The Art of Fanny Reading

What Is a Fanny Reader?

Do you know what a fanny reader is? For those of you reading this in the good old U.S. of A., I’m not referring to your arse. I’m referring to your lady parts, your vagina.

If you’ve never heard of a fanny reader, I have a funny tale to tell you.

It all started in July this year, at the height of what would become a record-breaking run of hot weather in the UK. Even up here in Scotland, it was roasting.

I can’t remember when I last wore a bra, and even then I can’t remember when I last wore a bra without having to wring the sweat out of it every thirty fucking minutes.

It was my little sister’s fault. She’s gullible and always getting herself into trouble, joining pyramid schemes that involved selling pyramid schemes to deaf, blind and mute people. You know the sort, right?

Well.

Shelly’s her name. Shel for short, as in shell-shock Shel. It’s a name we gave her when she was a kid.

She met a bloke on Tinder.

Yeah, it’s that kind of story.

And he claimed he was a fanny reader.

When she told me, I thought he was a flyboy and was trying to suggest he was some kind of fanny whisperer, like he was really good at fellatio and whatnot.

Shel was excited.

For obvious reasons.

But as they went on a few dates, he would tease her about his special gift.

She got pretty excited, imagining what his tongue was going to do to her nether regions.

That, plus the roasting heat, made life unbearable.

Because he was a classy fucker, he asked her, on their fourth date, if she fancied coming back to his flat so he could show her what a fanny reader was.

At that point, only a fucking tsunami would have been able to stop her. She was desperate and hankering to get into the buff. She was worried that if he delayed it any longer, her vagina would be honking.

So they arrived at his lovely flat, and he insisted on taking her around it before taking her to his studio.

She thought that was an odd name to call it.

But anyway.

He told her to get naked and lie on the couch. She thought that sounded a bit like something a counsellor or shrink would ask, but she needed to be free of her fupa-swallowing thong.

She did wonder why he didn’t want to kiss her, but she just lay down like a good lass.

She had shaved only the top half. She liked to rock a fanny beard, if you will.

He smiled and asked if she was comfortable.

She said she’d be more comfortable if he wasn’t just staring at her fanny.

He sat down on his swivel chair and rolled over as she opened her thighs nice and wide.

She worried about the smell.

He reassured her that he had smelled worse from other clients.

He then held her hand and asked her if she was nervous.

“Not more than usual for a first time with a new bloke.”

He stroked his chin and looked curiously at her neat and tidy labia. His piercing eyes were driving her fucking crazy as he then started to ask her if she had suffered the loss of a beloved pet recently.

She frowned a little but answered, “Yeah, why?”

“The way your labia crease as they cover your vagina is an indication of stress. There are also light marks across the mons pubis that tell me you are concerned about money or employment. Your hairs are all pointing downwards and have a slight greying, which tells me you shouldn’t worry.”

She wanted to say something, to get up and run away, but he was cute and she felt like an eejit.

Really, I think she wanted to see if he foresaw money in her life.

He closed his eyes for a moment and said, “Your clitoris is communicating with me. I’m getting a message coming through.”

“Do you have a piercing by any chance, lass?”

“Yeah, on my hood. Why?”

She frowned, feeling put on the spot and trying to breathe through her frustration and the fact that his flat wasn’t well ventilated. All she could smell was his Hugo Boss and her leaking puss.

“It doesn’t like it. You should have it removed.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“Clits never lie, lass.”

“Fuck. Do you not want to stop talking and take advantage of my fanny sitting right in front of you?”

“That would be highly unprofessional. I’m also gay.”

“You’re pulling my leg, pal, aren’t you?” she said, trying to fan her… uh, fanny, to cool it down.

It was still leaking.

“Do you mind opening your labia, lass?”

“Don’t you want to do it for me?”

“It would be highly inappropriate for me to touch your genitalia. Even with your consent. I took a Hippocratic oath.”

“Really? I’m lying here dying of heat and frustration, and you don’t want to touch me because of an oath you took for a fake fucking job?”

“Yeah, except it’s not a fake job. I went to college to study for it.”

“Really? What shit college did you go to?”

Shel was feral and angry. She had even slid her lips open like he asked and could feel sweat pooling around her arse cheeks on the leather sofa.

“A small community college. The course was the Art of Fanny Reading, and I qualified with a BFR.”

“Oh yeah? Let me guess, that stands for a Bachelor of Fanny Reading?”

“So you have heard of it?”

Shel leaned back, more frustrated, warmer and still had an itch to scratch, though anger was slowly taking over.

“So, back to your reading, lass. There is a little discolouring around your hood. Likely from the piercing, but it also indicates a lack of control in your life. Are you prone to making rash decisions without considering the consequences?”

I burst out laughing when she told me that.

Apparently, she just cocked her head to the side and asked, “What did you think? You’re a fanny reader and I’m just here waiting for a shag or oral or anything to take my mind off the sweat under my arse cheeks, around my arsehole and under my tits.”

“If you’re not up for a shag, then I think I’d better go.”

“Shel, lass. Wait.”

As Shel stood up, she stopped, pulling her soaked thong halfway up her calves, and looked at him.

“What is it, for fuck’s sake?”

“Do you want to know what the freckles around your pelvis mean?”

“Not really, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“They are a sign that you will soon take a trip that will lead to romance and a work opportunity.”

She huffed and grabbed her skirt and top and put them on in the foyer because she didn’t want to spend one more minute with the weirdo.

That’s when she met Charlie.

Charlie was kind enough to order her an Uber and didn’t make any crude remarks about how wet her clothes were or the fact that she was getting dressed in the hallway.

They exchanged numbers so she could pay him back.

They went for drinks.

He owned a bar and asked her what her view was on working with people you were dating.

She asked him when she could start.

So there you have it, ladies and gents.

That’s what a fanny reader is.

Oh, and she has regular monthly readings with Anton…

In spite of all he put her through.

*

Thanks for reading! 

This was inspired by a comments section chat with LC, so I blame her for giving me half an idea. If I win, I'll praise and thank her.

For more too hot lunacy, check out my other entry: