Self-Love Vs. One Night stand
- IWB Post
- December 21, 2015
“Deep conflicts rage at the heart of modern sexuality. Our cultivated ignorance is devastating. The campaign to obscure the true nature of our species’ sexuality leaves half of our marriages collapsing under an unstoppable tide of swirling sexual frustration, libido-killing boredom, impulsive betrayal, dysfunction, confusion, and shame. Serial monogamy stretches before (and behind) many of us like an archipelago of failure: isolated islands of transitory happiness in a cold, dark sea of disappointment. And how many of the couples who manage to stay together for the long haul have done so by resigning themselves to sacrificing their eroticism on the altar of three of life’s irreplaceable joys: family stability, companionship, and emotional, if not sexual, intimacy? Are those who innocently aspire to these joys cursed by nature to preside over the slow strangulation of their partner’s libido?” ~Sex At Dawn
This article first appeared here.
I was only two pages into the book, and it had already validated my perspective and changed my life. A man I slept with a couple of times recommended I read it. He knew it would help me. He knew me, without really knowing me…
I recall reading that paragraph. I took a long exhale and thought, I’m not crazy. I’ve never been crazy. Why did I doubt myself all this time? I don’t have to deny my desires and needs, any longer. That was that. I let go of the shame. I don’t have to fit into a picket fenced, monogamous box; I wasn’t meant to in the first place.
Yesterday, I read a poem written by a woman rejoicing in her single status. There were a couple of lines that caught my attention:
“She knows her body is a temple, and won’t waste it on a one-night stand. She’ll make the most sensual love when she’s ready to, and it’ll be worth waiting…”
I disagree. My body is a temple. I make the most sensual love when I want to, and I have one-night stands. But, it wasn’t always like this…
The brick and mortar of my life’s path have been paved with long-term, loyal relationships. From ages 16 to 31, and then again for a year here and a year there; I have been tethered to another soul. With each passing year, I have carried deep shame and embarrassment:
I have lived two decades as a sexually active woman (until recently), without experiencing orgasm during sex or foreplay, unless I manually stimulated myself to climax. I had never had an orgasm with another person; an orgasm they stimulated in me.
Masturbation was enjoyable. However, guilt climbed into bed with me every time, berating my wild imagination when it would go too far.
My sexual interactions with the men whom I loved were haunted by it, too. I felt trapped, misunderstood and broken.
I knew it wasn’t their fault; it was mine.
I didn’t love myself. I lived outside my skin, and because of that, I couldn’t connect, and I couldn’t receive pleasure. The men I was with (as wonderful as they were), weren’t right for me, because, I didn’t know what I needed, what turned me on, let alone what type of partner complimented me.
I had sex, and during it, I’d pretend. I lied. I deceived. I faked it. I was left feeling empty, abandoned, unsatisfied and resentful.
When my last relationship ended, I decided to rebuild my foundation. I demoed the path and started over. I began to date myself. When I masturbated, I didn’t just do it to get off. I made love with myself. I became my lover. I was here to serve myself, be patient and unlock the blockages that have withheld me from the full release.
I was determined to give to myself until I accepted the pleasure being offered. I was celibate for a while. Occasionally, I’d meet someone with whom I had a connection, but sex was the same: disconnected and unfulfilling, no matter how much I pleasured them; I wasn’t able to receive.
And then–I don’t quite know when and how it happened, but I had this gradual epiphany. Over time and all at once, I realized I was so focused on the physical, I forgot about the puppet master.
It wasn’t my loins; it was my thoughts.
I still felt ashamed of loving sex. I cloaked myself with labels: I’m a freak. I’m a sex addict. This is pathological. I’m sick. I need help. Blah. Blah. Blah.
Shut the f*ck up!
I can love sex. It’s my human right! My human mission! I don’t have to sit around with my legs clenched, waiting for the love of my life to bring me to ecstasy.
I’m allowed to love what I love.
I love people. I’m a writer! People are my muse, my inspiration. My interactions with them are my content, my nourishment.
I thought back to my childhood. I used to sketch the human form regularly. It wasn’t sexual back then. I drew men and women, together. It fascinated me, how they could fit into all of these beautiful poses, inseparable at times. The things they could do with one another, to one another…
I’m a curious person. I love adventures–the unknown, the exploration and the discovery.
I’m not beholden to anyone except myself. I’ve experienced marriage, pregnancy, and childbirth. I’ve had the “family stability and companionship.” Maybe I’ll have it again, but for now, I’m in a relationship with pleasure.
I can celebrate this body and this mind, and relish in this erotic journey. I am supported by the life I’ve built–filled with purpose, passion, interests and steadfast, intimate friendships.
I’ve always held the key, the permission slip to receive what I’ve wanted. To be enraptured by my fantasies. I don’t need to stop them anymore–dirty thoughts, pure thoughts, things I thought I wasn’t allowed to think.
I released her, my goddess. She’s been begging to be let out since I was 16.
“Let me out. Let me live. Let me love. Let me be me!”
So I did. Now, I’m no longer hidden; I am seen. I am visible to men who would have never noticed me before; I wouldn’t have noticed them, either. We share similar passions and perspectives–men with brilliant minds and ideas who can change the world, who are changing the world.
These are my one-night, two-night and three-night stands. These are my connections. Sacred connections. Soul connections. I am a sacred soul. They are sacred souls. I let them in, and they let me in, too.
I’ve changed my mind, and I’ve changed my actions. Instead of holding on and being dragged, I’ve learned how to say goodbye. I’ve learned how to appreciate what is and not make it more or less. In that doing, I’ve learned how to love. I’ve learned how to love and let go.
It’s not just a one-night stand. It’s me, taking a stand, owning my life and my heart, all the while giving pleasure to my throbbing spirit–connection in the way I was starved for all these years. Now, I know intimacy–the emotional and sexual, as one.
My mind relaxes, and then my hips, and then my legs and my pussy opens the door to my temple, and I allow him in, and we become two temples in one. My voice is unleashing ancient desires, receiving, fully. Pleasure is the offering, the prayer, and now, I can feel. I can feel!
We show up as ourselves with nothing to prove. We are honest from the beginning: transparent, raw and candid. We can trust each other. We don’t owe each other anything. We don’t belong to one another. We choose to be with one another at that moment with our hearts pressed together in presence. We share our deepest fears and dreams because there’s no judgment. We don’t know the everyday shit; we can be nothing but allies and lovers. Our purpose is simple and pure: pleasure.
I design it this way. I have the ability to do that, because, I know who I am. So, I choose the dreamers, the creators, the artists, those who see the world without boundaries and restrictions. They see past the obvious, the seeable, to the fantasy and the dream.
When we are together, we are together. Nothing exists, but this, us. We treat each other with respect. Exploring. Honoring. Asking. Showing. Telling.
For the first time in my life, I know pleasure: trembling, electric, whole body orgasmic drenched pleasure.
I’ve been f*cked and made love with in ways I thought would remain locked away, but they are real, they’ve happened, and I’m better for it, healthier and happier because of it.
I am loved in these moments, with these men. Love is not defined by life together. Love is defined by a presence, not a timeline. Love isn’t confined to a life together. It can be just as palpable in a night together followed by a lifetime of absence.
I have waited for sensual love my entire life. It was worth the wait, and it didn’t come from where I thought it would. It came from here, from me. I choose when and with whom I share it…
“You feel so incredible, so different than other women I’ve been with. The way your body moves and responds to my touch. It’s the yoga, I think?” He was propped on his side, stroking his fingers up and down my waist, caressing my thigh, appreciation, and adoration in his eyes.
I grinned. It was the greatest acknowledgment I’ve received in a long time.
“It’s not the yoga. It’s me. I’m in my skin. I’m here, in my body.”
“That’s it. You are. You accept yourself.”