UsUAl sUsPECts
YOU DON’t WANt YOUR FINgERs tO sMEll lIKE VAgINA
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Kimberee Auerbach
| 3/12/09 |
When I was a little girl, I liked two things: getting naked and touching my vagina.Nothing wrong with that. Totally normal. Completely natural. Yet, not so appropriate dur-ing dinner parties with my parents’ riends milling about the living room eating Brie cheese onwater crackers.I had a knack or unveiling mysel at the strangest times, in the most unlikely o places.There’s a photo o me, age 5, standing on top o my tricycle seat, trying hard to keep my bal-ance, wearing nothing but a red bandana on my head. In another shot, I’m chasing our dogaround the backyard wearing my baby doll’s dress, which basically comes up to my neck, andno underwear.You’d think I’d be the type to go to Burning Man, boobs bouncing around a bonre, butI’m not. I’m actually rather buttoned up, and I’m not sure why, or how I went rom being alittle girl who relished her birthday suit to a woman who oten wears a bra to sleep.It’s not like my mom tried to rain on my “I hate clothes” parade. She never punished meor scolded me or told me I was going to hell. She had been sexually abused as a child and wasdetermined to make me eel good about my body, to normalize sexuality, to empower me.When I was 16, she even gave me a “back massager,” and told me to put it “down there.”Her eeling, God bless her, was that i I learned how to give mysel pleasure, then I’d be able totell a man how to pleasure me one day.She didn’t warn me that no man’s ngers would ever be able to vibrate with the samevelocity as a vibrator or that certain men in my lie would actually eel threatened by it. My col-lege boyriend once hid my “back massager” to see how long it would take me to notice it wasmissing. Two days.Still, I never stopped masturbating, not or him, not or anyone. To me, it’s always elt sa-cred, something that’s all mine, something no one can take away rom me. I know that soundssuper dramatic, but I’m serious. For most o my lie, I’ve told mysel that I wasn’t smart enough,pretty enough, whatever-the-uck enough— disgracing Stuart Smalley and all his ne work—sothere’s something about making my body eel good that smacks o sel-love and basic survival.It’s gotten me through two bad relationships with men who didn’t like to kiss me or go downon me, and it’s helped me last long stretches o no man land.Recently, I had a relationship, well, relationship is too strong a word, given he didn’t wantto call it anything, so I’ll just say, recently, I ell in love with a man who rocked my world sexu-ally. He lives in LA and I live in NY, so we didn’t see each other that much, but, man oh man,when we did, the rst thing he would do was tear o my panties and dive down, and then hewould stay down and keep going, and I would keep going, and it was amazing. Turns out, I’mmulti-orgasmic. Who knew?When it ended, I cried and cried and cried.I cried because I missed him, yes, and because I thought we had potential, blah, blah, blah,but more because I didn’t want to give up how he made me eel. When people had asked meabout him, I would say, “He makes me laugh and come all the time. What could be better thanthat?”Nothing. That was the problem.When I went back to my “back massager,” it wasn’t the same. Sure, it still vibrated at un-godly speed and with unhuman consistency, but it wasn’t him. It wasn’t warm, even with theheat on. I tried watching porn to get me going, to keep me going, but I got bored. There’s onlyso much in and out and strings o spit you can watch beore getting disgusted.And then it occurred to me, this whole time, my whole adult lie, I thought I had been agood lover to mysel, but my vibrator had been doing all the work. I didn’t know how to lovemysel at all.When I was in seventh grade, pre-vibrator days, my mother came up with a slogan or meto run or Vice President: “Don’t Dance Around The Issues, Vote Kim Auerbach or Vice Presi-dent, She Bops!” not knowing “She Bops” is another way o saying “She Masturbates.” When Iasked my mother what “masturbate” meant, she said, “Well, Kimmi, you know how when youwere a little girl you liked to touch your vagina, well, it’s kind o like that, it’s not polite to doin public, and it’s important to wash your hands ater, you don’t want your ngers to smell likevagina, but Kimmi, sweetie, there’s nothing wrong with masturbating.”Well intentioned, I know, but it set something up. It set up the notion that vaginas smellbad. I’m not blaming my mother or my distant relationship with my vagina or or my addic-tion to my vibrator or or my tolerance o men who don’t like oral sex, but I am realizing thatthat kind o message can shut you down and make you sel-conscious.I don’t want to be shut down or sel-conscious. I want to get naked and touch my vagina.Pure and simple. So, I’ve put away my “back massager,” and I’m choosing to kick it old school.Ater all these years, I’m nally learning how to give mysel the pleasure I thought onlya machine or man could give me. Granted, I can’t rip o my own panties, and I can’t lick myown pussy, but my ngers, well, let’s just say, they’re doing a ne job, and while I do think it’s agood policy to wash my hands ater, I like when my ngers smell like vagina, when they smelllike my vagina.I may never bounce my boobs around a bonre in the desert or balance naked on a tricycleever again, but I plan on reclaiming that little girl, on being ree again.
PHOtOs
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