Here's where dudes and I differ:
The guys I've been with have all thought they had the best penises. I can't think of a single one who turned down a blow job. They never asked, not even out of fake courtesy, "Are you sure?" They just laid back and accepted. As it should be.
Some of them would pull out their dongs in semi-public places as though the rest of mankind needed to witness the miracle. They talked about or photographed their big (always big, didn't matter what size) dicks in such a way that I half expected to see humblebrags about them on Twitter, hashtag blessed.
Me? More often than not, I'm apologizing on my vagina's behalf. For one, I think it's ugly. I could tend to it all day, and there'd be no use. Why would anyone want to put their face up close to it?
(I'm not saying this like its a good thing, but it's real in my head. And maybe I'm not alone in feeling this way, what with so many women claiming in polls that when it comes to oral, they're like Giving Trees, hardly ever ones to ask or receive. We all feel bad about our vaginas.)
In the beginning, when I first started having sex, there was zero self-consciousness. I didn't think about it in anything but positive terms. I got what I wanted when I wanted it, and I loved it. As it should be.
Things changed the day my then live-in boyfriend said, almost too matter-of-factly, that he didn't like to go down on me because of the way my vagina smelled. I blocked out his exact phrasing because I was struck dumb by the whole very short conversation, but anyway, that's the gist. I most definitely never asked for oral again, from him or anyone else.
Here lies my putrid vagina, mortally wounded by shame.
The other guys wanted to fix me and my vagina problems. They were determined to be the ones to change my mind, telling me to trust them, they adored everything about it, but my monster insecurity was stronger than they were, and I'd wriggle my way out and snap my legs together, or I'd sit there pretending to let go and be free, when really I was wondering how I could reasonably move things along to the part where I wasn't panicking about all that was foul about me. Some of them were so gung-ho they almost managed to change my mind, but not enough to change my course. I was already too far gone.
Which brings me to Dustin. Dustin being who he is to me, I've been extra aware of keeping myself in a certain place, irrational though it may be. I get all fancy for dates. I text and call way less than I have with other guys in the past, and when I do call, I feel like maybe I'm using up my points too quickly. I want him to desire me and never get bored. I'd like to be a fantasy chick for as long as possible, and part of that means keeping his eyes and mouth and nose away, far, far away, from my vagina.
Dustin is totally cool with this. By the time he got anywhere near the zone, months into sleeping with me, I was already a lock as MVP of the world series of oral (not that anybody's keeping score). The moment I sensed his head going near my knees, I grabbed him by the arms and yanked him back up where he belonged, and he didn't protest.
"You wouldn't let me," is what Dustin said when we later had a come-to-Jesus thing about it.
"I just want to state for the record that if you never went down on me from this point forward, you would be okay with that," I said.
"Of course I would be!" he said, perhaps a little too eagerly.
"But," he added, "if you're not okay with that, then that's an issue we need to work out."
He said we'd talk about it later. I don't know what more there is to say, really. There was a mental break that happened back when I found out the smell of my vagina offended other parties, and I'm not sure it's worth trying to get over, my now-dormant, once full-blown love of oral sex notwithstanding. Maybe too, neither of us is willing to try, and suddenly, I'm faced with this reality of never again. I know it's of my own doing, but fear and loathing like this is hard to conquer.
Man, my vagina's a sad sack. Too bad it can't lick its own wounds, huh? That would be really nice right about now.
Read Helin's earlier "I'm With Him" columns here, here, and here.
Photo credit: Sisi Recht
Helin Jung is a writer and editor based in Los Angeles. She was formerly the executive lifestyle editor of Cosmopolitan.com.
