I Have a Cooter, Oh Yes I Do….

I want to talk to the ladies today, if’n ya don’t mind. Ladies? Grab a cuppa somethin’ and scroll down. You menfolk…well…you can come along for the ride, as long as you keep your hands to yourself.
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Okay.
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Here’s the thing….
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Ladies, my ladies, our genetic makeup is such that we have an ‘innie’ cooter instead of an ‘outie’ penis. So be it.

BUT.

Have you ever looked at your cooter?

I mean, with a mirror?

It’s…well…it’s weird.

‘Cause you have to position the mirror just right and focus and squint and hope the lighting is good.

And figure out what stuff is.

Last night, after a wonderful shower and attacking myself with a razor, I took a few minutes to look at that between-the-thighs area.

It looked like a taco-in-a-taco-in-a-rose.

Kiiiiiiind of.

But not really.

I know what it should look like. Books and porn and pamphlets from the doctor. Inserts in the tampon box. “Our Bodies, Our Selves.”

Trouble is, there’s so much stuff down there. I know where the pee comes from, I know where the penis fits, I know the butterfly-fold of the clitoris.

But altogether, it’s overwhelming!

With a penis, you have the shaft, the head, that line down the underside, the balls. Pretty compact. Pretty functional.

But the cooter?

Man. It’s like a Swiss Army Knife of functionality!

Why all the lips? To keep out invading armies of germs? Or to help us flutter skyward? Or just to look like a Georgia O’Keefe painting?

Why is there that little ball thing inside and at the bottom? Or is that just me?

Do lovers really find it attractive, find it sexy, or do they like it because of what they know it does and how it makes you feel and how it makes them feel?

I urge you, next time you’re alone in the bathroom, drop trou and take a look at your little flower.

Un-frickin’-believable!