SEX ON THURSDAY | The Curse of the Queef

SEX ON THURSDAY | The Curse of the Queef

Making it one of the most versatile verbs, “sex” can be justly described by a seemingly infinite amount of adjectives: hot, heavy, steamy, fun, funny, noisy, quiet, warm, wet, carnal, sensual, aggressive, soft and the list goes on. There is one adjective, however, that should never be correlated with sex if you’re doing it with the right person or people. That adjective is “embarrassing.”

While I am a firm advocate of the philosophy that no sexual partner should ever make you feel embarrassed about your body, abilities, desires, etc., there is one element of intercourse that — after many years of being sexually active — I have accepted is inherently embarrassing for me, regardless of how comfortable I feel with my sexual co-conspirator: the queef; in scientific terms, “vaginal flatulence.”

No amount of open communication will ever mitigate the feeling that washes over my being mid-doggy style when that dreaded pffffttt sound escapes the lips between my hips. I literally want to fold up my entire body and disappear into myself like one of those compact raincoats. Luckily, the phenomenon typically occurs after the climax of the act so, instead of folding into myself I usually just laugh — a bodily tense-up which often triggers more “vaginal flatulence” —and my partner reassures me that I need not feel embarrassed…easy for him to say, he’s not the one with the uncontrollable pussy farts.

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