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SEX ON THURSDAY | The Curse of the Queef

Making it probably the most versatile verbs, “intercourse” might be justly described by a seemingly infinite quantity of adjectives: scorching, heavy, steamy, enjoyable, enjoyableny, noisy, quiet, heat, moist, carnal, sensual, aggressive, mushy and the checklist goes on. There’s one adjective, nevertheless, that ought to by no means be correlated with intercourse in case you’re doing it with the precise particular person or individuals. That adjective is “embarrassing.”

Whereas I’m a agency advocate of the philosophy that no sexual companion ought to ever make you’re feeling embarrassed about your physique, skills, needs, and so forth., there may be one component of intercourse that — after a few years of being sexually energetic — I’ve accepted is inherently embarrassing for me, no matter how snug I really feel with my sexual co-conspirator: the queef; in scientific phrases, “vaginal flatulence.”

No quantity of open communication will ever mitigate the sensation that washes over my being mid-doggy model when that dreaded pffffttt sound escapes the lips between my hips. I actually need to fold up my complete physique and disappear into myself like a kind of compact raincoats. Fortunately, the phenomenon sometimes happens after the climax of the act so, as an alternative of folding into myself I normally simply giggle — a bodily tense-up which frequently triggers extra “vaginal flatulence” —and my companion reassures me that I needn’t really feel embarrassed…simple for him to say, he’s not the one with the uncontrollable pussy farts.