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 ovary 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 "sex 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 dick would do for me and, boy oh boy,
that woman was so WRONG (suck on that, Mary).
But I digress, because I confess, I never really even
gave my clitoris a second thought before I took an
ABSTINENCE CLASS.