black utopias: my pussy, my paradise

The first thing I learned about my pussy was to hide it.

“Close your legs, girl.” My granny would say in a harsh whisper. Wacking the side of my knee with her purse as we sat in a Black baptist church pew. No one could see my cotton undies in the first place. But we daren’t risk it.

My “pocketbook”, as my grandmother called it, was a source of fascination for me from a young age. Thank you, “Real Sex”. Growing up, I spent, in hindsight, a perhaps unusual amount of of my youth crouched over makeup mirrors starring deeply into what I was, wrongfully, taught was my ‘womanhood’. I was so curious about the soft colors and textures of this part of me that was constantly hidden. It was beautiful and weird and… powerful.

There’s nothing shameful or disgusting about sexual pleasure (thanks again, “Real Sex”). Every clitorial orgasms should be a bliss-filled reminder of the inexplicable magnificence of this soft, wet mound of flesh. Delicate folds of soul-shattering moments that suspend the laws of nature. That gives permission for indescribable ecstasy and empowerment. The heart-slamming, transformative magic of it all. The nebulous energy that flows through me my pussy is a paradise within an intergalactic storm. While it occupies physical space, my pussy acts as a portal to multi-dimentional bliss.

I treat myself, first, to the breathtaking pleasure supplied by more than 10,000 nerve endings which can electrify my body. And, second, share the abundance with my partner. My pussy is a refuge from the world strong and safe enough to make a grown man shudder and relinquish all physical control, melting between my thighs. While my pussy occupies physical space, spiritually it acts as a portal to multi-dimentional bliss. The awe and existential pride I feel when my uterine lining sheds itself each month, reminding me of the possibility for life giving that I possess. I am powerful.

As proud of my pussy as I am, I’m still unpacking this marker of my cishet privilege. The lies that we are told about how gender identity should physically correspond with the “right” genital shape. It is a reminder to check myself in the ways in which I associate womanhood with certain types of bodies. Womanhood is more than a vagina.

But in the event that you have one, enjoy and celebrate your glory. The potential to give life is a privilege. As a Black women, my pussy is symbolic of the life we breathe into all of humanity. For we are the cradle of all life giving birth to the first men of this world. We are Mother Earth. My Black pussy is a powerhouse of life-making, pleasure-giving wonder and so is yours, babe—celebrate that shit.