Warning: If you are my father, grandparent or one who is uncomfortable with sex…DO NOT READ FURTHER. I write this with love:)
Why ignore biology
Stifle intimacy
Fear
Of what
Unbridled ecstasy
Reality meets fantasy
A language of love and lust
Leaves you hanging in the dust
Stripped away
Left to decay
Why fuck tomorrow
When you can fuck today
Sex is a must
Move or you’ll rust
Yield and adjust
Feel and thrust
Let go
Be free
You can renew
Just be
In the moment
Out in the open
Don’t be afraid
Just get laid
It’s not a game
You can’t win
You won’t lose
Just choose
To fuck
Say so what
Let’s rumble
And tumble
Get in trouble
Fumble
Draw it in
Breathe it out
No reason
No doubt
No order
No rhyme
Here and Now
Fuck time
No thinking
No stressing
No guessing
Just in it
Sin it
Win it
Let’s get into it
Together
Intertwined
Sublime
I am no more an expert on love than anyone else on this planet, including those who study mercilessly for years in order to eventually advise others on their quest for real connections. I’m a mere observer. I’ve watched myself go through the roller-coaster of infatuation, feeling the potential of “falling” in love, and ultimately the heart ache and loss of love that never existed in the first place.
Spending much of my adolescence and early adulthood single, very single, alone, no sex, no dates, no flirting, no nothing, I was able to passively observe the bouts of “love” that struck my friends and schoolmates. I watched as they became engrossed and attached the other person, to their identity as someone’s “other”, and as much of their personal identity began to slide, so did their friendships.
When I fell in deep like and lust with my first real boyfriend, I felt the same identity crisis snap over me. Always being self-aware, since childhood, I entered into my pseudo-relationship with slight trepidation. But the allure of sexual attraction and want was too powerful for me to overcome. In a short amount of time, my beliefs, my independence, and my sanity went out the door, and a gushy, pathetic, chemistry drunk girl emerged.
I was a teenager. This was well over a decade ago, nonetheless I observe these tendencies in my more mature cohorts even today. Many of us, women in particular, derive a sense of confidence, accomplishment, and overall satisfaction from being “in a relationship.” Somehow being on the arm of another gives our own existence some credibility, something to be admired.
You can either attach yourself to others out of fear or pull yourself out of the game altogether for the exact same reason. I awarded myself a pat on the back for being okay with being alone, with not dating, with not needing anyone else. Did I go to the movies alone on Valentine’s day only to cry sickeningly in my car the whole way home? Maybe. For whatever reason we placate, we’re lying to ourselves, because we’ve neglected to recognize we are already enough.
Some of us want sex but no intimacy. The words I love you and thoughts of participating in mundane errands with another can send some running for the hills. Some of us just want the hope of resonance, beyond anything physical, the desire to connect and bounce life off of another is strong. What I’ve observed in the two scenarios and the wide spectrum in-between, is the myth that love is a status symbol, a means of validation, an achievement to be broadcast, something to be given or taken away, and the utter fallacy that love hurts.
I will wholeheartedly own up to the hours and energy I spent crying, feeling sick inside over the loss of Love. I’ve felt the neediness, the wantedness, the yearning to be with a romantic partner every second possible, to share as many breaths together in a day that we could. I felt the gnawing concern and borderline jealousy while waiting by phone for a call. None of these emotions are love, not even the exciting parts.
Since entering and graduating from college, it became apparent that in order to seal the deal in showcasing a successful, well-adjusted adult, marriage was the ultimate symbol of that success. Women peruse and download images of engagement rings, something I could never relate to, while men recognize this as a biological imperative, a means to placate an unhappy girlfriend, or a catalyst to growing into a man. For both, engagement and marriage gives their life meaning and solidifies their otherwise questionable relationship.
Is this the case for everyone? Of course not, but it is the pervasive tone of our culture to treat love as a game that must be honed and mastered. Women and men see each other as lists, qualities with which to measure a potential mate. Our future life-partners must meet a criteria, like being accepted into a good school, they’ve got to groom and become pedigreed in order to meet our expectations. We create a fantasy in our heads while disregarding what we truly bring to a relationship.
For some, their significant other must carry the same religious beliefs, the same political ideology, a similar socio-economic status, an impressive educational background, and the same likes and dislikes. Love is not crafty or cunning, nor is it discriminating. It is emanating and inclusive, open to whomever may help it to manifest and grow.
Love is not an entitlement, not an end game, not a measure of worth or value. It is the very pulse of life itself, that very cosmic connection that brings kindness, compassion and generosity right out of us. No diamond, lavish wedding, coordinated photograph or outward expression can even come close to the truth of real love.
Real love is not needy, not jealous, not dramatic, not confusing. It is an opportunity to exude and give another what you innately are, a reflective experience where you feel your full potential, the goodness in another extracts the goodness right out of you. The trick is knowing that goodness and potential have always been there. We’re all born with it. We spend too many hours and too much energy analyzing and waiting for that one other person to certify our worthiness, put a stamp on our Being.
I’m not judging, usually I put very little interest in the musings and small problems of other people, but as a writer, teacher and promoter of authentic, self-contained happiness, I’ve got to call bullshit on some of our practices. Marriage won’t validate your relationship; you’re simply legally bound now. It’s on paper. My husband and I have joked about getting divorced but staying together just to prove a point. Marriage is no more validating to love than a diploma is to intelligence.
It’s within the heart and mind of an individual whether they live and project love or not. We can be good on paper, have a stellar resume, and a thousand luxury items, but you can’t put a price on a good heart. All that’s worth coveting and defining ourselves by cannot be bought. Love does not look a certain way, give something specific to you, or take something distinguishing from you. It is not something we observe, it’s something we feel; deeply, in our intelligence, in our guts, our souls, in our being, not our doing.
Love is not scary, nor is being vulnerable and honest difficult. It’s a choice. When you’ve made the conscious decision to love yourself, to accept your mistakes and accomplishments, to live a life of passion and gratitude, no single human being can give or take that away from you. All that we need we already have and all that we wish to be we already are. We must confront the lies we’ve been told and those we’ve been retelling ourselves and just like love, the honest truth will be felt rather than revealed. We must be able to be still with ourselves before we share an existence with another.
I do not believe in soul mates, in one perfect person for each of us. I believe we are all uniquely capable of connecting and exchanging love with many, some more potently than others. Love only hurts when there is attachment, and again, that is not real love. We can mourn the loss of relationships while maintaining gratitude for the profound love within ourselves. Appreciate what was and move on. If true love has existed and then passed, the remaining feelings should be nothing but acceptance, forgiveness and well-wishes. If we’re scorned or betrayed, we then understand that what we thought was love, was merely the intoxicating stench of the imitator, an ego acting in disguise.
Real love doesn’t enter into bondage with another only in hopes to mold the other to fit their expectations. Authentic love is acceptance, an open invitation to be just who you are. When we fall in love, it behooves us all to love the other for exactly who and what they are Now, not who they’ll potentially be.
I love being alone. I love being in a crowd. I see and feel no difference in my thoughts and actions when I’m in public or private, when I’m at work or at play. It is my intention to make love, not war. This is possible for us all to embody, an overall sensation to breathe in and out. It is within our power to adjust the previous definitions and images of love to reflect reality and not a fantasy. Real love is the shit, romance is for the birds.
It is in this vein that I share a short poem I wrote. Love is an enigmatic thing. I am not attached to my thoughts and words on its behalf. I’m merely sharing for those roaming on this planet whose internal compass points in the same direction. You are all that you seek. Recognize it and you’ll begin to see it in the eyes of others, feel it in their embrace, and observe it in every thought in your mind and beat of your heart. You are love.
You Know What Real Love Is
Love is not something that turns on and off
It is a continuous state of being
We were born from it
Not by virtue of our specific parents
But by way of emerging as life on this planet
Love is not something you do
You cannot validate it with marriage
Or children
Love is something you are
Or are not
Love carries no opposite
There is like and dislike
Hate was not born, it has only been bred
Love is luminous
It is the conduit to perceiving light
How you love is what attracts who you love
Beginning with the love of self
Love cannot be given or taken away
It’s always there waiting
It’s not shiny or expensive
Nor can it be a commodity or weapon
Love is expressed as a language understood by most forms of life
It cannot be measured
Life knows nothing more precise
Love is ironically simple
It has many imitators
Even more followers
But less disciples
Somehow we forget our way
Consumed by the end game
We forget the truth
There is no game
You’ve won
You’re alive
Breathing
Conceiving
There’s only a game if we each agree to play
Love takes no time to pause
Re-strategize
It knows its purpose
Bliss reached
Manifestation seized
It only waits for the rest
Those who focus on existential questions
And not the obvious answer
We’re here to Love
To feel it
Reveal it
Expose it
Roll with it
We cannot earn it
Or achieve it
We must receive it
And be it
You know what real love is
It’s pumping blood through your veins
Breathing for you
Life being lived Now
It is You
It is Me
It is We
Post this on a mirror, repeat it to yourself. You are awesome and you are enough.
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I’m getting too used to writing these little disclaimers. If you’ve changed my diaper, grown up somewhat conservative and/or modest, sheltered, private, or perhaps you’re just a bit squeamish; please know that this article is more honest, open and raw than I’ve ever been. And that’s probably saying a lot, as I usually don’t mince words. So read at your own caution. And enjoy.
I was born a horny child. Salacious as it may seem, it’s true. I think most children are equipped with sexual inclinations, intrigued by their own bodies and the desire to explore others. We learn to shield this very natural instinct, to shun the beauty of a naked adventure, and lock up desire, fantasy and pleasure into a closet that is dark and run by fear. That was not me. And luckily that was not my parents. I liked boys immediately. Well, men, truthfully. Boys my age never interested me until I met one that seemed an old soul like me, an indeterminable age himself, wise and weathered, handsome and strong. But I digress.
I was pretty boyish growing up. Combination of sporty parents and family, with no sisters or girl cousins, being the oldest raised by very strong, outspoken women I was doomed to a life outside my shell. I just remember loving dirt, sports, all colors besides pink, and being first. God dammit I was in a race, it was important I arrive in style, before everyone else. So I was very tom-boyish, dressed in baggy pants and jerseys until I realized boys like girls who dress like girls, not girls who dress like boys. Alright, I’ll throw on a skirt. As a child, I played with dolls mostly through other friends. My closest childhood friend had many trolls and my little ponies. All I remember is loving the wild hair of the trolls and incessantly touching the suede-ish my little pony because it felt amazing! The only barbies I owned were two hot, long-haired ladies and one dark-haired man Barbie. Don’t think I didn’t make those three inter-mingle in sordid ways, because I did, many times. And I’d do it all again.
In my family I’m most known and remembered for humping the furniture, from about the age of 4 I was mounting everything with an arm. Look out, old sofas and chairs! Life was good. My parents gave me the greatest gift you can ever give a child, they handled it with mature grace. They simply asked I hump my own furniture in private, behind a closed door, away from the grandparents and other visitors. And so I did. At the time, it was a physiological impulse. It felt good. That’s all. A few years later it got good and pervy but at a young age, it’s just stimulating. A leads to B which leads to C. Parents, adults in general, and authority figures specifically freak the fuck out when their kid seems inclined to follow their primal instincts. Your genitals are fun houses, kids, don’t let the grown-ups claim otherwise.
I was and still am a very inquisitive person. I want to know all things I don’t understand. I do not enjoy being confused and therefore I have an awesome crease from a consistently furrowed brow, a marker that says “bullshit.” I gave my parents this look often as a child, including the age of 5 when I persisted and annoyed them into telling me what sex was, down to the dirty details. The Louis C.K. stand-up from years back exemplifies this beautifully (and covers all kinds of hysterical topics regarding raising girls). “But why?”
Children never stop asking why. Adults don’t either but the context is miles away. Children’s whys regard discovery and figuring shit out. Adults are scheming to find out why something did or didn’t happen the way they felt it should. We are so annoying. Nonetheless, my tenacity paid off, I got my lesson on sex and I did not hesitate for a second thinking I wouldn’t have sex. I knew I’d have a lot of it, but when? And with who?
After many years and hand cramps, worn out arm chairs and holes ripped in underwear I started to get the idea that someone else can help me with this hard work. It doesn’t all have to be done myself. An unfortunate theme piped into the heads of many young ones, and young women in particular, is the notion that sex is special and should be saved for someone deserving. And although I agree with this somewhat, I think that either piques the interest of your child more, makes it feel wrong and forbidden, and trust me, what is forbidden is so damn enticing, or it drives you into fear, leading to ignorance and thwarted development. Hell yes, I want to be wrong. Fuck those old people (my parents weren’t and still are not old). My Mom was awesome enough to share that sex was awesome and fun but many young men haven’t a clue what they’re doing and many wish to just spread their seed and then leave you with a literal and figurative mess to clean up. She expressed that when I was ready to let her know and we’d prepare accordingly. May sound odd, nothing gets you in the mood like telling your mom about it, but it was really comforting and it led to a fairly high standard that was never met until I met my current man.
I knew people who were having sex in junior high. In elementary school, I was a little rudimentary slut, holding hands and kissing whomever I could. I had about 4-6 boyfriends from 3rd-6th grade. Some I kissed, some gave me jewelry, some I literally just talked to, and others I just paraded around like some sort of trophy at school. I felt my first emotional bond at 12 in 7th grade. For whatever reason he was a complete pussy and we kissed only once. I moved away after 8th grade to Dallas, where people were hotter, richer and a billion times more advanced than I was in every single way. I experienced the ethereal concept of chemistry for the first time at 15 in 10th grade. I’d had tons of crushes, mostly on the older guys, crushing hard-core on my older brother’s (actually my cousin, doesn’t matter) friends, taking tiny insignificant moments with me to recall later that night. But real chemistry is a whole other ballgame. And it fucked with my head royally.
This guy went on to become a very good friend of mine as we had endless things in common. We never so much as kissed and we’re still friends today. I’m not going to lie, I’d easily have ruined the friendship then and got the monkey off my back, but I was a hormonal mess without a clue how to handle it. And I’m stoked we’re still friends. Celibacy followed me further. My parents were all going through their own bullshit, leading me to question the value of relationships and making me hesitant to roll around with anyone just yet. I constantly had the thought that none of these boys could even begin to satisfy me, mentally, let alone physically.
I moved again in high school, back to the town of my junior high. For the first time since actually hitting puberty I ran into my 6th grade boyfriend. We barely spoke in junior high, I was consumed by my relationship with his friend. At 17, it was as if two adults were meeting for the first time. And for the first time in my life, my loins were activated by a man who existed in real life, not on television or the movies. To be so powerfully attracted to someone in a sexual way is very, very engrossing. I’m fairly certain it was the hormones but my god I was devoured by desire, and clouded by physicality. I’d always been attracted to men and he was a man now, equipped with height and hair, broad chest and a deep voice. God my mouth still waters thinking about him. Yikes. Excuse me.
Ok, I’m back. So being an idiot teenager I just lusted after my 6th grade boyfriend, allowing him to drunk dial me whenever he wanted, pop in and out of my life when he wished, enjoyed some summer make-out sessions and ultimately I let him break my heart twice. Ugh. Gross. I’d like to make a correction and say he broke my ego’s heart twice because my heart as it is today would waste no time on this dude. I’d still get naked with him, do not get me wrong, I have good taste and he wasn’t terrible, he just wasn’t stimulating enough, in every way imaginable. I feigned strength and sarcasm when he’d roll back into my life, pretending I didn’t give a shit until he convinced me he did and then I’d turn to mush.
I lost my virginity to him at 19 years old at his beach house on July 26th, 2003. His birthday. What a gift. I took charge. I was on birth control already, for over a year, priming my body for this experience. I went to Victoria’s Secret with my mom and bought some sexy underwear. Truth. I made a sexy playlist and got myself revved up on the 35 minute drive over. I let him know just what was going down. I took charge and I got mine. It was cool. Certainly not the best sexual experience I’ve had but a release. It was awesome to be naked with someone else, someone I’d been drawn to for so long, someone I wanted so badly. I should’ve ripped his head off and left him after but I lingered a bit. I told him we should just have sex and enjoy each other until I went back to college. We did once more. That was all. He always said I was too good for him, too much for him to handle. Shitty excuse for a boy dressed in man’s clothing to make. But ultimately true.
I spent 3 years in college single, abstinent, lonely, in a chronic state of masturbation and sadness. The tumult over my bullshit relationship just made me feel too weak to approach anyone or to open myself to someone new. I slept with a hot older dude who turned out to be engaged. It was very animalistic. I liked it, but I didn’t like him enough to pursue it further. Plus, I wasn’t interested in being that girl. Sure, I lusted over professors and tons of taken men, but I never wanted to disrespect someone’s relationship. I had enough sense and empathy to know I wouldn’t wish that for myself. And I did in fact want my own relationship, with laughter and eating and sex and whatever else is supposed to be involved. So many disingenuous guys in college. I crushed on a guy for a couple years, purposely ran into him around campus, sat near him in class, dreamt of him at night, but my courage be gone with my virginity and it didn’t return until 21, with the help of some liquid courage.
A few experiences with some people who will remain nameless led to me being fed up with me. I decided I would not waste another second wanting the past to be different. What a waste of time and energy. I chose to be open, for once, and see what happened. On a rare night out (I was so lame in high school and college. I can remember each party, each bar and each club. That’s how little I went out.), I went to a bar/restaurant my parents loved, a bar I’d visited numerous times underage, the very one where I met my one night stand parter, and I sat and gazed, eyes and loins open, excited to see who would come my way. I talked to this cocky ass hot guy who’d been talking to every other vagina previously. I did not give him my number, I’d never given my number to anyone. Truth. I was with one of my best friends, my old brother (Cuzzy) and then my parents joined us (since I was young I’ve been a homebody. I love my family. My standards for friends and men were high because I already had a place where I was accepted and welcomed to be myself).
It began to rain and in a quasi buzzed stupor I decided to go outside for some fresh air. I don’t even want to think about not going outside that door at that moment, because that moment changed my life forever. Every second since has been monumentally better. My life began July 9th, 2005 and I’m not ashamed for a moment to admit the cause. I fell in love and lust at first sight with my future husband, Derek. He was about to come in, finishing a cigarette, an activity I insisted I’d never accept. In a flirtatious and bold moment, I told him he was too handsome to smoke and I threw his cigarettes in the trash. It’s actions like this that leads my father to tell me I would scare the hell out of him. Oh well. Something worked. We went on our first official date July 22nd and we’ve barely come up for air since.
I won’t air out the dirty details of our relationship and our shared enjoyment of copulation, but I’ll say that I went into this partnership with an open mind and heart. I didn’t sacrifice who I was for a second. I was blunt and honest, at times to a fault, but ultimately we carved out a very genuine, equal relationship where each person’s needs were prioritized and met. He softened me and I awakened him. I do feel we brought the better out of each other and given we met at 21, it would be a drastic understatement to say that we’ve grown up together. I never anticipated getting married at 22. My cynicism was mounting so high I couldn’t even foresee meeting someone at all. My chosen shift in energy changed things. It took me getting fed up with myself, with who I was, that broke me free into who I could be.
Our relationship has been 97% positive. Any 3% came from fear. Fear of falling in love and losing it. I’ve never liked myself less than seeing my jealousy. I always thought I was above it, but I’d never been around someone I loved and someone they’d had sex with before. It made me feel so juvenile, so uncomfortable. Can’t you just release and then cast that person away forever? Turns out that’s not so practical and most of the time we’re forced to engage with characters from our former lives, regardless what role they have now. Years ago, I was riddled with false confidence. I wanted to be adored but wouldn’t admit it. Love me for my mind, dammit (see previous article on growing up with a MILF for a mom). And so the beauty of other women made me uncomfortable. I had beautiful friends, beautiful family members and admired many women. I wasn’t a woman hater. I was just particular. And if the lady was super hot but not inspiring in any other way, instead of acknowledging that and enjoying the sight of something so beautiful, I fought it. An un-winnable fight. Again, a waste of energy. Nothing brought me further into my satisfaction with life and everything in it than this.
To assume someone you’re with is titillated, attracted to and satisfied by you and you only is futile, selfish, egoic and stupid. I understand the unease that comes along with those emotions, but let me just express as someone who’s come out the other end much happier and in a very satisfying monogamous relationship, that you may be committed to one person, but you are not dead. Since birth I’ve lusted after men, had long lists of men I wanted to bone, and short lists of freebies should the opportunity arise. That hasn’t changed. Me and my love have respectful, fun discussions about men and women we each find tantalizing and why. Genuine confidence is a love of self and an appreciation of others. It is not conditional. There are no egg shells to carefully circumvent, no conversations off limits. Letting go of worry frees you to enjoy yourself and others more fully. We’re embarking on the 7 year itch and neither of us have ever been more in love, in lust, or in like, with ourselves as individuals and with us as a unit. I believe so intently that this is what love and sex are supposed to be. Everyone’s definition and expression are different, of course, but most deserve to simply enjoy the company of another, encourage each other on their specific paths and live harmoniously with someone who balances you, allows you to be you and elevates you to your next level with ease.
Some blunt truths about sex:
Sex is awesome. Lights on or off. Naked or just the underwear removed. It is to be enjoyed. Good sex happens in the moment, not in your head. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
The more you accept your body and the less you complain, the better your sex will be. This is also true for your life in general.
Masturbation is healthy, prevents unwanted pregnancies, unwanted STDs and unwanted sexual awkwardness. I know what I like and I know how to express that. Get to know your body. It’s yours.
If you’re dissatisfied in a sexual relationship, first examine what you can do about it. Can you be more honest with your partner? Can you be more honest with yourself? Can you pinpoint what is lacking? Quality? Quantity? This may seem easier said than done but if you’re choosing to commit to one person, it behooves you to prioritize your physical relationship and to ask those difficult questions of yourself and the other.
The only reason your religion doesn’t like sex is because it is predicated on fear. How can you trust someone who’s taken a vow of celibacy forever on how to treat your body? Let alone someone who’s speaking for someone else on your behalf. No, thanks. Just as there should be a separation of church/temple/synagogue/place of worship and State, there should certainly be a dividing line between doctrine and semen. Forgive my crassness, but it’s true. There’s no need or room for thoughts and opinions in this realm. Sex is a beauty to be experienced beyond the confines of words and beliefs. Just do it.
Your body is not dirty. It’s fascinating, peculiar and fun as hell. Enjoy it.
Jealousy, gossip, disrespect toward others, cutting yourself down or demeaning your partner are the antithesis to sexual arousal. Kindness, acceptance, trust, respect, humor and a healthy appetite are great aphrodisiacs. Try em on for size.
How you look has little to do with your experience. When you’re fixated on the external, little attention is paid to the myriad of glorious ecstasies that can be felt within. Take your awareness to how you feel and know that if it feels good, it looks good too.
Sex can and certainly should be enjoyed free from emotion. It is each individual’s business what, when, where, why and how they engage in sex. BUT, sex is always better when you dig the person you’re with, when they’re more than just a P or a V or a set of T’s or B’s. Don’t discount the emotional element as it can rear its ugly head and affect your experience of sex. Acknowledge it all and have whatever sex you want to have and protect yourself as you see fit.
Knowledge is power. Read, listen and watch any materials that may educate you and serve you and your partner better.
Enjoy your dreams and your waking life. You only have one. Soak it up.
mastic8onthis 