Author Bio: Megan is a writer and lifestyle blogger married to a commercial fisherman who presented her with a Clone-A-Willy the summer he fished for three full straight months. They got the mold right the second time, and now Megan encourages other partners of commercial fishermen to clone their pussies, too. Take a peak into the life of a commercial fisherman’s wife at meganwaldrep.com. 

Explaining the Clone-A-Pussy was a conversation I never thought I’d have with my mother. Although I’m a columnist who has written about sex, dating, and relationships for almost a decade, my mom “just can’t” when it comes to my stories. 

I mean, I get it. 

I’m her daughter, whom she taught to keep private about her privates. Mom’s response to my Clone-A-Willy Reel with a step-by-step guide for replicating your partner's penis? “For the love of Pete!” which loosely translates to, “You gotta be fucking kidding me.” 

I quickly explained that partners of commercial fishermen sacrifice A LOT when fishermen are gone – household responsibilities, family emergencies, holidays, birthdays, and raising kids solo. “Unfortunately, our sexual needs are sacrificed, too. But they don’t have to be.” I said. “This is about female empowerment, Mom. It goes beyond the dildo.”

She started to protest but settled back on her heels as if something clicked. At the end of the conversation, she not only understood but even encouraged me to write about it. 

The Willy bomb was a stretch for our relationship, so you can imagine my terrible joy in explaining that next, I would clone my pussy and encourage others to do it. I don’t know how to describe her reaction except that it was as if time had stopped, and she melted to the kitchen floor. 

Mom regained her balance, though I sensed the word “pussy” echoing in her head. After a beat, she mustered up unwavering support the way only mothers can do and, in a low, shaky voice, said. “I guess you could display it in a gallery in New York City or something.” I almost spit out my drink.

Honestly, I’ve just gotten comfortable saying “pussy” myself. I’m more of a “vagina” gal. But seeing Mom wince made me think about the shame society has placed upon the puss since day one. Vaginal rejuvenation, douching, and even floral scented tampons tell us something is consistently wrong with “down there.” 

Independent women, especially partners of commercial fishermen, have an internal strength that rivals no other. Yet how can we root in that power if we don’t know what our most powerful part looks like?

And I’m talkin’ about really looking at our vulvas. If you think about it, our partners, doctors, and even our exs’ are more familiar with our flawless vulvas than we. Sure, you can use a handheld mirror. But balancing with one leg propped and crouching in weird angles makes your neck hurt after a while. 

The thing is, cloning our pussies isn’t about our fishermen, although a masturbation sleeve can be attached to make it a gift.* Fishermen barely have time to eat and sleep, let alone masturbate in a commercial fishing boat. And I’m not sure a sleeve would work while laying in a berth with the next bunk inches from your face. I’m talking about doing it for us so we can root in our power, learn what that power looks like, and embrace it.

I cloned my pussy last weekend, and she’s currently in a frame on my desk. Well, she’s stuck to the glass on the frame on my desk, but it works just fine. When company comes over, I’ll place her in my panty drawer — eyes only for me.

I want her accessible, to observe the most mysterious part of my body that’s taken 40 years to accept. When I look at her, it’s like, Hey, girl, Heyyyyy! I am WOMAN! I GOT THIS! Strangely, my vulva has taken a personality all her own, like a new BFF to pal around with. It almost feels like the band got back together, though no one ever left. 

What are your thoughts on Clone-A-Pussy? Would you do it? Don’t be shy; we’re family here! Please share in the comments below!