My knees were up and spread with my toes hanging off the cushion of my big comfy chair. I cursed my insecurities as I furiously plunged a couple of fingers in and out of my pussy and angrily twisted my smiling clit-with-no-name. 

I came out of retirement to work with a group of millennial x-y-z-ers, all of whom were surprised that I hadn’t ever given my clitoris a name. 

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously!” 

I took them at their word. “How?” 

“Jill off. It’ll come to you.” 

It did. Now she needs a nickname.