Writing About Pussy

It’s (how should I type it) queer that writing about pussy, a lot about pussy, within a sexually-oriented story without ever even trying to imply that a woman is defined by her pussy, or as a pussy, raised some reading spirits. I may have on one occasion or two, but it was used ironically and it was funny. Unless the grass kicked in and I found everything funny. No! No! I reread it a few times and it was funny (I proofread at least twice to correct typos and exchange sounds and words).

Moreover, I use rhymes and alliteration extensively. Some readers may think that they’re reading poetry. It may be the point. Everything should be poetic. Even a pussy in disguise or a prick on the run. Funny is a plus, but there are, of course, things that aren’t. For example, Bugs Bunny revising the refrain to What’s up, cop? No! That’s actually funny. Let’s see! A woman getting raped. Now, how can you make fun of that? It should be a crime. I do draw a line.

Oh, there are other offenses on the not-funny side. But they are usually treated on the un-pornographic perimeter. Oh, I can slide some intercourse here and there. Even fuck and fucking to make a point. But I stop there. This piece, for example, could fare well in some non-sexual publications. Of course, it depends on the rest. My initial title was actually Writing About Pussy for Pussy. But the irony was thin. It was a little funny though. Writing About Pussy was fair.

By the way, I love cats but I don’t have one since 1978. I guess that my avatar is my cat. Or, I am the cat. I’m called Maurice. It only coincides with my middle initial. At least, that’s the story.

What to do, then? About the pussy issue. I exchanged words. And thus sounds were also exchanged. The subject became the prick. Who’s going to call me crassy and offensive when I’m shit-slapping a prick. Pussy I adored from every angle and sense. All pricks are pricks. Even myself on many occasions. I even typed one story titled, I Had a Dream About a New Social Network: Prickbook. It wasn’t really my title, but one has to compromise. The one after (but typed before), I Had Another Dream About a New Social Network: Assbook, was almost sex-free.

What’s the point, then? I can type whatever I want about pricks. I never need to use the word man or men again. Imagine if I had done that with cats. I would have been crucified in space. Time would have had no meaning. Oh, Einstein! I can’t believe you’re dead. There are two words you should never forget, like No and Yes. Another two words! Pussy and Pain. Just kidding. Charlie Chaplin. I’m only half-kidding. Tomorrow and Today. Today I’m alive. Tomorrow I may be dead. But a prick is always a prick.

I even typed a story with pussies and pricks. It was half-baked, half-assed. The edible wasn’t good enough. I’m also doing keto. It’s fun. It’s healthy. But it’s the grass that makes it cozy. Peppermint too. My stories are streaming with peppermint tales. I even wrote her a poem titled, Mentha x piperita: Mint of Love. You’ll love her too. She’s like a woman to me. I’m in love with a plant. Cannabis may be jealous. But a threesome is the best, especially when there’s only one prick, or no prick at all.

There seems to remain an old issue though. I’m still a prick whether I write about pussy or about pricks. Any prick story needs a pussy. Well not every prick story. Some involve only pricks and their mothers. I don’t know about that one. Was it crassy? How about Blues and their dues? Sexuality is so crassy. Pussy may be the most beautiful word. How can I stop using it? Pussy! Pussy! Pussy! And again! Pussy! So now, the pussy has become secondary in my stories. In the back again. Like women were and many still are. It was the front and centre in my stories before. And surely the end. Pussy everywhere. Even the prick was a pussy. Who doesn’t love or at least like pussy? Only a dictator. There are little dictators everywhere. Please let me know if I’m being crassy and offensive!

P.S. I suspect that I wasn’t crassy enough given that the more it’s crassy, the more it’s less offensive. A queer fact. Am I being too offensive, then? I guess that I was right to switch to pricks. But aren’t pricks more offensive than pussy? Relationships are arduous (sounds better than hard). It’s the prick’s turn to play nice. But how can anyone not play nice with pussy? Oh, I see. You may be asking where’s the woman in this? A woman comes before (pun intended by accident) the pussy, unless it’s a story about a pussy and a prick as entities, à la Woody Allen’s The Breast. Yes! I have typed one of those too. Pen and Vag. That’s the short of it. I hate puns. They’re like nuns.

P.P.S. Of course, the sample (pussy and pricks) was limited to several publications, and thus may not be representative of a general leaning. We’ll see where the pussy is king, or at least queen.

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