I never thought I could feel so damn good with my legs pinned to my ears, lying back on an office chair, after hours. The guy I was dating at the time really had a way with his tongue, unlike anything I had experienced before. He was working late that night, so I dropped in after work to keep him company. As soon as he had clocked off, he wasted no time in taking me to his office lounge area and, next thing I knew, I had soaked the chair and his beard.
I wasn’t concerned about how my vulva looked up close to another human being; my mind wasn’t preoccupied with paranoid thoughts while someone’s head was between my thighs. All that mattered just then was my pleasure and comfort. Yet it hadn’t always been this way.
There used to be a spiral of thoughts going around my head whenever I was with a sexual partner. Why weren’t they going down on me for long enough? Did I smell funny? Was there too much hair? I couldn’t enjoy myself properly as I wasn’t in the moment or relaxing at all.
I simply thought that my vulva wasn’t “acceptable” – I felt it should include neat outer labia, with no pubic hair, that it should smell “good”, and then, on top of that, as a Black woman, that my vulva shouldn’t be “too dark”. But I didn’t come to these conclusions all on my own – they’d been inflicted on me by society, as well as those I was dating.
But when it was my turn to receive, it would often last less than a minute.
My insecurities about my vulva began when I first let men go down on me. We would often start foreplay with me performing oral sex first. But when it was my turn to receive, it would often last less than a minute.
Throughout my late-teens and early twenties, I kept meeting men who either weren’t enthusiastic about giving oral sex or didn’t do it at all. I was the common denominator, so I thought it must be me and just accepted it. Once, I went over to a new casual partner’s house and we started a game of Truth Or Dare. The wine was flowing, I was comfortable, barely clothed, and the mood was just right... up until I dared him to kiss my pussy. “What? With all that hair?” was his response. I didn’t “prep” for sex by shaving or waxing, so she was a little grown-out down there, but I didn’t expect that reaction, especially from someone who wasn’t completely hairless themselves. His comment finally confirmed my paranoia.
But instead of changing the men I dated, I stopped guys from going down on me.
But instead of changing the men I dated, I stopped guys from going down on me. The pressure society inflicts on women to look flawless at all times, while not pushing these standards on men, knocked the confidence out of my sex life.
It got to a point where I realised I couldn’t keep having such negative experiences. Without oral, foreplay was heavily centred on my partner and penetration was painful. What was the point in any sexual activity if I was overthinking everything and not enjoying myself? I then refused to take things further with anyone who wasn’t making me 100% comfortable. I stopped seeing people who told me they didn’t do oral sex at all, and this would tend to come to light through simple and direct communication. It became a lot easier to weed out the men I wasn’t compatible with.
If I didn’t experience enthusiasm, passion or initiation from them, then it wasn’t for me. In the years that followed, my vulva was not a problem for the partner who always encouraged me to ride his face. Nor was it too dark for the partner who asked me to FaceTime him, complimenting me while I touched myself and instructing me to position the camera to face it.
I started to allow myself to feel good.
My partners’ positive attitudes began to improve my own, and I started to allow myself to feel good. I realised that every vulva is unique, and there definitely isn’t a “right” way for one to look. Yet we’re constantly told that we’re only desirable if we look a certain way. I could never have been as adventurous as I am today without unlearning this toxic narrative. There is absolutely nothing wrong with the way that my – or anyone’s – vulva looks. Once we stop pushing the idea of perfection onto ourselves and one another, we will all feel a little freer and definitely a lot better.
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Jasmine Lee-Zogbessou is a freelance lifestyle writer and producer. She particularly enjoys covering stories that impact marginalised groups, as well as lifestyle & entertainment features on sex, dating & relationships and film & TV. Her work can be found on Badoo, Cosmopolitan, Glamour, PinkNews, The House Magazine, Wellcome Collection and more. She's also a bit of a self-proclaimed nerd — especially when it comes to video gaming.
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