The most popular slang term to describe vaginal flatulence seems to be "queef." Some say the word is onomatopoeic and describes the sound the vagina makes when it unexpectedly expels air during or after sex "queef!" Others say its a combination of "quim" and "whiff." Others insist the word isn't "queef" at all, but rather "quiff." Or "queeb." Or "queever." Or "quiblet." A correspondent from Southern California says his homeboys call it a "quafe," rhyming with "safe." In eastern Canada its called a "keiff," rhyming with "knife."
A Frank Discussion of Vaginal Flatulence
It produces tremendous sadness among consenting adults. A terrifyingly disheartening experience, it causes great distrust between couples. A neglected, regrettable cubbyhole of human sexuality, it has ruined thousands of relationships.
When a woman's vagina ruins a tender moment with a loud, unexpected expulsion of Cunt Gas, what is the discerning gentleman to do? When the giant slimy clam opens its mouth and belches, what is the proper etiquette? Do you ignore it or try to console her or do you tell her how truly repelled you are? Do you try to make light of it with jokes such as, "Who CUNT the cheese?" Or do you immediately get up, get dressed, leave, and never call her again? Do you ridicule her as a cheap hooker filled with rotted sperm? Or do you reply with a friendly fart of your own?
Even if she only does it once, and even if you don't tell your parents or clergymen about it, her slovenly vaginal eructation will always be in the back of your mind, forever destroying any hopes for total intimacy. It's something you need to talk about with your physician and your marriage counselor, and even if they're helpful, the damage may have already been done.
We're talking about queefs, gentlemen. Beaver burps. Muff music. The medical term, "vaginal flatulence," sounds like the name of a death-metal band. In England and Australia, where "fanny" is synonymous with "pussy," they call them "fanny farts." Still others call them "varts," a portmanteau of "vagina" and "farts."
But whatever you call it, at least call it "disgusting."
Since it typically happens during moments of sexual rapture, at those rare, blessed moments when men and women share each other's bodies and spirits in the fullness of what it means to be a Sexual Being, the queef is perhaps the single most disgusting and soul-destroying bodily function known to mankind. Unfortunate human realities such as body odor and anal mishaps are the domain of both sexes; vaginal flatulence, like menstruation, belongs in a Realm of Disgust exclusive to the fairer sex. Both male and female genitals can be seen, touched, tasted, and smelled. But only the vagina boldly ventures into the fifth sense, that of sound.
Flurpf! Fwomp! Blurp! Flap! Splat! Thar she blows! A warm, wet, stinky blast from the vaginal steamhole. How charming. How dainty. How thoroughly ladylike. Even without vaginal flatulence, the female procreative organs are a repulsive parfait of mucus membranes intermittently drooling with blood; the queef is the cherry on top, proving forevermore that WOMEN CAN BE ICKY.
So whenever a group of women start ragging about how all men are disgusting, all you need to is say a word:
The room will become silent. The women will either slink away in shame or attack you en masse.
The queef is shrouded in disinformation and misunderstanding. This reporter could find no direct medical texts dealing with the topic of "vaginal flatulence," and this after days of wading through google. Surprisingly scant literature exists on a subject acknowledged as so universal. This may be evidence that even doctors are embarrassed that it happens and don't want to think about it.
A physician friend likewise came up with no solid research but instead offered the following opinions:
"I did a MedLine search on vaginal flatulence and found jack diddly. However, based on some personal reflection it is most likely due to the architecture of the particular vagina. Firm vaginas allow for a tighter seal around the penis, letting less air penetrate into the vaginal vault when the piston-like action of intercourse occurs. This forces air into, and then out of the dead end of the vagina. It would follow then, that loose vaginal muscles will allow queefing to occur. What causes loose vaginas is academic; however, but if a human being has tumbled out of it, or if it's been mercilessly penetrated, logic would indicate these as probable contributors."
A group of women on a post-hysterectomy BBS reported an increase in pussy-farting after their operations, which lends credence to the idea that it's caused by a loose vagina. There is also a phenomenon known as "windsucking"; basically, equine pussy-farting that occurs among female horses whose cunt-caves have been rendered slack after giving birth.
A Bustle in Your Hedgerow
Several accounts suggest that it occurs most often during "doggy style" intercourse. Many other women report pussy-farting during orgasm. This may be due to the fact that a womans vaginal muscles expand and contract during orgasm like chimney bellows, sucking air in and then blowing it out.
Queefing is not always caused by sexual activity, because some women claim to get them during yoga squats or other strenuous feats. Through skillful vaginal flexing, many women can actually produce them at will, causing great mirth at slumber parties and in the girls' bathroom.
There's ample cinematic evidence of such willful vaginal flatulence. Most notorious is perhaps a 1979 Mitchell Brothers film featuring one "Honeysuckle Divine" and her amazing talking snatch. A thing of repellent wonder, Ms. Divine's poonanner quacks and snorts and breathes and shoots ping-pong balls and blows out candles to the snickering delight of a SF grindhouse audience. Another video has circulated for years that was allegedly sent by a wannabe groupie to virtuoso guitarist Steve Vai. For what seems like ten hours, she tries to woo the fast-fingered rocker by making frapping sounds with her sloppy starfucker gash. There are also reports of porn vids wherein a saucy female blows out every flame in a candelabrum with her snatch before drinking a goblet of cum; another where a girl fanny-farts into a flute; even a video called "Amber the Lesbian Queefer."
But in stark contrast to such willful queefers stand perhaps millions of women who not-so-silently endure the humiliation and social stigma of involuntary vaginal flatulence. What's worse is that there's no way to tell whether a potential mate will be prone to queefing. It's not like the vagina is a coal mine and you can send a canary in there to test whether it's safe.
I have a friend who, back in his high-school days, dated a gal who once queefed nonstop for a half-minute after he pulled his slimy meatbone out of her.
It was to be their last date. The next day in school, he told everyone of her vagina's didgeridoo-like performance. They all laughed and started making cruel farting noises whenever she'd walk by them in the hallway. She was emotionally ruined and probably became a nun or a stripper.
I once knew a girl who queefed so much, it was as if her cunt was a set of worn bagpipes hiding under her tartan schoolgirl dress. She had straight black hair, a round face, and nostrils big enough to insert coins in them. And her cunt snorted like a bronco. It was a frickin whoopie cushion, let me tell ya. She spent much of our relationship speaking through a muff megaphone. She was disgusted and ashamed of her relentlessly belching cuntflaps. It humiliated her to the point of violence on more than one occasion.
Her mortification at queefing was directly tied to the hatred she bore for her vagina, which was directly tied to her guilt, which was directly tied to her low self-esteem, which was directly tied to the lowness of her self. She localized her self-hatred in the act of queefing, rather than the proper place, i.e. her entire being.
One mouth is never enough for a woman. Maybe we aren't listening closely enough, and maybe there is a message deep inside those talking vaginas, if we can only get past our understandable disgust. Like the Voyager probe, which included a golden record and diagrams of the male and female bodies in order to present a picture of our culture to extraterrestrial species, might it not be possible that our own creator encoded a message to his creations in the form of the nefarious Queef?
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