Betty Dodson with Carlin Ross

Better Orgasms. Better World.

 0 items

• Login
• Join

Search this site:

I think vulvas are gorgeous-and I do mean some of the most beautiful creations of nature. Yes, I am chick happy. But this is a special passion for me; and the vulva is no ordinary physical or biological object. It is, for most of us, the gateway to life. It has many other roles, but we owe the vulva its due as the portal into human existence, as designed by nature. And for that reason alone, it's worthy of the highest praise. I think vulvas are gorgeous-and I do mean some of the most beautiful creations of nature. Yes, I am chick happy. But this is a special passion for me; and the vulva is no ordinary physical or biological object. It is, for most of us, the gateway to life. It has many other roles, but we owe the vulva its due as the portal into human existence, as designed by nature. And for that reason alone, it's worthy of the highest praise.

Of course, I'm aware quite a few people are not particularly thrilled that they exist at all; that is, that they are alive - but that is another conversation (and it is related to sex).

A female friend was visiting my studio Saturday evening and asked me to take this series in the direction of reminding women how beautiful their pussies are. But then she clarified her point: specifically, the labia minora, that is, the inner lips.

"Yes, I know about this one," I said. "And I know about the surgery."

That is: Labia minora trimming, at the hands of a skilled businessman. Apparently, many women don't like how the inner lips of their vulva extend out a little bit. While a few go and get them trimmed (and presumably go on to lead perfect lives), the inner lips are often a source of female angst when, really, they could be just as much a source of pleasure and celebration.

We all know that women are conditioned to think they are supposed to look a certain way. On Saturday, I also vowed to write an essay called "Why I'm So Fucking Sick of Women Telling Me How Ugly They Are." It's not exactly the fault of women that they are, somehow, hypnotized to believe, or choose to believe, that they are supposed to look like women in ads, and moreover, feel like they think the women who look that way feel. (I photograph some of those women, they talk to me, and I hear about the business. Most of them puke, a lot, which is not generally a sign of happiness.) The women who make a constant litany of everything they need to improve about themselves suffer for it; and only that. The way to improve is not to bash yourself till you get around to it.

Speaking as a guy, when I see a beautiful, idealized young male model, athlete or guy on the street, I don't feel the least bit envious. I have no clue why not. Am I supposed to? And honestly I don't personally know any guys who do.

However, from time to time I fall asleep during South Park reruns and get caught watching commercials for ExtenZe, for which the Comedy Channel pimps itself out nightly. I gather, peering into this alternate cosmos of pill-induced hard-on parties at the Hefner mansion, that there must be a lot of guys who are concerned that their penises are too small; or at least Big Brother tries to convince us of that with spam and infomercials.

Of course, most guys are so homophobic there is little chance most [heterosexuals guys] have direct knowledge of how long other men's cocks are, what their girth is, what girth even means or how long they can fuck. Women anxious about the length of their inner labia would be the female equivalent of guys who think they have little dicks.

Ladies, how many pussies have you had a good, close look at? But more to the point, have you figured out how good it feels to have a cunt? I mean, rent a Betty Dodson video if you haven't.

I will skip, for now, too much discussion of how this is all a form of genital anxiety; that is, of anxiety projected onto the genitals. But it's worth another mention: that was the topic of the whole shame discussion of the past week.

For various reasons, to varying degrees, humans tend to project identity onto our private parts. Sometimes this works for us (owning and loving them is a good way to hold space for yourself in the world), and sometimes it works against us. When we're scared about sex, or have been hurt by sex (which to some extent includes everyone), we tend to over-focus on things like the shape of our genitals, how bad they must smell, how other people won't like them, and so on.

But I assure you there is only so much anxiety you can fit inside a thong. Why keep any in there at all?

I have seen many pussies. While each is utterly unique unto itself, they come in several distinct styles. One of those styles is the outie - that is, the kind with inner lips that dangle a little, or a lot. They are beautiful and they are incredible fun to play with, make out with, look at and touch. Women who feel that, in particular, this is the ‘worst' part of them might want to tune into how many people (as in men, and women who love pussies) this is true for.

If you happen to have an innie (another common model of vulva), you or your partner needs to dive in about half an inch to find the same basic wonders of the universe. There is infinite potential to explore for pleasure and beauty and love.

I know from hearing the stories of women just how difficult it can be to feel that beauty and love. I had a friend (with a gorgeous pussy that she knew I adored) who said her pussy looked like a monster was going to come crawling out. (I suggested we buy a little rubber monster toy and set up the photo, so she could visualize the image and resolve it. We never got around to it.)

One day for medical reasons she found herself in the position of needing to spend a lot of time in a mirror - every single day, day after day, for about six months. She looked in hand mirrors, and magnifying makeup mirrors. She squatted over big mirrors with a flashlight, alone in her studio. Not because she wanted to; because she had to.

She looked and touched and felt and explored and then one day it dawned on her: she loved her cunt. Her pussy was beautiful. Just like everyone who got to experience told her it was. She called me up and said it out loud. I have to tell you, I was really, truly proud of her.

Before I move onto a series about the cosmic wonders of the vulva, I'm here to lay another cornerstone in the foundation of the universe. That is: masturbation is the core of sexual reality. As such, it often becomes the place where nearly all shame, guilt, embarrassment and humiliation around sexuality come home to roost. While this is not consciously true for everyone, it is so pervasive that it's worth checking for in everyone.

Cheers from the roof if you've made masturbation an authentic delve into selflove; you who have contacted and grown the inner relationship aspect. Who have made friends with yourself and your needs; anyone who takes refuge there, relationshipless, but actually not lonely.

Hello to everyone less confident. Masturbation is (by the generic rules of our society) literally shadow sex. It is the sex we tend to hide; to not want to openly do or talk about. This is no great shock; there is a ban on the topic.

Strange, though, in a society that is also defined as uniquely narcissistic. Given how much we're allegedly into ourselves, it's amazing anyone at all possesses misgivings, and amazing that we do so much seeking of the other. But we are conditioned - read up and you'll see. Part of the suspected danger of masturbation to society, the reason for the clampdown, is the anarchistic nature of fantasy, which knows no social taboos and doesn't care about the gay marriage debate. I believe it's fantasy that's taboo more than the actual jack or jill-off. Cus' as you know, you never know who could come up. Plenty of early anti-masturbation literature raises this point. Morals and the imagination do not mix.

The funny thing is that in theory, masturbation and sharing masturbation deserve to be 100% Christian Certified - because the core idea is not having sex. It would be the logical expression of ‘abstinence only', with a little room to vent. So I call upon all church business meetings across the land to take this up as a sponsored adult activity in the parish.

We have come a long way since Betty Dodson of Wichita arrived on the scene in the early 1970s with the one of the first-ever positive messages about masturbation as a valid experience in its own right.

My experience is that this is the core from which we need to explore in order to liberate ourselves. It is the sex we need to bring out of the shadows and out of the closet. Masturbation needs a new place in the world, somewhere not only socially acceptable, but actually social. I am proposing that we make masturbation a relational experience; that we include it in our relationships, and experiment with it as a sexual space halfway between lovers and not lovers.

The core message here is that as we become our own lovers, we build confidence in ourselves. This is directly about learning to love yourself in the presence of another person. It's about learning to create space in our own lives for others to truly love themselves, and love themselves first.

As we open up, explore and let go of our shadow emotions, we can enter interpersonal relationships conscious of that material at worst, or with it transformed, at best.

Masturbation is the sex we all have in common. Though it has a different place and a different meaning for everyone, whatever your gender, sex, age, marital status or sexual orientation, it's the uniting factor that can transcend all sexual differences.

The liberation power is incredible and quite literally begging to be tapped. It is one of the ideal spaces in which to show your secret face, or indeed, to see it for the first time.

I suggest we design it specifically into a community enterprise, with experiences shared one-to-one among confidants, friends and lovers; in small groups; and discussed with unfettered openness.

I know about the Sunday afternoon outdoor naked yoga class that becomes a selflove-in for those who want to stay late. I'm envious; it's women-only. I know how many people, particularly in those last few minutes or moments before self-inflicted orgasm, crave human presence like there's no tomorrow. Not for sex, but as a witness.

Getting off together can hot up a stalled-out monogamous sex life like few things can. Free and lewd and naked after all these years. This is by the way 420 friendly activity. A big mirror and dim light will create one of the most erotically daring experiences you may have ever had.

Everyone knows that as a society and as individuals we are boxed into some strange sexual corner right now. We're aware of the contradictions we face but how to get out of them is not as easy to discern. I am proposing that this is the side door to freedom.