First time inquirer with you here. I’ve been fascinated by how our interstitium connects and informs stimuli to erogenous zones; further, how those intersect with meridians discovered by the ancients, further yet, how that process interfaces with brain chemistry and so forth. I know there’s more to it from a connectivity standpoint, but I thought this could be an interesting topic and exploration. If this has already been covered at some point I’d enjoy reading the articles.
Dear Inquirer,
I AM NOT A DOCTOR. Of anything, actually, but I am most specifically and emphatically not a medical doctor. I feel it’s important to point that out, because what follows will be rife with egregious speculation and filthy with unsubstantiated observational theorizing. I wish I could offer you something more concrete, but, Inquirer, you may have noticed that you chose to write into an advice columnist for a small, Midwestern alternative newsmagazine and not, in fact, the letters section in Science, Scientific American or even Popular Science.
Now, onto your inquiry, Inquirer. It’s interesting that you raise this question in the context of erogenous zones, because I think the science of pleasure has a pretty good shot at massaging away the chronic tension between modern science and traditional medicine. The two are, of course, pretty canonically at odds, but every so often a discovery comes along that makes us question the wall between them, and the interstitium is a fantastic example.
The practice of acupuncture relies on the theory of meridians, or interconnected pathways running throughout our bodies that energy flows through. The interstitium, first formally discussed as an organ in a 2018 report, has proven to be remarkably similar in concept. Scientists have been aware of distinct interstitial spaces between cells for a while, but the idea of a larger, comprehensive, inter-tissue network connecting them was new. The report’s authors describe these areas: “Rather than being densely-packed barrier-like walls of collagen, they are fluid-filled interstitial spaces.”
I could not find any large-scale attempts at mapping the body’s interstitium that would allow a direct comparison to acupuncture points or erogenous zones. But something I found quite interesting was what researchers believe the interstitium is for. In an interview with NYU Langone Health Magazine shortly after the report’s release, one of its authors, Neil D. Theise, MD, a clinical professor at the NYU Grossman School of Medicine, described “a shock-absorber effect that protects tissue from the constant movement of organs.”
This, Inquirer, is where your mention of erogenous zones jumped out at me. The reason why erogenous zones are, well, erogenous is because they are the most sensitive locations on our bodies — areas of dense nerve clusters. It stands to reason (a phrase which here means, “I am pulling shit out of my ass”) that areas of the greatest sensitivity would be afforded the greatest protection in the body’s design. The skull surrounds the brain, the rib cage guards the heart and lungs. Nerve cells are covered individually by the myelin sheath, which works like plastic insulation on an electrical wire. But perhaps they are also protected collectively as clusters by the interstitium.
The result would be erogenous zones that had a liquid barrier which would allow for even greater flexibility of movement: a form of protection that could even increase the sensitivity of the nerve endings.That would mean a human body not just built for pleasure, but dedicated to protecting that pleasure through a sophisticated system that would not reduce it in any way.
Although research hasn’t found any concrete, consistent links between body meridian theory and dermatome (nerve cluster) locations, there doesn’t yet seem to be any that takes the interstitium into account. One major disparity between the two systems is that meridians run lengthwise through the body, while dermatome impacts are considered horizontally, in accordance with the nerves’ origins on the spinal column. But a comprehensive body-wide interstitium may reveal more multi-directional pathways than either system accounts for alone.
Scientific research will no doubt debunk my lay-theory (heh heh) soon enough. But for now, Kiki is content to imagine a bodily design that both protects and exacerbates our sensitivities, lovingly reminding us that what is delicate can also be strong and that our vulnerabilities are also our most precious resources.
Or something like that. I am not a doctor.
xoxo, Kiki
This article was originally published in Little Village’s June 2026 issue.
