New First

I feel like talking about sex is some sort of blogger rite of passage. Like proving how far you'll go and how much of yourself you'll give up to the world. I like sex, and I am a strong believer that we should not be shamed for our sexual tendencies, whether they are towards the prudent or promiscuous end of the spectrum. I think talking about sex is interesting and healthy. On a whole, we in the Western world seem obsessed with sex, this is not news to anyone. When we have a new partner, we want to know everything they've done and how many times and with who and why this and not that. We also love watching it and finding comfort in the fact that someone out there likes the same weird stuff that we do. So why not talk about it? It's a natural thing. At the same time, I really think it's none of your damn business.

At the same time my brain is saying "Why do we need to talk about it?" There are the obvious health concerns, but those aside, as long as we are talking about it with the person or persons we are doing it with, why do we need to share? Comfort? Status? Curiosity?  Our bodies are one of the only things in the world that we can truly say are ours and no one else's; they are very precious things. We want to keep them safe, healthy, functional, and satisfied. They are a form of our expression; sharing them is personal. It can also be empowering, passionate, artistic, scary, fun, adventurous, loving. I find it tricky to balance the conversation between what is smart, healthy, and empowering vs. what is a product of the warped images society projects for us. As a Western woman especially, growing up I was confused between the images of the conservative Christian housewife and the half-naked sex symbols I saw in the media. One said "save yourself, no man will want you if you have been with someone else" , the other saying "give yourself willingly, no man will want you unless you are sexy." What two messages could be more conflicting!?

I don't feel that I learned until well into my twenties what it meant for my body to be properly respected and that a big part of understanding that was creating a healthy relationship with desire for myself.  There isn't a class for that, and there is no guarantee that you'll learn it at home. Not that it would have been a comfortable conversation to have with a teenager! I don't look forward to taking on those awkward subjects with my future family. I do hope that somehow I will have the ability to impress upon any youth I may be in charge of that if you are respectful, consensual, safe, kind, and staying true to yourself, you're doing things right. That you can love whomever you want, however you want. There is so much unnecessary shame and judgement around sex. If you're being safe, you're not hurting anyone, and everyone is mature enough to discuss their own boundaries, then it is up to you how you express yourself sexually. That is how I feel anyways. 

About 6 years ago, I wrote a poem that flowed out of me quickly and fluidly, the way they do when you know they're something you're meant to write. I didn't share it. I felt like it was so intimate that I wanted to keep it all to myself (plus not scandalize any of my older conservative family members). But I have always really liked it and the topic is pertinent here, so even though it still makes me blush a little, I am sharing it now.

New First

It started a look
Conveying a must
The emotion explicit
Undoubtedly lust

Cool rain in the darkness
Tapping the glass
Keeping time with the seconds
Of the clock that tick past

The wine is the color
Of the deepest of reds
Clouding their judgement
Clouding their heads

Eyelashes flutter
Fingertips thirst
The question that lingers
Who will break first?

A deep kiss starts slowly
With fervor it grows
Anticipation awakened
In pink cheeks it shows

With buttons they fumble
With zippers and hooks
Moves learned with practice
Not taught in books

There's no turning back
In more ways than one
All reason abandoned
This is way too much fun

A lightbulb gets broken
A lampshade is smushed
Collateral damage
When one pulled and one pushed

Instinct takes over
Thoughts are a blur
Whispers get softer
Words start to slur

Breathing gets heavy
Both losing their grip
Giving way to the tingle
The simultaneous slip

Pulsations subsided
On hot sheets they lie
No sound is uttered
But a satisfied sigh