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Old 04-18-2008, 09:12 PM   #17 (permalink)
little_tippler
Leaning against the -Sun-
 
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Location: on the other side
I have a love-hate relationship with mine.

There's things visually I like and others I don't. I think generally it looks nice, it's a nice pink shade and the labia are quite small. I hate having hair there though, but I don't really like to shave or wax it, the first instance because of regrowth, the second instance because it fucking hurts and is expensive to get done (besides the fact that some strange woman is getting a real close look there - do not like that). I do shave it most of the time though because I love the way it feels. I always leave a little hair up top (on the pubis) for decoration

Physically, it's highly sensitive and pain can often be an issue for me, which annoys me no-end as I do like it hard and rough some of the time. I am also damned tight and though it can be good for the guy, sometimes I just wish it would let up a little. I have been told childbirth may help that (!). I can come quickly from clitoral stimulation, in a matter of seconds, but usually it takes quite a while for a guy to get me there, if at all. don't think I have ever come solely from penetration. So physically it's not the finest tuned of things! I'm working on understanding it better every day though.

By the way I have to say I'm thoroughly enjoying this set of threads, it's very educational...and I confess, a bit of a turn on
__________________
Whether we write or speak or do but look
We are ever unapparent. What we are
Cannot be transfused into word or book.
Our soul from us is infinitely far.
However much we give our thoughts the will
To be our soul and gesture it abroad,
Our hearts are incommunicable still.
In what we show ourselves we are ignored.
The abyss from soul to soul cannot be bridged
By any skill of thought or trick of seeming.
Unto our very selves we are abridged
When we would utter to our thought our being.
We are our dreams of ourselves, souls by gleams,
And each to each other dreams of others' dreams.


Fernando Pessoa, 1918
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