Pretty Pussy

This essay was published in the Exotica section of Clean Sheets last month.

********

"Take photos of me," she said in a breathily timid and yet assertive rush of words.

I raised my eyebrows.

"I am not all that comfortable with photographing people, sweetie. There is something about the lighting that I don't get..."

"Oh they don't have to be professional. I don't think I would want anyone to see them anyway."

"You've lost me," I said.

"I want to know what I look like... you know... down there."

If possible, my eyebrows rose further. I developed a second hairline just below the first. I think I even squirmed a little. I'm very open and have gotten a lot of requests over the years, but never this one.

"Have you tried a mirror?" I asked.

"Yes, but the perspective is all wrong, and it feels awkward," she was silent for a long moment. "I was hoping I could see myself the way you do..."

And so I did as she asked. She was inordinately pleased to make her pussy's acquaintance. Thrilled, you might say. At last, she could see for herself that hers was, indeed, a pretty pussy. Which started my thoughts down a curious path that I've revisited periodically throughout my life.

I'd gotten up close and personal with her pudendum more than once, and it was the occasion of my telling her that she had a pretty pussy that prompted her to proposition me in that way. You see, a woman's relationship with her pussy is often very complicated, being fraught with unknowns. The territory can be explored, if we dare, but we never really see it -- at least, not the way our lovers do.

Quite often, I think a woman's bisexual curiosity is less about desiring another woman, and more a camouflaged curiosity about themselves, about their own anatomy. Unlike men, we cannot just whip our sex organs out and admire them. We rely on braille and mirrors and craned necks, instead, none of which is a satisfactory, shall we say, definitive view. The first time I came face-to-face with a pussy, I thought "Ahhhh, so this is what mine looks like!" Of course, the second one looked very different from the first. And the third, same thing. After I'd seen a few I came to understand men's apparent fascination with that part of the female anatomy. Men are extremely visual novelty-seekers, and pussies, even more than cocks, have a lot of variety.

Just as cocks look different as they transform from the flaccid stage to the tumescent and back, pussies change with arousal. I love the ones with larger outer labia that completely conceal the clitoris and the inner labia. As the owner of such a prize becomes aroused, the outer labia part. The inner labia unfold, the clitoris begins to protrude, and at some point the pussy looks like a ripe, juicy piece of fruit hanging from the crotch of, well, to use poetic license, a maidenhair tree.

It wasn't until I started photographing my own, though, that I realized pussies change with age. As I've grown older, my pussy has gotten poutier, and--dare I say it--lewder. Its variations in plumpness can be charted with my weight. The outer labia, still pale, have grown darker at the seam where they meet. My inner labia have darkened as well, and they seem, well, longer somehow. The inner pink looks even more vivid, probably because of the darker contrast. And my clit, it seems to have grown. Are clits like men's ears? Do they keep growing as we age? I think not.

Most likely, it has to do with arousal. In my early photos my pussy looks pale and virginal, and scared. Which it probably was. It had never been photographed before. But nowadays, as I set up my camera and take my position, I feel that tingle inside, that exhibitionist's arousal over making a display of myself. My skilled fingers creep inside, teasing out the wetness, making me gleam invitingly.

I like to think my pussy has gotten better-looking with age. And while that may just be vanity, or an improvement in my photography skills, I know one thing for certain. My relationship with my pussy has gotten a whole lot better. Familiarity breeds contempt, they say. I say "they" are idiots. Familiarity breeds prettier pussies. Enough said.

Photographic Weekend

This weekend brought a long-awaited visit from a friend in Seattle. The weather cooperated, in that it did not rain, and the diffuse light from the cloud-cover meant stable conditions for photography. I brought my point-and-shoot Olympus and he brought his lovely SLR and off we went to the Classical Chinese Garden and the Japanese Garden. It was one of those weekends that reminded me of why I've chosen to settle in the Pacific Northwest. I enjoyed sharing my love for my home. I enjoyed sharing that quiet appreciation, and the mutual awareness of our environment, its beauty, and the need to take time to get the composition right for capturing what our eyes saw in a snapshot. We were at the Chinese garden before 10am, which meant it was not yet crowded with people. I'd last visited it in mid-March with the Englishman, and the change was quite dramatic--all the bare-branches have fleshed out, and where once there were hints of dramatic colour, the entire garden is alive with it. We stopped in the Tower of Cosmic Reflection for tea and steamed buns. I wished it was warm enough to throw open the windows for an unobstructed view of the garden, but the view was very fine all the same. Before we left he bought a painting in the chinese peasant style, called "Cat Heaven". We were both amused by the comments of the staff as he waited for them to ring it up -- apparently it was one of the favorite pieces on display and they were sad to see it go.

From there we headed up into Washington Park to the Japanese Garden, which is about four acres of every possible colour of green known to man. I wished I could have recorded the sound of the water, which was every where. It rushed from the waterfall, it trickled from fountains, it flowed over stone and rippled the ponds. There was no wind and few birds. There were people, but it was not crowded, and people were respectful of photographers, trying to stay out of the frame.

I enjoyed two of the children there. A boy and a girl, dark haired and dark eyed, both with magic wands, and her in a tutu and diadem. I asked if she was a princess and her brother said "yes" and that she had wings, too, but mom took them away so they wouldn't get lost. I parsed that two ways--the way he intended, ie, that her wings were probably in the back of the car, so mom didn't have to listen to his sister cry if the wings fell off somewhere unnoticed. But I also heard it another way, that mom had taken away his sister's wings for fear her daughter would be lost. Some parents do that--some adults do that--keep children safe by clipping their wings.

My friend from Seattle mentioned the theory as to why Man likes gardens so much. He said it is because they illustrate the illusion that man can conquer nature. I suppose that might be it. Certainly, I enjoy the symmetry and the tidiness of contrived landscapes, but I also enjoy nature unleashed, in all her wild, tumbling glory. Its just not as safe. So perhaps... perhaps Man likes gardens so much because in the tamed and cultivated places we can enjoy the beauty of Nature while feeling safe and at peace. Which reminds me of an EB White quote: I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he spent less time proving that he can outwit Nature and more time tasting her sweetness and respecting her seniority.