I am playful. When I play with sexual energy, I laugh. Sexual energy, when it’s coursing through my body, makes me giggly, as if champagne bubbles live inside my belly, my heart, my yoni, & the only reaction I can muster, amidst the make out sessions & fondlings, is laughter. Sometimes it’s giggles that sound like tiny exhalations of joy, sometimes they’re bursts of elation—short, deep belly laughs. I smile a lot. I flutter my eyelashes. I nibble on ears & pinch folds of skin.
I am enamored. The way my body can fit so perfectly against my beloved’s; the way we somehow manage to sync rhythms, breaths, motions of energy; the way we unfurl & surrender at just the right moments. . . I am deeply astounded by sexual energy’s ability to unite, strengthen, quench.
I am coy. I tease, I give freely & take away, I play with & in the space between seduction & foreplay. I leave some to the imagination. The imagination is powerful, fantasies are food for sexual energy, & I like to incite fantasy. I like to play with my own power, to stretch the allurement as far it’ll go, but I also like to play with surrender, to submit to my senses, to my passions, to my lover—to give in & be taken. But for me, it first starts with coyness.
I am respectful. I choose not to force my body (or anyone else’s) to be sexual if it doesn’t want to. I deeply honor the ebbs & flows of my sexual energy; I try my best to not compromise this. It’s important to me that I express the sexual in all the ways that it can be actualized, not just in sex alone, but in my art & writing, in the way I prepare a meal, in the way that I savor & take up space in each moment. For me, acknowledging all of the sexual parts of me is profound & important.
I am boisterous. Excited. Joyous. Shameless. I make it my business to talk about sex, to herald other’s erotic lives & sexual expressions. I urge others to delight in their senses as I am delighting in mine. I instigate conversations around sex, invite people to step outside of their comfort zones—much of my work revolves around this.
I am a flaunter of my body, an exhibitionist. I like putting my sexy parts in my man’s face, giving him a taste. I like to ask for what I want. I like to go after what I want. I use my voice to express my arousal. I get pleasure from hearing unapologetic moans leave my body.
I am self-aware. Tuned in, mindful, wise. I know of my sexual prowess, my wildly erotic nature. I feel it inside of me, expressing itself in urges, desires, pangs of the heart, & I honor it by giving in, by nourishing, by holding space. I celebrate my feminine sexuality with embellishment—mascara, hairstyles, skirts, skin-tight jeans—& take pleasure in the performance. I know that my ability to fantasize, to create lavish erotic scenes in my head, further incites my sexual self-awareness. I know that I am sexual, & that this is a gift that I give of my own volition.
I am liberated. My body is my own. My orgasm is my own. My expression of the sexual is my own. My desires & arousal is my own. . . & it’s all perfect, beautiful, magnificent.