Shopping Cart

Congratulations to our Winners!

What does your vagina say to you? Has it ever just up and asked you what's going on? Here at Womyns'Ware, we think about vaginas a lot. We talk about them, explore their needs, and share stories with our customers every day. So…we thought we'd see what our customers think about one of our favourite subjects: the Vagina.

We are pleased to announce that we have our winners! We've chosen a first, second and third place winner, as well as three honourable mentions (the honourable mentions will receive a 2 oz bottle of lube!) If you are a winner, you should have email notifying you.

 Here are the contest questions, just for a reminder!

 1) If your vagina got dressed, what would it wear?
 2) If your vagina could talk, what would it say?
 3) My Angry Vagina


First Place:  sexi_lexi28  "If your vagina could talk, what would it say?"

If my vagina could talk it would tell Freud, psychoanalysts, men and sex-therapists how it likes being a vagina and has never wanted to be a penis. It would speak out against the myth of "penis-envy" that has joined and replaced oppressive accusations of hysterical behaviour in women who refuse to shut-up and be silent and who actively move forward to achieve their own dreams and aspirations. My vagina would tell the world how it has a personality and can feel a range of emotions but does not rule my body or my emotional state, turning me into a "bitch" at certain times of the month or a submissive bunny at the sight of an erect penis. My vagina might admit to envying other vaginas that have experienced multiple orgasms and have had the courage to experiment with different toys, positions and various aids in order to find out what it likes. It would tell my partner, in its own voice (I am not quite sure how it would sound yet) how it wants to be treated, when it wants more, less or when it doesn't want anything at all. Sometimes it can be difficult for me to use my own voice to communicate what I want or tell my partner how I feel and my vagina would be a far more eloquent spokeperson in that situation. My vagina would tell the world how much it loves being what it is and is glad that it doesn't have to be constantly adjusted in jeans or shorts or get hard in public places, or need me to stand up at the basin in the washroom or get scrutinized and compared to other vaginas in gym classes or need a plastic box to protect it while playing cricket. My vagina would tell the world how comfortable and stable it is in its image. It is happy with the texture and colour of its hair, the curve of its canal and smoothness of its inner walls. It does not discriminate against penis' and would hope that they were happy with their own images too but it would dispel the myth of its own abhorrence for itself, its disdain and shame around its leakages and smells, its openness and unpredictablitly that has evoked terror and captured the morbid fascination of the likes of Jean-Paul Satre, Charles Bukowski, Henry Miller and my brother who flees the room in terror at the sight of tampon commercials. So, my vagina would be a vociferous advocate for 'vagina pride', or 'vagina power' as opposed to girl power that promotes boobs but seems to have left out the fact that girls also have vaginas. As an advocate for vagina pride, my activist vagina would shout, "I am vagina, here me roar, if you don''t want to hear this then there's the door!" These are the important things that my vagina would say if it could talk. Thankyou for listening.

---

Second Place:  slyn  Dressing  "My Funky Vagina"

My vagina is a hipster wearing bell-bottom jeans swinging in the sunshine. Fluffed and cuffed, she blows through this town all feathery light in a top-down Chevy. Tight jeans with visible stitching reveal all that my vagina is, all her plump twists, all her mirth and mischief. She likes her pants snug so as to feel herself jammed up against something raw. Tucked in and top secret, my vagina lies low.  My vagina is a groove-master wearing gossamer white that billows in the breeze. Tank top with gathers at the neck and arms, singed midriff and hanging threads for flavor, she is languid and waiting for a wind-gust to blow her wide open. She likes her shirts flowing so as to feel herself swimming around inside delicious textures and supple cottons. Spongy and pliable, my vagina hangs loose. My vagina is an urban jungle wearing the chunkiest black boots. She walks freely, with an even stride. She strolls in jazzed-up rhythms and psychedelic harmonies, dancing wild for passers-by. She stops here and there to hangout at corners, to drink vodka tonics with lemon twists through long straws, beating out her heart’s delight in thick, liquid-time. She likes her shoes hard so as to feel herself becoming unruly and riotous, looking down from time to time in laughter at the weight she carries. Tough and unbreakable, my vagina is rock-solid.  My vagina is stylin’ in a hairdo parted down the middle. All waves and tangles, she never uses a comb. Each black hair is decorated with a glittery bead and a natural slickness that holds all designs. Waving madly like one thousand octopi, my vagina’s hairdo is alive and busy, holding tightly to things with a suckered grip. Far-out and funky, my vagina is right-on  Now dressed, my vagina is all smiles, all lips, all “yeses” and “if you please.” Cloaked and adorned, my vagina is way downtown cool.

---

Third Place: sandras  "What Makes My Vagina Angry"

I make my vagina angry. I make my vagina angry everytime I am sexually assaulted or sexually insulted and don't do anything about it other than feel really crummy inside. I'm afraid to cause trouble. Afraid to make a scene, make a big deal. What if someone lost their job, their family, their reputation because I said something. What if the person behaved strangely toward me because I told them not to talk to me or touch me in sexual manner which I was not comfortable with. I failed to question the most important, "What if?", and that is, "What if my vagina gets angry?" I never thought this could have happened. I got my vagina mad at me and now she wants to be left alone. No visitors. She's never in the mood to play and nothing seems to get her aroused or stimulated. She is turned off. She's got my stomache involved too. My stomache feels ill when someone touches me in a sexual way even if I want them to. I could blame the the boss, the co-worker, the director, the parking attendant, the customer and scream, "You did it! You made my vagina angry!" But my vagina holds me responsible for not sticking up for us. For not saying, "Hey! I will not allow you to say that, do that or disrespect me because I have a vagina." For not taking action, if necessary, to make sure that other vaginas wouldn't become angered because of these wankers. I didn't have enough respect for my vagina. I have regrets. My vagina and I are communicating and we are trying to work things out. I have promised to make her a priority and fight for her rights to be feminine and to live in peace and harmony. As for my vagina, she will try to get rid of the bad taste left in her mouth by disrespecting dickheads and understand that not all penises are pricks!

---

Honourable Mention1: oceanmist  "My angry vagina."

Grrrr, my vagina is angry. At what you say? At abuse, at scorn, at not being treated with kindness, dignity and respect. Grrrr, my vagina is angry, why has no one respected me like they should she asks, why has no one come to ease my pain and bring me the multiple orgasms I so deserve? Why oh why? I'll tell you why my angry vagina says; because I am treated as a toy or worse, as something that is there to only poke things into. Oh how I need some satisfaction, my angry vagina screams, someone who will love me soft and sensual when I need it and fuck me when I ask. I am open and wet to these possibilities, but I am still treated with nothing but tender gentleness, for that's all a 'good' vagina should want. I have needs and wants just like everyone else she declares. Why must a cock be acceptable and not me? Everywhere you look you see phallus, the Statue of David, or the Sistine Chapel to name a few. All considered great works of art, and where do you find vaginas? In nasty male oriented smut magazines that where. The vagina in these pictures has no say, they are nameless and lost emotionless glossies, which why we, as vaginas are treated as we are. I am angry, ANGRY says my vagina because while I am objectified I am also kept 'hushhush'. One's vagina cannot get angry they say, ones vagina has no feelings or wants, only a cock can have wants or needs. So Mr. Man just what do you call it when I beg for a tongue or finger or a nice dil to make me happy? You see, you have nothing to say for I am objectifiable or am I to just be kept quiet as something 'down there'? Well I have something to say; for I am an angry vagina and I WILL be heard!

---

Honourable Mention 2: amjoy  "If my vagina could talk it would say…."

Come hither…follow me. Oh the places we'll go.  My vagina likes to lead me. Sometimes it leads to pleasure and fun and sometimes to much stranger darker places. Every so often it leads me back to places I have already been, and sometimes to places I could not imagine it would go. But still I follow. My vagina has a mind of its own. It does not speak words or give orders. It is just that I find myself in places my vagina has taken me and it surprises me and excites me and I sometimes wonder how I got there. Like back to an old lover, or even forward on my own, but my vagina has a mind of its own. But still I follow.  My vagina sometimes makes decisions about what I should be doing and who I should be doing it with. There are times when my head tells me "you should know better, don't go there, stop following that vagina. \ But my vagina is persuasive and often it wins the struggle. But still I follow. My vagina thinks differently. It grows hair that is long thick black and wiry. Sometimes in places that I think no hair is supposed to be. But my vagina disagrees and it continues to grow hair in every place it can find. It thinks hair is beautiful, and I have lost the struggle to control it. But still I follow.  My vagina cries for me to follow. It longs for touch, it remembers the allure of a gentle kiss and sweet caress. It knows what it likes, my vagina is powerful. And I can not help but follow.  My vagina is a marvelous vagina. It cries come hither and follow me…and I follow it with pride.

---

Honourable Mention 3: hugznkizzez2  "What would my vagina wear?"

 Something pretty, all satin and silk. With lace, and ribbons. She wouldn't wear zippers or velcro, or anything with seams. She would luxuriate in the caress of her silky surroundings, and marvel at each and every sensation. She would wrap herself up and drape herself over a mountain of fluffy, soft, tassled pillows and just sit there. Looking immensely pleased with herself.