Moan

                        I’m standing in front of three somewhat familiar faces. Sonia, the enthusiastic, shaved-head director, sits on the left of the table. Anne, the assistant director, whose subtle sexiness won people over as an actor in Vagina last year, sits in the middle. And Simone, the organized stage manager, sits on the right, scribbling on a yellow pad. The flash from the Polaroid they just took of me is still making white spots appear in my vision. I quickly recite a monologue I have been practicing for two weeks.

            “And now we’ll give you the opportunity to moan.” Gulp! I take a deep breath. I don’t have to do it, I tell myself. It’s not required. But it will give me a better chance of getting in. Fuck. People have gotten into the show before without having to moan. I can still get another monologue. I’m sure other people didn’t moan either. It’s scary; they know that. I close my eyes. I take a big, deep and exaggerated breath. This breath slowly turns into something foreign to my ears. My mouth gets wider, my breathing gets louder. I moan. I clutch my knees and bend. I exagerate even more. I hope they’re not looking at me. I hope they’re not laughing at me. I hope they’re not judging me. I grunt. My head twists like I’m in pain. Please, God, don’t judge me! I squeal. My lungs are growing smaller. I’m losing my breath. I let out one more obnoxious sigh. I’m done. I open my eyes.

            As soon as the bell rings, I jump out of my seat. I zoom past hundreds of students, with my mind on only one thing: The Vagina Monologues Cast List. A dozen girls of different sizes huddle around the callboard. I creep up behind them, but I can’t see my name. I find an opening between all of the girls and squeeze my way through. Amalia. Amalia. Amalia. AMALIA!!! There it is. My name is on the list! But wait. I didn’t get either of the monologues I was called back for. The Woman Who Loved to Make Vaginas Happy. What is that supposed to mean? Well, at least I got in. I can’t wait to tell Andrea during fourth period.

            I grace into photo class and put my backpack down on the table. I cross through the developing room and walk over to one of my best friends. She’s a skinny, but muscular tomboy, and I know she’ll be excited to hear the news. “Andy, guess what? I got into Vagina.”

            “I know! Congratulations!” she exclaimed. “Naomi told me. That’s going to be so fun! And you got the moaning one.”

            What?

            “What?” I stare at her.

            She senses fear in my voice. “You got the Woman Who Loved to Make Vaginas Happy, right?”

            “Is that what I got? The moaning one!” I almost fall over. Andy starts laughing at me. My breathing gets really intense and dramatic. She helps me keep my balance by holding onto my arm. My mind starts running. I got the moaning one. I got the MOANING one. How am I going to do this? People are going to be watching me. Oh, no. My parents. Shit. I keep myself propped up by clasping onto the table.

            “Andy, are you serious?” I feel dizzy.

            “Yeah, that’s the monologue Anne did last year. It was really good.” I didn’t see the Vagina Monologues last year. “And you know you’re going to do hella good!” I’m not so sure. Does my moaning sound that good? God, what am I going to do? I can just see it now. An audience actually watching me orgasming onstage, watching my every movement, and laughing. Not the “I’m laughing with you,” but the “I’m laughing at you” type. I don’t know if I can go through with it because I’m scared as fuck.

            “You know she’s a whore,” Andy adds. I look up from the ground and straight into her eyes.

            “What do you mean?!” Now I’m intrigued, but a little put off.

            “You’re character is a sex worker.” She smiles.

            Icing on the cake. My breathing gets more intense. I pant and puff like crazy. I might have even been hyperventilating.

            The next two months are probably some of the most exciting and some of the most scary times in my life. Although we only only have rehearsals two times a week, my mind stays full of anything related to the Vagina Monologues, specifically my biggest fear - moaing on stage.

            One rehearsal, I am by myself with Sonia and Anne. I am having trouble connecting to the character and letting go of my inhibitions. I try to explain. “I feel like…I dunno.”

            “Well, I think…why don’t you do something? I want you to walk around the room.” Sonia stares at me. I stare back. I realize she wants me to start walking around the room. Duh. I cross around the empty desks and projector, circle a few times, and she continues, “How would she feel if she just finished with a ‘job?’” I start to walk like I’m flustered and out of breath. Anne sits comfortably in a bean bag chair with her hair flowing out beside her. She watches my every move. “How do your feet feel? What are you leading with? Your chest? Your forehead?” Well, I’m a sex worker, so I’m probably wearing heels that hurt like fuck and leading with my chest. And shaking my hips. Hmm this gives me some ideas. We do this a few more times, but as much as both of the directors try to help me, I still have that ball of butterflies in my stomach.

            Sonia has another idea to help me. She scratches her fuzzy head and says, “Amalia. Okay, me and Anne will do this, too.” What is she talking about? I’m a little worried now. “Let’s all lay on the ground,” she says. We all get comfortable on the ground. “Okay, actually, Anne, can you turn off the lights?” Oh dear God, what is she going to have us do? “So nobody’s watching, obviously. Let’s practice the moans!” No, let’s not. But what am I going to say; she’s my director. “And we’ll do them with you. It’ll be fun!”

            “Okay,” I manage to say. “So you want me to just say them and we’ll do them?” Sonia and Anne nod simeoultaneously. Breathe, Amalia. I begin to say the moans. “There’s the clit moan.” I make a small orgasmic sound, but suddenly notice two other small orgasmic sounds coming from a few feet away. That’s so weird, I think to myself. I can’t believe I’m hearing how the directors moan! “The vaginal moan.” A deeper grunt comes from all three of us. This is pretty funny, and I’m starting to have some fun with this. “The combo clit-vaginal moan.” We do a cobination of the two previous sounds. Now I’m really getting into it. Having nobody look at me is a relief. I could care less if they hear me, but I can’t help but feel awkward when somebody is watching me fake climax. My body lets loose and the moan vibrates in my head. I begin to hear it throughout my body. Air and blood is flowing everywhere within me. I clench my hips and toss on the floor. We all toss on the floor. I can’t see my directors, but I can hear them quite loudly. My hair wraps around my face. I really can’t breathe. Loud moans boom from the little classroom. Adrenaline flows through us as we start to “come down.” I can hardly keep my eyes open. I feel light-headed and sleepy. At this rate, I might have to start working out to gain more stamina.

            I’m feeling amazing, but I also am completely out of breath. “And finally, the surprise triple orgasm.” We all decide to go full out on this one. Being in this pitch-black room with two others moaning along, makes me feel more powerful and less scared. For those three minutes I let go of my inhibitions.

            We hear a knock, and turn to see who it is. Anne turns on the light and walks over to the closed door. She slowly opens it, and to our surprise the janitor is standing there. All four of us look at each other and but only us moaners begin to laugh. How awkward! The janitor looks at us, gives a little uncomfortable smile, and motions that she’ll come back when we’re through. I guess if I can moan with a janitor overhearing me, I can moan in front of an audience. I keep hoping.

            I can hear the murmurs from the audience, before I can see them. We are at the Ashby Stage and finally the performance is here. My hands start to get a little sweaty; my breathing gets a little faster. But I’m still breathing, I remind myself. I think I hear my mom laugh in her loud, obnoxious way. I can’t believe I finally told her it was okay to come watch the performance. After two months of bickering over whether or not she could come, I said she could. I’m still not going to let my dad see it. If he saw me doing nearly twenty different moans on stage, I would die. I would actually just stop breathing, take the whip I use as a prop and kill myself with it.

            The thirteen performers and two directors huddle up backstage with five minutes to go before the show. We stand close together and take each others’ hands. I feel bad for Nicole, because I must be making a pool of sweat between our clutched hands. Our director starts saying words of encouragement and love, but I zone her out. Everything becomes suddenly blurry and I am in my head - in some other world. I start imaging what is about to happen. I see myself onstage. I’m sitting in a chair. I feel the lights on me. I love those lights. I sense eyes looking at me. But it’s black all around. You could hear a pin drop. My breathing sounds loud in my ears. I try to say something, but I’m shivering. I try to mumble my lines, but my voice sounds distant. The eyes stare harder. I try to moan. I hear laughing. You can do this, Amalia. Show them what you got. You’re the one up here, not them. Look at how much power you have. My heart is about to explode. The lights get brighter and I blink a few times. I blink hard a few times and I’m back in the huddle, holding onto Nicole for dear life.

            Within minutes we make our way onstage. The audience is full, but surprisingly I find that I’m not scared. The audience is my friend. They want me to do well. I’m here to entertain them. That’s all. They cheer when they’re supposed to. They laugh in the appropriate moments. But I haven’t done my monologue yet. I’m still sweating like a madwoman and my breathing remains unsteady. The next sixty minutes feel like the longest moments of my life. And now it’s my time to shine.

            It begins like every rehearsal. I start out by describing why I love vaginas so much. “I love vaginas.” I recite the monologue flawlessly. I explore what it’s like to be a sex worker. I make the audience laugh, which is the most rewarding thing a performer can feel. I know this is going perfect for me. I see my mom. I see my girlfriend. I see my friends. But they don’t phase me. I’ve practiced for two long months and now it’s time for me to just do it. I know I can’t give up. I must let everything go.

            I take a a deep breath because I know I will loose all of it within the next two minutes. I feel the spotlight hit my face, and I take it all in. The audience’s anticipation thrills me. Many of them know what’s coming, but I hold them at the edge of their seats.

            I begin with smaller moans that I have rehearsed, and they suddenly come alive within me. I have no control of what I’m doing or saying. They flow out of me, and I have an incredible amount of power. I make the audience uncomfortable. I make them laugh hysterically. I make them want me. I don’t feel uncomfortable because I pretend that I’m somebody else. All the visions of what this moment would be like vanish. I take control of the room. I’m sweating and breathing hard but I’ve never felt this good. I throw myself around on the chair and fall to the ground. I swing my body and my whip around almost hitting some people in the first row. My hair sticks to my face, but I push it aside and keep moaning. I’m blind to how embarrassing this could potentially be, and I just let loose. People will praise me, I know it. I feel the end coming, but I’m enjoying myself too much. It’s time. “And finally, the surprise triple orgasm!” All of the actors join me on this one. We screech and holler. We roll on the floor. I conduct them with my whip. We are a symphony of moans. I’ve let my fears go and boy, does it feel great! We start breathing softer and softer until we are nothing but a faint wheeze. I take one last sigh and collapse my whole body on the ground. I close my eyes. The stage goes black.

            I never thought I would orgasm on stage. The closest I got to being anything sexual onstage was when I was wearing fishnets, knee-high boots, and a mini skirt two summers ago at the Altarena Playhouse. That was nothing next to moaning. That was nothing next to putting your whole self out there. Nothing next to giving yourself up and with it all of your inhibitions. I thought I could never do it. But I did.