Pussy Power House presents interactive events and experiences by a community of women standing together to promote self love + personal expression! We care about the earth and support each other in collaboration instead of competition. Founded by Corinne Loperfido in 2017.
Pussy power house zine Featured essays / Contributing Editor 2017-2019
These Titties: Forever Thirteen|Boobs|January 2019
[Updated from originally published version on 9/30/21]
Like most humans with higher levels of estrogen than testosterone, my breasts started to take form in my tween years, when puberty hit. From then on, their size has fluctuated here and there, depending on whether or not I was on the pill or on my period, of course, but for the most part, they look and feel the same as when I was just 13. The left tit still has a slightly inverted nipple and is smaller than the right. Actually, to be honest, the left one may have gotten smaller. The right is still a solid A, or according to Victoria’s Secret, a solid 30 D…I’m sorry, what the fuck? I think they were just trying to get me to buy more fabric real-estate and entice me to continually shop at their store for bras, cuz there certainly isn’t anyone else making that absurd size.
What they lack in volume, they make up for in nostalgia. That fresh-outta-middle-school-recently-housed-in-a-bra-and-starting-to-get-horny kind of youth, that only a tiny titty can maintain. I suppose that’s the main appeal for those that have enjoyed my breasts over the years, their ability to take one back to early sexploration, and the fact that they are, in fact, breasts, which is the only thing that matters to most. “Boobs are boobs,” they might say, or, “they’re beautiful just the way they are,” if they were one of the nicer ones.
For these reasons, and a few others, the thought of getting plastic surgery has never crossed my mind. That’s not to say that the thought, “Having larger boobs could be nice,” hasn’t crossed my mind, but that was usually in cases where clothes didn’t fit me right. Historically, my usage of padded bras has been few and far between, and I only stuffed my bra a few times in my tween years, only because the girls at school (who I considered both my friends and my bullies) were doing it. If Natalie tells you to stuff your bra, you stuff your bra and worry about the tissue falling out during P.E. later.
What a horrible breed of peer pressure, in retrospect. The brainwashing notion of “bigger breasts are better” had already penetrated her young mind and she was now shaming other girls, who were too young to even grow big boobs, for the most part, and were definitely too young to have sex. So like, what’s the point of pretending to have bigger boobs at that age anyhow? It’s not like boys our age even thought for a second, “I need to find a girl with bazongas full of milk to feed our children.” There was probably a combination of subconscious primal genetic predeterminations connected to fertility, relatively not so distant memories of mother’s teat, and a barrage of media images, flooding their little sponge brains, but I would highly doubt the conscious thought of wanting to procreate popped in there. We could go deep into the “laws of attraction” or the “misguided beauty standards of modern society” or “what puberty does to the brain” and all that, but I need to keep us abreast of the matter at hand.
To say I have a bit of boob envy is only part of it, but also, it isn’t really envy so much as appreciation and awe. I like boobs, I’ll come out and say it, I LOVE BOOBS. They are beautiful, and I apologize if my gaze has ever meandered down to yours without consent, chances are they are larger than mine and I just wanted to look at some actual boobs for once. I’d like to specifically apologize to my cousin Danielle for staring at her breasts way too long the last time we saw each other years ago, many years ago, when our family went out for Mexican lunch in Orange County. It was a combination of shock and awe in this case, because the last time I saw her, she didn’t have any boobs, and out of nowhere, seemingly overnight, she had grown an award-winning pair of knockers. I realize I sound very crude and inappropriate and like a fucking 1950s greaser dude talking to his boys about some chick at school, and this is my cousin I’m talking about, goodness gracious, somebody wash my mouth out with soap and cleanse my dirty mind!
Around the time these 13-year-old titties stepped onto the scene, so did my interest in Playboy.com. When I was left home alone, I would allow a short buffer time period, in case my parents had forgotten something and returned abruptly, and would then jump on our Gateway desktop and type in the URL to the only nude site I knew of at the time. It was thrilling and my little semi-dirty secret, until now, and I’d always make sure to clear my browsing history after each viewing session. However, there is a possibility, while almost getting caught in the act once or twice, that I didn’t always manage to wipe my evidence clean, which may have been part of the reason my mom once told me, “Ya know, it’s ok if you’re gay hun,” but was probably mainly because I still had not had a boyfriend by the time I was in college, and didn’t until after I graduated. I also didn’t tell my parents that I am, in fact, Queer, in a pan & non-binary way, until after college. And if you really want to know, I’ve never been in a monogamous relationship with a woman or non-binary person, and am usually attracted to men, but it depends on the person as an individual at the end of the day, and it makes even more sense as to why I enjoyed looking at Playboy in my youth.
Woof, that was a lot of nip slipping of truths. Feels good to let it all hang out. Everyone should talk about boobs like this more often.
Think Before You Make Me Cum|Orgasm|August 2018
[Updated from originally published version on 9/30/21]
Bottom line, no one ever has, or ever will, make me cum like I can make me cum. The cyclical infinity loop of oneness, from mind to clitoris and back again, knowing exactly what I want and how fast or slow, how hard or soft, it’s the deepest of unbreakable bonds. And with the mind switched on daydreamer mode, you can picture sex with anyone or anything you want, you nasty little letch.
It’s probably for the best that I am my own best lover because if anyone saw what happens to my body when I make myself cum, they’d think I was having a seizure and a stroke at the same time. "Quick! someone call a doctor, they’re overdosing on orgasms!”…yeah, you heard me, multiple.
I suppose I can’t take full credit for these pleasure explosions, to be fair. Where would I be without the real live people I fantasize about, that just do so much, being themselves, inadvertently turning me on? Animals, fictional characters, nor objects really do it for me, so I’d be nowhere. On that note, I’d like to take a moment to thank all the people I’ve ever been sexually attracted to that have made their way into my brain during a proper rub down— thank you so very much, I couldn’t have cum without you!
I’d also like to thank the inventor of the ladybug-shaped body massager that landed perfectly in my lap one 3rd grade afternoon at Mt. Washington Elementary. “Oh really, go on.” Don’t mind if I do— I had my first orgasm in 3rd grade during Mr. Cass’s class, as we watched a film on laserdisc. Someone had brought a ladybug-shaped body massager to class and was passing it around. I put it down in my lap momentarily to get something from my desk, and oh what a feeling, and oh what a happenstance mitzvah that the thing was a ladybug and I had placed it perfectly atop my Ladybug, or at least that’s what I’ve heard the clitoris called by some, and what a very awkward coincidence that the teacher’s name was Mr. Cass, when my mom’s name is Cass, without the mister. Good thing there isn’t some secret underground neighborhood watch-type network for people named Cass that keep their watchful eyes peeled on everyone’s children and report back with every last detail.
But then there’s the kind of orgasm you have after a year plus of celibacy, a year-plus of healing from sexual trauma, a year to think about all that goes along with having an orgasm with someone else, and how to talk to your partner before, during and after. When you ask your partner beforehand when they were last tested, if they are truly single or in a non-monogamous relationship, what having sex means to them, in general, and with you, and what kind of crazy kinky desires are their ultimate fantasies…or at least how they like to be touched…your intimate communication receptors become locked and loaded and ready to mentally orgasm along with your genitals. Not to mention the absence of certain toxins that had been clouding your judgment, numbing your body, and choking your voice box for much too long…let’s just say this is a whole new genre of orgasm, in a league of their own.
Cum to think of it, maybe there’s hope yet for someone else to make me cum like I make me cum, we just have to think before we cum. Yeah, “Think Before You Cum,” that’s what this is really about.
Waste Junky|Zero Waste|January 2018
[Updated from originally published version on 9/30/21]
Ok, just used this tea bag for the second time, good job me! That means there will be one less tea bag in the landfill. That’s something, but I should really get one of those tea balls, and buy loose leaf tea from like Lassen’s or somewhere. But this tea has a very specific formula, how can I recreate its portions properly to reap the health benefits? That sounds like a lot of work and I’m not an herbalist. Sounds like something I should get into later in life…along with gardening. YES! add it to my list of second life goals: grow my own food, grow my own herbs, grow my own weed, make my own tea, make my own tinctures…yes yes yes this will be great. And I won’t even have to bother patting myself on the back for not using any produce bags at the grocery store or figuring out what to do with the little plastic baggies they’ve been giving me my weed in at the collective…fuck, what should I do with all of those?
Oh, the dog is barking, my Postmate must be here. Hey, ya know, I told myself I would cut down on getting take out because of the cost and the waste involved, and I’ve been pretty good this week, despite being sick, but it’s Friday and I’m not going out and I’m too tired to cook, so I ordered curry noodle soup from one of my go-to vegan spots. I mean, at least it’s vegan, so that’s doing something good, right? Fuck! I forgot to write in the comments that I didn’t need any utensils. Even if I had, would they have read that and paid attention? Why isn’t that an option when ordering? Something like, “Choose from the following: Fork, Spoon, Chopsticks, None,” it’d be so easy! Especially since they already ask you other similar questions about what kind of sauce, and blah blah blah. Two forks and two spoons?! Damn it. I appreciate that My Vegan Gold thinks I have a partner that is going to share this meal with me, but no, no I don’t, just me, single, here with my unwanted single-use plastics. Well, into the “DO NOT TOSS: Saving plastics for art project” bag they go. Along with 12 other assorted cutlery, 10 beverage bottles, 10 to-go containers, 4 sauce containers with lids, 2 micellar water bottles, 1 pre-cut mango container, 1 mushroom box, and a bunch of assorted bottle caps, screw tops and pull tabs.
Now, these are only the items I’ve kept for the past month and a half, and don’t include every single plastic container I’ve used. A few of them had nasty food in them that I just didn’t feel like cleaning out and stinking up the trash with. I know, I know, it’s not that bad comparatively. But I’m still doing pretty good right? With my now 16 assorted cutlery, 10 beverage bottles, 12 to-go containers, 4 sauce containers with lids, 2 micellar water bottles, 1 pre-cut mango container, 1 mushroom box, and a bunch of assorted bottle caps, screw tops and pull tabs (I forgot to add the 2 more to-go containers from the food I just ordered, oops.)
Fuck! I spilled my tea. Ok, go get that reusable cleaning cloth that you found in the cleaning closet and have been intentionally using ever since. Intentional like, “Gosh, there’s a spill, but I can’t use a dish towel, cuz those towels are my napkins now, and I’m not going to use a paper towel, don’t even look over there, but yes, go get that blue and white cloth, it’s drying on the dryer, there ya go, wasn’t that easy, now just rinse it out and wring and boom, everything’s pretty clean.” With making a conscious effort to not waste as much comes being ok with a little dirt and grime, and I’ve been raised as a mild germaphobe, so there’s a lot of deep breathing and reassurance involved.
At least I’m not as much of a germaphobe and waste junky as that bartender the other night. Before I was even done eating my fries, he swiped not one, but TWO of the paper napkins I was forced to use at his establishment, into the trash. I planned on ONLY using the first one until it was completely covered in grease and ketchup and maybe even some snot if I had to blow my nose. But the things were barely used and only crumpled! I tried to stop him in the act when he went for the second one, but it was too late, by the time I could say, “Wait! I might need to…use…that…still,” it was already in the trash and he was already looking at me with this confused and, at the same time, patronizing look on his face. His look also feigned concern, when I went into a mild educational moment, saying something like, “maybe next time ask the customer if they are done with their napkin instead of just throwing it away, cuz it’s wasteful, and even my partially used napkin was perfectly fine still.” I’m betting that try at concern quickly turned into shit-talking to his co-workers once we left the bar, like, “Can you believe this bitch got mad at me for throwing away her napkins?! ‘Oh maybe next time you shouldn’t come here if you don’t want to use napkins, cuz it’s wasteful,’ hahaha fuckin’ bitch.”
Well, guy, this bitch is trying every day to be a better non-binary bitch, and make this world a better place for all us bitches to live in, one little baby enby bitch step at a time…so put that in your waste junky needle and shoot it the fuck up, bitch.
I’m on my period: these words have feelings|On My Period|November 2017
[Updated from originally published version on 9/30/21]
Part I: Words
The reactions one will get while wearing an all-white Backstreet Boys circa “I Want It That Way” costume, complete with face painted facial hair and a sign that says, “I’M ON MY PERIOD”, are those of amusement, shock, awe, hell yeah's, and oh no’s. People will want to take your photo. Some gays will say, “Yes girl, yes!” Others will just point and laugh, but in a way that says, “I feel embarrassed and uncomfortable, but good for you.” Confident, powerful, menstruating Queens in the room will worship you in dance, standing right in front of the stage, giving you their full attention and admiration.
This costume was more controversial than the ever-popular plush vagina mask and blood splatter matching set. Something about a visual, graphic representation of menstruation is a more socially acceptable, tongue-in-both-cheeks, statement piece than the four words “I’M ON MY PERIOD”, but why is that? Why does the word “period” have a taboo connotation, something that one should not openly discuss? Is it the blood? It can’t be the blood because people talk about their bloody injuries and brag about giving blood all the time. Is it the smell? It can’t be that because words don’t have a natural scent. Is it the mess? It can’t be the mess because people talk about poop, their poop, their dog’s poop, how their dog ate their cat’s poop, all the time, and poop is just plain gross.
Oh yeah, I forgot I was dressed as a Backstreet Boy. Maybe it was that? The combination, the juxtaposition, definitely both.
Part II: Feelings
I looked to my past writings to find something about my monthly bleed. The most applicable piece was hardly finished and titled “Whore-Moans” with an intro paragraph that read, “My oldest friend is three days younger than me. Last year around our respective birthdays, she informed me that, ‘Twenty-eight is a woman’s most fertile year, ya know.’ This excited her, but child barring had only been a passing thought for me when anyone asked, ‘Do you think you’ll want kids someday?’” This was before I came out as non-binary and before I watched the episode of Better Things, written by and starring Pamela Adlon, where she decides to have an impromptu beach vacation with her kids, instead of participating in her previously planned luxurious adults-only getaway with her rich friends. And that’s when I started to cry and thought, I want to love someone that much someday, I wanna have a kid.
Luckily, I have all the parts and bits needed to produce a kid, in theory. In theory, I will meet the perfect partner, get to know them, have a safe sex conversation, not just about diseases, but also about what having sex would mean to both of us, we’ll come to a consensus, we’ll have sex, and if it’s good, we’ll keep having sex and a lot of it, even period sex, cuz sex on your period can feel even better than off. And then, when the time is as right as it can be, we will attempt to get pregnant, get me pregnant that is, and it still scares the shit outta me.
If the scared shits never stop and this theory never becomes a reality, at least I will have my precious menstrual blood, my artistic body of work, and an “On My Period” necklace, purchased at the very first Pussy Power House event that I attended while sporting face painted facial hair, a denim onesie, and a hat adorned with a skeletal hand patch flipping the bird, pointing down to mean “fuck me.”
Event Credits
Personal Growth|PSKaufman|Los Angeles, CA|June 22, 2017|**
Fruit|PSKaufman|Los Angeles,CA|July 13, 2017|@$
Virgo birthday party|pskaufman|Los Angeles, CA|August 25, 2017|@$
Selfish|Think Tank Gallery|Los Angeles, CA|September 17, 2017|$
PPH @ Desert Daze|Institute of mentalphysics|Joshua Tree, CA|October 12-15, 2017|@**$
On My Period|PSKaufman|Los Angeles, CA|November 16, 2017|**
Zero Waste|PSKaufman|Los Angeles, CA|January 20, 2018|**
Flowers|PSKaufman|Los Angeles, CA|April 28, 2018|$
On My Period|Cult Party|Brooklyn, NY|May 3, 2018|**
Orgasm|PSKaufman|Los Angeles, CA|August 25, 2018|**
Boobs|Creatington|Los Angeles, CA|February 2, 2019|@**
@ co-host / ** featured performer / $ interactive juice stand artist