I remember how it used to feel to think about you, the giddiness and warmth that would spread through me – even after months – I couldn’t get enough time with you or thinking of you – now – it’s fleeting – that feeling – filtered down through situations that caused mistrust and disgust – started to waiver and get lost trying to understand the reasons why – realized reasons are lies we tell ourselves to make things okay – I won’t lie to me – they say the truth will set you free – but truth and trust are the beginning of all beautiful things – the gateway to love is closed – the keys lost….not lost but discarded for moments of pleasure – not a mistake – a mistake happens once – a choice was made – a choice I wasn’t apart of – no thoughts of me nor warmth spread – no moments stopped to think of the destruction from boarding trust and truth away.
I can feel you, right above my skin, the warmth
of your need makes me shake a spearmint
breeze, that hollow ache is there, in the pit
of my stomach, waiting to be filled by you over
and over again. I close my eyes, darkness giving way
to images of you caressing me. The smell of your
skin, the taste of the sheets, my hands reach out, wishing
you were within reach. I feel the tightness release and
tighten again, wanting something to hold onto. Imagining
the moan you would make, brings my own, it’s been torture.
Images of things I haven’t yet seen plague me, raise my
curiosity like the arch I want you to put in my back. A
few touches have me scorched. Any time I remember
where your hands met skin, it sweats, burns even. I
feel it like a trail of hard earned sweat running
between my breasts and into my navel. I feel it
like hands pressed against my hips to keep me
angled just right on the bed. My thighs
shake, remembering the sight of your
head between them, imagining the
feeling of what could have come
from those lips. My toes point
giving me more movement
to arch, to reach you, to
reach what I want to
feel; to release.
Liquid love, trickled from the spring, tightly wound, nursed by need, falling into insatiable containers, searching holes, but it’s soaked within pores. Trickled turned steady flows, no longer soaking pores, but nursing hands, and searching mouths. Gather in the folds,
Be kind to the edges, preen to
perfection, feel the hills, tenderly
exploring, meeting weakened
points. Eyes blind, mouth
full, ears filled
Relief, the flow a sigh, constant,
a moan? Grateful to be free, found
cared for. Account for the pores, where
is each one, within the hungered
grasp, belly consuming, a never
Stuffed back in, weakend points
forgotten, fluid smoothed edges
ignored, shrubbery to replace
careful hands. Where has my
gardener gone, has the flow of
love stopped in the flow of time.
Your doubt exchanged to allow
you rest, my peace forsaken with
glimpses of insanity. Believe or
lose faith, infinite with the loss
of trust, either you do or you do
not. Bleed as my heart beats, floating
from one rejection to smash into a heartfelt confession.
Touches everlasting, hands clasped
while lips search passionately. Things
hidden in the folds of arms, caressed
into coming out. Secrets, memories,
pains hard to bear. Souls sucked and
pushed back. Holes filled with hands,
applying pressure, wounds slowing,
Ease in which we breathe, never
obtained, begged for, sought
after, slips like a hand to a thigh,
shocking, a hand to the throat,
wanted the sliding with ease. Opened
freely, boundaries, self sacrifice, but
fear. The risk too great, or is it the
pain that’s at stake?
On the way to work this morning, I was listening to the radio…I think 95.5 or 92.3. Anyway, the moment I had turned to the station I heard “well it’s okay to give up the cookies on the first date if you grown”. I found my response to be one of irritation. I immediately said ‘why are her cookies and when she uses them even up for discussion’. I am beyond tired of living in an “open-minded” society that refuses to acknowledge sexism and misogyny. I know this sounds stupid, but it only sounds stupid when you don’t think about how typical it is for men and women to question a woman’s sexual ambitions and prowess. It is a well-known stereotype that men love sex and if they ask you out, sex is definitely a part of that (which is not always true, hence the stereotype label). But when it comes to a woman saying, “I want to have sex” there’s this uproar. If she does it on the first night she’s a whore, but if he does it on the first night he’s….a man? How does that make sense, logically I mean, where is the logic, because to a lot of people this does make sense.
Let’s break this down. Men love a woman with sex drive, but she can’t use that sex drive the way he does because then she’s a whore. She can’t have sex with too many men, which is a number that he decides, or she’s a whore. If he deems that she’s too much of a flirt, she’s a whore. If she dresses with, what he deems as too little clothing, she’s a whore. (When I say he, please also add she because women degrade other women with these same scenarios). If she says she wants to have sex on the first night, whore. If she says she wants to have sex before he does, whore. If she’s good at it and is confident and admits her confidence, whore. But if HE __________ fill in the blanks with the previous scenarios then I’m pretty sure after the comma ‘he’s a whore’ would not be the way you end that sentence. WHY?
Do I myself have my own limits concerning sex and what I think is too much, I sure do, but I do not put those limits on other women (at least not anymore). +++ Sidenote: my personal definition of whore is unlike what I see in the masses. I see whorism as a man or woman who is messy (has a lot of drama, mostly of the sexually transmitted, cheating, leading on and causing heartbreak variety) with their sexual encounters. Am I saying this definition is okay? I by no means have the answer to that, like I said, I’m still growing, I may find error in that definition too +++ I’ve learned that it’s not fair to be one sided. The limits I do have are the same whether the person is male or female so even in my inability to understand or accept all ranges of sexual freedom; I refuse to only hold women to a specific standard. I didn’t have a huge revelation when I made a conscious decision to stop being majorly sexist (I say majorly because I am still a work in progress). It was, Thank you Professor Illig, sociology of gender, having sexually free and sexually vanilla friends, having conversations with different people of different backgrounds, and it was reflection that showed me how crazy these double standards are.
We all know that there are people who have copious amounts of sex from low self-esteem, or some sort of trauma. But there are also people who have copious amounts of sex because it feels good and they like it. We can’t just put all women or most women, or even SOME women into one or the other category (or any additional categories for that matter). Before you speak on what a woman or man is, concerning their sexual freedom (if you really feel you need to speak on something that isn’t your business anyway) please try and actually get to know the person first before the ignorance starts to spew from your mouth and add more catastrophic pollution to the planet. Thanks.