I have a wonderful relationship with my pussy, but it hasn’t always been this way. It takes a lot to learn to love yourself, after so long stuck in a cycle of self loathing.
I have shared the above picture before, on Sinfully spread for sinful sunday. It got me into a little trouble with the powers that be at WordPress, leading to my blog being removed in the middle of June. On the comments Molly suggested I take part in the pussy pride project, and since then I have had this post waiting to be written in my mental draughts.
Where to start? Why… at the beginning of course!
It is quite well documented within my family that I was always a tomboy. My mum joyfully tells people how I would tuck toy lorries into bed with me at night instead of dollies and cuddly toys. In all honesty, at a young age I didn’t define myself as a boy or girl, why would I? My brother was my hero, and I happily trailed him round on my bike. Gender irrelevant. As I grew up I realised that my body was different to the rest of my family. Mum hid herself away under clothes, shrouding her curves in mystery. But I had, as all children do, seen glimpses of different parts of my brother and dad. I did not have one of those! So I spent some time exploring my body. That pre-pubescent night with a mirror, a torch, a book on anatomy and a pencil.
That was the first time I realised that there were three exits. Later I would read all about the middle.
This was scary stuff for a 9/10-year-old girl. Babies and pregnancy had been covered in year 5 primary school, but they came out of there??? Holy smokes!
As I grew up my body changed, and I learnt all about how these things worked. It wasn’t so scary anymore, but I knew that wasn’t for me. Babies and children, no thank you!
But what else was it for? That was a mystery to me. Though learning continued apace, and it didn’t take me long, especially after finding my brothers stash of porn. And then I knew.
That growing understanding combined with a desire to explore…
It was a slippery slope. My first boyfriend would happily spend hours down there, devouring my soul through those lips, eyes blazing with a passion I hadn’t seen before. The worries I had about my lips being so much bigger than those I had seen in the magazines faded into nothingness. He adored them, and with that love I continued to blossom. I soon found out that toys felt amazing, and my time with a vibrator (which belonged to his mum) I reached a new high. The dildo I purchased soon after filling my young pussy, stretching it so beautifully. After we ended I didn’t give up on my practise, I became an expert on my pleasure.
With those expertise came a magnetic effect to the men I fucked.
I used them for my pleasure, often in the most sordid ways, but it was during this time I realised the power that my pussy had over them. Looking back I can see that they were probably using me for sex as much as I was them, but I also recall the way that just a touch of my wet folds on the dance floor of a local club, or a sniff of my sticky fingers at the bar would light the fires behind their eyes. They were a mix of long-term fuck buddies and strangers I took a fancy to, but the effect was always the same. The loss of my first love put up walls, but this was a great new game that I could play without getting hurt.
I don’t remember all of their names, but the look was more or less universal.
My pussy pride dropped after I met P. Once snared by him my confidence left me entirely, as it would do when someone points out all of the negatives, delves into your perceived fears and drip feeds them back into you. They grow then, but not in the way a beautiful flower would blossom, more like bindweed, choking and stifling all in its path. Those intoxicatingly puffy lips, enjoyed by so many before suddenly became fat lips, too big to suck on, to lust after. He would go down there and fall asleep. Why? Because they weren’t good enough for him. His interest in them piqued when he needed to empty his balls, and if I wasn’t worried he would pester until I gave in.
That isn’t the same as the fires of lust that burn, erotically entwining two (or more) souls.
When I started to take control of my life again, albeit handing over that power to sir, I was given tasks, amazing tasks. They allowed this stifled and abused woman to start to spread her wings again. I had encounters, built my confidence and met M. He had not been interested in sex for a year before we met, his libido had waned and there didn’t seem to be much hope for him. My pussy cured him, the sap suddenly rising, overflowing from an underused well. My magical powers had returned, and once more I saw the fires igniting behind lusty eyes.
I have so much pride in my pussy.
For so long I loathed my body, constantly trying to fit into a box that changed shape. My pussy was the last thing P took control of, and one of the first things I took back. For a while I sought validation through the power that this dripping cunt offered me, and over the last few years I have mellowed.
Accepting the beauty, enjoying sharing it but most of all letting that pride spread to the rest of my body.
Of course, this is a story written around one specific part of my body. It is, however, self love is so hard to come by. Why is it so much easier to knock ourselves down, but so hard to build ourselves up again? If it’s something you struggle with too, there is hope. With lots of articles around the internet, there are many tips on learning to love yourself. Here are a few you might find useful.
- 7 Ways To Practise Self Love
- 6 Ways To Actually Learn To Love Yourself.
- How To Love Yourself For Real, According To Therapists.
Do you have any you’d like to share? Let me know in the comments below.