that.

I couldn’t imagine growing up in the age of the Internet and social media, where porn is more plentiful than food blogs that don’t let you “Jump to Recipe” and leaking nudes is a sport among teens and politicians everywhere. 

The more petite-lipped pussies I saw, the more your low-hanging labia felt out of place. I know in my soul that that’s not true. That you’re beautiful and normal (one kind commenter on MakeLoveNotPorn called you “heavenly”) because you exist and every bit deserving of being put on a pedestal.

You’ve been taken advantage of, and still you are fearless.

You’ve been poked and prodded and had cameras shoved up in you and twisted around and still you persist.

You’ve endured painful sex for the sake of others and still you feel true desire.

You’re the gateway to inconceivable pain or unimaginable pleasure, and still you exist to have it all.

Vulvodynia brings you a sensitivity to touch, vaginismus random muscle spasms that feel like you’re being stabbed, and still you persevere.

You received sperm and  nurtured it into an embryo, and still stood strong during the abortion that sucked it out of us. 

You always let me know when we’re excited, or scared or just plain exhausted.

When a recent partner called you ‘meaty,’ I was instantly offended on your behalf. No way would I be a living example of the moniker ‘beef curtains’. I felt shame and immediately flashed back to wanting to take a pair of scissors and change your appearance.

 But then I felt a shift.

Yes, you are meaty, and you are mighty.

You’ve endured more than you probably ever imagined for yourself.

You’re cozy and warm and a comfort and I love the way your inner labia hang below the outer.

I love the way they wrap around a toy or a cock, guiding them to where they need to be.

I love the way you feel when you’re aroused, letting me know that I’m alive and am capable of limitless pleasure.

I love how you look covered in soft hair, whether I keep it trim or let it go, you’re the star of the show.

You’re always there, reminding me that I exist, alerting me when something is wrong, encouraging me to have it all.

I spent so long wanting to change you, alter your appearance, make you look younger, make you more palatable for others.

Now I’m ready to celebrate you and all your meaty goodness. Shame be damned.