You don’t have to,” I murmured, feeling my cheeks burn hot with shame. There didn’t appear to be a male equivalent.Īnd so, when my first boyfriend ventured down south, I politely squeezed my legs shut. Every trip to the supermarket was a reminder of this: an entire row of the toiletry aisle dedicated to “feminine hygiene” washes, wipes and fragrances insisted my genitals should smell like daisies or “a fresh summer’s day” at all times.
Natural is best,” I was told, while simultaneously being marketed a slew of products – most of which resembled torture devices – to remove the “unsightly” hair that sprouted from between my legs.Īnd no matter how much I washed it (and wash it I did), my vagina felt inherently unclean. There were contradictory messages about how I should look, too. Women can often struggle to enjoy oral sex because of the shame associated with our genitals.
