In the Valley of the Vulva 14 Jan 2016
Sometimes I imagine I’m a tiny, old-world explorer, leading an expedition along a woman’s inner thigh.
We walk in silence for miles along supple skin. And then my second in command taps my shoulder.
“Sir,” he asks me respectfully, “what is that to the east?”
“Down there,” I reply, “is the Great Forests of Femme”.
I explain that the forests are on old and sacred land, known to the gods as the ‘Fabled land of origins’.
I can see that my second in command is curious.
“And in the centre of the forest,” I add, “lies the Valley of the Vulva.”
The whole expedition stops marching at the mention of the valley.
“Sir, with all respect, the men speak with loose tongues of the valley. Loose tongues indeed. Many rumours abound of what lies within the valley.”
“It is said,” I declare, “that inside the valley is a great temple, erected to placate the Goddess known as Clitoris. Some men have sought out this Clitoris and become lost. Others deny its existence and give up trying.”
The men gasp.
“Women, however, swear to know its exact location. Once I showed a wise woman a map of the valley and she said that she could put her finger right on the spot.”
I hold up my arms, high to the sky.
“And it is said, that deep inside the Valley of the Vulva, lies the great and powerful Vageegee! Or at least, that is what it is known as, for no one really has fully unravelled its secrets.”
Gasps are heard from the men, with a hint of trepidation.
“Over the eons some wanderlust souls have journeyed to the Vageegee,” I explain.
“What do they report upon return?” asks my second in command.
“Men and women the same – they speak not. They are restless yet exhausted from the passage. Sedate yet their hearts race. Usually they sleep. In times long gone some would turn to tobacco or a thing called TV.”
“But surely they must say something of their discoveries!”
I pause, inhale deeply and reply. “Let me tell you this. It is said that a man – foolhardy and rogue – once travelled to the Vageegee without first consulting the elders. He took no armour, no protection, and neither map nor guide.
“After many days gone, he stumbled out of the edge of the forest – where the skin is smooth and waxed – consumed as he was with panic, his face covered with sweat. He fell before the king and declared with an air of defeat, ‘Do not abandon the temple! The mighty Clitoris must not be forsaken! For she rages when left ignored!’.”
“What happened to this man?”
“He became delirious, nonsensical in his speech. He mumbled something about heading north, to what he called the button that is a crater, where he said he would rest his chin and contemplate his next move.”
“True to his word, he vanished, but was never heard from again.”
And so the expedition marches on, along the inner thigh, slowly, silently, but with perhaps a little more contemplation than before as we peer down towards the Valley of the Vulva, our tongues a little more firm than before.
Photo thanks to the inimitable, most beautiful Blushing Fox. In her words, "Not a model, not a size 0. Just an everyday woman declaring her love for lingerie to the world."
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