We can be so afraid to call it like it is. So embarrassed by certain topics — SEX, we threw the innocent birds and the bees into it. I’ve reigned as the queen of Miss Behaving on par with my split personality of misbehaving. Playing by the rules, dressing the part, acting proper, meaning well, intending only healthy thoughts, and keeping to the straight and narrow has sorted to be only half of my design. What’s a body to do with a bunch of competing pure versus impure impulses?
It seems I came equipped this way all on my own. To the outside, I’ve gotten beautiful bits right by most standards. I wasn’t raised with any inappropriate sexual situations in my home. I do vaguely remember walking into my parents’ bedroom once as a youngster and hearing ‘those noises’ and making a speedy retreat. I definitely recall asking my mom to explain for me what a blowjob was after watching some television show as a pre-teen inquisitive kid. I had boys I liked and sent Valentine’s cards to beginning in elementary school. I remember practicing with my best girlfriend underwater during summer swims what we thought a kiss on the lips should be. I was normal. Although, I ached to know things within and far beyond my imagination.
Offsetting my good girl exterior has included a reasonable dose of naughty, knotty, and paying the price of all the exploratory choices. Nuzzled inside there lives a rebel with many causes, mounds of defiance, near insatiable curiosity, and a few too many years lacking self-respect in the way. I’ve been privy to a panorama of proclivities that would make many blush and my parents cringe. I share about the carnage curves as I find discussion about our truth opens the doorway for realization. The more we interpret ourselves on an honest level the better chance for stabilization. There is nothing more freeing for me than contentment with self.
There are times my innards implore love destroy me. The prodigal daughter submerges all over again. For all my historical promiscuity, I can be minding my best behavior when the wanton channel chimes in without any calculated attention. One time, I was driving along the freeway to Santa Barbara on a usual California sunshiny day. Minding my own business, I suddenly had a male driver tailing me, then getting in front of me to slow so much I had to notice him, and finally coming alongside my car. He was excitedly waving his hands at me. I was concerned something was wrong with my car, despite his cheery smile. I was on a deadline for arrival and didn’t think anything wrong with my vehicle. The nagging brain got involved, so I used my Sharpie and post-it at the ready to write my phone number and stuck it to the side window of my car in hopes to end this potentially reckless driving.
My phone buzzed pretty fast. He almost shyly said hello and then asked me what I was wearing. Huh? I had on a halter top with straps that tied around my neck. Suddenly the knowing rushed in — that proverbial light bulb flicking on. He was coming on to me! My hair was long enough it must have been covering the top of my halter and he ridiculously was picturing me driving naked. He said as much as soon as I thought it. He was ogling me indeed. He was infatuated with the idea to have me pull over to a stop to meet him. I toyed with the notion for a skinny minute. My inner floozy always wants her day in court. I’ve dared my doses of risky things, but I knew better this time. I thanked him for his desire. Flattery is a master of the wayward arts. Within seconds his dick pic came beaming through my phone. Aghast you may be, but that’s right. A snap of a strangers penis was given to me. I kept driving, my destination back in my sights.
But, hardcore! what sext through mobile phone pings?
It is the bait, begging my abandon,
Reply, dear temptress, and divine with the flirt,
In hopes to surrender to the real thing,
That though you trade words for actions:
Keep in control, while inviting such delights;
Coaxing titillation with fair appreciation
If this be pleasing of pursuit; chic seducing supreme.
- My hipster take on a favored Shakespeare balcony virginity-taking intention scene from the play Romeo and Juliet
Sexting is merely one of a libidinous list of modern dating options and regularities these days. The divinity or destruction finding your perfect mate match can make of your life is a crushing massacre if going at a snail’s pace. Learning to traffic the rush hours schooling of our instantly gratifying era is exhausting, yet humorous at least. I’ve received more than a few birthday suit body parts photos in my time. I’d say most are spirited owners of their bare parts. (How’s that for a politically correct excuse?) I admit I’ve sent a few of my own to confidentially cherished potential wannabe-by-me life partners. Teach yourself harm versus harmless. Blocking is one of the best security measures ever invented for the tech age. It’s a wild, wild world, but I suggest you choose the direction of your dominion over domination any day. Wink wink.
I’m very proud of how actualized I’ve felt for a long time about my body and sexuality as a topic of conversation. The truth of intimacy is important to me. When talking with friends, youth, family, elders, and strangers alike I’m inclined to be a tell-all. Compassionate and complete sharing contributes to a healthier society. Same goes for any of this texting frenzy. Even frexting looms on the rise. Let’s get aligned with turning inappropriate back into appropriate. Call out the crazy and own your sensual inclinations. It only takes one to tango in my deeply personal world of masturbation. I’m very much looking for two to lighten the workload in the long term at least, but also condone touching of oneself over being touched when not wanted. The emphasis lies in the virtue of what are best communication and choices for you.
Fool around, but don’t be a fool around others not worthy of you.