My Vaginal Monologue...

I just finished watching "My vagina is angry", a part of the series of a theatrical production called, "Vaginal Monologues", where in, women across the age group of 18 to 75 talk about their sexual selves with blatant honesty...
The monologues reminded me of the conversations I have with myself...may be in the middle of the night,or while on a journey, or in a place, where I am a social misfit and out of mere inability to hit the perfect conversation and make people go nuts about me. It is in these circumstances.. I think about myself not just as a being, but as a woman. In those quiet corners of myself, I have had the most sincere confrontations and cerebral love making with my own self. I always thought,or imagined myself to be my own partner.It was a child and a mother, or a mentor and a follower, or a guide and a dissillusioned being.
I would always ask myself-What caused me to live in this inner box of my body all the time?What could have caused me to be so scared of touching another body, when I felt so much affection? WHy would my forehead sweat and my vagina shiver at the sight of someone?
Do I pin the blame on someone else..may be a culture or the environment that I was brought up into or may be the experiences that shape my present? That will take away a lot of uneasiness out of the situation..
Of many instances, I remember this one particularly well, because it remains as humiliating a memory even today.
A man in his mid-40s, from Jordon, tried to abuse my body under the disguise of sexualprogressiveness. He touched my breasts and laughed.He said 'They were obnoxious'. All I could do was place a slap across his face in utter hatred and disgust. Probably for the first time, I hated Man. I couldnot respect men after that, for a very long time. I didnot think they deserved my body or even my touch.It was much later I realised, we live in times when the Man has the strings to our heart, to our body, to our sexuality, to our desires to be mothers..the Man had been given much more than he could be granted.
The man has to be desired as much as he desires us..he has to be loved as much as he loves us...he has to be hugged as much as we need to be...and its beautiful, when its mutual...Man will not be a part of my monologue-
My Vagina is scared to open up to all the pleasure it rightly deserves. It is scared to celebrate itself.It tells me, it needs to be liberated and felt.My Vagina is beautiful. It defines me. Whatever it is, it belongs to me..the smell and the softness..its all mine...
All these years, I did not think I had the freedom to write, much less express this side of my physical identity. What is there to be not proud of it?What is there to not talk about it?I pushed my head first out of my Mother's vagina. I am opening up to who I am...
I respect it..I respect myself..this no man can ever take way from me..never...