My College Sex Group
All my girlfriends were talking about sex
and the vibrators they ordered from “Eve’s
Garden” which came with genital portraits
of twelve different girls. All my friends’ needs
swirled around me while their conversations
about positions crescendoed and they waved
their vibrators—black rubber things. Saved
by volubility I looked at the relations
of labia to clitorides—look, there was one
like mine, labia like chicken wattles
below a hooded clitoris. “Friends!
of these twelve genital portraits, which
are you?” I couldn’t ask them. Happy
to have found a picture of one like me:
the portrait held the hair all back and popped
the clitoris out like a snapdragon
above the dark vaginal stem.
Oh God, it was me! (and another, I stopped,
there were others like us, throughout the world.)
When my order for the vibrator was filled,
I’d get my own portrait. I’d show it to the next boy
before I got undressed, “Here’s what you’re getting.”
And I’m not alone, or ugly, if that’s what you’re thinking.