I’ve been writing about sex, moral panics, and the harm they cause children, but I haven’t been able to finish … It will probably have to chopped down to tow or three posts. I should have the first part up next Friday.
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-=[ She’s Gotta Have It ]=-
Too much of a good thing can be wonderful.
-- Mae West
I’ve been reading literature on women’s sexuality and I’ve come across some interesting findings. For too long, mainstream research has dealt almost exclusively with how often and how successfully young (but not too young), white, middle class, able-bodied, heterosexual couples complete the act of sexual intercourse. Following a male bias, the literature almost exclusively isolates sex as physical and intimacy as emotional. It focuses exclusively on a few inches of mucous membrane in which achieving orgasm is described in terms as if it were mountain climbing, complete with ropes and hammers.
What this leaves out is what newer research is uncovering and what women have been telling us for too long: what’s most important about sex, I have heard woman say countless times, is a sense of connectedness.
I would like to summarize some of what I’ve been reading, but that will have to wait. For today, I want to elaborate on some findings via a personal experience.
Perhaps some of my readers remember an incident I reported regarding a former lover’s difficulty with sex. I had written that she had developed a tension in the body that was centered around her genital area and which made sexual penetration extremely painful for her. Eventually, working together, we were able to ease that tension, resulting in a sexual opening or awakening for both of us. For her, it was liberation from strict and repressive morals, for me it was the dawning of an awareness to the range of women’s sexual responses.
My friend, who I will call Pandora, was raised in a strict, conservative, and religious home. At the time, she was 30 years-old and recently divorced. Her only lover was her former husband, part of a marriage of nine years.
I was in my mid-twenties, during the height of an era of sexual liberation and exploration. I discovered early on, that women would be more open to me if I were honest about my intentions and open to my emotional life. Pandora, though conflicted, took me as a lover, though she had mixed feelings.
Looking back, I can better understand how we were able to open to one another and reduce the tension that made sex so painful for her. The first time I attempted to enter her, it was almost impossible. She was very tight, tight the point that sexual penetration was almost impossible. She cried the first time -- partly because of the physical pain, partly because of shame.
As we got to know one another, she related a sexual history that made it easy for me to understand her sexual unease. She grew up in a family in which sexual pleasure was considered sinful. As a result, she was a virgin when she married her husband. Her husband controlled almost all the aspects of their sexing. She would wear what he told her to wear. The lights were turned to the level that he liked. Their sexual lives resembled a rigidity -- clockwork at a certain day of the week at a certain time. For Pandora, sex meant only one thing: a mad rush to orgasm (for her husband).
Because of my penchant for exploration and my curiosity, sex was a little different with me. I wanted (as I have always wanted) her to “open” to me -- to be fully present, surrendering the deepest recesses of her sexuality to me.
Yes, I have issues.
My desire to be engulfed by her cunt compelled me to talk to her, hold her, and kiss her in places she had never been kissed before. Oftentimes, in the beginning, we talked more than we fucked. When I told her that many women don’t respond to sexual penetration alone, she was shocked. She didn’t believe me. All her life, she was taught sex from a male point o view that caused her confusion when she didn’t respond in the way her husband wanted her to respond.
And it wasn’t that he didn’t kiss her, or didn’t perform cunnilingus on her -- he did. The thing with Pandora was that it seemed that everything about the sex act was geared toward achieving the big “O.” She needed to be related to, not just merely fucked. My willingness to talk to her openly about sex (I used to love to tease her by using “vulgar” terms, such as pussy, cunt, cock, etc.) served to open her up. And her sexual exploration became the erotic ground on which we built our sexing. We would visit sex shops and browse through the different toys. I would explore her body, and slowly, she came to trust me enough to tell me what she liked and didn’t like.
Eventually, Pandora took charge of her own sexual awakening and once she opened (mostly to herself), there was no holding back. I still remember the moment her pussy yawned open for me, hot with sexual desire, slippery with her want. I think she yelled something out, I don’t remember what, but we laughed about it later. I would often tease her that we had created a monster. LOL
Pandora would explain that all her life, she was trying to conform to a male model of sexual pleasure and when she “failed” to conform or live up to that model, she was told there was something wrong with her, that she was frigid, or sexually defected. What she discovered, she told me, was that what was she was missing from her sexual life was a sense of connectedness. When she eventually took control of our sexual exploration, she became of my guide for the map of her body. This was a form of liberation for both of us.
Anyway, that’s all I can write today. I have a busy day ahead.