I live in a sex-positive bubble.

Hy in a cardigan
I love the kitty bomb.

It’s recently come to my attention that I live in a bubble.  It’s a sleek, sex-positive bubble, shiny and open-minded, inquisitive and searching.  It doesn’t judge others, it doesn’t believe in “right” or “wrong,” and it certainly doesn’t try to categorize every little atom it comes in contact with.  My bubble believes that if it’s between two consenting adults who are exercising informed consent — no 16 yo in love with a 45 yo kind of thing — then I am all for it.  No matter if I would ever do it or not.

This means that I won’t judge an illicit affair between two adults, or a gang bang, or someone getting bruised and beaten, tied up and ravaged.  Or maybe it means I’m ok with a woman being hunted down by a group of people in the woods whilst half-naked or if another woman only has sex with the lights off and the covers on.  Go ahead, sniff panties!  Perhaps I’m on the side of the man who loves it when his lover straps a dildo on and goes wild on his pert ass and then they get up and make pancakes for their sleepy, chubby-cheeked children.  It could mean that I support waiting to engage in sex until marriage if that’s what they want.

I am accepting of transwomen and -men; I don’t need them to cut things off or add them for their existence to make sense.  It’s none of my fucking business and I count myself lucky that I don’t have to prove to anyone that I have the right to be me.  They don’t have to be straight or gay.  Their parts are theirs as are their lovers and they may mix and match and call it whatever they like.  Are they happy?  Are they consenting?  It may be diametrically different from my personal experience of my own body, self, and sex, but I will never feel that I am “right” and they are “wrong.”

I believe that sexual orientation is about love and attraction, not orifices; that women have the right to be frank about sexual health concerns.  We do not carry the onus of being polite.  Everyone gets to fuck, not just fit, pretty people.

Sex is noisy, sloppy, messy and as complicated as you let it become.  We can fall in love or walk away, but we have the ultimate choice as to how we approach it.  I forget sometimes that on some level my entire world is filled with basically like-minded people, but it isn’t reality for many.

For many more women sex and their sexuality is shrouded in shame, guilt, and a strange responsibility to live up to standards.  We have to search for our sexual organs and our desire — it’s so different for men, their penis begs for attention and exploration — and we’ve never been encouraged to do so.  I still cringe when I think about the “mirror challenge,” and I’m ashamed to admit it.  It’s not because I hate my vulva, but because I just never, ever see it.  It’s an alarming thing in a way, all the folds, the dusky pinks, the little hairs that I’ve been told aren’t supposed to be there.

Becoming sexual and owning it is a hurdle, a rite of passage in a way.  We have to remove the cloak of shame and own who we are sexually.  Maybe we’re kinky as fuck, maybe we aren’t straight, maybe we’re not cis, maybe we’re asexual, maybe we’re vanilla as fuck and monogamous to the bone, like an Emperor penguin.  Maybe we aren’t what we think we should be.

I should not want to watch porn with my boyfriend, I should love every position equally, I should not want to touch myself, I should not want to get sex over with quickly, I should want to masturbate, I should be able to take all of my lover, I should not have casual sex, I should not like anal sex.

I wish women thought, “Hey, my lover likes it, I like it, it has zero connection to my character and self-worth so I feel good about it.”

Can you imagine a world such as that??  I can’t.

Those of us who are open in these ways are characterized as outliers, freaks, even sex addicts.  Some couples who are hetero-normative and monogamous say that if we could fix what was wrong with us, then we could be happy like them, though really modern-day life doesn’t work that great for lifelong monogamy, does it?  Some of us don’t carry that penguin gene.

I’m upset that men and women, but especially women, carry such a burden when it comes to their bodies and their sexuality.  I wish I could invite them all to my bubble where they could see the endless possibilities, that they don’t have to jam themselves into any one box, that they have permission to be free to express themselves.  It’s what the last 150 years of industrialization has steered us towards: we no longer struggle to survive, now we focus on fulfillment and personal expression.  It’s a gift and a curse, depending on who you ask and who you’re surrounded by.

We have to be careful, curate the kinds of friends and life that fit us the best.  You guys are part of my gallery, carefully chosen energies, men and women alike, who support my beautiful bubble and challenge me in the best of ways.  I wouldn’t have such a clear sense of myself if it weren’t for this blog and the community it moves through.  I know who and how I am in relation to the outside world and I no longer carry doubts or guilt about my sexual needs and person.

I hope that with each post, no matter how erotic or high or low, I personify my joy in my freedom to be me and express myself; I hope that it inspires other women to discuss their needs and bodies and sex and to remove all judgement from the dialogue.  There isn’t only one right way to be.  There are endless ways to be. 

I never want to leave my bubble.

 

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Don’t forget that this Friday, the 29th, is Boobday for August!  It’s an open theme, so get creative!