- In My Other Life
- An Actor’s Journey: “This is THE job. This is the hard part.”
- Men, Rape Culture and Choice
- Why You Should Love Your Big Butt
- My Misunderstood Vagina
- January Flashback: French Savoir with Patrice Bisiot
- January Flashback: The Bone Keeper
- January Flashback: Craigslist, Sex, and One Woman’s Intuition
- January Flashback: Sweet Child of Mine
- January Flashback: The Butterfly Effect
- January Flashback: Latina Entrepreneurs – We are Ready to be Heard
- The Care and Feeding of Mr. Right
January Flashback- Originally published January 2015
This is the story of how my life changed when I discovered that my vagina is an entity unto itself. My personal experiences have lead me to believe that it can be dangerous to be a woman. Welcome to my version of The Vagina Monologues. Everyone has the journey of a lifetime trying to understand their sense of “self.”
My personal journey has been one hell of an adventure. My vagina has certainly been an unappreciated yet fearless accomplice along the way.
Truth be told, my takeaway is that when you don’t understand what to do with, or how to control what others want to do with your vagina, you most likely will be rendered helpless and totally confused. At least that was the case for me. Notice I said “was.”
I am only six years old but today was the first day that I noticed you. Thanks to Billy my little friend and our game of “show me yours and I will show you mine” I now know that you are here. It is hard to see you. Why do you have to hide in the dark?
I am looking for you.
Did you have to make my entry into womanhood a public affair? Why didn’t you give me any warning? Do you know how embarrassed I am that this announcement happened TODAY in MATH Class? Mr. Delrosa did not know what to do with me, I mean come on, I did not know what to do. I just sat there in the pool of disgusting, wishing I would die. How did I make it through the day in my soiled clothes? How did I make it home for that matter? I am only 11 years old! What kind of curse is this?
I hate you.
Even I know that taking something that is not yours is wrong. Why didn’t he know? Why was he so aggressive? I am in shock. I am in pain. I am so ashamed. No one will believe me. I know they will say it was my fault. I am only 16.
I wish you were never born.
Just die already.
That good looking police officer stopped by the record store today – again. I think he likes me. God is he cute! Of course, I understand that at 30 years old he is more sophisticated than I am at 17. He wants to get to know me. He keeps asking about you, and if we have any fantasies. I don’t know what to say. I have not thought about you since that day last year. I felt excited and creeped out at the same time. I believe that what he is saying, and what he wants to do might be illegal. My boss at the record store told me not worry; she said he is a good guy and a regular customer. What should I do?
Girls just want to have fun – don’t they?
I am shaking.
Don’t you think living in Chicago is just way too cold for us? I don’t know yet how we will survive, but I have hope that things will turn out well. We are together, in a great city and invitations are coming our way! What do you think about that professional football player? Being picked up in his limo was cool. I must say that going to excellent restaurants is awesome. But you know what vagina? He wants to meet you. I don’t feel great about this because well, #1, he is married, number and #2, let’s not forget the fact that he is well over 30. Dating someone who is that old when you are not yet 18 is gross. Famous or not, this just does not feel right. What should we do?
Here I go again on my own – I wish I had someone to talk to about this.
Yours, in doubt.
More propositions are being made. It seems that you are hot property. I still don’t know what you look like though. I am scared to look. Thank goodness you have hair, that helps me deal with you being here. Seriously, it pisses me off that everyone wants to meet you, and they could give a shit about me. I am 19 years old now, don’t you think it is time for you to explain your motives?
I am frustrated with you.
My new roommate told me today that her vagina can perform shooting orgasms. Apparently, they are quite something. I can not imagine you doing anything of the sort. We have been together now for 23 years, and we don’t talk, we don’t hang out. I have no idea what you look like, and I still don’t trust you. What the hell is an orgasm anyway?
It is hot in the city, yet I am cold inside.
You have opened many doors for me, my friend. Someone told me today that your power is “the power of the pussy.” That is funny to me when they said that I thought of my cat back home. So you are a furry cat. I am told that you should purr. Whatever. I still don’t like you. At all. You have brought nothing but shame and misfortune into my life. Okay, fine … we have met some interesting people, but like I said before, they only want to know about you. I am over it. We are just going to stay in from now on. Too many creeps with strange ideas. Today on the Metro the man that was helping me navigate the lines tried to force me to let him touch you. Good thing that my screams scared him away. What a pervert. If I were not 24, I would just go home to my mother. Paris is for shitheads.
C’est la vie.
My friend that enjoys squirting orgasms insists that I try masturbation. She says that it is the only way I will fully get to know and love you. We went to one of those adult toy stores the other day, and she helped me pick out one mean looking purple vibrating machine. Insisting that I bring it on my trip to Italy, she threw it in my suitcase last minute. Vagina, I am just mortified now. The Italian airport security guards found the damn thing in my luggage and proceeded to pass it around. Even though they had straight faces, and insinuated that it might be a bomb or something, I know that they were overjoyed to embarrass me half to death. After finally being cleared from customs, I tossed the damn thing in the nearest trash bin.
Forget it. You will have to masturbate yourself; I am not interested.
Orgasm addict I am not.
Okay, I will admit that you have been a good friend to me lately. How you have been able to stretch and then shrink again after childbirth is a miracle. I can’t say that I would have been able to do that magic trick for you if the shoe was on the other foot. After catching a glimpse of you in the labor room, you know when the nurse held the mirror up to your face so that I could see baby’s little head, I wanted to vomit. Sorry, I know that not everyone can be blessed with good looks, of course, I understand that you were busy working … stressed out and stretched out. But holy crap how on earth or shall I say why the hell would anyone want to be a gynecologist? I wonder if they suffer PTSD. I would if I had to witness what I just saw every single day.
Heart shaped box indeed … you are more like a big black cavern.
Why aren’t you pretty?
We have been together so long now. It’s just you and me against the Tampax world, isn’t it? Can you believe that we are in our mid-40s now? Where did the time go? Sorry, we have not spoken for a long time. Damn, I have been busy. Three kids, moving countries (plural) and dealing with life’s ups and downs have me running like a chicken with its head cut off. Love, work, family, and marriage—the movies make it seem like all of it is a glorious dream. I am grateful, but girl, I am tired!
Things are getting tough for you, I understand and can completely relate. I had no idea hormones would be such a nasty bitch. Did you? How on earth did “our time of the month” that used to be one week of hell, become a nightmare that lasts for three weeks? Also, I just want to apologize. I know that you have not had as much exercise as you did in the past, I am working on it. I think I lost our libido somewhere in Australia. All the women’s mags say that this is the time of our lives that you and I will be best of friends. We are supposed to be highly motivated in the sack. We are supposed to enjoy everything about each other. I think that the authors of those pieces must be smoking crack or something. Either that or they are just totally lying about all of it. Whatever, Viagra, here we come.
Looking for our libido since 2009.