Vaginas whistle and we come running.
We come running if they don’t whistle, just in case. We fix the sink, take out the garbage, do just about anything to make vaginas happy.
But mostly they aren’t happy or unhappy. They are just beautiful body parts, when we don’t use them as metaphors for something else: like woman, or approval, or the Holy Grail.
I was born without a vagina of my own, and I’ve done all manner of things to get one. I’m not that interested in my penis, because, of course, it’s easier to be thrilled with what we don’t have than what we do: it’s the American way.
I had a first date yesterday with someone half my age. She had a vagina. Not that I saw it, but I could tell simply by the way I was acting: by the commonsense I was not exercising, and my willingness to talk about nothing.
We can try, but we can’t bluff a vagina; but we can bluff ourselves—and we do. We bluff ourselves into thinking we can live without a vagina, or that we can’t, alternately. We totally convince ourselves, sliding all the chips into the pot, that this time we will be permanently satisfied, if only…
When it comes to vaginas we don’t learn. And vaginas are fast learners. They know what we’re up to before we even have a clue. They mop the floor with us, and we smile an insecure smile, hoping for more.
A whiff or a glimpse is enough to drive us crazy—or a thought. Go ahead, think of a vagina and then see if you can still stand up, think straight, or eat a healthy breakfast. If you can do all three, look down, you probably have a vagina.
I’m considering a solemn vow to live without vaginas for at least a month, hoping that month will stretch into two or three. The point of the vow is to free up some of the time I spend thinking about, and all of the time I spend chasing, vaginas. And this won’t be the final step of me freeing myself from the spell that I love so well. It will be the first step.
The third step will be a trip to Vaginas Anonymous. Where we learn to be ourselves even in the presence of the temptation of vaginas. Where we discover how to walk with purpose, keep our eyes on the road, hands on the wheel, minds out of the “gutter” and have vaginas occasionally, without having to think of them all the time, or trying to impress them.
I want to make clear that all our focus on vaginas is not their fault: this is men’s doing, men’s work, men’s play, men’s craziness. Vaginas are too small a part of a woman’s body, and a woman’s day, to be such a big part of a man’s world. But that’s what we’ve come to, and that’s why I will be going to Vaginas Anonymous.
“My name is Jerry, and I am powerless when it comes to vaginas.”
That one phrase will begin to open the door to my freedom. It won’t, of course, end my desire for vaginas, but hopefully it will have me rise above the addictive force vaginas have been in my life ever since I was old enough to say “vagina,” peek at a Playboy magazine, ogle women of all shapes and sizes or want what I don’t have.
Here is my particular 10 step program for freeing myself from vagina fever:
1. No vaginas for a month.
2. Create a movement called Vaginas Anonymous.
3. Get myself to Vaginas Anonymous.
4. Go to the pool, or the mall, without hoping to catch a glimpse of a woman.
5. Put a Burka on my penis.
6. Reach deeply into myself, and find my own vagina free satisfaction.
7. Talk to a woman without an ulterior motive.
8. Learn how to motivate myself to do things, without thinking of vaginas.
9. Spend a sweet night cuddling with a woman without touching her vagina.
10. Discover the purpose of my life, independent of vaginas.
But before I start the program, I just want to say, “Vaginas, I love you. I’ll miss you, and if there’s any sort of an emergency, please contact me as soon as possible, because I’m always here for you.”
Author: Jerry Stocking
Editors: Travis May; Emily Bartran