What makes a man prize one snatch above others, when they’re all pretty much fantastic? We delve into the curious male compulsion to grade vaginas.
Smack-dab in the middle of Man Town, its loyal, card-carrying denizens like to talk about “good pussy”–as if “bad pussy” exists. All one need do is gather ’round the neighborhood bar for some banter with the boys, and you will almost assuredly hear one of those bastards holding post-coital court, discussing the virtuousness of some lady’s vagina, as if trying to convince all who are willing to listen that what she bore between her legs was somehow more magnificent than anything he’s ever had before: “Man, that was some good pussy!” His barstool cronies will be over there, too, hooting and hollering like the first 20 minutes of 2001: A Space Odyssey, making provocative declarations like, “Hell yeah, brother, I need some of that,” but none of these sad sacks of cheap beer and mediocrity will understand–not completely, anyway–what the heck that dude is talking about.
Women aren’t so cryptic. They too have been known to talk to their girlfriends about how they got some of that “good dick,” but when they bring it up, they know precisely what they mean. Most ladies are referring to the “fit” or his ability to make them spit and moan like a chimpanzee with a banana up its butt. But come on—even the worst pussy, if such a thing is really out there, could get a man off in no time flat. Hell, so could an old gym sock. So, what’s all this cooter commentary about? Is there really a legitimate set of criteria that serves to separate the good pussy from the bad? And if so, what the hell is it? Well, we felt it was our duty to find out.
Look, we know what you’re thinking: Okay, HUSTLER, you mean after nearly 50 years, you folks–inarguably the kings of smut–have yet to establish a definition worthy of Merriam-Webster for what good pussy is and isn’t? Well, frankly, that’s much easier said than done. In truth, all pussies are good–great, even, a gift from whatever creators of the universe that you bastards choose to embrace. We’re Beaver Hunters, son, front-crack fanatics, first and foremost. We do not discriminate. All pussies are pretty, and all of us are damn lucky to have them around.
With that said, however, it’s tough not to argue that some are, at times, of a higher quality than others. Although we enjoy eating sushi on occasion, we would prefer to get it from a real itamae than the gas station down the street. It’s not that the stuff being sold alongside the condoms and Mountain Dew isn’t good, but sometimes, if we’re honest, it smells funny and tends to give us a belly ache.
