This story is a continuation of the tale about the women’s workshop I gave two weeks ago:
What blew my circuits was the actual vagina gazing. Our first brave volunteer opened her legs for us; even so I felt compelled to double check that I had her permission. I was so damn curious; finally I could just look and look and look!
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| Kid. Candy store. |
It was the third gal to go that began a dialogue about the clitoris. She explained to us that she felt self conscious about the size of hers. “Oh great, this is exactly what this workshop is about!” I thought. I had read and heard that many women felt shame about the shape and form of their vulvas and I certainly hoped that we would come to an appreciation of our differences during vagina gazing. I had even put together a Power Point of vagina photographs to emphasize that point and brought a mirror in case that came in handy. “So let’s take a look at that clit,” I said. Vive la difference!
She reached between her legs, moved her clitoral hood back and out popped a power-nugget the size of a small grape.
What. The fuck. Is that?
One of our other participants assured the concerned one that her clitoral size was right there in the normal range. In the back of my mind, a thought was trying to make its way through. But I had a class to facilitate, so I pressed onwards.
Woman after woman shared with us her one-of-a-kind vulva and by now we had the added special bonus:
“May we see your clit as well?”
“Why certainly.”
Then she would bring her fingers above her clitoral hood and pull it back to reveal the clit. And finally it was my turn. My legs were open and the viewing began. I reached my fingers toward my clitoral hood with a sinking feeling. I knew what would happen but somehow never really comprehended it after all these years.
My clit does not come out of the hood. At all. It’s not built that way.
Women were coaching me left and right to help coax my clit out; they pulled out the mirror so I could strain to see what was not there. Someone thought she may have spotted a little dot that could have been my clit. I thought of the grape-nugget woman and felt embarrassed. And so here we were at the end of the workshop and it was I who looked different than my sisters and I who felt shame that I was somehow deficient.
My clit does not come out of the hood. At all. It’s not built that way.
Women were coaching me left and right to help coax my clit out; they pulled out the mirror so I could strain to see what was not there. Someone thought she may have spotted a little dot that could have been my clit. I thought of the grape-nugget woman and felt embarrassed. And so here we were at the end of the workshop and it was I who looked different than my sisters and I who felt shame that I was somehow deficient.
Later I called a lover and tearfully told him what I had learned. It wasn’t a newsflash to him – he’d known it all along. We discussed my clit at length – which in itself was sort of hilarious. It was helpful to recall that I am able to have a variety of orgasms – vaginal, g-spot and clitoral. My body is working perfectly well – and isn’t that what matters? He encouraged me to repeat the following affirmation:
My vagina is rare and wonderful
My vagina is rare and wonderful
My vagina is rare and wonderful
And so it is. And so am I. And now I know that I’m a bit different than the norm.
Vive la difference!
Vive la difference!