A (frustrated) Wife's Monologue
This is my vagina monologue.
Many vagina monologues tackle very serious issues of rape, genital mutilation, cheating, misconceptions, the wonder of discovering climax, the glory of making a vagina sing, the liberation of the female and the miracle of childbirth. I don't even know if my problem is a serious one. It seems so trivial compared to all the problems in the world. However, maybe enough partners feel the way I do. Maybe a lot of us suffer in silence. Do we keep quiet like the "good" wives we ought to be, or do we speak up and voice our frustrations?
This is a monologue of a plain housewife at her wits' end on how to make her sex life with her husband work.
I learned about the joy of sex from him, when we were just beginning to date. For the first time in my life, I learned about multiple orgasms, sensitive body zones, receiving and giving pleasure. I learned how to love my imperfect body, express how I feel and communicate in a language as old as time. My body was a vessel. Every kiss, every touch, every look, every sound and every expression was a way of communicating my needs and pleasure. At the same time, his every kiss, touch, sound and expression was a feedback to the pleasure I was giving him.
That was nine years ago.
As the years passed, the kisses became pecks on the cheeks, the erotic touches became affectionale hugs. The sex was okay, but very few and far in between. I thought it was okay. There were other ways of keeping the romance alive than just sex.
Then we became engaged.
We didn't make love for one and a half years until our wedding night.
The wedding night, while awash with anticipation, was so-so because we were both so tired from all the preparations. The wedding went off without a hitch, and every guest ooohed and aaahed with every goo-goo eyed look we gave each other. After that night, the sex got fewer and farther in between and orgasms even rarer than before. At first it was the stress of him being out of work but after he found work, it was the stress of work that got in the way. He would be tired, irritable and generally not in the mood to do anything else but eat, read, play his video games and sleep. I kept quiet, except for a few grumbles. I tried to understand the pressures he was going through, especially since I also used to work in a highly stressful environment.
Friends advised me to wear sexy underwear, talk seductively, rub myself against him and dance in front of him. Guess what? They all failed spectacularly. My lacy underpants only see the light of day when I'm wearing clothes that require no visible panty lines (VPL). The flimsy negligee never left the dark corners of my closet sinces my wedding night. My dancing (and I'm a fairly good dancer) only elicited this response from him - "You look like a wriggling worm". The seductive talk earned me an annoyed "hmp" and a "shoo" because I dared interrupt his reading or his game.
Since the husband has been acting denser as the months passed, I became bolder and more blunt as well. I would blurt out when I was in the mood. I would get his promise to set aside some time for sex. He broke almost all of those promises and then accuse me of being too demanding when I'd confront him about it. Take note, I already made it clear I'm in the mood most days of the month, except when I'm having my monthly flow. Most men would count themselves lucky to have a wife who wants him as often as possible. However, in consideration to his feelings, I only ask for his time once a month. How much clearer do I have to be to get my message across?
Last night was the latest dud.
I asked if we could do it later in the day. He promised me we would. We were teasing and laughing as we usually do and then I whispered my intent. He said go ahead and lay there like a limp doll. I said i needed some help getting in the mood. He gave me a blank look. I thought I didn't make myself clear so I clarified I wanted some foreplay to get in the mood. My body needed his help to get ready. My vagina needed his help in stoking its fire. He asked if I was looking for a fight. I gently said I just needed some encouragement to start. He got angry, put his shirt back on and said he'd rather sleep. Then he turned his back on me. I sat there with a stunned look on his back like a cold bucket of water was poured over me.
I just got rejected again.
Is there something wrong with me?
Did I do it wrong? Did i break an unwritten rule I wasn't aware of? Was I pushing too hard? Was a bit of foreplay too much to ask?
I love my husband very much. So much so that I would sacrifice part of what makes me ME for him. I strain against the walls around me right now. I left a very promising career to start his dream of starting his own business. I made it into a smashing success despite all the odds against me. I let him have all the credit despite doing almost everything. I asked for so little in return. I just wanted to be treated as a wife. A loving, cherished and desirable wife.
I know he loves me. Who else would be willing to do the cooking and the laundry and his own ironing simply because I hated doing them myself? I appreciate the lunches he prepares and the extraordinary lengths he goes through just to make those wonderful meals. And I tell him so. However, I hate to say it but I am not Stripe. I'm not content to remain a caterpillar with just her feelers hugging her loved one. I am Yellow. I am a butterfly. I am meant to fly.
He used to fly with me.
Intimacy is supposed to be one to the three sides of complete love, along with commitment and attraction. It is supposed to be a physical expression of love; yet another way of reinforcing the bonds of that commitment and attraction. without it, everything just seems so bland.
I am a woman. I have needs. I want it maybe as much as some guys do. I want it more than once a month which is the most the husband can manage right now. I don't want to settle for crumbs when I'm starving for nourishment. I want to feel connected. I want to feel like a cherished woman who wants to reciprocate. I want to know that despite my imperfections, I am still desired.
I want to know if I'm worth it. I want to know if the guy cares enough about my wants and my needs to work for my release. I know it's a two-way street and I gladly give as much as I receive. I do not need a straight, hard pole just lying there. If I wanted an inanimate object, i'd have taken out my toy and inserted fresh batteries instead. I might get more pleasure from there.
I want to live life. And I am so willing to give. My heart, my mind and my body are overflowing to share ME. Please? All I want is to matter. I just want to be a woman.
I just want us to fly together again.
(The Vagina Monologues is a collection of essays by Eve Ensler and a groundbreaking play about women and women's rights. I love her work and it opened up my eyes to the wonder that is my womanhood.)
Many vagina monologues tackle very serious issues of rape, genital mutilation, cheating, misconceptions, the wonder of discovering climax, the glory of making a vagina sing, the liberation of the female and the miracle of childbirth. I don't even know if my problem is a serious one. It seems so trivial compared to all the problems in the world. However, maybe enough partners feel the way I do. Maybe a lot of us suffer in silence. Do we keep quiet like the "good" wives we ought to be, or do we speak up and voice our frustrations?
This is a monologue of a plain housewife at her wits' end on how to make her sex life with her husband work.
I learned about the joy of sex from him, when we were just beginning to date. For the first time in my life, I learned about multiple orgasms, sensitive body zones, receiving and giving pleasure. I learned how to love my imperfect body, express how I feel and communicate in a language as old as time. My body was a vessel. Every kiss, every touch, every look, every sound and every expression was a way of communicating my needs and pleasure. At the same time, his every kiss, touch, sound and expression was a feedback to the pleasure I was giving him.
That was nine years ago.
As the years passed, the kisses became pecks on the cheeks, the erotic touches became affectionale hugs. The sex was okay, but very few and far in between. I thought it was okay. There were other ways of keeping the romance alive than just sex.
Then we became engaged.
We didn't make love for one and a half years until our wedding night.
The wedding night, while awash with anticipation, was so-so because we were both so tired from all the preparations. The wedding went off without a hitch, and every guest ooohed and aaahed with every goo-goo eyed look we gave each other. After that night, the sex got fewer and farther in between and orgasms even rarer than before. At first it was the stress of him being out of work but after he found work, it was the stress of work that got in the way. He would be tired, irritable and generally not in the mood to do anything else but eat, read, play his video games and sleep. I kept quiet, except for a few grumbles. I tried to understand the pressures he was going through, especially since I also used to work in a highly stressful environment.
Friends advised me to wear sexy underwear, talk seductively, rub myself against him and dance in front of him. Guess what? They all failed spectacularly. My lacy underpants only see the light of day when I'm wearing clothes that require no visible panty lines (VPL). The flimsy negligee never left the dark corners of my closet sinces my wedding night. My dancing (and I'm a fairly good dancer) only elicited this response from him - "You look like a wriggling worm". The seductive talk earned me an annoyed "hmp" and a "shoo" because I dared interrupt his reading or his game.
Since the husband has been acting denser as the months passed, I became bolder and more blunt as well. I would blurt out when I was in the mood. I would get his promise to set aside some time for sex. He broke almost all of those promises and then accuse me of being too demanding when I'd confront him about it. Take note, I already made it clear I'm in the mood most days of the month, except when I'm having my monthly flow. Most men would count themselves lucky to have a wife who wants him as often as possible. However, in consideration to his feelings, I only ask for his time once a month. How much clearer do I have to be to get my message across?
Last night was the latest dud.
I asked if we could do it later in the day. He promised me we would. We were teasing and laughing as we usually do and then I whispered my intent. He said go ahead and lay there like a limp doll. I said i needed some help getting in the mood. He gave me a blank look. I thought I didn't make myself clear so I clarified I wanted some foreplay to get in the mood. My body needed his help to get ready. My vagina needed his help in stoking its fire. He asked if I was looking for a fight. I gently said I just needed some encouragement to start. He got angry, put his shirt back on and said he'd rather sleep. Then he turned his back on me. I sat there with a stunned look on his back like a cold bucket of water was poured over me.
I just got rejected again.
Is there something wrong with me?
Did I do it wrong? Did i break an unwritten rule I wasn't aware of? Was I pushing too hard? Was a bit of foreplay too much to ask?
I love my husband very much. So much so that I would sacrifice part of what makes me ME for him. I strain against the walls around me right now. I left a very promising career to start his dream of starting his own business. I made it into a smashing success despite all the odds against me. I let him have all the credit despite doing almost everything. I asked for so little in return. I just wanted to be treated as a wife. A loving, cherished and desirable wife.
I know he loves me. Who else would be willing to do the cooking and the laundry and his own ironing simply because I hated doing them myself? I appreciate the lunches he prepares and the extraordinary lengths he goes through just to make those wonderful meals. And I tell him so. However, I hate to say it but I am not Stripe. I'm not content to remain a caterpillar with just her feelers hugging her loved one. I am Yellow. I am a butterfly. I am meant to fly.
He used to fly with me.
Intimacy is supposed to be one to the three sides of complete love, along with commitment and attraction. It is supposed to be a physical expression of love; yet another way of reinforcing the bonds of that commitment and attraction. without it, everything just seems so bland.
I am a woman. I have needs. I want it maybe as much as some guys do. I want it more than once a month which is the most the husband can manage right now. I don't want to settle for crumbs when I'm starving for nourishment. I want to feel connected. I want to feel like a cherished woman who wants to reciprocate. I want to know that despite my imperfections, I am still desired.
I want to know if I'm worth it. I want to know if the guy cares enough about my wants and my needs to work for my release. I know it's a two-way street and I gladly give as much as I receive. I do not need a straight, hard pole just lying there. If I wanted an inanimate object, i'd have taken out my toy and inserted fresh batteries instead. I might get more pleasure from there.
I want to live life. And I am so willing to give. My heart, my mind and my body are overflowing to share ME. Please? All I want is to matter. I just want to be a woman.
I just want us to fly together again.
(The Vagina Monologues is a collection of essays by Eve Ensler and a groundbreaking play about women and women's rights. I love her work and it opened up my eyes to the wonder that is my womanhood.)
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