“My cunt does not want to wear diamonds. It is not a ripened peach. My cunt is not a metaphor. It is the part between my legs.
It is for bleeding, for breeding, for fucking. It gurgles wordlessly. It swells up, sucks up and spits out. I have no desire to gaze lovingly at its reflection. I don’t want to name it or talk to it. I am not going to glorify it any more than I would glorify a pinky finger, a forearm or a toenail. It’s as amazing and as mundane as every other part of my body. I’m not a prude. I love deeply and fuck deeply. But it is not my vagina that falls in love. It doesn’t house my femininity; it is not what makes me a woman. It is the part between my legs. It’s sensitive and skittish sometimes. At other times it wouldn’t flinch if you punched it. How much can you really talk about your cunt? It’s a part of my body that can bring me both pain and pleasure. My partner adores it. I trim its hair when it gets itchy. I keep it pretty clean. The end.”