Letter From Her Pubic Valley

I have written for you this letter to show you, as a woman. just how wondrous and powerful you are.

Dear You,

Do not be ashamed of me.

I helped create you.

Do not be ashamed of me.

I was created to give pleasure.

I was created to cause eruptions in men and earthquakes in women.

I was created to give birth.

I was created to empty waste through me.

I am a most wondrous creation.

I am like a flower with the sweetest of nectars waiting for pollination.

I can fit around a finger or push out a baby’s head.

I can affect your emotions and that of others.

I need love.

I need to be touched and caressed.

I can make rivers flow from internal springs.

I need to be penetrated.

I want to be licked and tasted.

I am a million fantasies.

How dare you spurn God's creation and call me dirty.

How dare you call me disgusting!

I am a wondrous creation. Take a mirror and look at me. Study me. Admire me.

I am a wondrous creation. Take a mirror and look at me. Study me. Admire me.

Many thousands of years ago, they made sculptures of me, the oldest works of art ever found. For thousands of years I was worshipped as the Mother goddess, Mother Nature, Mother Earth, until a male god was found, and then, I was abandoned.

Now I was to be shunned and shamed. Never to be shown or seen or painted or sculptured. Only my husband could look at me, take pleasure from me. Even I could not take pleasure from myself. For 2000 years I was covered up, hidden away, painted over as if I did not exist.

Do not be ashamed to explore me. Too touch me. To feel and stroke me. To look at my folds and feel my heat. To gasp at the pleasure I can bring you.

I have been promised to older men and kings. Envied by young women and Queens. Valued for my purity. Chaperoned and guarded. Locked away. Sheets checked for my virgin blood on wedding nights.

Examined by women whose own vaginas had cried themselves dry in an effort to remain pure and virginal until the day their virginity was no longer a reward anyone valued or anyone wanted.

Emperors have courted me. Caesars have led armies for me. Kings have defied Popes for me. Ships have sailed for me. Armies have protected me. Armies have rapped me.

Queens have prayed for princes to come out of me. Daughters could not lead a nation. Only sons who could grow to be kings could lead a nation in war. A Queen who could not produce a son and heir was no Queen fit for a king. Queens have prayed for princes to come out of me. A son. An heir.

Kings have pledged their love for me until they tire of my walls and have spent all their liquid in me in exchange for a son that I could not bear. Kings have murdered me.

Sultans have made me a part of their harem in luxurious palaces I could never leave. If they tired of me, sewn into a sack I would be and the river be my grave.

I can make you long for the same lover over and over again. To be joined to them by an invisible chain that if broken pulls your heart from your chest. I am like a Caesar who can grant life or death. I have power.

Alas, he is threatened by my power over him. I wish him no harm. I have the power to make him leave his lover. The power to make an artist make love to me with the tip of his paintbrush. The power to make him beat me in an unprovoked rage. The power to make him steal me from another. The power to make him love me unto death.

The power to make him touch me without me wanting to be touched. The power for him just to see my image and make him throw his seed out of his loins. Others just want to feel my walls around them and discard their fluid for their own fleeting joy. A display of power of ownership over the part of me that belongs to you. For this power, I have lived a sometimes brutal life. For my power is their weakness.

Use my power well, for if you don’t I can lead you to a life of burden and toil. You will trade me for positions of power. For money and drugs. Families can be wrecked by me. Unwanted children can come from me. Children can be taken away from me with many tears following their screams. Babies can be pulled from me before they have even formed. Taken away at birth. Use my power well.

I have suffered in Europe and the Middle East. In the lands of Christianity and Islam. I have been locked away in convents never to be touched, but even in convents, my power has weekend both nuns and priests. I have been burned at the stake, stoned and hanged, because in their religious hysteria and ignorance, they said the devil had fucked me leaving his seed to grow in your soul.

You have been warned not to touch me or mention me. Told I was dirty. Never called by name. You were warned not to bring pleasure to me or let anybody else. Nuns in convent schools would examine me. Dare I be spoilt, punishment would follow. I itch to be touched by you. I pull your hand to me to rub me as night falls upon us. In my young state, I am desired as if I were the sweetest fruit plucked from a virgin tree. I truly am a flower in full bloom my virgin fragrance wafting through the air, caught in the nostrils of men and boys who stand to attention and dream of my tightness around them. I am offered in marriage to please or quell the anger of families, villages, cities and nations.

In the new world, the hatred of me was spread by the conquers to the conquered. Where people were not ashamed of me they were taught to be. The art depicting me were destroyed the writings burned. In China, my union with the phallus was the coming together of heaven and earth. In India, I was seen in Hindu temples, written in scriptures and my union with the phallus painted on silk for all to see. In South America, I was Terracotta pottery. In the Europe, before Christianity, I was everyday art, In the Europe after Christianity, I became the curse, the original sin.

In the age of the 1920’s, you made your break for my freedom. You cut off your hair, the hair that made you the feminine ideal. You rebel against your Victorian mothers and throw off the restrictive clothing designed by your Victorian fathers.

I was seen again in art and read in literature. I had female lovers who openly caressed me, not caring about the shock to weaker eyes. Though the shame still lingered the fight for my freedom had begun.

In the age of the 1960’s I burst open for all to see. I was free. I appeared in books and magazines being pulled open and exposed. Eaten and fucked. I caused shock and awe. I caused riots and trials. I am out of the box, never to return, but 2000 years of oppression have paid a heavy price on me. If I am shown or written about people are warned, I am now explicit, x-rated, censored. I am the dirty picture. I am pornography. Even though I am God's greatest creation people are warned I may offend them.

You are the pinnacle of life on earth. You carry inside you the ancient ocean where life first began. The ancient ocean where fish spray their sperm in the hope it will find an egg waiting to be fertilized so that a single cell can grow inside a womb and evolve into you. I am the vulva the vagina the womb, and from me, you opened your eyes to see the world. I am the power that made the human race. I am your vagina.