Imagine if your vagina could talk. What would it say if you went on a bike ride?
The Vagina Monologue – not for men
Oh dear me, not those knickers, can’t you hear me scream? Probably not as I can hardly breathe, never mind speak. Hello. Yes, I said hello. There’s no need to try and flatten me. I like these new padded pants. The gel has grooves. My lips can move. Why are you looking at me in horror? Why are you calling me camel toe? Heaven help me, here comes another layer. Puleeaase, not the tights too. And shorts!
Ouch! Easy girl, I’m the only foofoo you’ve got and the only one you’ll ever have. Do you know how I feel? Are you listening to me?
Damn you woman. My lips are scrunched against the saddle, both the innies and the outies and they’re still smarting from the wax attacks. It’s not as if you’re an athlete. And you’re definitely past it for a career as a pornstar.
Oooh! That’s tingly. Gently does it. Ow! Here we go, the clitoral assault course. Bump and grind. I’m on fire. Your sex is on FIRE. I’m not designed to be rubbed raw for hours. Do something. I mean, stop doing things. Get off the bike. Have a cup of tea and a wee. I could do with a breath of air and it’s getting a bit damp down here too.
We’ve stopped. I can relax.
So you can hear. And placing your hand on me and making funny faces isn’t helping. It’s not as if I can feel anything anyway. I’m numb. That’s better. You’ve managed to pluck those awful knickers from between my lips. I thought you were trying to gag me.
Bright lights. Bright lights. Phew, fresh air. Remember to pat, don’t rub or the paper might spontaneously ignite.
I think the swelling is going down and my lips are plumping up again. Have another cup of tea. Go on, have a piece of cake. Take your time.
What was that? Did I hear you correctly? Did you say you were going to tilt the nose of the saddle down a tad and ride commando from now on?
Maybe you could buy a new saddle and all will be forgiven.