Boys, please wake up. We need you.

Since I’ve been single, I have been consistently disgusted at the audacity of men who want to get laid and/or get attention from me.

Please, for the love of God, I am a HUMAN BEING. Just because I may like casual sex occasionally, does NOT mean that I won’t be discerning in who I pick to have sex with. Being sexually healthy means being able to say “yes” when I want to and “no” when it’s appropriate. When I say “no”, this is not an invitation to ask again in a different way. This is an opportunity to treat me like a human being and respect my autonomy.

And for those guys who want to just message and say “what’s up?”, that’s totally cool, but don’t be surprised if I don’t reply. It’s not that anything is wrong with you. It’s just that I don’t want to waste my time in endless, meaningless dialogue. If you want to know a little secret, try asking me a question about something I wrote or a picture I posted. Ask me about my favorite book, or what kind of video games I like to play. Treating me like an actual person who you want to have a conversation with seriously increases your chance for a response.

Oh and by the way, I hate that I have to clarify this, but in the event that I DO respond to you, this DOES NOT mean we’re going to hang out, and it certainly doesn’t mean we’re going to have sex. It means I have responded, and you can commence with the conversation. If what you need is merely to get off, then may I suggest masturbation and some good porn?

If it is sex you desire, can you explore that a bit first? Is it really just sex? Or is it real, genuine human connection? Is it conversation? Maybe someone to listen? Maybe you just need to be touched. Maybe you need a friend. Sex is a quick fix, but it’s not a permanent remedy for what really ails you. Sex can heal those broken layers, but you have to be willing to admit it first.

Guys, men, boys, please hear me. We love you. We need you. We need you to wake up. We need you to be present. We sure do spend a lot of time talking about how women matter and how as women, we are coming into our own. This doesn’t mean we forget about you. No, on the contrary, all of humanity is waiting for you to stand up and take your roles. I know it’s scary because we’ve kind of taken our feminine power back in the last few decades. I know you may feel a little diminished. But realize that your masculinity is exalted in this distinction with our awesome feminine glory. We complement one another. We need each other. Please, boys, I’m begging you. Wake the fuck up.

mattcomic
Comic by Matt Northup

Sex is Sacred.

Sex is sacred.

Wait, wait, that’s not right.

Sex is messy, complicated, fun, and a whole lot of other things, but sacred? I don’t know.

Sex is powerful.

In fact, sex has been used throughout time as a means of gaining and maintaining power. Sex has of course also been used for procreation. Procreation and power. I’m fairly certain it’s been used for pleasure in the past as well, and that’s primarily how we think of it today. There’s this holy bubble around sex that it must be pleasurable or else there’s something wrong. Sex is mating for humans, and it does in fact sometimes result in a new human being created. Does that mean sex doesn’t necessarily have to always be pleasurable? *gasp*

Well, here’s my answer. I don’t fucking know. But I do know, however, that every time I have sex, it had better be a fucking delight. Or else…

What? We’ll change position. I’ll kindly suggest a different angle to my partner, or another technique, or another hole *wink*. Or we’ll talk about it. Or I’ll ask, “How do you want me?”

Or (surprise surprise) – guess what! – we give up and laugh and decide it’s not the right time. There’s a time for everything and much like the oft-debated female orgasm, the act of sex itself can’t be forced.

So, what’s my point? What’s the end-game here? Fuck. Well, today I couldn’t stop thinking about how great of an idea it would be to abstain from sex. Initially, when it popped into my head, I laughed. I got scared and I laughed. As you’ve seen, I have in the past used sex from another as substitute for loving myself. If I were to really buckle down (literally) and give up sex, I’d have no choice but to find my love within, not from an external source. It’s one thing to preach self-love and periodically change my thoughts into more kind words. It’s quite another to actually starve myself of the one thing that has sustained me.

No, it’s not an exaggeration. No, I’m not a sex addict. I like sex. I love sex. This doesn’t mean I’m DTF when-the-fuck-ever or with who-the-fuck-ever. I enjoy connection, intimacy. I enjoy pleasure and sensation. I enjoy being worshipped and adored. I also enjoy giving. I am a self-proclaimed Scorpion Succubus.

Some of you may not understand this. That’s okay. I’m not talking to you. You can stick around for shits and giggles and gasps, but this is not for you. I could try to explain it to the best of my ability, but somehow I know my words will fall short. It doesn’t mean you like sex any less. Your experience is simply different from mine. With sex, I thrive. I fiend. I can get hangry (in this case – horny and angry). And, as is most relevant, I have confused love with sex and sex with love.

And I am confused. Actually, more curious than confused. I am certain of my own experiences and I’m certain that I like sex from both men and women. In the overlap of love and sex, though, I’m a bit fuzzy. I’ve always thought it was such a shame English has only one word to express what love is, when some other languages boast dozens. But also, not a shame, because our many poets and wordsmiths might not have tried so fervently to describe it if we had other fodder to use.

So, in the quest for self-love, I give up sex. I even had the inkling to give up orgasms altogether (like, no masturbating) but that thought just seemed cruel. I thought, a week, a month, a year? But, three months seems fine for now. As of today, it’s already been a week since I last got laid, so we know I can go 7 days without much fuss.

Oh goddess, the rebel in me wants to fight this. I can feel it. Well, excuse me while I go vomit, cry, and/or give myself a little pep talk…..

 

 

Image: Pexels

The Longing

It’s vaguely familiar. I’ve been here before, but not in reality. In a manner of speaking, I’ve been here as an extra on the sidelines, watching events unfold and playing my small part. Everywhere I am is everywhere I’ve been, but somehow I keep moving forward. These are small steps I’m taking now, hidden by my reckless abandon and unabashed need for passion, for romance.

For sex, mostly. Not the sex in itself, but the desire that precedes it and the aching that follows. These love games in which I take part are nothing but a front to hide the longing inside me. Though I try to deny it, I long to be loved wholeheartedly and unconditionally. Though I convince myself this kind of love does not exist, I still search, under the guise of a physical wanting. On the contrary, while my body has needs, I could do without the touch of another if it is replaced by cold, violent plastic. This fulfills my physical needs, so much so, that I can curl up into a ball and sleep tightly through the night without thinking of my loneliness again until morning.

As afraid of it as I am, I want a true love. I want to fill the emotional gaping within me. I want someone to reach out and with one touch expand themselves until I am full to the brim. These restless reveries are what keep me afloat in this ocean of confusion. They wrap themselves around my head with my nostrils barely inches from the water. They carry me from one significant moment to the next. They hold me over until I am able to catch my breath again. I force myself not to feel anything. I must be numb lest my heart loosen mistakenly and drop into another, as our flesh melts together.

When I am with you, I fear this happens. My skin burns and flexes under your touch. We are united in playful moments that I wish only to be a game, but my eyes betray me. They cannot help but gaze at you longingly and demand that they never look upon another face again. The game turns into a lovely sport in which you always win. You poke and pry and prod at my insides until the dams of my heart break loose and my soul comes rushing out to greet the source of its pounding and thudding. All the pent-up tension and emotion gush out of me. You pull me in, all of me: the sweat, the blood, the hurt, the fear. All the things I have tried to hold inside are falling now and you sweep them up knowingly, willingly.

So I take you to this place (or you take me, I’m not sure which) – this place I’ve been before but know nothing about. It’s possible that I have never been here and it only feels like home because you’re with me; not only your body, but your soul as well. I am too jaded and not enough naive to think foolishly that we could be. But in the deserts of my mind, lies a dry, still hope that there may be a possibility, however minute, however far into the future…that you might love me.

 

Written in December 2009 by me.

Photo from Pexels.