He asked the question

Over the past 2.5 years there have been many questions that my lover has asked me. The first being, can I have your number, the second being, why not? This marked the beginning of my journey with real love. Since that warm boozy night we have shared many questions, mine always being the less fun to answer. How old are you? Do you have a black girl fetish?  Why do you always smell like scooter engine?

At this point in our relationship all of my  boring questions have been asked. Now we are asking new types of things. I find myself on the couch next to a huge white man. He is tall, muscular and fills all the spaces that I own in the world. He is warm and allows me to fold into him no matter how uncomfortable it makes him. We have just watched a movie set in England in 1880. It is called Hysteria. It is about hysterical women. Women who ‘suffer’ from a condition we now call, being horny.

The movie finishes, the huge heap of man slides down on the couch to lie down next to me. His face is inches away from mine. His big blue, green, brown, grey, yellow lion eyes look at me. His pupils dilate in the half-light and he stares deeply into me. The real world disappears and we enter a place that belongs just to us. I stare hard back into him. I can see his mind ticking, turning and churning. Something big is coming my way.

We briefly discuss a gift I received a few years ago. A gift that was given to me by my girlfriends. A gift that changed my life and developed my relationship with myself. A large gift that I had thought I no longer had use for because I was no longer single and had more than enough attention on and around my body.

He stared hard, blinked his delicious long dark eyelashes and an excited fire burned behind his lion eyes. Then he asked the question. A question that I had not expected. A question that I am sure most men that I know, are not brave enough to ask. A question that most women would not be brave enough to answer.

My lover, as he lay against me on our couch, asked me if he could buy me a Rabbit. He wanted to know if we could go together to choose a toy for myself, a vibrating, stimulating, pulsing, tickling kind of toy. The words came out and then there was silence. He didn’t breath, he didn’t blink, he just waited. My whole existence relaxed against him, I lent the 2 centimetres between us and kissed his soft, puckered lips. A soft, but powerful kiss. A, yes kiss. A, you are wonderful kiss. A, how did I get so lucky kiss.

He asked me, and I said yes. Yes, yes, yes.

We can’t claim to understand the wants, dislikes, wishes and needs of the vagina, all we can do is hope to please it. When a man accepts that his penis is not the GOD of your vagina, he has then, and only then stepped into the realm of superheroes and magicians. I can’t and would never dare to claim that I understand my vagina. I learn new things every year, every season, every month, everyday.  Now we are in the place where magic happens. We learn together. The best place to be. Man and woman, woman and woman, anyone and Vagina.

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3 thoughts on “He asked the question

    1. I feel that it is important for South African women, women of the world and women of colour to know that speaking abput their vagina is a healthy thing to do. We educate each other by sharing stories. Fear is keeping us stupid.

      Liked by 1 person

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