Thanks for the mammaries

For most men the female body is an enigma. A gloriously curved Rubik as mysterious as pre-Rosetta hieroglyphics and twice as hard to read.
From the exotically named wobbly bits to the esoteric squidgy bits, we wander around these silken lands like humbled tourists, just glad to be allowed temporary access to such a beautiful and awe inspiring place.
So in the spirit of Neil Armstrong, Captain James T Kirk and Henry the fifth, I decided to take one giant leap and boldly go once more into the breach dear friends to try to discover a little more about this foreign country we call woman.

Initial internet research on the subject had only led me into six months of unproductive tissue laden dead ends. It was just as I was on the edge of nervous exhaustion and was about to admit defeat in my quest, when my near crippled fingers stumbled upon the web site of Valerie Mcdougal-Smythe-Campbell-Scott-Bell-Jones a woman who was offering courses in the female anatomy to mystified men such as myself.
This was the break I'd been looking for and as soon as I could force myself away from the dirty digital backwaters of the world wide web of unregulated filth, I contacted Ms Mcdougal-Smythe-Campbell-Scott-Bell-Jones and arranged to spend a day with her, at her 'knowing Venus' clinic, attempting to penetrate the mysterious mysteries of the female form.

Ms Mcdougal-Smythe-Campbell-Scott-Bell-Jones 'Knowing Venus' clinic was housed in a large detached Victorian pile stranded purposefully at the end of a long gravel drive and hidden from prying eyes by an assortment of overgrown trees and shrubs that at one point in time must surely have been called the garden.
I hurriedly made my way down the rain slicked gravel, nervous but excited about the prospect of finally finding out just what all those bits I constantly thought about actually were.
I pressed the bell and quickly straightened my wet hair as somewhere deep within the house the bell chimed out the opening bars of 'Sisters are doing it for themselves' a minute later the door swung on its hinges and revealed the amply proportioned frame I immediately knew was Ms Mcdougal-Smythe-Campbell-Scott-Bell-Jones.

The fifty something guru of the uterus had a figure that resembled two giant donuts placed haphazardly atop one another. I couldn't see it but I just knew instinctively that the long flowing gypsy style skirt hid a posterior that looked like two badly parked Volkswagens fighting for one space.
From a mop of wild Kate bush style hair her pleasant round face chimed out "Don't stand out there getting wet, come in. You must be Mr Trent D'arby from News story for you directly."
"It's News direct and please call me Terence."
"Terry it is then."
"No, Terence."
"Oh, ok, would you like to come through to the lounge.....Terence?"
She swayed her ample form across the ample hall and waited by the door of the lounge so she could personally usher me through.
The room seemed to be a high ceilinged tribute to the nineteen seventies from the chocolate brown decor to the nail and string art adorning the walls, it was the kind of room shaft used to go undercover in.
She threw herself down onto a bean bag and waved her hand in the direction of the one opposite her. I attempted the same casual flop she had executed and promptly rolled off the other side.
"There's a kind of knack to it."
I clambered back onto the bean bag and tried to find a comfortable position. I didn't find one and made do with a lopsided attempt at one.
"So Mr Trent D'arby, what would you like to know?"
"Terence please."
"Sorry Terence, what would you like to know?"
"Well you could start by telling me a little about yourself."
"Well lets see...I'm fifty nine..."
"Surely not."
"Oh yes."
"You don't look a day over.....errr.....fifty....seven."
She stared blankly for a moment at my attempt at gallantry before venturing a flat "Thank you."
I sensed I was losing her so I went on the offensive "Why all the names?"
"Well I have been married five times and after the divorces I just kind of accumulated names."
"So what kind of qualifications do you have for the work you are doing?"
"Six husbands and countless lovers darling."
"What is it you actually do here?"
"Well after a lifetime of men I came to the realisation that men are, for want of a better word, idiots."
"I think that's a bit of a generalisation, look at me I have three GSCE's and was voted most likely to suck seed, I think that was a misprint."
"I don't mean intellectually, I mean sexually and emotionally. Not one of my husbands or indeed any of the countless lovers I have entertained throughout the years had any idea about a womans body or how to please it."
"Maybe you have met the wrong men?"
"That's the problem darling you are all wrong, that's why after my last divorce I used the settlement to open this place to try to set you poor confused souls upon the path to knowledge."
"So how do you actually do it, lectures, slide shows?"
"No, dear me no, we are not learning about economics or the siege of Stalingrad dear, we are learning how to play the world's most complex instrument and the only way to learn is through hands on experience."
A puzzled look grafted its self onto my normally blank features and before I could question her further she had slid back on the bean bag, removed her large knickers and gathered her long skirt around her waist.
I stared open mouthed.
She stared back smiling.
My immediate thought was to ask what Fidel Castro was doing down there when he was supposed to be recuperating after complicated surgery.
"Does my vagina shock you?"
I stared.
"Come now Terence I'm sure it's not the first one you have seen."
"No.....but it's certainly the biggest."
"Can you see the labia majora?"
"Not without a telescope."
"You silly boy, the labia majora are these long outer lips."
"Ohhh that labia majora??? Yeah I knew that but I think you'll find those are called beef curtains."
"Yes they have many names, but the clinical name for these 'beef curtains' are the labia majora."
I squeaked "Ok."
We sat in silence as Castro stared out at me from below her still gathered skirt. To break the uncomfortable silence she was reveling in I said "It's been a mild winter this year, I don't think we will be having any snow."
"Would you like to see the labia minora?"
"Not right now thanks."
She ignored me and reached down and opened Castro's face to revel a gaping fist sized hole fringed by smaller slick versions of the ones she was holding wide apart.
"Jesus Christ!!!"
"These are the labia minora Terence."
"Alright."
"See how the shine in the light?"
"Yeah."
"That's because my vagina has moistened its self with vaginal juices."
"Ok."
"Now see this lump here?"
"The one you are stroking?"
"Yes that one, that's my clitoris."
I could feel my face burn with embarrassment and managed to mumble "Ok."
"See how she has come out of her little house and is standing to attention like a naughty solider?"
"This is a ladies main route to pleasure."
"Ok."
"Would you like to touch it?"
I looked longingly at the door "No thanks, not right now."
"Don't be shy, it's all in the name of education."
"No thank you not right now, I only ate an hour ago."
"I didn't ask you to go swimming."
"I'd rather not if you don't mind."
"Ohhh come now the big brave reporter is not scared of a little vagina is he."
"Firstly little is an adjective you should never use when referring to that" I pointed at it "and secondly I don't want to because I touched one before I came out this morning."
She continued to rub the slick bump sitting above the gaping maw "Oh you came out this morning? Your a gay?"
"Came out of my house!!!!"
"Don't worry I understand my third husband was a screaming queen."
She had me in a corner.
"Alright I'll touch it for gods sake!!"
"That's a good boy, just lean over and stroke her gently get used to how she responds to touch."
I stuck out my arm one finger extended like a nervous ET and leaned forward off the bean bag.
Half way towards Castro the beanbag shifted and I plunged forward at breakneck speed, a shrill scream filled the room.
Ms Mcdougal-Smythe-Campbell-Scott-Bell-Jones was laid head back, eyes closed and my arm was stuck right down Fidel Castro's throat.
I tried to pull it out but the octogenarian leader seemed to be trying to suck me back in.
"I think it's stuck" I said apologetically while energetically trying to pull my forearm free.
Ms Mcdougal-Smythe-Campbell-Scott-Bell-Jones just continued to breathe heavily and occasionally shudder.
It was like quicksand the more I struggled the more it pulled me in. I was in up to my elbow now and she had started to chant in some mysterious language.
After a good ten minutes of trying to work it out, I managed to retrieve my sore arm with a massive slurping sound that sounded like a giant bath emptying.
I stood.
"Well....I think that's about everrrrryything. Yep, that's about it I reckon."
Ms Mcdougal-Smythe-Campbell-Scott-bell-Jones continued to lay quivering and motionless upon her now soaked beanbag.
"Sooo, I'll be errrr off then it's getting...." I looked down at my wrist.
"Errr sorry to bother you but you seem to have my watch."
She continued to quiver eyes closed and ignored me.
"I can't leave it up there it's not waterproof and it was a present, anyway we can't have you wandering about ticking like Captain Hook's crocodile can we?"
I rolled my sleeve up took a deep breath and plunged back in. After twenty minutes of rooting around in there and a further ten minutes extrication time I had retrieved my watch and had started to make my way to the door when a hand suddenly grasped my ankle and sent me flying to the floor.
"Don't go!!!!! I think I love you!!!!"
Ms Mcdougal-Smythe-Campbell-Scott-Bell-Jones had recovered from her exertions and was dragging me by my ankles back towards her as I frantically scrambled for the door.
"No man has ever made me feel like you do!!! I want to be Mrs Mcdougal-Smythe-Campbell-Scott-Bell-Jones-D'arbyyyyyyy!!!!! Please!!!!!!"
"Get off!!!" I shouted while shaking my leg to try to break her iron grip on my ankle.
I managed to shake her loose and crawl out of the lounge into the hall, but just before I reached the front door I was again knocked heavily to the floor.
"Don't leave meeeeee!!!!!"
"Get offff you mad cow!!!!!!"
I scrambled up to the door and made my bid for freedom. As I sprinted down the long drive I could still hear her wailing her declarations of love somewhere behind far me.
As I hurtled down the drive I reminded myself that some mysteries are best left as mysteries.