(mush-room) – noun
a fungal growth that typically takes the shape of a domed cap on a stalk, often with gills on the underside of the cap.
cave
(kav) – noun
a large underground chamber, typically of natural origin, in a hillside or cliff
mushroom-cave
(mush-room-kav) – noun
indelicate name given to female genitalia by squeamish gay men: no force on earth could cajole me into spelunking in a mushroom-cave
I understand the obvious double standard. I will do – and have done – pretty much anything and everything with a penis. Ear, nose, throat… There isn’t a hole on the human body I wouldn’t stick one into. Big ones, bent ones, Blue cheese smelling ones… I love them all.
Just can’t wrap my head round the ol’ mushroom-cave.
I know lots of women and even more men who visit this puzzling place with regularity and they seem to survive just fine. They lick and stick and prick with abandon, even joy, and come out the other side smelling like roses…
Well, maybe not roses.
In my endless quest to explore how I got to be 42 and still no clue I’ve delved into the origins of my uneasy, tenuous relationship with the vagina. In other words: why does the mushroom-cave give me the heebie-jeebies?
It started young. My Mom and her friends were not shy. They did not hide things or sweep stuff under the table. I remember hearing words like “yeast infection” and “crotch” and things like “I’m going to kill myself if this yeast infection keeps burning my crotch!”
I was always twitchy when it came to blood so learning about periods and female reproduction and what goes on “down there” certainly didn’t help.
Oh, and babies… Upon finding out that babies also “exited through the gift shop” I threw my hands in the air and announced that I had had enough.
Ultimately, like so many other things in life, it boils down to personal preference. Some of us like our sports extreme, like spelunking and cave diving and some of us are… well… gay.