quizzical pussy

My nails have gotten long. Not quite is-she-really-going-to-put-those-talons-in-that-poor-girl’s-pussy-OH-MY-GOD-RUUUUUUN long, but pretty damn long. It’s getting annoying. Hold on a minute.

There. Better.

I used to keep them long all the time. I’ve never bit my nails; never picked at them. They waxed fat and elegantly tapered. It was down, I explained, to growing up younger than my two sisters, who loathed me on sight and liked to beat up on me. They weighed more and punched harder, but I was quick and squirmy and I had ten sharp little stilettos to fight back with. My mom had to resort to cutting my nails while I slept; otherwise I’d fight it. Over the years I got used to them and they just stayed that way. Once or twice I even painted them.

This may be why I never much got into the habit of fingering myself. It’s not how I learned to masturbate. From the very first I favored neater, less dangerous clitoral stimulation. In case you’re new here, you should know that this utterly belies my passionate love of penetration. Sex with no penetration of any kind is exceedingly frustrating for me. Maybe it reminds me of masturbation. Fucked if I know.

It was somewhere around the time I started seriously thinking about fucking women that I began to trim my nails with any regularity. The two main reasons were (a) Hypothetical compassion. The feel of untidy nails raking against one’s vaginal wall? I know it of old, and we are not on friendly terms. And (b) Everyone knows that it’s 78% less likely you’ll be scoped out as a pussy-loving person if your nails don’t look up to the task. That made up statistic is especially true if you tend toward the femme spectrum of gender presentation, as I do.

I want to make it manifestly clear that it greatly pleases me to get scoped by ladies. Oh, goodness yes! Ladies, mack on me freely. Please do.

Upon cutting my nails I immediately realized I’d just halved my dexterity stat: I was cudgeling things rather than picking them up. But I knew I looked considerably more lesbionic while flopping around with these ridiculous hotdogs where my tweezers had proudly perched, so I considered it a fair trade¹. And I got used to real fingers eventually. To the point where now sometimes I leave them too long, and without any natural predators like habitual gnawing they go to seed and get too lanky for my taste. Then suddenly I’m living in a bizarro world where I scold myself (“Bad lesbian!”) and can’t properly type or play a stringed instrument with nails that reach about half as high as they used to. Also, I have a girlfriend. Take that, prissy-nailed past Q.P.

The weird thing, though? I still barely ever finger myself.

1. And you know how much lesbians like fair trade, amirite? [↩]

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