Have you ever felt like your vagina wanted to speak? Well I do, all the time. And if mine did speak she would be a vulgar little cunt, spewing obscenities, refusing to take any guff and defending her right to respect, pleasure and freedom of expression. So this is where she raises her voice. She’s my alter-ego, my partner in crime, my kindred spirit, my sexual deviant and my unapologetic, loud-mouthed, pro-sex megaphone. She can take a pounding but you better believe she can hand one out too. When the mood strikes she can be quite eloquent, but mostly she’s a crude, lewd cooch. My mom always tells me to get off my vagina and do something, so I’m getting up and giving the lady between my legs the space to do something, though it’s very rarely lady-like.