For as long as I can remember, I've been searching for the perfect pussy.

The woman with whom I’d feel safe and secure. The one to absolve my discomforts. I’d trust the perfect pussy--trust her to hold and care for my sensitivities, to wrap her legs around me and never let go. And when the perfect pussy came around *ahem*, I’d know it was her.

But these days, I’m beginning to wonder if maybe I had this perfect pussy thing all wrong. What if there is no perfect pussy to wag in your face and heal you? What if the perfect pussy is instead one that sticks around while you go about healing yourself?

Or maybe the perfect pussy is the one walking along the shoreline as you’re swept away in the undercurrent, there to take you by the hand when you’re ready to pull yourself out. Or perhaps the perfect pussy is simply one who can turn toward you with love--even when you run away until they hurt, when you’re searching for a way out, when you’re lost in the fog of doubt and confusion and pain.

Hell, maybe I’ve found the perfect pussy. Maybe she’s reading this right now. Could be the perfect pussy is the one holding me through the night and laughing at my jokes and listening to my fears on repeat as I peel back the layers to find something new but always the same. 

Yeah, that’s the perfect pussy… The one that picks up when I call… Even though I don’t always return the favor…

But hey, I’m not claiming to be--or have--the perfect dick. Still, I will say this.

It’s gotta be pretty great to keep my perfect pussy around. <3

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