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My Pussy, My Friend

Although I have known her all my life, Pussy and I have not always been best friends. My first memory of Pussy was at two years old. I had secretly been playing with Pussy instead of taking my afternoon nap, and Mother was furious when she found out. Mother forbade me to play with Pussy. I liked Pussy, and I did not understand why she was corrupt, but Mother explained that Pussy was dirty and I would be too if I associated with her. I abided by Mother's rules because I was a good little girl, and I thought that grown-ups knew better. Pussy came knocking on my window several more times, but I would always ignore her. I am sure Pussy was hurt by my sudden indifference, but I refused to disobey Mother, and I couldn't very well tell Pussy the truth.

I would not kiss and make up with Pussy for several more years. During my childhood years I came to believe that Mother was right about Pussy. Indeed, Pussy was a dirty girl. Sometimes she was smelly. Sometimes she couldn't control herself and would wet her bed. Sometimes she would even wet herself if she laughed too hard. All this meant that Pussy did not have any friends. She was all alone. I think poor Pussy must have know how awful she was because she did her best to disappear from the world, and I rarely saw her.

Eventually, Pussy had to deal with the world, and at the worst possible time.

Puberty was not kind to dear Pussy. Many people go through an ugly phase during this stage, and Pussy was no exception. Everything seemed to happen overnight, so Pussy had no time to adjust. Pussy's classmates disturbed by these changes too, for puberty arrived earlier for Pussy than it did for them, and as if that wasn't enough for the poor little girl to deal with, she also had to put-up with there constant teasing. How was she to know why she had hair down there? Children ask the silliest questions, and to avoid them she made every excuse to stay out of the changing rooms when other girls were around.

The teasing was not the worst part though; the monthly visits from the Smelly Red Mammoth were. Those were the days when Pussy cursed herself for being born female. She came to despise her sex and to view it as a burden. The Smelly Red Mammoth would gobble up all her haemoglobin, feed her poison apples that gave her stomach aches, and bash her neurons, making her judgement cloudy. The monthly visits were hell and Pussy was forced to play the part of the devil.

Pussy had once been a pink and perky princess, but now she felt like a lonely leper.

Luckily, nothing could break down Pussy's spirit. During these worst of times Pussy and I rekindled our friendship. It was an odd friendship, because we had grown to be opposites. All the difficulties that Pussy had endured had made her tough and very introverted. Pussy shied away from people, especially from boys, and turned her attention to books instead. In the process she developed a most desirable brain. I, on the other hand, was unscathed by puberty. In fact, puberty very beneficial to me, since it gave me my two biggest assets, the Twin Peaks of Creamyland. Suddenly, I was extremely popular and everywhere I looked, grown men were drooling at my fleeting reflection. I must admit that all the attention went straight to my head, and occupied all the space up there. However, I was what you would call street smart, and I realised that a friendship with Pussy would be advantageous to us both! Together, Pussy and I made the perfect pair. She was the brains, and I was the beauty

At first, Pussy and I had perhaps a mere partnership, but this quickly developed into a full-blown friendship, and before long we were living under the same roof, and because we were on a budget, in the same bed as well. We were as close and as loving as two friends can be, while still retaining our separate identities. I was the one who showed her how to enjoy life's pleasures. I wanted her to have fun till she was tickled pink. Being wise and maternal, Pussy took it upon herself to keep me safe, and she tried her best to curb my one toxic addiction: boys. I love boys, all sorts of boys, but especially bad boys. She did her best to limit my lecherous ways. Whenever I came back to our tiny room, drunk and carrying a horny boy on my arm, Pussy would make sure that the boy made his way home before I got carried away and got into any sort of trouble. Pussy does not trust boys. She does not like the fact that I am so loose around them; we have argued over this many times, but seeing as she is smarter, I have yet to win my case. Sometimes I think that she is a little over-protective. Sometimes I feel like she doesn't think that anyone is good enough for me.

Sometimes I think she is too in love with me to set me free.

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