“This is my cunt. I like the word cunt because it feels right to me, kind of cozy and mysterious. The biggest mystery of my cunt is that all five of my children came into the world via this passageway. It is also deeply amazing to me the pleasure that I feel both with partners and alone. I feel blessed by a beautiful body. But I haven’t always felt so good about myself.
Years of childhood sexual abuse left me feeling dirty and ashamed of my body that would respond even when I didn’t want to. I felt separated from my private parts. If people wanted them but not the rest of me, then I would just seal my mind away from the rest of my body. I didn’t feel ownership of my vulva until my mid-twenties.
Then a few years ago I started worrying about my labia being too small. My outer lips are usually quite closed. I became paranoid about looking like a little girl. I wondered if the abuse that I survived had maimed me somehow. I didn’t have anything to compare myself to, but it seemed like the images I saw showed women with larger labia. I heard about women who wanted smaller labia and felt confused. My partner found some photos of other women for me that made me feel more comfortable with myself. He also took close up pictures of my cunt so I could really see what I looked like.
I fell in love with my body. I could still see everything that I thought of as imperfections – places I tore giving birth, a mole, my pubic hair going grey – but I could also see the beauty of my vulva. I still sometimes feel self-conscious. I am hesitant to let someone go down on me if I’m on my period or think I’m smelly, but I now publish pictures of my vulva on the internet. I hope that it helps other women to love their cunts!”—Evoe’s Story (via wrenna)
“I want to talk with you forever. I remember every word you’ve ever said to me. If only I could visit you as a foreigner goes into a new country, learn the language of you, wander past all borders into every private and secret place, I would stay forever. I would become a citizen of you. You would say it’s too soon to feel this way. You would ask how I could be so certain. But some things can’t be measured by time. Ask me an hour from now. Ask me a month from now. A year, ten years, a lifetime. The way I love you will outlast every calendar, clock, and every toll of every bell that will ever be cast.”—Lisa Kleypas, A Wallflower Christmas (via -wh0reable)