I went to see Beauty and the Beast with my son this weekend and I cried all the way through. It made me want to fall in love again. It’s been a while since I’ve met someone who I click with on anything more than a surface level. I’ve wasted a lot of time trying to make things work with Gastons because they look good and because they are available, and I’ve friend zoned a lot of Beasts because they just don’t do it for me looks wise. I respected Belle for not giving a fuck that her man had a hairy face and buck teeth and for waiting to fall in love with someone who adored her mind and soul rather than sacrificing her happiness for the first sexy man that came along declaring his love for her. Although I actually found the Beast in the film far sexier than the Prince he turned into. Anyway, we should all be a bit more like Belle.

I am so ready to fall in love again, I love being in love, I’m in a good place emotionally but my line is currently dry and has been since I let go of Fuckboy Kieron last week (Big dick vs little willy). A week doesn’t sound like a long time but I thrive on male attention and I find it hard not having someone to feel excited about (I’m working on that though). It’s hard to meet people when you’re boycotting online dating, especially during the hibernation season when I don’t go out much, thankfully it’s spring so it’s not long ‘til Festival season begins. Festivals are a good place to meet guys. Because I live in the gym people are always questioning why I don’t meet anyone there. For starters there’s about 3 good looking guys at my gym so it’s not as much of a meat market as people seem to think, but also, because I have such a tendency to end up in fucked up situations, I’d really rather not end up in one with someone I have to potentially see while I’m wearing lycra several times a week.

Having said that, when I first joined my gym I did end up talking to one guy. He was nice looking, he worked as an electrician and lived locally, we knew a lot of the same people and we had similar interests. We had 2 dates and on the second he took me to Tinsel Town in Hampstead for Milkshakes. We were having fun on the car journey home making up our own lyrics to Drake tunes, I liked him, he made me laugh, and so when he leaned over and kissed me I was well up for it. Initially the kiss was nice, just lips and gentle biting but as soon as he opened his mouth all I could smell was the distinct smell of Bacterial Vaginosis.

BV is literally the most disgusting smell you could ever have the misfortune of sniffing and there I was, inhaling it while we kissed. For a moment I got a wave of anxiety that the smell was coming from between my own legs but I quickly realised that it was coming from his mouth. The kiss lasted for about 3 seconds because I was extraordinarily close to vomiting in his face. I do not know what that guy had been eating but it made his mouth smell like an infected vagina and I did not want to be anywhere near it again. So that was the end of that one. It was a shame because I still see him at the gym and he really wears a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms well but there’s no way I could risk being exposed to that fishy halitosis again, my stomach couldn’t take it.

Isn’t it just fucked up that as well as being inflicted with periods every month we women can also develop two of the most disgusting ailments known to man, Thrush and BV, completely by ourselves; usually by being too clean or taking anti-biotics (or sometimes it’s caused by the guy you are sleeping with at the time, you ever meet a guy that your vagina just really didn’t like? If you get constant bouts of BV or thrush with him I think you should take that as a sign from the Universe and run). As much as I bang on about loving vaginas and how amazing they are, I’m really just talking metaphorically and using the vagina as a symbol for Woman. I really don’t love actual vaginas. Apart from my own of course. You absolutely HAVE to love your own, you must take good care of her, respect her, keep her safe, and clean and be sure that her guestlist is only open to VIP members. Other vaginas are beautiful to look at of course, and sometimes it can be a bit of a turn on to see one (under the right circumstances – through a screen) but I have absolutely no desire to touch or lick one (ever again). They make me feel a bit nauseous when they don’t belong to me.

I have a very close male friend called Darren who classifies himself not as a boob or bum man but as a vagina man (sounds like some kinda horny superhero). He couldn’t care less about any of her other features as long as a woman has, what he considers to be, the perfect vagina. His idea of the perfect vagina is a neat, closed, hairless, porno looking vag. He’s so intent on his quest for perfect vaginas that he’s actually ended it with women who he has really liked after seeing their noonie’s for the first time just because they’ve got a tiny bit of flap going on. He’s a Fuckboy and he teaches me A LOT, I teach him too and I like to believe that I’ve made life just a little bit better for at least some of his women. But with this particular subject he just won’t learn.

Last year he turned 35 and had an epiphany, he got really serious about not being a Fuckboy anymore and he was clear about wanting to settle down. He’s a great guy all round (apart from to women who he has fucked) and a he’s a good friend to me, so once he’d convinced me that he was a changed man, I set him up with my friend Sofia. Sofia is Lithuanian but she’s lived in the UK for all of her adult life. She’s a bit of a hustler, a hard-working, money motivated woman. She’s got an unbelievable body and a pretty face but she’s shit with men. Her online dating luck has been worse than mine (her last Tinder date had an ear fetish and stared at her lobes for the duration of the date, ain’t no man cumming in my earhole you know). I thought her and Darren would get along but I was wrong.

They started their interaction with a series of What’s App messages and the banter flowed so they had a phone conversation, according to Sofia it was one of those ones where you are on the phone for so long that you end up wandering round your house flirtatiously picking up and putting down ornaments, watching yourself talking in the mirror and then eventually laying down on your bed because you know that you don’t want this call to end until you’re ready to fall asleep. They got on to the subject of whether Darren was a bum or boob man and so he told Sofia that he was a pussy man. Sofia is a strong woman and so when he told her that he only liked a particular type of closed, hairless vagina she started arguing with him and basically telling him that he was a paedophile. Darren was fucking fuming. I then had to deal with them both on the phone individually cussing each other and cussing me. Sofia later told me that Darren’s comments got into her head because she doesn’t think that she has the perfect vagina and so a few days after their conversation she had started looking into vaginal reconstructive surgery. I was upset with her for being influenced by the opinions of some irrelevant man and it made me sad that she didn’t love her vagina.

They all look so different, and there are only a few pricks out there like Darren who give a shit about stuff like that at all. I have another close male friend (who is also a Fuckboy but who is insanely good looking, way hotter, richer and an all round better catch than Darren, sorry Daz) and he loves hangy flaps, the longer the better in his books. You’ve just got to embrace whatever you’ve got and fly your fanny flag proudly, the same way that men just need to get comfortable with whatever they’ve been blessed with down there. The right person will love the shit out of your labia regardless of how it looks and there is certainly not one vulva ideal.

I have had two close encounters with other people’s vaginas during my adult life (and once during childhood when I was born) and I didn’t enjoy either of them. The first time was when I was 18 and it was completely unintentional. My best friend at the time was a girl called Jazmin. Jazz was extremely beautiful, half Jamaican, quarter Chinese, quarter Russian, she had long hair and the kind of body that if you saw it in pictures you would think it was photoshopped. She was 22 and had her own place, I idolised her a bit, she had her shit together and she looked amazing. We were close and spent a lot of time together. I loved her. We raved together most weekends and I’d always stay at hers afterwards. She was seeing a DJ so we would tag along with him to a variety of clubs throughout the night, I thought he was a bit of a flash dickhead and I did not think he was good looking. He looked a bit like a stocky, short, badly dressed, P Diddy, he wore big gold chains and a backwards cap and he always wore sunglasses indoors.

I thought Jazz could do way better but she was hooked on him because he was an emotionally unavailable piece of shit. He was a major Fuckboy. He’d do all that shit like tell her he was on his way to hers and then switch off his phone and not turn up and tell her the next day that he had fallen asleep and then get angry with her for being angry with him about it. I’d constantly have to spend nights in the toilets at raves comforting Jazz because she’d seen him talking to other chicks or exchanging numbers with them. He’d always manage to convince her they were business contacts in the end. I don’t know how she believed that there was a sudden influx of mixed race female promoters on the club scene who wanted to book Fuckboy’s services but she did.

One night we had been to a dodgy warehouse rave where he had been playing. It was actually an amazing rave but you had to be off your nut to enjoy it because everyone else was. Buzzing people look disgusting when you’re not buzzing, but when you’re all in it together you see even the most hard core gurning jaw as being beautiful. We took it pretty far that night, I think we took pills as well as MDMA. I don’t remember much of it, I just remember it being really fun and really trippy. We all ended up back at Jazz’s house at about 8am. We smoked a joint in bed and then crashed, me on the outside edge, Jazz in the middle and P Diddy on the end. I was completely zoned out, my brain was awake but my body was completely wiped. I could hear Puffy snoring loudly and he was keeping me up. Jazz was spooning me and she started running her hand from my hip to my thigh. It felt amazing and relaxing, I wasn’t completely sure whether this was a sexual thing but it felt good and I didn’t want her to stop. Anyway, this is not Fifty Shades of Pink so I’m sure you don’t want me to give you the exact details of what went down (we both did) so I’m just going to give you the highlights (or low lights, depending on how you look at it).

DJ Waste Daddy remained comatose the whole time somehow, which I was thankful for because I did not want him getting involved. We mainly kissed and touched each other’s boobs (that night I also discovered that I find other people’s nipples a bit creepy too) but apart from the nipples and the vagina my first lesbian experience was all going surprisingly well. I think I was just so completely off my tits on Class A’s that I zoned out and went with the flow, a few times I actually thought I was with a man and then I’d feel her hair or her skin and I’d suddenly come back to reality. She went down on me but I couldn’t concentrate on the feeling because her hair kept tickling my bum (not in a nice way) and I noticed from my bird’s eye view that one of her eyelash strips was hanging off and I couldn’t stop staring at it. I stopped her after a while and she lay back and clearly expected me to return the favour, I wasn’t feeling it but it would have been rude not to and I kind of wanted to know what it was like so I went for it.

I had never really had any in-depth thoughts about what it might be like to lick a fanny before, but I certainly did not expect it to be like how it was. It was fucking weird. I just really hated it. I felt like I was licking a raw chicken breast with it’s skin on. The taste was like a salty lemon and her clit felt like a big vein with a baked bean on the end. I felt suffocated between her thighs and there was just too much vagina all up in my face. I don’t even like thinking about it. I didn’t do it for long. I tried my hardest when I was down there I really did, I tried to do what I thought I would like myself but after a few minutes it just got too much for me and I stopped and said ‘That’s enough now, I’m definitely not a lesbian’. The traumatic reality had killed my mood and I felt really gross. I could smell her punani on my top lip for ages and it was making me feel sick, it didn’t smell bad, it just smelt of vag and I’m clearly not a vag fan. I’m just glad she didn’t have BV. We stopped and it was all a bit awkward. We just sort of nodded at each other and went to sleep back to back. We are still friend’s now but we never discuss it and I’d never tell her how I feel. There was nothing wrong with her pussy. I just absolutely do not like pussy (in my face).

I think it’s clear that I wasn’t feeling the whole muff diving scenario because I am not a lesbian and I’m not bi-sexual. I have lots of friends who are and my lesbian friends feel the same about dicks as I do about pussy. I hope my story doesn’t put anyone off eating pussy because obviously that’s just my experience and I think it’s really important that we encourage men to eat vaginas as often as possible. There is nothing better than a man who absolutely loves licking fanny. I am way more likely to cum from oral sex than through fucking so a man who loves it is the best because if they love it they are usually good at it. I particularly like the ones who love it more than anything else and who are happy to just do that without being touched in return, we call them Head Guys and every single, unattached woman should have one (but we’ll talk more about them in another blog).

My second close encounter with a vagina was on my 31st birthday. My friends Kimberley, Grace and I had gone to a place in Shoreditch to eat and then party. I was deeply disappointed because I thought I looked like an absolute buff ting and there was not one good looking man in the whole place. I was wearing an all in one black backless cat suit with heels and red lipstick, I was absolutely feeling myself. I would have licked my own vagina that night if I’d had the chance. It was a cold and rainy night and we didn’t want to ruin our hair by walking around trying to find somewhere with better looking men so we just stayed in there getting fucked up on champagne and taking pictures in the toilets so that at least our outfits weren’t wasted (I got a banging Tinder profile pic out of that night so it was semi worth it).

We got talking to a group of 19 year old students who were girl crushing on us in the loos, they were a bit like ‘OMG we want to be like you when we grow up’ we should have said ‘No, no you don’t, we are just as lost as you but we have more wrinkles’ but we didn’t, we lapped up the ego boost and we took the girls under our wing. When the night ended we weren’t ready to go home so we stumbled along the streets looking for somewhere else to drink. It was 4am and our options were limited so we were happy to roll into wherever was open.

We saw a bouncer standing outside an inconspicuous looking place, it didn’t look like a bar, and as we rocked up the bouncer told us that this was a gentleman’s club and that he’d have to check with the management before letting us in. A manager came up and looked at our motley mixed up crew of students and Mothers and he nodded for us to come in. When we got downstairs we didn’t quite know what to do with ourselves. There were far more hot men in there than there had been in the last place we were at but there were also numerous ladies walking about topless in suspenders and clear plastic stilettos. We instantly became the main attraction and a group of decent looking guys offered to buy us a drink. They were a group of city boys who had been out since leaving work. A strip club is definitely not the place to meet decent guys, I’m really not going to be on the same wave length as a man who thinks that paying women to take their clothes off is a fun hobby. I don’t judge the women who do the job, we’ve all got bills to pay, but I do judge delusional men who think that the women that they are paying are actually enjoying it for any reason other than the money. I was too mash up that night for my morals to prevail and so I was happy to stay in there observing the goings on and getting bought free drinks.

Before long the manager approached us and told us that we had to leave, apparently we were taking away business from the girls and they weren’t happy. We were all fucked and desperate not to have to go out in the rain looking for another place to go and so we said fuck it and decided to buy a dance. At this point our 19 year old fan club departed, I think it was all too much for their youthfully innocent heads, it felt a bit sordid in there. Kimberley, Grace and I all chipped in to make up the £50 we needed and we were told to choose a girl. The choice was pretty limited as there was a celebrity and his entourage in the VIP area and they had taken most of the dancers.

Because it was my birthday I was the main recipient of the dance, I’d asked Grace and Kimberley to come up with me because I didn’t want to be left on my own. The stripper’s name was Desire (not clichéd at all love) and she was definitely on a lot of coke. She had long blonde hair extensions, fake tits, huge lips, and a deep brown tan. She was slim and toned and her body was lovely. Her face looked hard though, far older than her 25 years. She probably needed cocaine to get her through her job, lord knows I would need something to be able to do that job too (although many women I know who do it have enjoyed it).

Desire told me to sit down and open my legs wide. I cannot tell you how unsexy I felt sitting like that. Try it, sit on a chair with your feet on the ground and open your legs as wide as you can, it just feels wrong. I felt like a big butch buffalo. Like Desire, I was also smashed and so I really did not know what I was supposed to do with myself. I could see men around the room getting dances and they were making me feel sick. They were looking the girls up and down and licking and biting their own lips in an attempt to look sexy. They did not look sexy, they looked like horny desperados. I did not want to look like a desperado and I wasn’t horny so I decided to engage Desire in a conversation while she rubbed her boob on my shoulder. I had no idea what to say so I told her that she had nice tits. She said that I did too and she asked if she could touch them, I nodded to give her the go ahead and I sat there feeling awkward while she stroked my boobs through my clothes. She told me I could touch hers too but I was in full on spastic mode by this point and so I grabbed them with both hands and sort of squeezed them like a 13 year old boy going ‘honk honk’.

Desire then pulled her knickers off and started to up the cringe levels of the dance, she was rubbing her fanny on my thigh and all I could think about was not wanting to take home any of her bodily fluids, so I was trying to edge backwards away from her. She must have felt it because she quickly stepped back. I didn’t want to offend her and I knew that the tit compliment had worked so I decided to pull another one out of the bag. ‘You’ve got a lovely vagina’ I said, Grace looked at me with a face worthy of a meme and rolled her eyes, but I had made Desire’s day.

She stopped and looked down at her own minge and said ‘Oh my god babe really? I’m so paranoid about my pussy, there’s some girls here with really really nice ones and I absolutely hate mine’. Her fanny was actually very pretty but once again I was saddened by the lack of vagina self-love, I would have expected her to have been fully confident about her fanny seeing as she wandered about with it on display all the time but actually that had had the opposite effect on her. Her vagina was being used and judged by men every night, men who valued her pretty much for that part of her body alone, and so she had grown to feel that it wasn’t good enough. I felt sorry for her.

The next part of the dance involved Desire going over to a wall opposite us and rubbing herself up and down on it, she looked ridiculous trying to act like she was being turned on by a wall but I was much happier now that she was a few feet away and I was able to close my legs and feel feminine again. The dance was over after about 10 minutes and Desire gave us all a hug and said that it had been a nice break in her evening to dance for people who had wanted to talk to her rather than grope her. She was called over by the manager and introduced to her next customer, a huge fat Asian guy with a greasy comb-over and bad BO. My heart broke for Desire. I wanted to save her but I couldn’t afford to and I don’t actually think she wanted to be saved. We left the strip club at dawn on a massive downer feeling sad that our female counterparts were out there right now doing things they didn’t want to do for money with men who really didn’t care about how they felt.

And so there you go, that was my first and last experience of a strip club and of lesbian sex, I apologise if I grossed you out. Actually that’s a lie, I don’t care. All I care about is us women feeling a bit better about ourselves and I believe that for a lot of us that starts with loving our own vaginas (and everybody else’s, but from a distance in my case). Once you love your pussy it gives you the confidence to make better choices about who you allow anywhere near it. Do not let any man (or woman if you work in a strip club) make you feel like you or your vagina are not good enough and if they do, stay the fuck away from them.