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Wetlands Chapter 2
Hygiene’s not a major concern of mine.
If you’re a germaphobe, probably best to turn back now. If you stick with me, this chapter will take you far beyond uncomfortable. Well, the whole book will. Even if you’re not a germaphobe.
Helen talks about how her mother was biased about genital cleanliness between genders. It was super important to keep a vagina clean, but didn’t seem to care much about Helen’s brother’s penis. She says her mother made pussy-washing a ‘deadly serious science’, and that it’s super difficult to keep your lady parts really clean. She claims that this is nonsense, and that with a little water and soap and a ‘scrub-scrub’, you’re fine.
Just don’t wash too much. For one thing because of the all-important flora of the pussy. But also because of the taste and scent of the pussy, which is so important during sex. Don’t want to get rid of that.
I read a question letter in cosmo once where a girl was saying that her boyfriend didn’t like going down on her right after she showered, because her pussy smelled like her body wash. Cosmo advised getting a non-scented soap to keep herself clean and her boyfriend happy with the natural smell of her vadge. So I guess Helen’s thoughts here are valid for some people.
I’ve experimented with long periods of not washing my pussy. My aim is to get its enticing scent to waft lightly out of my pants, even through thick jeans or ski pants. Men won’t consciously notice it but it’ll register subliminally since we’re all just animals who want to mate – preferably with someone who smells like pussy.
That, likely not so much.
We’re always told that perfume has an erotic effect on those around us. But why not use our own much more powerful perfume? In reality we’re all turned on by the scents of pussy, cock, and sweat. Most people have just been alienated from their bodies and trained to think that anything natural stinks and anything artificial smells nice.
I really like the general idea that Helen is getting at here, that society nowadays is obsessed with covering up natural scents. Don’t get me wrong, I wear deodorant and I like certain perfumes. But isn’t it strange how the media has banged it into our heads that you need artificial scents to attract people to you? I read in an article on Cracked.com that deodorant was basically a money making scam, and they advertised it by making people feel guilty about their sweat. Before deodorant, nobody cared, because everybody stank. Then, all of a sudden, women were shaving their armpits and slathering lavender goop in there.
Not judging, I do it too, I just think it’s cool that Helen questions it. Even in her own roundabout way.
Women spray perfume in public toilets after they’ve taken a shit, too. They think it makes everything smell pleasant again. But I still smell the shit.
So true. Helen goes on to talk about this horrible invention (which I’ve never heard of in North America, is this a big thing in Germany?) in public bathrooms. There’s a device in the ceiling above the stalls that sprays flower scented mist downwards onto you and into the air when you’re in the stall. She states that it’s ‘rape by hygiene fanatics’, and totally disgusts her. I think it’s a nice idea to keep public bathrooms smelling nice, but I’m not sure I’d want to be randomly spritzed on the head either.
Aaaaand at this point I’m done agreeing with Helen.
I use my smegma the way others use their vials of perfume. I dip my finger into my pussy and dab a little slime behind my earlobes.
First of all, the word smegma is now officially at the top of my list of grossest words ever. Second of all, slime is the last word that I want in the same sentence as pussy. No. Just no.
Helen talks about how her mother said that vaginas get infected more easily than penises, and that she was taught to never sit down on a public toilet. Now, I’m not so crazy about public bathrooms that I won’t go into one, but I will admit that I generally do the squat crouch to avoid sitting on the seat. And I am so glad that I do, because of this next bit.
I’ve turned myself into a walking laboratory of pussy hygiene. I enjoy plopping myself down on any dirty toilet seat anywhere. That’s not all. I rub the entire seat with my pussy before I sit down, going once around with a graceful gyration of my hips. When I press my pussy onto the seat it makes a smacking noise and then it sucks up all the pubic hairs, droplets, splotches, and puddles of various shades and consistencies.
I… I really need a cigarette. I’ll be back.
Okayyy. I have to say, aside from EW GOD WHYYYY, that Roche wrote this just beautifully. Because my eyes wanted to bleed just reading that passage, and the imagery was so real I exclaimed out loud, scaring a few people on the sidewalk. Yeah, when I first read this chapter, I was sitting on a bench downtown, looking very distraught.
Anyway, Helen goes on to talk about how she loves doing this the most at highway rest stops (WHYYYY?!?!?!), and that she’s never had a single infection. This can be confirmed by her gynecologist, which I’m sure just loves having appointments with Helen. /sarcasm. Helen admits that there was one time she thought she had an infection.
[…] I would notice afterward when I looked down – which I like to do – that there was a lovely, big, soft, white clump of slime in the water. With strings of champagne bubbles rising from it.
Again with the superb imagery, Roche. Seriously.
I have to admit that I’m very wet all day long – I could change my underwear several times a day. But I don’t. I like to let it collect. Back to the clump of slime.
You know what I really don’t want to know? How many people read this book and thought ‘wow, I can really relate to this!’.
Helen says her gyno allayed her fears by telling her that it was totally healthy for her to have such an active mucous membrane, so her ‘toilet experiments’ are totally okay. No, they’re not, Helen, stop it.
I keep close track of my bodily secretions. […] They might have barely touched my labia with a finger, but inside there was a Slip ‘N Slide ready to go.
I laughed my ass off at this. I know, I’m gross. :D
Helen jokes (I hope) about how she could make a business out of filling little containers of ‘slime’ to sell to dry women who can’t get wet for sex. She claims that it would be better than lube because it would smell like the real thing. But of course, some women might be grossed out by some stranger’s slime, so it would be better to try it out with ‘a dry friend’. Again with the laughter. This book is a rollercoaster.
I really like to smell and eat my smegma.
And the rollercoaster dips back down into a pit of despair.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been fascinated with my pussy’s creases. All the things you can find in there. I have long hair – on my head – and sometimes I’ll find a stray hair lodged between the folds of my pussy. It’s exciting to pull the hair out very slowly and to feel it moving in the various places it has twisted its way into.
Is this a fetish, somewhere? Pulling strands of stray hair out of your pussy? I’m seriously afraid to google it.
It’s a rare pleasure. Like another thing I get a kick out of: when I’m alone in the bathtub and I have to fart, I try to get the air bubbles to glide up between my pussy lips.
Farting in the bathtub is supposed to be hilarious. Not a form of masturbation. Thank you for ruining that, Helen.
When my pussy itches I have to scratch it real hard. I scratch up and down between the inner labia – which I call the dewlaps – and the outer labia – which I call the ladyfingers – and at some point I fold back the dewlaps to the right and left so I can scratch right down the middle.
Okay, ouch. No scratching of nails in there, thank you very much. Also, what’s with the nicknames for the inner and outer labia? At this point I had to take a step back and wonder if this whole thing wasn’t actually written as comedy. There’s so much praise for this book, all saying it’s unique and feminist and whatnot, but nowhere does it say ‘a hilarious comedy!’. I wonder if Charlotte Roche is sitting around somewhere laughing her head off that everyone is taking this book so seriously.
Back to smegma.
Helen looked up ‘smegma’ in the dictionary, because she was afraid to ask her friend Corinna. Corinna was convinced that only men had smegma. Honestly, I had no idea that smegma was even a word until I read this book. Look it up on Wikipedia, it’s delightful.
Helen gets angry because the dictionary insinuates that smegma is a result of inadequate hygiene. She says that even if she washes her ‘folds’ thoroughly in the morning, there is smegma by the end of the day.
Anyway, it’s good to have a juicy pussy. It’s extremely helpful for certain things. The concept of ‘inadequate hygiene’ is flexible – like a pussy. So there.
Some would disagree with you, Helen.
She takes out one of the adult diapers in her hospital room, and examines how horrible it is, praying again that she won’t need to use one. A male nurse comes in and introduces himself as Robin. He tells her all about her surgery, and how afterwards she’s going to have to clean it by spraying water up inside her ass in the shower.
None of this sounds like a problem. I certainly know my way around a showerhead. And I know just how to get the spray inside.
Lovely. Robin starts pushing Helen’s bed towards the surgery room, and she calms herself by cupping her pubic mound. I don’t know how that’s possibly a calming gesture, but that’s what she does. Of course, now that the showerhead seed is planted, she’s going to distract herself from the fear by telling us about her fun shower times.
At first I’d just aim the streams of water at my pussy; […] The harder the better. It should really sting. At some point a few jets of water actually shot up inside my pussy. And I realized this was my thing. To let it fill up and – just as nice – to let it all run out again.
I… I need another cigarette.
Okay, we’re almost there. Helen gives a very detailed description (I typed it all out and then decided against it… I shall paraphrase) about exactly how she enjoys this fetish of hers. I read this while uncomfortably squeezing my legs together, because dear god NO.
She slides the showerhead in (without lube, of course, because smegma), points it towards her g spot, and then turns the water on full blast. Ahhhh why am I reading this?!
Then, for some reason, she hums Amazing Grace, and lets ‘what I guess is about four litres’ fill up in there, and turns off the water. Then she pulls out the showerhead, holds the water in, and makes herself come and the water all comes rushing out.
It’s an effective way to calm myself. After the big rush of water, spurts of water will still come out for several hours, so I have to line my underwear with sheets of toilet paper – if it soaked through my pants it would look as if I’d wet myself. I don’t want that.
As a male, I’m sure reading this slightly grosses you out. As a female, I feel physically uncomfortable. Just gah. No. Ow and ew.
Helen talks about how her mother was a fan of using a bidet to freshen up after sex. She, of course, disagrees.
If I fuck someone, I’m proud to have his sperm in every crevice of my body, whether that’s on my thighs, on my stomach, or wherever else he may have shot his load. Why the idiotic washing afterward? If you find cocks, cum, or smegma disgusting, you might as well forget about sex. I love it when sperm dries on my skin, when it crusts and flakes off.
Though crudely put, Helen does have something in this passage. Hear me out! All I’m saying is that it’s true that bodily fluids (in some cases more fluids than others) are a part of sex. And if you’re grossed out by such things, then I don’t quite understand how you have sex. I’m not saying that normal well adjusted people like to walk around all day with a stranger’s dried cum on them, but when you’re engaging in a healthy sexual relationship, you have to deal with the other person’s excretions, as well as your own.
And when you’re in a long term emotional relationship, and you love someone, you kind of have to love their excretions as well. Otherwise where is the compatibility? Some people are more open minded than others about certain bodily fluids, but the normal ones, such as sweating during sex, that should be acceptable. I don’t get people that have to shower right after sex. You should want to snuggle up with your honey afterwards. J Anyway. Back to taking normal sexual things to a horrific level.
When I jerk somebody off, I always make sure that some cum gets on my hand. I run my fingers through it and let it dry under my long nails. That way, later in the day, I can reminisce about my good fuck partner by biting my nails and getting bits of the hardened cum to play with in my mouth; I chew on it and, after tasting it and letting it slowly dissolve, I swallow it. It’s an invention I’m very proud of: the memorable-sex bonbon.
Sometimes I just have nothing to say.
Helen talks about how it’s the same when a guy comes inside, she likes that she’s carrying sperm around all day.
[…] While the teacher is going on about philosophical attempts to prove the existence of God, I sit there smiling blissfully in my little puddle of sperm.
There I go, laughing again. Roche, you are the master of my emotions.
Robin finally gets Helen to the surgery room (thank GOD!) and the anesthesiologist gets her hooked up on IV and tells her to count.
Robin, the friendly nurse, wishes me luck and leaves. One, two…
And thankfully, here the chapter ends. Next time, we get to find out what Helen’s asshole looks like after her surgery! Aren’t you excited?
EDIT: I spent a good while putting in photos and captions, and then when I went to upload, everything disappeared and my draft was blank. Thankfully I wrote the text in word and could just copy it back in, but it took forever to find all of the pictures I used and put all of the captions and formatting and everything back in. The same thing happened again. I give up on this post. That’s why there aren’t any pictures, you just get text. I’ll do some research and fix this problem in the future.