When Joy said her vagina hurt, I almost immediately felt a pain of my own.

How could it be? Had I done something awful over that past week of passionate love-making and sexual delight that could have injured my beloved’s sacred pleasure chest? And what could I do to help her recover, heal and restore that hallowed place where our union brought ecstasy exploding with naked desire, surrender, and the deepest feelings of romantic love I’d ever experienced.

She quickly denied my offer to caress her sweetness with a yearning tongue or gentle fingers. Her pained vagina combined with the arrival of her monthly cycle left her withdrawn to a place quite distant from the illusory home we’d created days and nights earlier as our bodies hungered for each moment of connection.

Chicken soup, I thought. Surely a dose of the oldest of remedies would restore healing and health to her throbbing womanhood.

Chicken soup for the vagina.

Words to nurture, and heal. Perhaps a moment of smiles, laughter or tears. Or maybe just a brief recess from the stabbing pain distracting her heart, body and mind as time slowly, painfully, marched ahead to the moment of our reunion.