I was nineteen years old when I found out what a clit really was.
Strangely enough, I was in the Army and it was my qualification day on the range. The last time I had qualified on my M-16 was almost a year prior.
Of course, it was another unit running the range. Some infantry unit. I was military intelligence, the butt of many jokes in the Army, not the least of which had to do with our oxymoronic title. I guess the others didn’t realize they were making fun of themselves with that, too.
Before every qualification fire, we were required to battlesight zero our weapon. A cool sounding name for adjusting the sights of our weapon so that what we aim at is what we’re actually shooting. It was simple enough: put three rounds into a 25-meter paper target within a four centimeter diameter in the middle of a human-shaped target.
I was having trouble. Normally you get between nine and eighteen rounds to do it. I was on round 36 and counting.
One of the range safeties was a grizzled old Sergeant First Class, a leftover from the Gulf War era, Grenada, Kosovo and every other conflict we thrust ourselves in after Vietnam. I’m pretty sure he was past the retirement age but one of those guys who loved it so much – or had nothing else to look forward to after the Army – that he refused to submit his retirement paperwork.
“It’s your trigger squeeze.” He was so matter-of-fact and yet still able to instill fear in me with the way he spoke. He pointed to my shot group which had three holes punched in it in a more or less horizontal line. They were on target. Just not good enough to call good by Army standards.
“Yes, Sergeant. I’ll try harder.”
“No! That’s the problem,” he explained to me as we walked back to the firing line. “Do you know what a clit is?”
I looked at him curiously. My mind wandered to the word ‘clit’. I’d heard the word many times before. I found a stash of Playboys and Penthouses when I was younger. It wasn’t a foreign word to me, I just wasn’t entirely sure what or – more importantly – where it was. I simply knew it as a part of a woman’s anatomy (the concept of the elusive G-spot was something much more foreign and something I still wouldn’t learn for many more years to come – pun intended).
I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t want to admit that I didn’t know what it was. He already looked down on me. I imagined him going back and telling his grunt buddies about this MI geek who didn’t even know what a clit was. I could see them all laughing at my expense around a case of beer and a blazing barbecue (cooking sausages, no doubt).
“Yes, Sergeant.” The uncertainty in my voice must have tipped him off that I had no clue. That and my long response time.
He played along anyway, “You see, you gotta be gentle with it.” He put his trigger finger and thumb together and gently rubbed them back and forth. “You play with it too hard and she screams in pain. You gotta do it nice and soft. Gently squeeze until she pops off. Now imagine the trigger is your girlfriend’s clit. Be gentle. Squeeze it, don’t force it. You got it?”
“Roger, Sergeant.” Clear as mud, I thought to myself.
And as I got myself positioned in the foxhole again, I thought about it. I truly didn’t know what a clit was. Had I been doing things wrong this whole time? Man, I thought I was good at cunnilingus. Apparently I had been fooling myself this whole time. Truth was, I knew a clit was down there somewhere.
I remember my first ever experience. It was high school. And I went down on her one night after a football game. I licked and licked and licked until my tongue got so sore I couldn’t lick anymore. I certainly knew when the time came I would have no trouble with where to put… you know what. Because that’s what I was licking.
I even tried the trick my friend had suggested in spelling the ABCs with my tongue. I got bored around Q and was pretty certain she knew what I was doing. Besides, I could tell it wasn’t really doing anything for her. I never ventured outside of that area enough to know there was something else I should be paying attention to.
I went through high school like that. Granted there were only two other girls I performed cunnilingus on, so it’s not like I had a lot of experience to begin with.
As I grabbed my M-16 and loaded three more rounds, I got the gist of what he was saying: gentle trigger squeeze – in more words than that complete with a visual.
And I did just that. I gently popped off three rounds in a four centimeter diameter, key-holing two of the rounds. It was a great shot group.
Even the Sergeant First Class congratulated me – in his own way, “Yep. I believe you’re ready to go qualify.”
I damn sure was. I was confident. And I shot well enough.
That night, I searched for my girlfriend’s clit. It took a little while and a sore tongue, but I found it. It was the first she or any other girl I’d ever been with had actually humped my face. She moaned and kept grinding her hips. And I thought to myself…
Yep, I’m officially official. I’m qualified.