All language subtitles for The Vagina Monologues

I'm just gonna ask you a few questions

And just answer whatever you're
comfortable answering.

Don't go any further than
you feel like going

And if you want to add
something later on

To a question i've asked you,
that's fine too.

When was the first
time you saw it ?

You know, it was sort of like
an accidental thing.

There was like
a mirror on the floor,

And i walked up and i was like,
what, what was that ?

I have to go home and
do some research.

I didn't look at myself
'til probably in college.

I don't even say the
word to my ob-gyn.

And i went to the library,
i'm sneaking in the library,

Looking through the books,
and you know,

Like i'm covering the book
with like something else.

And then it's like,

"admire it, it's
a beautiful flower,

You know, it's like roses."

. I'm like, we'r e not
looking at the same thing

I took photos of it.

I had a polaroid camera

And i would go into the bathroom

And take a picture.

Are you embarrassed ?

Yes.

All those things are
kind of like secret.

You know ?

And it's not for, you know,

It's like your own little joy.

I realized there was no context

In which women ever talk
about their vaginas.

So, i just started casually
saying to friends of mine,

What do you think
about your vagina ?

What do you think ?

and over the course
of about three to five years,

I had interviewed over 200 women.

How does it feel to
be talking about it ?

Very strange.

I think it's liberating,
but it's kind of funny too.

Anxious, kind of nervous,

. Not really sure of what
i'm gonna say

I really thought it was gonna
be like, uncomfortable,

But it's not.

You make i t kind of easy.

And everything every woman said

, was more surprising,
outrageous, disturbing

. Exciting than the next

And one woman would say to me,

Oh, you really need to talk to
so and so about her vagina,

She has an amazing story.

And she would say,

, no, you need to talk to so
and so about her vagina

She has...

D and before i knew it,
i was really suck

Down this vagina trail ,
and i couldn't get back.

And i've been on the trail
for a long time

And i don't think i'm getting
off it any time soon.

Everything on the wall,
all of these were gifts

Or photographs or things that
have found me

Or have been given to me as
i traveled around the world.

Well, first i'd like to
introduce vagina barbie,

Complete with duck lips.

A lovely...

Vagina candle.

This salad here...

That's a vagina salad.

This is a vulva puppet.

They actually talk.

There's a whole world of
vagina life out there,

Which i find thrilling.

So, when the show was
first done downtown,

Guys would call up and say,

Can i have tickets to
"the vagina dialogues" ?

And women would call
up and say,

Can i have tickets to
"the monologues" ?

I've heard people call it
"the viagra chronicles."

And there was this punk ticket taker,

And she would say,

"listen, if you can't say the name,
you can't come.

Now, try again, try again."

Thank you.

I bet you're worried.

I was worried.

That's why i began this piece.

I was worried about vaginas.

, i was worried what we
think about vaginas

And i was even more worried

That we don't think about them.

I was worried about my own vagina.

It needed a context, a community,

A culture of other vaginas.

There is so much darkness and
secrecy surrounding them,

Like the bermuda triangle,

Nobody ever reports back from there.

In the first place,

It's not so easy to even
find your vagina.

Women go days, weeks, months,
without looking at it.

I interviewed
a high-powered businesswoman,

She told me she didn't have time.

Looking at your vagina she said,
is a full day's work.

You've got to get down
there, on your back,

In front of the mirror,
full-length preferred.

You've got to get
in the perfect position,

, with the perfect light

Which then becomes shadowed
by the angle you're at.

You're twisting your head up,
arching your back,

It's exhausting.

She was busy.

She didn't have time.

So, i decided to talk to women
about their vaginas.

They began as casual
vagina interviews,

And they turned
into vagina monologues.

I talked with over 200 women.

, i talked to younger women,
older women, married women

Lesbians, single women,

I talked to college professors,
corporate professionals,

Actors, sex workers.

I talked to
african-american women,

Asian-american women,
hispanic women,

Native-american women,
caucasian women,

Jewish women.

At first, women were a little shy,

A little reluctant to talk.

But once they got going,
you couldn't stop them.

Women love to talk about
their vaginas, they do.

They really do.

Mainly because no one's
ever asked them before.

Let's just start with
the word vagina.

Vagina.

It sounds like an infection at best.

. Maybe a medical instrument

"hurry, nurse, bring me the vagina."

Vagina.

Vagina.

It doesn't matter how many times
you say the word,

It never sounds like
a word you want to say.

It's a completely ridiculous,

Totally unsexy word.

If you use it during sex,
trying to be politically correct

You kill the act right there.

I'm worried what we call
it and don't call it.

In great neck, new york,
they call it a "pussycat".

A woman told me there,
her mother used to tell her,

"don't wear panties, dear,
underneath your pajamas,

You need to air
out your pussycat."

In westchester,
they call it a "pookie".

In new jersey, a "twat".

There's "powder box",

A "poochi", a "poopi",

A "pee-pee", a "poopalu",

A "pooninana" and a "piche".

There's "toadie", "dee-dee",

"nishi", "dignity",

"coochie snorcher",

"cooter", "labbe",

"gladys siegelman",

"va",

"wee-wee", "whorespot",

"nappy dugout", "mongo",

"monkey box", "pajama",

"fannyboo", "mushmellow",

"ghoulie", "possible",

"tamale", "tottita", "connie",

A "mimi" in miami,

A "split knish" in philadelphia.

And a "schmende" in the bronx.

I am worried about vaginas.

Steve !

Vagina graduate !

This is steve, this is steve.

Steve just graduated from uvs,

That's the university
of vaginal sciences.

The most vagina friendly
guy in his class, okay ?

Got the job, ya.

This first monologue is

Based on one woman's story,

Pretty much the way i heard it,

Although the subject of
this interview came up

In every interview and
was often fraught.

. The subject being hair

I love hair.

I mean...

. Hair vagina, hair is a vagina,
the vagina is hair

I like my hair, i'd like a
lot more hair actually.

I'm a redhead and
everything's red.

I mean, it's just red, red ,
red, red, red, red, red.

I've never shaved the bikini line.

I wear appropriate bathing
suits so that it covers,but,

D i don't, you know,
i don't feel that i ha

. To work on it cosmetically

Because i've been afflicted
with hair from the time

I was eight years old, on my vagina,

I'm very curious what it would
feel like, to be hairless.

I don't mean a haircut,
i mean, you know,

It's not anything like crazy,
i mean, you know,

I do it myself,
so how crazy can it be ?

It's just like a normal...

Nice, neat, you know, thing.

Thought everybody did that, no ?

You cannot love a vagina

Unless you love hair.

Many people do not love hair.

My first and only husband hated hair.

He said it was cluttered and dirty.

He made me shave my vagina.

It looked puffy,

And exposed, like a little girl.

This excited him.

When he made love to my vagina,

It felt the way a beard must feel.

It felt good to scratch it, and painful,

Like scratching a mosquito bite.

There were screaming red bumps.

It felt like it was on fire.

I refused to shave it again.

Then my husband had an affair.

When we went to marital therapy,

He said he screwed around

Because i wouldn't
please him sexually,

I wouldn't shave my vagina.

The therapist had
a thick german accent,

And she gasped

Between sentences )

To show her empathy.

She asked me why i didn't want
to please my husband,

Why i didn't want to shave my vagina.

I told her i thought
it was weird.

I felt little when my hair
was gone down there,

And i couldn't help talking
in a baby voice.

And even calamine lotion wouldn't
stop the irritation.

She told me that marriage
was a compromise.

I asked her if my
shaving my vagina

Would stop my husband
from screwing around.

I asked her if she had many
cases like this before.

She told me that

Questions diluted the process.

She was sure it was
a good beginning,

I just needed to jump in.

This time, when we got home,
he got to shave my vagina.

It was like a therapy bonus prize.

He clipped it a few times,

And there was a little
blood in the bathtub.

He didn't notice,

He was so excited shaving me.

Then, later, when my husband
was pressing against me,

I could feel his spiky sharpness

Sticking into my naked exposed vagina.

There was no protection.

. There was no fluff

N i realized the

. That hair is there for a reason

It's the leaf around the flower,

The lawn around the house.

You have to love hair in
order to love the vagina.

. You can't pick the parts you want

And besides...

My husband, well...

He never did stop screwing around.

You know, i interviewed
a whole group of women

Between 65 and 75.

And that was definitely the
most poignant group.

Mainly because i don't think
many women in that group

Had ever had a vagina
interview before.

This particular woman
was 72 years old,

And she had never
seen her vagina.

She'd washed it in
the shower and bath,

, but never with conscious
intention or awareness

And she'd never had an orgasm.

When she was 72,

She went to therapy for the first time,

As we do in new york,

And she worked with a wonderful therapist,

Who got her to go home,
by herself.

She told me she lit some candles,

She played some music,
she took a bath.

She got down with herself,

And she told me it took
her over an hour

Because she was arthritic,

But when she finally found her clitoris,

She said she cried.

This is for her...

Down there ?

I haven't been down
there since 1953.

No.

No, it had nothing to
do with eisenhower.

No.

No, trust me, trust me, you don't
want to go down there,

It's very damp, very clammy.

Smell the mildew, gets in your
clothes, it's horrible.

No.

No, and there was no
accident down there,

It didn't blow up or catch on fire.

It wasn't so dramatic.

What's a nice girl
like you going around

Talking to old ladies about
their "down there's" for ?

We didn't do this kind of
a thing when i was your age.

Well...

. There was this boy

Oh, god.

Andy.

Andy leftkov.

Oh, god.

He was so good looking ,
and tall, like me.

He asked me out for a date,
i'll never forget,

In his new white chevy belair,

Oh, my god.

I can't do this.

I'm sorry.

I can't talk to you about down there.

You just know it's there like the cellar.

, you can hear the pipes

Things get caught there
from time to time.

Little animals and things.

, it gets wet, people come,
they plug up the leaks

Otherwise the door stays closed,

You forget about it.

Andy.

Oh, god, he was a catch.

That's what we called it in my day.

We're in his car,

And all i'm thinking
about are my kneecaps.

I have very long legs,

And my kneecaps were smushed
up against the dashboard.

When andy just grabs me,
and kisses me in this

"take you by control like
they do in the movies

Kind of way.

Well, i got excited.

. I got very excited

And there was a... Well,
there was a...

Well, there was
a flood down there

This river of life,

This force of passion just
flooded out of me.

Right through my panties,
right onto the car seat

Of his new white chevy belair.

Well, it wasn't pee.

And it wasn't smelly.

Well, he said, andy said, he said

It smelled like sour milk and
it was staining his car seat.

I was "a stinky weird girl", he said.

I tried to explain

That his kiss had caught me off guard,

I wasn't normally like this.

I tried to wipe up
the flood with my dress.

It was a new, yellow
primrose dress,

And it looked ugly with
the flood on it.

. Andy drove me home

He never...

He never said another word to me.

And when i got out of his car,
i tell you, i closed it,

Locked it, locked the store.

Never opened for business again.

, i used to have these dreams,
though, i mean

They're crazy dreams, dopey dreams.

Why ?

Burt reynolds.

I don't know why.

The guy never did
a thing for me in life.

But always in my dreams,
it was burt and i,

Burt and i, burt and i.

We'd be out for dinner,

One of those restaurants,

The kind you see in atlantic city.

Huge chandeliers, thousands
of the waiters with the vests on.

Burt would be there,

He'd give me an orchid corsage.

I'd pin it to my blazer.

We'd laugh,

We were always laughing, burt and i.

. Laughing, laughing

Ate shrimp cocktail,

Fabulous shrimp, huge shrimp.

Then burt would lean towards me,

And just as he was about to kiss me,

The entire restaurant
would start to shake.

Pigeons would fly out from
underneath the table.

I don't know what
the pigeons were doing there

And the flood would come,

Straight from down there.

It would pour out of me.

It would pour and pour.

There'd be little boats inside it

And little fish,

And the entire restaurant
would fill up with my flood.

And there would be burt,
standing waist deep in it,

Looking horrified.

Horribly disappointed
i'd done it again,

As he watched his friends,

Dean martin and the likes,

Swim past us in their
tuxedos and evening gowns.

I don't have those
dreams anymore, no.

Not since they took
just about everything

Connected with down there.

Moved out the tubes, the uterus, the whole works.

My doctor thinks he's
a real comedian.

He tells me, "you don't use it,
you lose it".

But, really,

It was cancer.

The whole thing had to go.

Highly overrated anyway, right ?

I do other things.

Love the dog shows.

I sell antiques.

Excuse me ?

Come again ?

"what would it wear ?"

What kind of question is that,
what would it wear ?

It would wear a sign,

"closed, due to flooding".

What would it say ?

I told you, it's not a thing
that speaks, it's a place.

A place you don't go.

Closed up, under the house, down there.

You happy now, you happy ?

You got an old lady to talk about
this stuff, you feel better ?

Actually...

I'll tell you the truth.

O you are the very first
person i ever talked t

About any of this stuff.

. I feel a little better

did you ever look
at your vagina or-- ?

No, i didn't, no, i didn't.

So, you've never seen your vagina ?

I don't think so.

I don't think so, and
i've had children.

Really ? Yeah.

What do you imagine
it looks like ?

Well, i guess i've seen it
in the doctor's office,

When i'm in the stirrups,
if there's a mirror,

I mean, i'm sure i must have
seen it in passing

. Over the years

Well, i happened to look down

And there was this very ugly
thing staring back at me,

And...

Oh, my god.

And do you have good sex today ?

Yes.

You said "good", you didn't
ask how often.

Is there something specific
it's longed for ?

Well, right about now, probably sex.

'Cause it's been a long time.

It's probably down there just wishing.

Just wishing.

Just wishing.

Why don't you get some sense, woman,

And give me some help down here ?

It still aches a little bit,

. Because i stil l like to play house

I'm old, not dead.

No, i'm not holding this.

It's amazing how many
people complain

That there are not
enough monologues

About heterosexual, vagina-loving men.

We have 10 minutes, ms. Ensler.

There is a vagina-loving man.

Come in, steve.

This is the guy.

Right here, right here.

Tell me, what've you
learned about vaginas

In the last few days ?

I've probably learned more
in the last three days

Than in my entire 24 years.

Really ? Oh, yeah.

Specific ?

Basically, i thought
i knew something,

. And i knew nothing

That's what it comes down to.

This next monologue is
based on an interview

I did with a woman

Who had a good experience with a man.

Because he liked to look at it.

This is how i came
to love my vagina.

It's embarrassing

Because it's not politically correct.

I mean, i know how it
should have happened.

In a bath, with salt
grains from the dead sea,

Enya playing...

Me loving my woman-self.

I know the story.

Vaginas are beautiful.

Our self-hatred is only
the internalized repression

And hatred of
the patriarchal culture.

It isn't real.

Pussies unite.

I know all of it.

Like if we'd grown
up in a culture

Where we were taught fat
thighs were beautiful,

We'd all be pounding down
milk shakes and doughnuts,

, spending our days
lying on our backs

Thigh-expanding.

But we didn't grow up in
that culture, did we ?

No.

I hated my thighs,

And i hated my vagina even more.

I thought it was incredibly ugly.

I was one of those women
who had looked at it,

And from that moment
on i wished i hadn't.

It made me sick.

I pitied anyone who
had to go down there.

In order to survive,

I began to pretend

There was something
else between my legs.

I imagined furniture.

Cozy futons with light
cotton comforters,

Little velvet settees,
or pretty things.

Silk handkerchiefs,

Quilted pot holders.

I got so accustomed to this,

I lost all memory
of having a vagina.

Whenever a man was inside me,

I pictured him inside
a mink-lined muffler

Or a chinese bowl.

Then i met bob...

Bob was the most ordinary man

I ever met.

Thin, tall, nondescript,

He wore khaki tan clothes.

Bob did not like spicy foods
or listen to prodigy.

He had no interest in sexy lingerie.

In the summer,

He spent time in the shade.

. He did not share his
inner feelings

, he didn't have any
problems or issues

He wasn't even an alcoholic.

He wasn't very funny or
articulate or mysterious.

. He wasn't mean or unavailable

He wasn't self-involved or charismatic.

He didn't drive fast.

I didn't particularly like bob.

I would have missed him altogether

If he hadn't picked up my change

That i dropped on the deli floor.

When he handed me back
my pennies and quarters,

And his hand

Accidentally touched mine,

. Something happened

. I went to bed with him

That's when the miracle occurred.

It turned out that
bob loved vaginas.

He was a connoisseur.

He loved the way they tasted,
the way they smelled,

The way they felt, but most importantly,

Bob loved the way they looked.

. He had to look at them

First time we had sex,
he told me he had to see me.

"i'm right here, bob."

"no," he said. "you,
i need to see you."

"turn on the light," i said,

Thinking he was a weirdo and
freaking out in the dark.

He turned on the light.

"okay," he said, "i'm ready,
i'm ready to see you."

"i'm right here, bob, right here."

He began to undress me.

"what are you doing, bob ?"

"i need to see what you look like."

"but you've seen a red leather
couch before, bob,

I know you've seen that."

Bob continued, he would not stop.

I wanted to throw up and die.

"this is awfully intimate, bob.

Can't you just do it ?"

"no," he said.

"it's who you are, i need to look."

I held my breath.

He looked,

And looked.

He gasped,

And smiled,

And stared,

And groaned.

He got breathy,

And his face changed.

He didn't look ordinary anymore.

He looked like a hungry beast.

"you're so beautiful," he said.

"you're elegant and deep

" and innocent and wild.

"you saw that there ?", i said.

It was like he read my palm.

"i saw that,"

He said, "and much, much more."

Bob stayed looking

. For almost an hour

, as if he were studying a map

, observing the moon

Staring into my eyes.

But it was my vagina !

In the light,

I watched him looking at me.

He was so excited.

So peaceful and euphoric.

I began to get wet and turned on.

I began to see myself
the way he saw me.

I began to feel beautiful
and delicious,

Like a great painting
or a waterfall.

Bob wasn't afraid, no,
he wasn't grossed out.

I began to swell.

I began to feel proud.

I began to love my vagina.

. And bob lost himself there

And i was there with him,

In my vagina.

And we...

Were...

Gone !

We're gonna get little buttons
made that say, "i'm your bob."

He's a "bob", i can tell.

It's part of that whole
university training, you know ?

Oh, my god.

It's all about posture and hair.

Haven't thought about my
hair this much in my entire life.

I asked all the women i interviewed

The same questions, and then
i picked my favorite answers,

Although i have to tell you,

I have never heard an
answer i didn't love.

The first question
i asked women was,

If your vagina got dressed,

What would it wear ?

What would you r vagina wear
if it got dressed ?

Oh, i knew that question
was going to come,

And i said that everybody
would probably say

That i would have on
a ralph lauren skirt

Or a calvin klein dress
or something like that.

I would probably put a hat on it.

Lots of glitter.

Red silk.

Jeans.

. Probably a red boa

Hiking boots and a lot of sun block.

Something from the 40s.

I like leather , it's sexy.

It would be bald.

And it'd have an earring.

Actually my vagina's a nudist.

Doesn't wear anything anymore.

Some "tims",

Some baggy jeans,

Probably a hoodie.

Like a little old-fashioned dress.

. Spotted leather pants,
and a black knit shirt

Ooh, daddy would love that.

I know it, he would love it.

I've been traveling for several
years all around the world,

And i've been threatening
to create a map

, of all the vagina-friendly cities

Five years in the theater,
not one map.

One hour in hbo, presto !

! A vagina friendly map

I bet you don't
know about some of

The really many surprising
vagina-friendly cities.

Oklahoma city loves vaginas.

Who knew ?

Boise, idaho, recent recent convert

They've come into vagina land.

. Congratulations, idaho

There are on this map
vagina holiday zones,

New york city is vagina holiday zone.

. San francisco has its own status

. There is no other vagina
world fair zone

It's the only one on the map,
just imagine the ride.

There are some areas which clearly,

As you look through
the mid-part of america,

Have not been liberated as of yet,

But we have great faith they
will be liberated any day now.

Pittsburgh is a wild--

Where is pittsburgh ?

Wildly, wildly vagina-friendly city,

I've been ther e three times

And they love vaginas in pittsburgh.

Who knew ?

After one of m y first shows there,

A woman came up to me and she said,

I have to talk to you right away.

. She was very upset

. I called her when
i got back to new york

She told me that she
liked the piece,

But she felt i had missed
the texture of the vagina,

She needed to talk texture.

For the next hour, she talked to me

About the texture of the vagina

With such nuance and detail,

That to be honest,

I had to lay down at the end
of the conversation.

However, she also told me
in the course of our conversation

That i had sai d something negative

About a particular word.

A pejorative word,

A word that's been used
to declaim the vagina,

And she needed to help
me reconceive this word.

So, for the next hour,

She talked to me about this word,

And when she was done,

I was a convert.

. I wrote this for her..

I call it...

Cunt.

I've reclaimed it.

Cunt.

I really like it.

Cunt,

Just listen to it, listen to it.

Cunt.

Ca...

Ca...

Cavern,

Cackle, clit, cute, come-closed c,

Closed inside, inside ca...

Ca...

Then u...

Then cu...

Then curvy, inviting sharkskin, u...

Uniform,

Under,

Up,

Urge,

Ooh, ooh, u...

. Then n, then cun..

Cun...

Snug letters fitting perfectly together.

N...

Nest, now,

Nexus, nice,

Always depth, always
round in uppercase,

Cun, cun... !

A jagged wicked electrical pulse.

N..., n...

Then soft n, warm n...

Cun, cun.

Then t, then t...

Then sharp certain tangy t...

Texture, take,

Tight, tent,

Tantalizing,

Tensing,

Taste,

Tendrils,

Time,

Tactile,

Tell me !

Tell me, cunt !

Cunt !

Say it !

Tell me, come on !

Cunt.

Cunt.

Cunt !

Whoo !

. Love that word

I can't say it enough.

I can't stop saying it.

Feeling a little irritated in the airport,

Just say "cunt", everything changes.

"what did you say ?"

I said, "cunt, that's right,
cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt."

It feels good.

Try it, go ahead, go ahead.

Cunt.

Cunt.

Cunt.

Cunt.

. Cunt, cunt

Cunt.

. Cunt, cunt

Cunt !

cunt, cunt, cunt... !

I'm a cunt !

My mother's gonna see this,
i can't.

Cunt.

This is better than therapy.

Turns the day around, i promise you.

We're moving along.

I asked women,

"if your vagina could talk,
what would it say ?"

, if your vagina could talk,
and it could say two words

What would it say ?

Slow down.

The first two words that came
to me head was,

, "oh, no," and i don't know if
that answers your question

Or if that's what my vagina would say,
like, "oh, no".

Ice pack.

Feed me.

Eeh !

. Use me

"eat me" comes to mind.

Stop thinking so much
and have a good time.

Where's tom ?

What do you want ?

Want some.

Yes !

Need some.

More.

Help me.

Open for business.

? How you doing

Slow down.

It's cozy.

Howdie, partner.

What's up, honey ?

Go, girl.

I'm here.

I'm here.

I'm here.

Thank you.

Accept gifts.

I'm happy.

That's it.

That's what it would say.

For 10 years i had the privilege of

Working with women in
new york who had no homes.

In that time, i did all
kinds of things.

I hung out, i ran groups,

I had meals, i went to the movies.

I interviewed hundreds and
hundreds of homeless women.

And i have to tell you
in all those years,

In all those interviews,

I only met one woman who was not

Sexually abused,

As a little girl

Or raped as a young woman.

This particular woman
i met seven years ago,

In a shelter, and this is her story,

Just the way she told it to me.

I didn't add or change anything.

What's not in her story

Is that she met a woman
in that shelter

And they fell in love,

And through their love they both
got out of the shelter system.

I do this tonight for her,
because i loved her.

Memory,

December, 1965,

Five years old.

My mama tells me in a scary, loud,

Life-threatening voice

To stop scratching
my coochie snorcher.

I become terrified i have
scratched it off down there

And do not touch myself again.

Even in the bath,

I am afraid of the water getting in

And filling me up so i explode.

I put band-aids over my coochie
snorcher to cover the hole,

But they fall off in the water.

I imagine a stopper,
a bath tub plug up there

To prevent things from entering me.

I sleep with three pairs of
happy heart-shaped cotton underpants

Underneath my snap-up pajamas.

I still want to touch myself, but i don't.

Memory,

Seven years old.

Edgar montane, who is 10,

Gets angry at me and punches me

With all his might between my legs.

It feels like he breaks
my entire self.

I limp home, i can't pee.

My mama says "what's wrong with
your coochie snorcher, girl ?"

And when i tell her what
Edgar did to me, she says,

"never, never let anyone touch
you down there again".

I tried to explain.

"he didn't touch it, mama.

He punched it."

Memory,

Nine years old.

I play on the bed,
bouncing and falling,

And impale my coochie snorcher
on the bedpost.

I make high-pitched
screaming noises

That come straight from
my coochie snorcher's mouth.

I get taken to the hospital,

. And they sew it up down there
from where it's been torn apart

Memory,

10 years old.

I'm at my father's house

And he's having
a party upstairs.

Everyone's drinking.

I'm playing alone in the basement,

And i'm trying on my new
cotton white bra and panties,

. That my father's
girlfriend gave me

Suddenly my father's best friend,

This big man alfred,
comes up from behind,

And pulls my new underpants down,

And sticks his big, hard penis
right into my coochie snorcher.

I scream, i kick, i try
to fight him off,

. But he already gets in

My daddy's there then,

And he has a gun,

And there is a loud, horrible noise,

, and then there is blood
all over alfred and me

Lots of blood.

I am sure my coochie snorcher
is finally fallen out.

Alfred is paralyzed for life.

And my mama doesn't let
me see my father again

For seven years.

Memory,

13 years old.

My coochie snorcher is
a very bad place.

A place of pain, nastiness, punching,

Invasion and blood.

It's a site for mishaps.

It's a bad luck zone.

I imagine a freeway between my legs,

. And girl, i am traveling

. I'm going far away from here

Memory,

16 years old.

, there is this gorgeous

And i mean gorgeous,

24-year-old woman in
our neighborhood.

And i do not know why,

But i can't help

But staring at her all the time.

One day,

She invites me into her car.

She asks me if i like to kiss boys,
and i say,

"no, i do not like to do that."

Then she says she wants to
show me something.

And she leans over,

And she kisses me

So softly on the lips,

With her lips.

And then she puts her
tongue in my mouth.

Wow.

She asked me if i want to
come over to her house,

And then she kisses me again,

And tells me to relax,

To feel it,

To let our tongues feel it.

She asks my mama if i
can spend the night,

And my mama's delighted,

That such a beautiful, successful woman

Has taken an interest in me.

I am scared,

But really i can't wait.

Her apartment is fantastic.

She's got it really hooked up.

It's the 70s, the beads,

The fluffy pillows,
the mood lights.

I decide right then i'm
gonna be a secretary

Just like her when i grow up.

She makes a vodka for herself,

And then she asks me what
i'm drinking.

I say, the sam e as she's drinking,

And she says she doesn't think

My mama would like
me drinking vodka.

I say, "she probably wouldn't
like me kissing girls either."

And the pretty lady
makes me a drink.

Then she changes into
this chocolate...

Satin teddy.

She is so beautiful.

I mean, i always thought
bulldaggers were ugly.

I say, "you look great."

She says, "so do you."

I say, "no, i only have this
white cotton bra

And panties on."

So, she takes me into her closet,

And she changes me into

Another satin teddy.

It is lavender,

Like the first soft days of spring.

The alcohol has gone to my head,

And i am loose.

I am ready.

I notice, as she lays me
down on her bed,

That there is a picture of
a naked black woman

With a huge afro.

As she slowly

And gently lays me
down on her bed,

And just our bodies rubbing.

Just our bodies rubbing
makes me come.

Then she does everything to
me and my coochie snorcher

That i always thought
was nasty before

And oh, my god, i am so excited.

She says, "your vagina,
untouched by man,

"smells so fresh, so nice,

I wish i could keep it
that way forever."

I get crazy.

I get crazy wild.

And then the phone rings,

And it's my mama.

She catches me at everything.

I try to act normal when
i get on the phone.

"what is wrong with you, girl ?

Have you been running ?"

I say, "no, mama, exercising."

Afterwards,

The gorgeous lady teaches
me everything

About my coochie snorcher.

She makes me play with myself
in front of her,

And she teaches me all
the different ways

To give myself pleasure.

She is very thorough.

In the morning, i am worried
i've become a butch,

Because i'm so in love with her.

She laughs, but i never see her again.

You know, i realized later,

She was my surprising, unexpected,

Politically incorrect

Salvation.

She transformed my sorry-ass
coochie snorcher

And raised it up

Into a kind of heaven.

in 1993, i saw this incredible picture

On the cover of "newsday".

It was a picture of six young
bosnian girls

Who had just been returned
from a rape camp

In the former yugoslavia,

And the picture was really shocking,

Because on one level they looked
like six young beautiful girls

In their late teens, early 20s.

But from another direction
it was really clear

That something had just occurred
to each of these girls

That had changed them forever.

Inside the newspaper
was another photograph,

And there were 30 girls who had
been returned from a rape camp.

And they were all standing
in a semi-circle,

Having their picture taken,

Yet not one of them could
look at the camera.

These pictures completely haunted me,

And were responsible for my
going to the former yugoslavia

Several months later during the war,

Where i spent months

Interviewing bosnian women
refugees in camps

And in centers.

Their stories were, uh,
they were horrible.

And when i came back to the states,

I felt insane,

And i couldn't understand

Why we weren't doing anything
about the fact

That between 20 and 70 thousand
women were being raped

In the middle of europe in 1993,

As a systematic tactic of war.

And a friend of mine finally said,

"why are you surprised ?"

In this country, in one year,
and i do not exaggerate,

It's a documented fact.

In this country in one year,

Over 700,000 women are raped.

And in theory, we're not at war.

I wrote this for the brave,
beautiful women

Of bosnia and kosova.

My vagina was green water,

Soft pink fields,

Cow mooing,

Sun resting, sweet boyfriend,

Touching lightly with a soft
piece of blonde straw.

There is something between my legs.

I do not know what it is.

I do not know where it is.

Not now.

Not anymore.

Not since.

, my vagina was chatty, can't wait,
so much saying

Words talking, can't quit trying,

Can't quit saying, "yes,

Yes."

Not since i dream there's
a dead animal

Sewn in down there

With thick black fishing line.

And the bad dead animal
smell cannot be removed.

And its throat is slit

And it bleeds through all
my summer dresses.

My vagina singing all girl songs,

All goat bell ringing songs,

All wild autumn field songs,

Vagina songs, vagina home songs.

Not since the soldiers

Put a long, thick rifle

Inside me.

So cold, the steel rod
canceling my heart.

Don't know whether they're gonna fire it

Or shove it through
my spinning brain.

Six of them,

With black masks shoving
bottles up me too.

. There were sticks,
and the end of a broom

My vagina swimming river water, clean

Spilling water over sun-baked stones,

Over stone clit,
clit stones over and over.

Not since i heard the skin tear

And made lemon screeching sounds...

Not since a piece of my
vagina came off in my hand,

Now one part of the lip,

One side of the lip
is completely gone.

My vagina.

A live, wet, water village.

My vagina

Was once my hometown.

Not since they took turns.

They took turns for seven days

Smelling like fece s
and smoked meat.

They left their dirty
sperm inside me.

And i became a river
of poison and pus,

, and all the crops died

And the fish.

My vagina...

A live, wet, water village.

They invaded it.

They butchered it

. And burned it down

. I do not touch now

. I do not visit

I live someplace else now.

I don't know where that is.

Has anyone ever hurt your vagina ?

. The worst thing was
definitely being raped

And when was that ?

When i was 14 years old.

. That was the first time a man
ever did enter my body

That was when you were a virgin ?

So, what happened ?

Uh, he had cut me
with his fingernails,

And then i walked around
trying not to pee,

Because it hurt.

I experienced a date rape in college.

This was a very close friend
from high school,

And he one time was staying over

And woke me up in the middle
of the night,

And ripped off my underwear,

Stuffed underwear in my mouth,

Pinned my knees down with his knees

And raped me.

, i was walking home from
my friend's house

And an older man came up behind me

And put his hand over my mouth,

And shoved his other hand in my back

And said, "don't scream
or i'll kill you."

He beat me and he knifed me

And he raped me.

. And he tried to kill me

It was such an emotional injury,

That distorts your feelings
about your womanhood,

Your self,

Relationships.

It took a long, long, long time
to trust anyone,

And to make really myself feel
that it was not my fault.

And thank god i didn't catch
anything behind it.

But, um...

I was hurt more than my vagina.

Thank you.

My vagina's angry !

It is !

It's pissed off !

My vagina is furious.

And it needs to talk.

T it needs to talk about
all this shit

. And it needs to talk to you

I mean, what is the deal ?

An army of people out there
thinking up ways

To torture my poor-ass,
gentle, loving vagina.

Spending their days constructing
psycho products

. And nasty ideas to undermine my pussy

Vagina motherfuckers !

All this shit they're constantly
trying to shove up us.

Shove up us, stuff us up,
and make us go away.

. Well, my vagina's not going away

It's pissed off and it's
staying right here.

Is there anything your vagina's
ever been angry at ?

Hmm.

Ever been angry at ?

Yes, again it all has to do with the...

Invasiveness aspect,

When it's not ready.

When it hasn't been, um...

When it hasn't been nurtured.

Let's just begin with tampons.

? What the hell is that

A dry wad of fucking cotton
stuffed up there.

Why can't they find a way

To subtly lubricate the tampon ?

As soon as my vagina sees it,
it goes into shock !

It closes up.

It says, "forget it."

You have to work with the vagina,

, introduce it to things

Prepare the way.

That's what foreplay's all about.

You've got to convince my vagina,

Seduce my vagina,

Engage my vagina's trust.

You can't do that

! With a dry wad of fucking cotton

You probably don't remember,
but they used to have, uh,

Elastic belts with little hooks
and they handed you a pad

That was like thick enough

For barbie to use as a raft, you know ?

It was like gigantic.

I remember when i was,

After i'd started my period,

Spending a summer
trying to figure out

How to put a tampon in.

And i remember sort of squatting
over a mirror,

For days and days and days trying
to find the way in.

Stop shoving things up me !

Stop shoving and stop
cleaning it up.

My vagina doesn't need
to be cleaned up.

. It smells good already

Don't try to decorate.

Don't believe him when he tells you

It smells like rose petals,

When it's supposed
to smell like pussy.

That's what they're doing,
you know, trying to clean it up,

Make it smell like a bathroom
spray or a garden.

All those douche sprays.

Floral, berry, rain.

I don't want my pussy
to smell like rain !

. All cleaned up like washing
a fish after you've cooked it

I wanna taste the fish !

That's why i ordered it !

You heard the joke about
"good evening, ladies" ?

No.

, oh, well, it's a joke that goes

, "a blind man passed
the fish market

And he says, "good evening, ladies !"

My fiance says it's like
potpourri and roses.

That's sick.

That's like douching with like...

Fabric fresh or glad or whatever.

The thing you get like
all freaked out,

, because there' s all
these warnings

About the odor, and then
the odor shows up,

And you're like, oh, my god,
what's going on ?

And then you realize it's normal.

Then there's those exams.

Who thought up those exams ?

. I know there has to
be a better way

Why the scary paper dress that
scratches your tits ?

? Why the funky rubber gloves

Why the flashlight all up there,

Like nancy drew working
against gravity ?

Why the nazi steel stirrups ?

Why the mean, cold duck lips
they shove inside you ?

! What is that ?

. My vagina is furious
about these visits

It gets defended weeks in advance,

It won't go out of the house.

, then you get there

Don't you love that ?

. "relax your vagina

Relax, come on, scoot down,
scoot down, relax your vagina."

Why ?

My vagina's not stupid.

You're about to shove mean ,
cold duck lips up inside it !

. It's just horrible

First thing, the room is
always very cold.

You know, you're sitting there,

. Spreading your legs,
it's just horrible

What they call a speculum,
or whatever that thing is ?

I can't stand it,

Even when that little brush thing
for the pap smear goes in there,

. It makes me cringe

And they're like, "oh, does this
hurt when i squeeze here ?"

Well, yeah.

You're squeezing my vagina,
it's not a comfortable feeling.

Why can't they find some nice,
delicious purple velvet

And wrap it around me,

, lay me down in some
feathery cotton spread

Put on some friendly pink
or blue gloves,

And rest my feet in some
fur-covered stirrups ?

Warm up the duck lips !

Work with my vagina !

! But no, more tortures

Dry wad of fucking cotton,

, cold duck lips

Thong underwear !

. That shit is the worst

It is the worst.

It moves around all the time.

It gets stuck in the back
of your vagina,

Real crusty butt.

The vagina is supposed to
be loose and wide,

Not held together.

That's why girdles are so bad.

We need to move

And spread and talk.

Vaginas need to talk.

Why don't they make
something comfortable,

? Something to give them pleasure

. Of course they won't do that

They hate, hate, hate, hate, hate

To see a woman having pleasure.

Particularly sexual pleasure.

I say, make a nice pair of
white cotton underpants

With a french tickler built in.

That's right, that's right.

Women would be coming all day.

Coming in the supermarkets.

"give me the juice."

They wouldn't be able to stand it.

Seeing all these energized,
not-taking-shit,

Hot, happy vaginas coming
down the street.

If my vagina could talk...

It would talk about itself like me.

. It would talk about other
fabulous vaginas

It would do vagina impressions.

It would wear
harry winston diamonds,

No clothing.

Just there, all draped
in the diamonds.

My vagina helped release
a giant baby.

It thought it would be
doing more of that.

It's not.

Now it wants to travel.

It does not want a lot of company.

It wants to read and know
things and get out more.

It wants sex.

It loves sex.

It wants to go deeper.

It's hungry for depth.

It wants kindness.

It wants change.

It wants silence and freedom

And gentle kisses and warm liquids

And deep touch.

. It wants chocolate

. It wants to scream

It wants to stop being angry !

It wants to come.

It wants to want.

It wants.

My vagina, it wants,

It wants everything.

i interviewed a whole
group of sex workers,

And obviously women who do sex work

Have rich, compelling,

Complex relationships with their vaginas.

This particular woman
blew my mind.

She was a sex worker,
but she only did sex work with women.

You know when you go
out with someone

And you think they're in
the same zone as you

And five minutes into the
conversation you're like,

"oh, my god !"

That's what it was like with this woman.

You know, you try to be hip.

"right, right."

Meanwhile your head's
being blown off,

You just hope your scarf
will conceal it.

I wrote this for her.

. I love vaginas

I love women.

I do not see them as separate things.

Women pay me to dominate them,

To excite them,

To make them come.

I did not start out like this.

No, to the contrary...

I started out as a lawyer.

, but in my late 30s

I became obsessed with
making women happy.

It began as a mission of sorts,

But then i got involved in it.

I got very good at it,
kind of brilliant.

You could say i found my calling.

I started getting paid for it.

. I wore outrageous outfits
when i dominated women

Lace, silk,

Leather.

I used props...

Whips, ropes,

Handcuffs, dildos.

There was nothing like
this in tax law.

There was no props , no excitement,

And i hated those
blue corporate suits,

Although i have to tell you,

I wear them now in my
new line of work,

. And they fit in nicely

Context is everything.

There was no wetness.

There was no dark,
mysterious foreplay.

No erect nipples.

No delicious mouths,

But mainly there was no moaning.

Not the kind i'm
talking about anyway.

I see now that moaning
was the key.

It was the thing that
ultimately seduced me

And got me addicted
to making women happy.

I made love to quiet women, okay ?

I found a place inside them,

They shocked themselves
in their moaning.

I made love to moaners and
they found a deeper,

More penetrating moan.

I became obsessed, i
longed to be in charge,

Like a bandleader or a conductor.

, it was a kind of surgery,
a kind of delicate science

Finding the exact location
or home of the moan.

That's what i called it.

Sometimes i found it over
a woman's jeans.

Sometimes i snuck up on it,
off the record,

Quietly disarming
the surrounding alarms

And moving in.

, sometimes i used force

But not violent, oppressing force, no.

More like dominating,

"i'm gonna take you someplace,

Why don't you lay back,
enjoy the ride" kind of force.

Sometimes it was simply mundane.

I found the moan before
things even started,

While we were eating chicken
or salad in the kitchen,

Right there, with my fingers all mixed in

With the balsamic vinegar.

Sometimes i used props, i love props.

Sometimes

I made the woman find her own moan

. In front of me

I waited.

I stuck it out until
she opened herself.

I was not fooled by those minor,
more obvious moans.

No...

I pushed her further,

All the way

Into her power moan.

Now...

There's the clit moan.

Eh, eh, eh...

The vaginal moan.

Oh, oh, oh...

The combo clit-vaginal moan.

Eh-oh, eh-oh, eh-oh...

The almost moan.

. The on-it moan

Oh... Oh...

The elegant moan.

The grace slick moan.

The wasp moan.

The semi-religious moan.

Oy, oy, oy...

The mountaintop moan.

The baby moan.

Oh-ah, oh-ah, oh-ah...

. The doggy moan

The southern moan.

Yea, yea, yea !

The militant, uninhibited
bisexual moan.

Ho, ho, ho, ho !

The machine-gun moan.

The tortured zen moan.

Ah, oh, ah...

The diva moan.

! Ahhhhhh ! Ahhhhhh

And finally,

The surprise triple-orgasm moan.

Oh, god, that's really good,
don't stop.

That's, oh, that's it,
that's it, that's it--

Oh, that's it.

Oh, my god, oh, that's really good,
oh, that's, oh my god !

Ahh... !

Eee-ahhhh... !

Whoo !

? Can you believe we're doing this on hbo

. Orgasms on hbo , i'm so excited

I've been collecting vagina
fact s for quite some time,

And i have to tell you,

I've been hard-pressed to
find a happy vagina fact.

I found this one and now
i think i live to tell it.

The clitoris i s pure in purpose.

It is the only organ in
the male or female body

Designed solely for pleasure.

The clitoris is simply
a bundle of nerves,

8,000 nerve fibers ,
to be precise.

That is a higher concentration
of nerve fibers

Than is found anywhere
else in the body,

Including the fingertips,

Lips, and tongue.

And it is twice...

Twice...

Twice...

The number in the penis.

Do you wan t to go first ?

You go first, let's see.

Uh, you go first.

You go first.

Okay, first i feel it in my head.

Before i feel it anywhere else.

I do, i feel it like
right here in my head.

And then it like travels down,

And it's the most
incredible sensation.

I scream and i yell,
and i say, you know...

"more, it's good."

, i have to squeeze
all my muscles

Pretty much, it's like every
single muscle in my body.

Yeah, i start breathing
heavier, and honestly,

You feel like you're
going to explode.

It's like...

You kind of lose your
mind for a little bit,

You just kind of go crazy.

It's sort of an eruptive state,

It's a rising, ignited state.

It can be kind of a boom,
or it can be soft.

Ah, ah !

It's just like, whew.

Yes !

Oh, oh !

I'd been performing this piece
for quite some time,

And i didn't have one monologue
in it about birth,

Which was a bizarre omission,

Although recently i was interviewed

By a male journalist,
and he said,

"really, what's the connection ?"

My husband was there,
and the doctor was there,

And the nurse, and my sister,

And they were holding my legs
and telling me to push...

, when they said

"oh, we can see the
head, one big push

And you could push that baby out,"

And there's this sort of bone
cracking, you know,

Stretchy sound.

I felt this very strange sensation

Of like something swimming
through my body.

And i realized, oh, my god,

He's coming out,
he's coming out.

So, i just kept pushing harder.

And then finally there
he was, upside down,

Hanging by his legs,
and he was okay.

It's so, i can't wait
'til you experience it.

I know you can't.

I cannot wait.

It's so wonderful.

I can't wait.

It's just...

It's the best thing ever.

Over the course of
writing the monologues,

My daughter-in-law got pregnant,

And she and my son invited me to be there

For the birth of my granddaughter.

And i have to tell you,

If i was in awe of vaginas
before this moment,

I'm in deep worship now.

I wrote this for my
daughter-in-law, shiva,

And my granddaughter coco.

I was there

. When her vagina opened

We were all there...

Her mother, her husband and i,

And the nurse from the ukraine

With her whole hand up there,
in her vagina,

Feeling and turning with
her rubber glove,

, as she talked casually to us

. Like she was turning
on a loaded faucet

I was there in the room
when the contractions

Made her crawl on all fours,

Made unfamiliar moans leak
out of her pores.

And still there, after hours,

When she just screamed, suddenly wild,

Her arms striking at the electric air.

I was there when her vagina changed...

From a shy, sexual hole

To an archaeological tunnel,

A sacred vessel,

A venetian canal,

A deep well with a tiny
stuck child inside,

Waiting to be rescued.

I saw the colors of her vagina.

They changed.

Saw the bruised broken blue,

The blistering tomato red,

The gray-pink, the dark,

Saw the blood-like perspiration
along the edges,

Saw the yellow, white liquid,

The shit, the clots pushing
out all the holes,

Pushing harder and harder,

Saw through the hole,

The baby's head.

Scratches of black hair,

Saw it just there,

Behind the bone.

Like a hard, round memory,

As the nurse from the ukraine

Kept turning and turning
her slippery hand.

I was there when each of us,

Her mother and i,

Held a leg and spread her wide,

Pushing with all our strength
against her pushing,

As her husband sternly counting,

"one, two, three,"

Telling her, "focus, focus harder."

We looked into her then.

We couldn't get our eyes

Out of that place.

We forget the vagina,

All of us.

What else would explain
our lack of awe,

Our lack of reverence ?

I was there when the
doctor reached in

With alice in wonderland spoons

And there as her vagina

Became a wide, operatic mouth

Singing with all its strength,

First the little head,

. Then the gray flopping arm..

Then the fast, swimming body,

Swimming quickly into
our weeping arms.

I was there later

, when i just turned

I turned and i faced her vagina.

I stood and i let myself see her,

All spread, completely exposed,

Mutilated, swollen, torn,

Bleeding all over
the doctor's hands,

Who was calmly sewing her there.

I stood...

And as i stared,

Her vagina suddenly became

A wide, red,

Pulsing heart.

The heart is capable
of sacrifice.

So is the vagina.

. The heart is able to
forgive and repair

. It can change its
shape to let us in

It can expand to let us out.

So can the vagina.

It can ache for us
and stretch for us,

And die for us.

And bleed and bleed us
into this difficult...

Wondrous world.

So can the vagina.

I was there in the room.

I remember.

Well, i didn't really want
to show vaginas...

In this movie.

I kind of resisted it,

But HBO, really wouldn't
be an HBO movie,

Without showing a vagina.

So, here we go, here we go.

Okay, we're done.

Some fix and resynck: Xenzai[NEF]