This morning I realized that it hurt so much because we touched each other’s shame places. Rejection is hard. But it hurt more than it needed to. What are your shame places? Some people feel terrible for previous bad behavior. Some are shamed by culture for body type disability poverty race and ethnicity gender queerness
“Do you want to come before you go? Can I tell you a story to help? Can I tell you a story about mermaids?” I asked my spouse. He was about to go out for the night. I was sitting on the bed as he stood by the bed. His pants were unfastened, and his
“You look cute,” my spouse said, in his mildly provocative way. “O yeah?” I asked, opening my legs a little wider. I was lying in bed stark naked, writing. Usually I wear underwear. “Yeah,” he said. “That cute is for you,” I said. I’m glad he enjoys my vulva. He was naked too, fresh out
I was loving someone recently who held me skillfully but sent mixed messages and did not want to do intimacy. I learned a lot. I’m sorry there’s no journey we can take together. In any kind of relationship, I need responsible, consistent, gentle, and creative love. I need to see the other person clearly and
I could fully relax with you. During the long beautiful hug, my body, mind, and soul were doing the same thing. That’s so rare for me–like ritual. Usually I’m fragmented. My soul was called up from where it hides, to fully inhabit my body and be near you. I was showing up for love. But
“Is that how you like your dick sucked?” I asked my spouse. “Yes,” he said. He was naked, lying on the bed on his back, resting. I had my hands on his bare thighs. I was standing there in my underwear. My large breasts were prominent and ample in the room. I’d just sucked his
What you think about when you masturbate is a favorite topic of mine. I remember as a young person finding a copy of a book about the sex lives of women. It was a cheap paperback from the 1970s with yellowing pages. The book seemed to believe itself to be scandalous. Felt a bit sensational
When I soaked black lentils on the counter at the same time you marinated tempeh on the counter, I pretended you were my friend. I hope your meal was as delicious as mine. I dodged you in the kitchen as well as I could, no longer crying about your leaving. I’d memorized your departure date,
The emotionally unavailable men I have been close to, and now an emotionally unavailable enby–it’s so painful, I show up for love and touch, and get clear messages that are lies. This beautiful, brilliant person signals to me that they care–they’re emotionally competent and responsible. Then I’m dropped afterward like a hot potato, treated like
“Bless me with your come,” I said to my spouse. He was between my legs, beating off, wishing to ejaculate on my vulva. About two seconds later, he did bless me thus. I looked at him with deep empathy. His eyes were half-closed as he got exactly what he wanted, his semen spurting on my