I've read a million lines in a million books that compare femaleparts to flowers, and though I can see the logical connection, it doesn't resonate with me.
Vaginas seem so much more like cellars - dim, the close muggy air smelling of pickl(more)ed fruit and well-loved sporting equipment. It takes some courage to descend those steps. I don't have to tell you how many stories there are about what happens to the unwary in dank cellars.
Femininity and vaginas seem to be all tied up, but again I just don't see it. Femininity is easy. All it takes is a few strokes of mascara, a smile spreading slowly, and a few delicately-placed instances of the word "fuck" with a rough inflection.
Honestly! Vulva and Vagina, those supposed inner sanctums of womanhood - they sound like a pair of traveling circus clowns.
See! The Magnificent Vulva taming lions!
Marvel! At the Fearless Vagina swallowing fire!
Golly, what a sight that would be.
The thing about femininity is that it's been done. I've spent my whole life reading about strong heroines, seeing hard-bitten but still-sexy femmes on TV, listening to women sing about their pain and their power. I'm bored.
I know, I'm too young to know what it was like to be perceived as a spun-sugar princess incapable of anything beyond pretty speech and servicing male pleasure. I know. But thems the breaks. I can't truly ever know what it meant to be that.
What I'd like to know is what it means to be a man. What is masculinity now that femininity is perceived as so openly powerful? Where are men in all this?
Sometimes it's awful lonely, being so fearless and magnificent in this traveling circus, with only strong, rough-handed women helping me into my costume. (less)