My Boyfriend Doesn’t Know What My Vagina Looks Like

Author’s Note: In the following article the term vagina is used as a short hand reference for the labia minora and majora, the author is not referring to the actual inner organ of the vagina.

Ladies, gentlemen, mom – it’s about to get really awkward so travel forth if you dare.

Last week, I was at a gathering with my partner – for the sake of expedience we are going to call him Sandwich from here on out – and a very strange comment came forth from his mouth.

“I don’t even know what yours looks like.” Now, I’m not gonna outline the events that led to this comment because I think I get judged enough, but the ‘yours’ he was referring to was my vagina.

At first I laughed the comment off, mostly because I was tired and focusing on the arrival of my fried chicken. But as I was eating the delicious chicken I looked over at Sandwich, the love of my life, and thought how in the world could he not know what it looks like? I mean it’s not like the thing changes from month to month. How can he not know what it looks like after almost a year of being involved with each other?

Maybe Sandwich was just kidding, maybe he was serious. We didn’t talk about it after because I have a hard time discussing anything that involves genitalia with him (I assume we’ll be having a discussion once he reads this). But I took the comment to heart and really tried to dig into the crevices of my mind to figure out why my boyfriend doesn’t know what my vagina looks like.

A day later, the answer rang clearly in my mind. He doesn’t know what it looks like because I don’t want him to know.

You see, I’ve had a very complicated relationship with my vagina from the start. I didn’t understand it. For most of my life, I avoided looking at it. I essentially pretended that I was a Barbie and there was just a shapeless nub down there. You can imagine that puberty was difficult. When I got my period for the first time and discovered a crime scene in my school uniform pants I became even more disgusted with my vagina. Not only was it this hideous monstrosity attached to my body but it was now starting to bleed profusely every month.

When I got to high school it became a little easier to talk about my vagina because it was an all girls’ school and everyone felt free to have those discussions. It was at this school that a friend of mine gave me my first tampon. Tampons really changed my relationship with my vagina because up until that point – and I am mortified to admit this – I was under the impression that menstrual blood and urine came out of the same hole. I’ll stop for a minute and give you some time to laugh at me, it’s okay.

By the end of high school I became more familiar with my vagina but still considered it a monstrosity that was never to see the light of day.

Then I met Zeus (obviously a fake name).

Zeus came into my life my sophomore year of college, some time after my high school boyfriend and I broke up. Zeus had the type of face that you just wanted to stare at and he had an air that made you want to ask questions. Lucky for me, I knew some of his friends. So I became more social to get closer to him and show my face. Eventually, we started spending more time together and that time included nights as well. For the first two months I was vehemently opposed to having sex because then that would mean some random person was going to see my vagina.

Alas, even rocks wither with enough water and one day I just decided that Zeus would be my first sexual partner. My deflowering evening came and it got to that point where boys and girls know that they’re going to do it but instead of just getting straight to business Zeus literally stopped, sat up straight, and asked, “Can I take a look before we do anything?”

What I didn’t know was that he was a clean freak. Not just with his room but with his sexual partners. This fool turned on the lights and essentially gave me a gynecological exam to ensure that I had no sort of markers for STDs. I’m surprised that I didn’t cry, I was so embarrassed. Homie really got in there and on top of that, he added commentary. There was a play by play of what he was doing and seeing. Horrible. I didn’t even want to have sex after that. I mean we did, but I had no emotional connection to it because I was so shamed over the world’s worst foreplay.

Zeus and I continued our relationship on and off for about two-ish years. In that time I experienced what I now recognize as vaginal shaming. I don’t know if that’s a real thing, but I know for certain it’s what happened to me. Zeus made fun of my vagina on an almost constant basis. When he didn’t have a funny vagina joke, he would make fun of my build. I’m short and stocky with knees that point towards each other so he had a lot of material. One night he told me I had tree trunk legs and I spent almost a year hating my legs. Zeus also had a cruel nickname for my vagina which I can’t say out loud to this day because it still brings me to tears. But I never said anything because I thought this was normal behavior in a relationship that involved sex. After several detailed conversations with my close girlfriends, I discovered it wasn’t.

“Can I take a look before we do anything?”

After Zeus and I had several messy break ups (we broke up over 13 times), I tried seeing other people. Between Zeus and my current partner I attempted having relationships with eight different people. But the same problem continued to arise. I wasn’t comfortable with anyone sexually. The thought of having sex with someone else made me feel embarrassed and frightened. The thought of any other person looking at me naked or semi-naked made my skin crawl. Zeus’ commentary on my nether regions played in a constant loop in my head. Sometimes, I can still hear him.

Out of the eight people I tried to date during my time as a single gal, it was DJ – #8 – that got anywhere with me. He was one arrogant son of a bitch but hot damn he was cute. We met at a party and every girl in the room was on him like white on rice. It didn’t bother me, I just figured I’d flirt for a few hours and never see him again. Fast forward to our first date several weeks later I knew I wanted to actually try being with this arrogant person. Fun fact! Our first date was in a strip club. It’s a long story as to how that happened so I won’t get into it.

DJ and I spent a lot of time together and eventually sex made it’s way onto the table. While I wasn’t completely comfortable I figured I would at least try. Unfortunately, the ghost of boyfriends past was still lingering so before actually engaging in sex, I sent DJ a list of sex rules. Sigh. I know. Why, right?

Within that set of rules were things like never in the day light, no sleep overs ever, no oral of any kind ever, don’t touch me, etc. etc. And despite clear signs that I was crazy, he agreed to everything. Six months of dark, touch-less, silent sex later we stopped seeing each other.

While I wasn’t crushed by the loss, my ego took a big hit on that one. I decided to give up on dating for a while and focus on maintaining my friendships and building my confidence.

One friend in particular that I was spending more time with was – you guessed it – Sandwich. For a span of time we were doing just about everything together. He became my best friend. The only hitch in our friendship was that good old Sandwich had a crush on me.

Sandwich called it a crush. I called it bullshit. I swore up and down he was just looking for a smash and dash. A smash and dash, boys and girls, is where someone sleeps with someone else or “smashes” them and then disappears – “dashes.” So I drew the line in the sand when it came to our friendship.

Alas, when a wave hits the sand all things fade. Including lines. We became a couple in June, to no one’s surprise but my own.

The real surprise was that Sandwich was ready to have sex IMMEDIATELY. I mean we had spent almost a year and a half getting to know each other so there was nothing holding us back. Except for me. I made up every single excuse possible to avoid having sex the first few weeks of our relationship. I even made up a story about my doctor so he wouldn’t try anything. I used Ramadan that year as a reason to not have sex. Literally, anything I could think of.

I thought that my unpleasant naked body and monstrous vagina would destroy not just our new relationship but also our friendship.

So the sex rules came out once again. No excessive touching, nothing in the daylight, no sort of lighting in the room, no eye contact, no NOTHING.

This was not going to fly. Sandwich wanted a fully committed relationship, not some weird friends with benefits scenario. But for the first half of our relationship I couldn’t overcome my fear of what seeing my body would do to us. I created no touch zones around myself. I didn’t stay at his house over night for fear of what I would look like in the morning sun. I didn’t talk to him about sex. If he tried to bring something up I literally put my hand over his mouth to stop him. I distanced myself physically and emotionally from an open and understanding partner.

And why did I do this? Because one guy made fun of my vagina. No one else after him ever made similar comments. It was one single person that ruined my sex life for years. I allowed one person to rob me of any joy or comfort that comes with having sex.

How did I overcome this? Truthfully, I haven’t. But one thing I did that made a difference was I went back to the source of my problems and had a very long conversation.

Not long after Sandwich and I started dating, Zeus called me because exes can always sense when you’re happy and that’s when they decide to bring forth a shit storm. He basically called to bring up some old nonsense that he was still mad about and the conversation evolved from an argument to a calm discussion. In that calm discussion I mentioned I was seeing someone and he had an array of questions. One of them was, “Do you let him [insert normal sexual action here]?” And I responded, “Absolutely not I don’t believe in that anymore.”

His response was, “It’s because you don’t really love this guy.” I shrugged off the comment because it wasn’t Zeus’ business if I loved someone or not. It also made no sense. I did love Sandwich. The person that I didn’t love, was myself.

I couldn’t engage in healthy sexual activity because I couldn’t bring myself to look at myself and deal with the things that I saw. I couldn’t stop looking through the lens that my ex had installed in my brain.

It got to a point where I thought about breaking up with Sandwich because I couldn’t continue to maintain the lie that I was okay with having a sexual relationship. I also couldn’t tell him that I needed a break from having sex because then I’d have to tell him the truth about my mental state. Rock and hard place.

While I still have reservations about my body, I was able to get to a comfortable place with Sandwich by writing him letters. Some of the letters were about my feelings on sex and others were just about my feelings. I was able to tell him the issues we had in front of us without actually having to tell him. And because we’re partners and we work through things as a team we were able to meet in the middle on sexual disagreements and develop a sex life that doesn’t induce panic in me or boredom in him.

I don’t know if I’ll truly ever move beyond the shaming I experienced with Zeus. It still plays a part in my current relationship despite the fact that it’s been three years since we’ve seen each other. But I do know that I can’t let it own me forever. Sure, he didn’t like my vagina. But it’s not his to like. It’s not for my partner to like either. It’s mine. I have to like it.

And one day – I will.