“Every Girl I Know” writes, and says constantly:
“I’m afraid after I have kids it’s gonna be a hot dog down a hallway.”
“It’s for real, roast beefy. Like, the inner lips are way too big. That shit looks like it’s been chewed on. Fruit leather.”
“I’m insecure about the smell, taste, and appearance of my vagina and blah blah blah endlessly.”
I mean, look.
All other things being equal, it is preferable to have a young virgin twat than one that has been put to its intended use over and over and over and over again.
But I was stunned when I first boned Nikol, knowing that she had squeezed out a small city of beachball-headed humanoids and further had lived a lifestyle that was basically stock footage of a hot dog factory run in reverse, including many abnormally long and girthy wangs.
It looked, tasted and felt pretty much the same as other girls the same age.
I bet if I got there when she was 17, it would have been even better. Age is a bigger factor than use. But even age isn’t that big a deal. The pussy is pretty much the same.
Use of birth control and time of cycle does make a difference. Pussies on BC never hit that sweet spot of ovulating cuntmusk and perfect viscosity of lube mucous. So, if you must do something, risk an unintended pregnancy with a drunken scumbag who won’t pull out so your pheromones will be slightly more alluring.
Almost all girls have beef drapes. I think the contained fat pussy is like the huge perfect penis: overrepresented in porn and art because people who have it are unashamed to be photographed and painted and etc. Running into one in the wild is like you running into Christian Grey’s mammoth veinless alabaster beef stick hanging off a bar fuck. A pleasant surprise, but never expected.
So: stop worrying about it.