Confessions of a Bondi Blonde

Consider the clitoris.

Or rather, ignore it at your peril.

Mine sits there undemanding most of the time, letting me get on with my day, unless I’m wearing too tight jeans or am stuck in traffic on the 333 Bondi Express on my way to town. Throb, throb goes the engine. Oh, vicar!

For most women, it’s a happy little pussy cat appendage and appreciates being touched by self or other, gratefully responding and flowering with tender movements. If it is not treated right, it may not flare up but still has the potential to get us and our relationships into an awful lot of bother.

Usually, it’s ignored, like a good friend we like to see, but are too busy to spend much time reacquainting our self with.

For something so hidden, the clitoris gets an awful lot of bad press.

There are pubs’ full of stand-up comedy describing it as an island off Greece or a place so hard to find that you need a map, a flashlight or a compass to locate it. And if these pub dwellers are lucky enough to stumble across one late on a Saturday night, they often either twist it like a knob on a radio, hoping for a happy reception, or lap at it with the enthusiasm and technique of a Labrador.

Hands down pants. Pant, pant? I don’t think so.

But ladies and sometimes not so gentle men, the truth is, we’ve been sold a pup.

The clitoris isn’t a small, wee thing, sitting like a princess’ pea atop a vagina, waiting blushingly to be stroked to life. It’s huge.  The little pink bit we all see (with a mirror, in Playboy or otherwise) is only the nub of the matter. It’s the tip of a woman’s sexual iceberg.

Have a look at clitoris at its Wikipedia page  (warning: not at work or in front of kids unless you’re up to explaining it) . The little penis-like piece sitting like a cherry on top is what we normally consider to be the whole organ. But it’s really only the up periscope of a submarine, with the rest of the vessel hidden safely (even if one is sporting a Brazillian haircut down south).

The pink bit under the hood travels beneath the skin, up a couple of centimetres, before, just like a woman, changing its mind and turning around. It divides into two and hangs like a couple of bananas, fitting snugly around the vaginal opening.

In all mammals (excepting, bizzarely, the spotted Hyena) this connective tissue solely works together to maximise a woman’s sexual pleasure. That’s why we enjoy not just the rub, but the thrust too. Penetration stimulates the tissue, encouraging blood flow and arousal. Clever, clever clitoris!

That fun duo, sex experts Masters and Johnson, decided that all female orgasms are clitoral in nature. Further research by Aussie urologist Dr Helen O’Connell supports this theory. These guys all agree that vaginal orgasms result from clitoral stimulation. Must have been a great conversation when that agreement was reached. How did they celebrate, do you think? 

So you guys, relax and enjoy the ride.You don’t have to look for the G-spot anymore. Like Santa Claus, it doesn’t exist.

The Bondi Blonde (me) generously offers you a few other handy travel facts to have in mind if you are lucky enough to be heading south this winter.

• Unlike the penis, which wees as well (you are very clever, you multi-taskers), the clitoris functions solely to induce sexual pleasure.
• The tip of the clitoris, the bit we see, has the same number of nerve endings as the whole penis. And we’ve got all the other stuff too. So be gentle!
• Some women can sustain an intense orgasmic state for much longer than previously thought. So it’s not so much multiple orgasms, but one long one.

Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman. But facts like these more than make up for it.

P.S. I am so glad I am sworn to celibacy right now. Really glad.