I found my sexuality in the back of a white van, where I mastered the art of coitus in cramped quarters, my clothes half on & the windows fogged. I found it on top of a white lifeguard tower, covered in sugary sea sand, sitting desolate near huge limestones & the restless Pacific Ocean. I found it in a forest green blanket, tattered & fraying with aging.
I also found it in the film Emmanuelle & the book My Secret Garden; in R-rated love scenes & late-night porno flicks. I found it in deserted parking lots of misty bus stops, in the midst of tearful goodbyes & backseat quickies. I found it in stale motel rooms with wallpaper peeling from the walls, the busy sound of the freeway was a backdrop against my moans.
And then somehow… I lost it.
I lost my sexuality to silly insecurities & false pretenses. To inner struggles of self-worth & heartbreak. To socially distorted images & statistics. To a restless mind.
Weeks went by. Then months, then years. I watched as my body withered from lack of sexual expression, as my forgotten eroticism ate away at my marriage. I starved myself of pleasure; I was too ashamed to embrace it. Sex scenes in movies filled me with immense dread & depression; they were brutal reminders of my brokenness, my dysfunction. And I will never forget the pain on my husband’s face.
Those were the darkest of times.
And then one day, I simply didn’t want to live like that anymore.
I wanted to be free; I wanted a sexual reawakening. I wanted to experience pleasure, to explore the depths of my sensuality, to heed all of my desires. I wanted to indulge in sex the way a man did, with lust & without question. I wanted to understand & glorify my sexuality. I especially wanted to forgive myself & heal the wounds I inflicted.
After I decided I wanted all of those things, I found my sexuality again. It was as easy as that.
I found it in writing erotic short stories. In the lustful gazes my husband gave me; in the way my body moved as I hovered over his naked self. I found it in lacy underthings, the handwash only’s. I found it in taking pictures of myself nude. I found it with the help of Anais Nin, Nancy Friday, & Lonnie Barbach.
I found it in flirtations with strangers. In living out fantasies & in celebrating my randiness. I found it through rediscovering my pleasure points. I found it in the thrill I felt as I aroused my husband & as I witnessed his erection. I particularly found it through the notion of stealing someone’s identity.
In pretending to be a sex goddess I became one.
Reclaiming my sexuality was as simple as having the wholehearted intention to fuck more, masturbate more, & to find sweet indulgence in every little thing, from the perfect cup of coffee to reading poetry in a sultry tone of voice. I aimed to have carnality radiate from my fingertips. I wanted to embody sex; I wanted it to possess me.
With this awareness, I was suddenly being seduced by the world, & the intimacy between my husband & I grew abundantly.
Reclaiming my sexuality was also provoked by the stirring realization that we were born from sexuality, from our parents’ lustful desires. And in that sense, we are sexuality. We are sensuality. We are orgasms.
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My challenge for you: Be boldly sexual. Act on your desires every single time; do not be frightened by thee. Exude unabashed sensuality in everything you do: In your cooking, in the way you wash yourself, in the way you walk up the stairs. Explore your fantasies; write them down. Have sex (with yourself, with your partner), & then keep having more sex. Walk this earth with the belief that you are an orgasm, because you are.