When I was fifteen, I took a Health class and got "the talk,"-- (it's not what you're thinking because this is Tennessee). It started with the boys and girls being separated and mass-confusion ensued like bees who lost their queen-- (despite being female, I'm still scared of ***** diagrams).
Our speaker's name was Mary, but I think that was faked.
We were fed PG-rated and legally mandated information about how our bodies are meant for HUSBANDS ONLY-- (joke's on her, half of my diet consists of Taco Tuesday). Mary guided us through the "exciting changes" of our body only to declare quite firmly that "*** doesn't even feel good"-- (unless you're married, of course, because your holes are holy).
And yet I was unconvinced.
And thus began my intrinsic journey of "pearl-hunting." After all, if it didn't feel good with my hand, I couldn't imagine what a **** would do for me and, boy oh boy, that woman was so WRONG (**** on that, Mary). But I digress, because I confess, I never really even gave my ******* a second thought before I took an ABSTINENCE CLASS.
Y'all don't even know how much wine I had before I wrote this.