Something Between the Legs

This is the monologue I wrote and preformed my first year at Grinnell for G-mons. At the time I was coming into a genderqueer identity and was only out to my girlfriend of the time and the lady I went to talk to every Tuesday.
This was a big step in my life - I hope someday I can give performances about the bad stuff too but for now this is what I've got.

Enjoy.

Something Between the Legs
by Nikki Jameson (Spring 2008)

I have only one friend who has grown up with me and helped me learn a lot about her and myself. I remember once I realized just how hairy she was, and I convinced her to shave. It wasn’t that bad we used one of my mums razors and away we went. I enjoyed looking at and feeling her bare skin but it was extremely itchy when the hair grew back in patchy stubbles. I was 12 years old and this was the first real attention I had ever given my vagina. It was uncomfortable and I didn’t want to do it again. I’d forgotten about her then 5 years ago we began to grow together in a transition from prissy cheerleader to penis envying artist.

Year one: Freshman year of high school my vagina and I wear spanky pants and short skirts. She is a devote cheerleader who gets lot of attention and lives carefree. She has no job or ties, but keeps herself clean-cut in case something arises. The best part of the cheerleading years, was other girls vagina’s in short skirts and spanky pants.

Year two: Although my vagina was still a bouncy cheerleader year two lead to a Hippy love interest. Me and my vagina fell head of heels for this long haired untamed girl. She was the first person my vagina and I actually cared about. We spent many nights drinking tea and braiding each other’s hair. She was a beautiful person, who I loved more than I knew at the time. I thought my vagina and I had found our match, with a year that would never end. Life was complete.

Year three: My vagina and I get on a plane and take the long fright to Europe. We spend 11 long crazy months learning so much about culture, food, life, and most importantly German beer. My vagina branched out in many directions and became what many would call a rebel. She loved embracing her punk rock goddess and felt liberated with her new Mohawk. I never let her dye her hair blue but she was happy involved and discovering.

Year four: My vagina and I come back home to small town America where no one understands how much we have changed. She is no longer prissy and bouncy, but that is what everyone still expected her to be. The hippy girl had moved on, and my vagina and I soon found being a rebel was a hard way to slide through life. My vagina decided to pick up the black turtleneck never to leave the performing arts again. She is now a poet who likes deep… thought and black coffee. The year drags by with my vagina feeling trapped and lonely.

Year five: My artist vagina and I come to Grinnell. Where there are apparently no limits. This is the first time in years that she shaves again. But soon learns, it is an itchy mess that is indeed uncomfortable when it grows back. She enjoys this new freedom with people who understand where she came from. My vagina was not expecting to find anyone at Grinnell who understood her, or even cared to understand her. She was too jaded by small town America to live outside of her own box. The day she first had penis envy she couldn’t comprehend it. Since the first time my vagina had fallen in love sex had always been fine, she didn’t need anything but what was attached to a wrist to please her. Now she was in a situation where maybe something else, something between the legs made of plastic would be a nice change. Not only did my vagina want to have this object, but she wanted to give this object too. My vagina and I are going through an identity crisis.

Year five is not yet over, and the transition is not yet complete. My vagina is allowing room to grow, learn and understand. I can relate to my vagina more now that ever before. When I was 12 years old I didn’t know shaving her would start a process of learning and growing. She is not just part of my body, she is a friend who understands me although I do not often understand her. Only together can we sort through who we truly are, cheerleader, hippy, rebel, artist, me.