January: Ovaries, like fluffy die, come in two-packs. Don’t rip them out to play craps, though, because they’re oval, not six sided. There’s one on the driver’s side of the uterus and another riding shotgun to the left. Ladies, if the cat eats both ovaries while you’re asleep you’ll know because you won’t ovulate anymore. Not having heard of Playstation or xtreme sports, ovaries spend all their time producing eggs and are also card carrying members of the endocrine system, which is not a galaxy far, far away, but a fancy-pants term for something that produces hormones. While you go about being a decent, productive member of society, your ovaries are cooking up oestrogen and progesterone in their crazy meth kitchen.
February: Quite the little diva, an egg relies on hairs in the fallopian tube to bear it towards the uterus. Some eggs have even been observed standing at the top of a fallopian tube screaming for a taxi. This process of the ovaries producing, storing and releasing eggs into the fallopian tubes is called, rather boringly, ovulation. Better marketing would have seen it called EGG-XTREME FALLOPIAN LUGE or SHREDDING REPRODUCTIVE PIPE. The eggs loll about on the street corners of the uterus, playing loud, obscene rap music, using foul language, smoking crack, and freaking with absolutely any old sperm that blows by. The eggs can get quite snippy if the baby-batter fails to appear and jettison themselves out of the uterus in an angry red menstrual huff.
March: The fallopian tubes are the spaghetti straps on the foxy ginch gown that is the reproductive system. Fallopian tubes have fringed ends and somebody needs to drop a word in their ear that fringing on top of spaghetti straps is just a tad too-too and that less is more unless they want to look like a Dolly Parton impersonator.
April: All that I can say about the cervix is that she hates being kissed by an oversized disco stick. In fact, whenever cervix reads this in a novel she cringes.
May: The clitoris is the CIA operative of the snizz—small and clandestine (and apparently undetectable to some) it’s located toward the front of the vulva where the folds of the labia join. Ladies, always remember it’s your loyal lady-friend and it loves you, so don’t lose it.
June: All muscle and no brains, the uterus longs to challenge The Rock to a wrestling match. Thwarted in this ambition, some uteruses become enraged and ensure that painful monthly menstrual cramps ensue. Unlike The Rock’s biceps, the uterus muscles can expand enough to accommodate a baby and then contract sufficiently to deliver it. In the uterus’ mind, this means it has all the talent but The Rock gets all the fame. Ladies, don’t be surprised if an FBI profiler tracks death threats made to The Rock back to your uterus. Best not to allow your uterus access to pen and paper. And watch out for uterine horns.
July: Unlike men’s junk, the human female’s reproductive system is designed much like Ikea furniture. Lots of expandable storage space all tucked away out of sight. If the vulva came in pine we’d know for sure that Ikea had been involved in their design. The vulva is the external part of the female reproductive organs and is pretty dependable in that you and your friends can always find it chillaxing in the same place between your legs. Your vulva takes care of all its little reproductive homies by covering them. Somebody trying to get through your vagina’s opening to steal your reproductive organs? “Not on my watch,” says the vulva. Vulva actually means ‘covering’ in Latin which means that in Hollywood shoot-outs people could say “Vulva me, I’m going in!”
August: The fleshy area located just above the top of the vaginal opening is called the mons pubis. A wee bit pretentious, your mons likes to speak French with a lisp and often refers to its lady-garden neighbours as ‘mes amis’. Always keep berets out of its reach.
September: Two pairs of skin flaps called the labia (which means lips) surround the vaginal opening. They have the distinction of being the only adult female lips in the world which do not have lipstick foisted upon them (though if lipstick were to be made for them, I’d like to see a signature shade called ‘Hot Merkin Mama’).
October: Ladies, you have a vestibule. Say whaaat? I’m not shitting you, the vulval vestibule is the lobby or entrance hall of your vulva and the obvious place to hang festive decorations.
November: The Lacunae of Morgagni is part of the urethra. Swimming in the Lacunae is discouraged.
December: Wolffian vestiges. Okay, I don’t even know how to explain this one. I think it might be like a White Walker that lives between a woman’s legs.
Rhyll writes about sexy Teutonic men who know their way around lady parts. Check out Stein in her novel, Unrestrained.
A guarded recluse, some dirty pictures and a spark of curiosity that leads to a dangerous attraction.
When the reclusive Holly accidentally finds some very naughty photos, both the star – all inked muscle and attitude – and the way he’s tied his lady friend to his four-poster bed make her more than a little curious.
But to get to know the big, built stonemason better, she’ll have to overcome his vengeful ex and her own inhibitions – and pray that the walls she’s built around her guarded heart and dark secret remain safe from a man who has a way with stone.
‘One of the funniest, smartest and sexiest erotic romances I’ve read.Unrestrained has a balance of emotional intensity, humour, and heat that is rare and incredibly special.’ – Love Reading Romance