There was a girl I once dated. Before we first started fooling around, she pulled me aside and in a whisper told me she had something very embarrassing to tell me. It was a freckle she had, a freckle on her vagina.
In the dim fluorescent light of her campus room, she showed me the freckle. It was nothing. Circular, and no bigger than than a pencil lead, I shrugged it off and got down to business. I wouldn't have noticed it if she hadn't told me. And even after she did, it was the last thing on mind. A single freckle, hidden in folds of her vagina, was enough for her to feel insecure.
Everyone has a freckle on their vagina. Don't sweat it. Life's too goddamn short.
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