Piss Shy, Part Four

Flint pulled out a key and pushed the door open, letting me in. His partner, Macy, was sitting on the couch in a dress and a shawl, watching television. “Nice dress,” Flint said as he stepped inside, “take the shawl off and get on the floor." Macy slipped the shawl from her shoulders and slid onto the floor, folding her legs beneath her.

"How’s it going?” I asked, setting my purse down. “Could I use your bathroom?” Macy pointed. My head was a mess of nervousness and excitement, to the point that I had forgotten I was even wearing shoes and attempted to cross the living room.

Flint swung an arm out and cut me off while I was walking, catching me in the gut and knocking the air out of my chest. “Take your shoes off,” he ordered. I stumbled out of my shoes before dashing into the bathroom.

Once I was out, Flint grabbed me by the throat and pushed me against the wall. He leaned down to kiss me, and I had to struggle to my toes to kiss him back. Pulling back, he slapped my face and told me to go sit down on the couch and wait for WRM and his primary to arrive.

I sat down on the couch, clapping my hands on my knees and smiling nervously at Macy down on the floor. I’d met Macy once before, at the first munch, but I hadn’t realized how young she was. I was envious, confessedly, remembering where I was at eighteen and seeing how uninhibited she was about doing the things that excited her. She’s also just striking as hell, with gorgeous hair and sharp cheekbones.

“You’re cute,” Macy said.

I shook my head. “Sheesh, me? Thanks.” Flint sat down and put an arm around me. “I didn’t realize – you’re just a baby."

Looking down at Macy, I couldn’t help but remind myself that this girl was five years younger than me. It had been five years since I’d first started even remotely acknowledging what I’d wanted, and I’d been at a significantly different place at eighteen. I was scared and reticent, just beginning to understand that I was allowed to ask for the things that made me feel free.

Still, it had been a long five years.

The part where the two twelve year old girls agreed that a woman needed labiaplasty cut deep. It’s terrifying that they’ve grown up in such a way that they can become so judgmental of their own and other women’s anatomy.

A confession: The first time I got fingered I apologized to the guy for my labia. No joke. I thought that my body and the way it had developed warranted an apology. Naturally, he was a little shocked that I would think that I needed to do that.

Because my family was very quiet about sexuality, I learned a lot about it from the Internet at a pretty young age. In hindsight, I wish it had not been that way, because it gave me a lot of unusual messages about how things were supposed to be and privileged certain pieces of information above others.

So I am terrified to see a twelve year old girl thinking that way because for a while I was that girl. I remembered learning about the surgery early on in high school and believing that I needed it. I actually considered saving money up so once I graduated and moved out I could “fix” myself.

I think we spend a lot of time sheltering young girls and not giving them the proper information about sex and sexuality. In a society that has become in many ways hypersexualized, the messages that come through are conflicted, uninformed and usually just flat-out wrong.

And let this be an opportunity for me to remind all my followers that they should be 18 and over. Thanks.

(Source: https://www.youtube.com/)

Dear New Follower

You are sixteen years old. I was horny when I was sixteen, too. But, if you really like my tumblr so much, stop following me. Or I could get in big trouble for being a big bad wolf to your little red riding hood.

Come back in two years. I’d be glad to have you. Also, the link to your askbox isn’t working.

<3, Ivy