The vagina party of self-discovery.
Three years ago, my friend Melissa and I stumbled onto a Playboy magazine in her apartment. Naturally curious, we flipped it open and began thumbing through glossy photos of girls in anything-but-natural poses.
We quickly learned women’s ‘plumbing’ has about as many styles as Kim Kardashian has purses: a lot. And I’m not talking about the styling of the hair down there – I’m referring to the actual equipment.
As I perused Playboy‘s vaginas, I was jolted by a vague memory. About two years prior, in my college Cosmopolitan-reading days when I actually believed ’50 Hot New Tricks To Keep Him Coming Back’ would really work, I recalled a letter published in the advice column. The young lady wanted to know if it was normal for her inner lips to be bigger than her outer lips.
Wait, I thought to myself, by ‘inner lip’ does she mean the part that rubs against her teeth? So outer lips must be the portion on which she applies lipstick? Maybe this girl has really big Angelina Jolie-style lips?
But then it hit me – she was talking about down there.
As I had yet to have an orgasm courtesy of oral sex, I tended to leave that area pretty much to its own devices. The Playboy moment came before I got my wax on, so mine was generally hidden underneath a thicket of hair. But looking at these naked vixens, captured by the camera, allowed me a good gander. I learned what inner and outer lips meant, and it had nothing to do with mouths.
Many models’ inner lips protruded like tiny tongues from between the outer lips. Other women’s lips were neatly packaged like a store-wrapped Christmas gift; a tightly wrapped box, if you will, with a pink bow on top, nary an inner lip to be found. Those pictures bored me – neatly packaged was what I had imagined a vulva should look like. Skin, with a line down the middle. A smaller version of a butt, really.
It was the other pictures that drew me – the ‘everything out there’ girls. They had all the usual equipment, but when their legs were splayed, delicate inner lips popped out and saluted the camera. Velvet pink rose petals. So these must be inner lips.
But then there were the women, legs spread, with what appeared to be roast beef peeping from their outer lips. Mocha-coloured and wrinkled – this wasn’t something I associated with women’s genitalia. It both fascinated and repulsed me.
Melissa and I discussed each new vulva in great detail; we need to start talking about vaginas more often. From rose petal to roast beef, pink to coffee- and cream-coloured, each body was a mysterious package just waiting to be unwrapped.
“Are you a rose petal or roast beef?” Melissa blurted.
I tilted my head to the side in deep consideration. I replied “You know, I don’t know”.
So we decided to find out.
Each of us took a turn locking ourselves in the bathroom with Melissa’s hand mirror, conducting our own investigation.
“So?” she asked when I emerged, a new woman.
“It’s somewhere in the middle of rose petal and roast beef. It’s kind of lopsided – one part sticks out more than the other because one side is rose petal-ish, the other is roast beefy.”
“What about you?” I asked, hoping she was fully roast beef so I could feel better about my own strange situation.
“Outtie, but rose petal,” she replied in what I felt were smug tones.
Thus began what I now refer to as ‘The Roast Beef Years’ – years I couldn’t orgasm from oral sex. Instead of losing myself in ecstasy, I would imagine each valiant man who attempted it as munching on roast beef. Eventually, marijuana and liquor helped ease my insecurity and I achieved an oral orgasm.
Fast-forward three years to a party I was hosting. Drinks and conversation were flowing. The men somehow ended up huddled in the living room, sipping beer and tossing around sports statistics, while the girls migrated to the kitchen for some drunk bonding.
Before I knew it, I confessed my roast beef versus rose petal theory to my girl gang, and the pussy party began. The girls began to shout out sentences that would sound strange to ears other than ours.
“I’m a rose petal!” Heidi shouted. The boys across the room ignored us, probably assuming we were discussing floral arrangements for Natalie’s impending wedding.
“I’m a total innie,” Jenny whispered.
“Lucky!” I griped.
“Which do boys like?” Holly inquired.
“I would guess innies,” Alison responded. “They’re so tidy.”
“Outtie rose petals aren’t so bad!” Melissa chimed in.
“I think I’m a roast beef!” another friend moaned.
“You know, I’m not sure what I am – I’ve never looked that close,” Sarah said.
Well, not knowing what type of vagina you had was unacceptable, so we all trooped upstairs to Natalie’s bathroom for the pussy party finale.
Holly went first. She hiked up her skirt and gave us a peek.
“ROSE PETAL!” we all shouted in unison.
“What about me?” Sarah inquired.
“But it’s a bit roast beef – look!” Natalie pointed.
“Oooh,” Sarah moaned in mortification.
“That’s how I look!” I shouted, whipping down my pants.
I looked up to see Natalie’s face screwed up in laughter. The wheezing, shoulders shaking, hiccuping kind that makes everyone nearby laugh even if they don’t know what’s so funny.
“Is it that bad?” I giggle.
“N-n-noooo!” she howled, pointing at our reflection in the mirror. “Look at us!”
There we were, seven of us, faces flush from booze and laughter, various stages of undress, in our ‘you show me yours, I’ll show you mine’ poses.
An hour later, we were still talking and giggling. It took us a moment to hear the boys pounding on the door.
“What is going ON in there?!”
We composed ourselves, and one by one emerged from our private pussy party, our roast beef and rose petal discoveries glistening conspiratorially in our eyes as we said our goodbyes.
That night, I learned to be proud of my little bit of roast beef. After all, I’d rather eat roast beef than a rose petal. Wouldn’t you?
GIFs via giphy.com.
Comment: What are you – roast beef or a rose petal?
This article has been republished from Your Tango with full permission. You can view the original article here: I Threw A Party To Find Out What My Friends’ Vaginas Looked Like