Good girls don't shave their vaginas!

About a year ago, I went to the store with my mother. My mom is a very conservative woman, while she made sure I knew about sex and love at a younger age than most kids, (out of fear that I’d hear wrong details from kids at school) the discussion of specific sexual acts was pretty much forbidden however. It wasn’t until was in my mid twenties that I was even able to say the word blowjob around my mom without her trying to slap me in the mouth. On this particular trip to the store, I grabbed a disposable razor and tossed it into my cart, without thinking I looked at my mom and said “Gyno appointment tomorrow, need to clean up.” She said one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard in response, “Oh Carmen, don’t shave your vagina to go to the doctor, he is going to think you’re a hooker, good girls don’t shave their vaginas!” She took the razor out of my cart and put it back, then spent about fifteen minutes giving me a discourse in feminine hygiene that sounded like something she picked up in the 1950s.

I always think about that moment when I do anything my mom wouldn’t approve of now, especially related to sex. “Oh no Carmen, don’t you dare let your husband tie you to the bed post, what would the neighbors think if they saw that through a window?” “Oh Carmen, don’t walk around in that leather teddy and thong, what if an airplane crashes into your house and the rescue team finds your body laying there dressed in that?” Mom always thought quite a bit about what other people were going to think. Midwesterners tend to be very quiet about sex, yet so vocal with violence. I hear the hunters here in Indiana talking about driving out, waiting for hours in a stand high up in a tree. They rub piss on their shoes to mask their human scents, sip their cheap Folgers from a thermos, and await the prized buck to make an entrance so they can track him, murder him, hang him upside down from a tree and slice him throat to tail. In the same breath, they turn around and talk about risque that latest condom commercial is, and how it’s disgusting to talk about sex on television. They fume over programs promoting safer sex while rinsing blood from their hands.

Often people poke fun, asking me why I haven’t moved to another city to be around more open-minded people. My answer is of course, that my husband and I enjoy living here in Indianapolis. It also brings an exciting element into our relationship, knowing that we share this dark secret and nobody has any idea who we really are. We can lay all our dirty habits right out on the table for each other, and then we truly are naked. At the end of the day, when I come home, slide away that mask I put on every day for the “sane” members of society, and slip into my corset and bonds I feel somehow less restricted.

I always wonder how many people we pass on the street each day who have to hide their secret perversions not only from society but from their partners or even themselves. It excites me to an extent, thinking that Mr. Webber the postmaster might be wearing a leather harness under his uniform, or Mrs. Miller the local church mouse may be securely locked away in her little pink chastity belt. I’m sure there are other people out there like me, hiding away their sexual deviance behind masks of normalcy. I think deep down we all have secrets, we all have little perversions we’d rather hide away, and I truly hope that some day each person gets to experience the total joy of being completely open with their partner.