Free Cunt by Betty Dodson Inga Muscio Page B

buck a pop.
    Bam , everybody profits.
    All these situations are now in context and they now make sense.
    We are able to share knowledge, history, experiences, recipes and remedies like our
     motherkin could not. As more and more women communicate, a new language and sense
     of community evolves. Equipped with language, a means of communication and the desire
     to talk to one another, our voices, histories and dreams whirling dervish into regenerative
     cuntpower.
    The story of you gives the life of me personal power in my body, my eating and health
     habits, and in my political, spiritual, emotional and ethnic beliefs.
    Without you, I am ignorant, oppressed, alone.
    Without you, I am powerless.
    As we all know, up to this point American women have tended

    to rely upon methods of birth control founded upon a body of knowledge created by
     men.
    This holds true, even after it’s religiously proven to us like water torture on our
     foreheads from the cradle to the grave: Men have a vested financial interest in controlling
     our lives, histories and bodies. Men dearly love, cherish and respect women until
     death do us part as long as we’re:
    consumer
wife
teacher
helper
bitch
concubine
accountant
housekeeper
orphan
punching bag
counselor
nag
nurse
threeholestopenetrate
cook
mother
daughter
prey
Whore.
    Tangle, tangle, tangle, mother, grandmother, sister.
    We been told for centuries, he’s father, lover, husband, brother, son, and really,
     truly does have our best interests in mind.
    Pa-shaw.
    “Our best interests” are naturally, unquestionably predefined by a social power structure
     that, at the turn of the twentieth century, witnessed an ad for Lysol with a recipe for douching to keep wives from experiencing “embarrassing odors” during
     intimate moments with their husbands.
     
    Nowadays, most women who think about this kind of stuff—and have the opportunity—matronize
     the offices of women healthcare providers. Women go to male gynecologists—I can only
     imagine—because it’s a family tradition or there’s no better option. For me, personally,
     anyone who didn’t have a cunt and tried to look at my cunt in an exam room, would
     get a silly slap upside the head with a cold speculum.
    I know women do choose to go to male doctors because I see their names in the yellow pages: Richard,
     Ted, Micahel, James, Peter. I can only assume this means there is a demand for male
     gynecologists.
    I don’t know any women who go to male doctors, though.
    A lot of women have decided that the whole way we interpret healing in our culture
     is based entirely on a male construct. These women go to women naturopaths who rely
     on healing straight from Big Mom’s Bosom.
    Her thuja oil, for instance, which—with the expertise of a healthcare provider—can
     cure chlamydia. Her red raspberry leaf tea that tones and strengthens the uterus.
     Her acidophilus bacteria in yogurt that cures yeast infections by restoring the natural
     acidity of your cunt.
    And then there is you.
    You who are a child of the universe. Whether or not it is clear to you, you came from
     Big Mom’s Bosom too. Birth control and health care are very much integral aspects
     of your spirituality, self-esteem and power. Not only do you have vast wonders of
     communication at your beck and call, but Big Mom provided you with a mind and a will—the
     most omnipotent panaceas on the planet—to wield.
     
    The naturopath I mentioned earlier asks new patients to document everything they eat
     for a week and fully detail personal and family medical histories. On the first visit,
     she conducts an interview to get the psychological and emotional context before doing any physical examination. She procures a whole picture of what’s going on before ever
     touching someone’s body. You know: holistic medicine.
    This lady taught me a lot.
    We learn to respect everything our doctor tells us. Doctor knows best. Perhaps. But
     the doctor learned about healing