Turned out that Bob loved vaginas. He was a connoisseur. He loved the way they felt, the way they tasted, they way they smelled, but most importantly he loved the way they looked. He had to look at them. The first time we ever had sex, he told me he had to see me.

‘I’m right here,’ I said.

‘No, you,’ he said. ‘I have 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.

Then he said, ‘Ok, I’m ready, ready to see you.’

‘Right here,’ I waved, ‘I’m right here.’

Then he began to undress me.

‘What are you doing Bob?’ I said.

‘I need to see you,’ he replied.

‘No need,’ I said, ‘Just do it.’

‘I need to see what you look like,’ he said.

‘But you’ve seen a red leather couch before,’ I said.

Bob continued. He would not stop. I wanted to throw up and die.

‘This is awfully intimate,’ I said. ‘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 more, much much more’.

He 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 and he was so genuinely 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. He wasn’t grossed out. I began to swell, began to feel proud. Began to love my vagina… and Bob, lost himself there and I was there with him, in my vagina, and we were gone.

Extracted from The Vagina Monologues

So, what do you think?

ivillage uk

Because he like to look at it

Because he like to
look at it