“You’ve got that right!” Jenny agreed with me wholeheartedly, as we both stepped out of the car to go meet our kids on the front porch, and let them into the house.
Jenny and I went into the house right behind the kids, who both made beelines to their respective upstairs bedrooms, leaving us alone, standing in the foyer area, just inside the front door of the house.
“Babe?” I asked Jenny very quietly. “I’m just curious about something. Why did you tell Sara that her pussy is called a vulva?”
“Because it is.”
“Yes. Technically, you’re right. But only when you’re at the doctor’s office. In all other situations, I have never heard a woman–or a girl, for that matter–in this country refer to her own pussy as being her vulva. Have you?”
“Well, no. But I was trying to not to teach Sara that slang, vulgar term.”
“Why not? If Sara doesn’t learn it from you, then she’s going to learn it from the other kids at school anyway. And they’ll just make fun of her, until she finally does. I mean, let’s face it. In this country, breasts are called boobs or tits or titties, and a vulva is called a pussy, and a penis is called a dick, and testicles are called balls. And there’s really nothing you’re going to be able to do to change any of that. That’s just the way things are.
“So for Christ’s sake, when you have that hard discussion with Sara later tonight, please tell her that her vulva is almost always referred to as being her pussy, and that all the other kids at school are going to call it a pussy, and that you even call your own vulva your pussy.”
My wife leaned forward and quietly said to me, “You’re right. I need to go ahead and let her know that.
“But what I need to let you know right now is that, after this afternoon with Joe, I’m still feeling really horny. Probably because I’ve still got his sexy Mexican sperm in my pussy. How would you like to have a quickie with me in the laundry room this evening while the twins are taking their bath together?”
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