Recently, I decided to interview a mighty, but oft-underappreciated organ—the clitoris.
Here is my interpretation of what she had to say. All errors are my own.
We hear much of the primacy of the penis. It’s big, it gets hard, it squirts stuff. The clit doesn’t make herself known in such dramatic ways, so she is often ignored. She doesn’t like this. She gets even by being impressive and demanding, mysterious and ineffably subtle. The clit sat down with me the other day and asked me to tell the story of how and why she is so great. Being a sex educator, and, more importantly, a woman, I was happy to oblige.
The clit is very proud of herself. She is the only organ in the human body—in any human body—that was designed specifically for pleasure. Now that’s intelligent design if she ever saw it!
She gets mad when she hears people say that she is only the size of a pea. Sure, the Princess could feel the pea through her fluffy bedding in that fairy tale, but… A pea, really? Hrmph! (It is at this point in the story that the clit retracted into her hood. It took all of my interviewing skills to get her to come back out and finish her tale.)
Sometimes she is much larger than a pea, and even then, that’s only the part you can see. The clit would like everyone to know that she is so complex, so much so that people—smart people, in her opinion—call her the clitoral complex. What people call the clit, is actually the head of the clitoris, or clitoral complex. The shaft, what the narcissistic clit prefers to call her body, extends about an inch back into the human body, and has “legs” that extend back, on each side under the labia, towards the butt. If one were to trace the labia with one’s fingers, which even our greedy clit would deem appropriate behavior (but not for too long), one would be tracing the path of these clitoral legs. The clitoral complex is essentially wishbone -shaped. The clit recommends rubbing her head; she may grant you a wish. More like a genie than a wishbone.
The clit is very demanding. She thrums and throbs and tingles, and if you look very carefully, you can see how she grows. Wetness usually emerges from the labial folds in which she nests, for her comfort and your convenience. She appreciates wetness, but frowns on some bottled lubricants particularly those with irritating chemicals and fragrances. She wants to remind people that she is the essence of fragility and strength, and must be treated with the utmost of respect and tenderness. She hates the redness that comes with irritation, and is so pleasure-focused that even the slightest hint towards discomfort makes her angry and resentful. This means no burning chemicals. She rebels against this treatment by developing a rash or irritation and feeling too sensitive or not sensitive enough. Her sister, or her neighbor—I’m not quite clear on that—the vagina, sometimes develops yeast infections from the glycerin in some lubricants, which makes the clit sulk indeed for she rarely gets attention while the vagina recovers. Sometimes they have arguments! (Here, the clit began to sulk again. I had to gently assure her that I only keep the best of lubricants in my house and that she could continue to trust me with her story. She must have felt conciliatory, for she continues with…))
The clitoris is not purely self-centered, though. When treated well, she gives generously of her softness and warmth. She recognizes that she is only part of a network—well, actually, she says, she’s the leader of the network—of nerves that bring pleasure to the body. She says actually that if you want to know what is going on with her, you should watch the face she is attached to. She suggests looking for flushed skin, closed or rolling eyes, and increased heat.
The clit is persistent. and when she peeks her little head out from its hood, she won’t take no for an answer.
(I begged the clit to tell me more, she insisted that she needed to rest up. She had a big date lined up, and was quite confident that she would be getting some attention before the appointed time. Grudgingly, she granted me time more one more tidbit, one that she assured me would assert her supremacy. She is most proud to know that her truth has been recorded in a book, a book most appropriately—she stressed the appropriateness:
The Clitoral Truth.
Author’s note: No clitoris was harmed in the writing of this piece. If there is any resemblance between the clit in this story and any other clitoris, it is purely by coincidence.
Most anthologies I’ve read have included bits I liked, bits I didn’t like, and bits that made me sit up and think. 
