Old Woman Memories
Bella Donna

Watertown, NY

#1 Jan 26, 2014
For years I was confused about where exactly pee came from. It seemed to come from the little tip that stuck out and forward between the lips, but that would indicate a hole, and as far as I could see there wasn't one. The lack of a hole was just one puzzle in the whole puzzling arrangement between my legs, where somewhere there was also supposed to be a hole big enough to let a baby out someday, but where there seemed to be nothing but a convoluted surface of folds overlapping folds. It's not that I was uncurious. As soon as I was alone in bed, my hands slid down into my pajamas to their resting place between my legs. I liked to pull at the flaps of skin, let them spring back. I plowed my finger through the tacky folds, deciphering them. The landscape between my legs was hard to map, though, and I was content not to understand it yet. If there was a vagina in there, it didn't seem to be any concern of mine, any more than those other organs mooted about, whose functions I hardly understood, the kidney, the liver.(When I heard those words, all I pictured was the small, dense lumps from inside the chicken, simmering in a pan, to be picked out with toothpicks.) The sheets were heavy and smelly. Underneath was my laboratory, where painstaking researches went on. Progress was slow and scarcely resembled progress at times, the findings were so bewildering, my methods so whimsical. I was more like an alchemist than a modern scientist, interested in intuitions, affinities, not in logic or proof. I pottered about in the steam, my hands silent confidants of my secret parts. I pulled, I plucked, I unstuck fold from fold. So dedicated was my curiosity that when, later, the inner folds, which had been neat and small, stretched until they sprawled over the outer lips, I thought I had damaged myself, made myself into a freak: half boy, half girl.
I concentrate my thoughts on the front of me, the tip of my clitoris, the vague ache in my crotch, and thrust it all forward in my mind. I throw my legs far apart so no touch of thigh to thigh reminds me that nothing hangs between. I imagine all my sensations the same but elongated, turned into the protruding tip of me, rather than pocketed, swallowed. For a second, a cock erects itself over my pubic bone. Then it shivers, it falls to pieces.

I began inserting the pages of books into my vagina as soon as I located that orifice. In fact, my libidinal attachment to books sped my exploration. I was in the habit of tearing off the corners of pages as I read and chewing them into pulp. I became quite a connoisseur of the different flavors and textures. You could truthfully call me a voracious reader. I delayed tearing off the first little piece as long as I could, but after the first rip I figured I had committed myself and might as well carry on, though I was reprimanded for chewing books that didn't belong to me, like my aunt's brand new copy of Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang. Though labelled a vandal and a hooligan by librarians, I have always felt the warmest affection for books. Why else would I want to ingest them? Later on I read a description of this malady, considered a nervous ailment. I was lumped in with eaters of mud and sand, which seems to me quite another thing, though not without appeal. There is a good word for it: pica, which also, appropriately enough in my case, is a unit of size used in measuring type. I did not consider myself to be suffering a nervous ailment, of course. I liked the taste of books. New white paper, pulpy yellowing paper (dissolves), glossy coated paper that squeaked between the teeth, whose sharp triangular edges needed to be cautiously bitten blunt, I liked it, and also liked the cud I chewed it into, and considered it as good as gum, though lacking in flavor. In fact, on the theory that delicate things are more toothsome, and that everything tastes better with sugar, I once served a tea-party desert of moistened Kleenex with sugar on top.
You Are a F_Loon

Cantonment, FL

#2 Jan 26, 2014
Wow.

Just.

<<WOW>>

Bizarro. Freaky. Rome Topix Craziness Hall of Fame Material.
Buck

Watertown, NY

#3 Feb 1, 2014
Excellent article though. Since I've always known that women are continuously frustrated because they can never get a good look at their genitals this simply proves my point. ONE THING I KNOW IS WOMEN!!
Christian Soldier

Arlington, VA

#5 Feb 25, 2014
Bella Donna wrote:
For years I was confused about where exactly pee came from. It seemed to come from the little tip that stuck out and forward between the lips, but that would indicate a hole, and as far as I could see there wasn't one. The lack of a hole was just one puzzle in the whole puzzling arrangement between my legs, where somewhere there was also supposed to be a hole big enough to let a baby out someday, but where there seemed to be nothing but a convoluted surface of folds overlapping folds. It's not that I was uncurious. As soon as I was alone in bed, my hands slid down into my pajamas to their resting place between my legs. I liked to pull at the flaps of skin, let them spring back. I plowed my finger through the tacky folds, deciphering them. The landscape between my legs was hard to map, though, and I was content not to understand it yet. If there was a vagina in there, it didn't seem to be any concern of mine, any more than those other organs mooted about, whose functions I hardly understood, the kidney, the liver.(When I heard those words, all I pictured was the small, dense lumps from inside the chicken, simmering in a pan, to be picked out with toothpicks.) The sheets were heavy and smelly. Underneath was my laboratory, where painstaking researches went on. Progress was slow and scarcely resembled progress at times, the findings were so bewildering, my methods so whimsical. I was more like an alchemist than a modern scientist, interested in intuitions, affinities, not in logic or proof. I pottered about in the steam, my hands silent confidants of my secret parts. I pulled, I plucked, I unstuck fold from fold. So dedicated was my curiosity that when, later, the inner folds, which had been neat and small, stretched until they sprawled over the outer lips, I thought I had damaged myself, made myself into a freak: half boy, half girl.
I concentrate my thoughts on the front of me, the tip of my clitoris, the vague ache in my crotch, and thrust it all forward in my mind. I throw my legs far apart so no touch of thigh to thigh reminds me that nothing hangs between. I imagine all my sensations the same but elongated, turned into the protruding tip of me, rather than pocketed, swallowed. For a second, a cock erects itself over my pubic bone. Then it shivers, it falls to pieces.
I began inserting the pages of books into my vagina as soon as I located that orifice. In fact, my libidinal attachment to books sped my exploration. I was in the habit of tearing off the corners of pages as I read and chewing them into pulp. I became quite a connoisseur of the different flavors and textures. You could truthfully call me a voracious reader. I delayed tearing off the first little piece as long as I could, but after the first rip I figured I had committed myself and might as well carry on, though I was reprimanded for chewing books that didn't belong to me, like my aunt's brand new copy of Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang. Though labelled a vandal and a hooligan by librarians, I have always felt the warmest affection for books. Why else would I want to ingest them? Later on I read a description of this malady, considered a nervous ailment. I was lumped in with eaters of mud and sand, which seems to me quite another thing, though not without appeal. There is a good word for it: pica, which also, appropriately enough in my case, is a unit of size used in measuring type. I did not consider myself to be suffering a nervous ailment, of course. I liked the taste of books. New white paper, pulpy yellowing paper (dissolves), glossy coated paper that squeaked between the teeth, whose sharp triangular edges needed to be cautiously bitten blunt, I liked it, and also liked the cud I chewed it into, and considered it as good as gum, though lacking in flavor. In fact, on the theory that delicate things are more toothsome, and that everything tastes better with sugar,
So does a woman's pee come through a hole in the clitoris?
Googled It For You

Cantonment, FL

#6 Feb 26, 2014
No.
Christian Soldier wrote:
<quoted text>
So does a woman's pee come through a hole in the clitoris?
Urethral Opening:

http://www.anatomyatlases.org/firstaid/images...

Now learn to do your own simple research.

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