Soul Cleanse 24: Stop overly suppressing my sensual/sexual side.
This first one is definitely proving to be my toughest; this involves a really deep journey back into time. I have to get in touch with where everything began, why I felt what I was doing was okay.
I received messages early that "sex=bad."
First off, my mom was sixteen years old when she gave birth to me. I’m sure that my grandparents dreams for her didn’t include her being a mother so early. On top of that, to a guy who not only wasn’t faithful to her, but got another female pregnant around the same time (give or take a month). Then, his family acknowledged the other girlfriend more so than my mom.
The guy rumored to be my dad (I’m not for sure if he is, for his name isn’t on the birth certificate) went into the military. I don’t think it was for discipline; I think he was trying to escape from his mess. He ensured that his mother would get any monies he made and provided no support whatsoever for myself or my brother (the child by the other female).
I also received the message, “Even after having a child, the good times do not have to stop.”
It seemed as if my mom picked up from where she left off as it pertained to being a teenager. In a lot of cases, other people looked after me. A few times, my mom even forgot to come get me at times when she said she was going to. Eventually, my grandma had to quit her job to ensure I was taken care of because my mom wasn’t getting the job done adequately.
So, as far as I was concerned, even though my mom was the vessel responsible for my being here, my real mother was my grandma, and my real father was my grandpa.
Then, as I got older, I discovered, “Some women are willing to choose a man over their children, especially if the sex is very good.”
There were some situations (I won’t talk about them all because that would result in multiple entries, and I don’t want to get too far off track) where my mom demonstrated poor choices in the men she dated as well as the right decisions as it pertains to her children. All of these instances said to me that "anything involving sex was a bad thing."
The Awakening: Seeking Knowledge
My curiosity about sex first arose when I was eleven. I guess I can relate that to around the time I started menstruating. I stumbled upon an old book, which I am guessing belonged to my mother because it had her name in it, and it spoke a little bit about sex. The details drove me to know more, but I didn’t want to worry my grandmother with my interest.
I had always been an avid reader and always one to seek knowledge. When I was at the health department, I got several pamphlets about how my body worked, but it wasn’t the same literature that I had stumbled upon. I wanted to know how I could find more books like that and one day, during my many trips to the library, there was a 2 for $1.00 book sale, so I purchased two books which looked interesting and added it to my normal stack of books I would check out. I would usually check out about three books on average from the library.
My grandma’s initial reaction to the books, “Where did you get those?” I told her about the library sale and then she followed her question up with, “It’s not good to read too much of that filth.”
My mind was racing. I hadn’t even started reading those books yet, but the fact that she automatically labeled it filth strangely made me want to read it more. I liked reading Stephen King books and they could get a little grotesque.
How filthy could the other two books be?
I waited until Grandma was asleep before I started reading the first one. The woman meets this guy, and at first they don’t get along. Next thing you know, they are in the midst of fighting, and he grabs her tight and kisses her, using his tongue. Then he rips the front of her blouse, exposing her bare breasts….
Blushing, I closed the book. I placed a bookmark in it, and put it under my bed. However, the scene played itself in my head over and over again, always stopping just at the point where he ripped open the blouse. And I wanted to write my own conclusion, but I didn’t know where to begin.
The next day, I could hardly wait to pick up the book again.
I put it in my backpack and took it with me to school. After I finished my assignment in Art class, I took out the book and proceeded where I left off. The images were amazing. The talk about taut, red nipples and strong, rippling muscles. I got so caught up in the scene I didn’t even realize the bell had rung until one of my classmates tapped me on the shoulder.
This was the start of my collecting Harlequin and Silhouette novels. If I couldn’t check them out from the library, I would wait until they had a book sale and just stock up on them. Sometimes, when my grandma would go to yard and garage sales, I would take advantage and buy some books, but I would make sure to buy another book to go along with the steamy novels. My collection started to gather size, so I proceeded to get a sturdy box—wide enough to put them in, but low enough to where they could fit under my bed.
I knew my grandma didn’t approve, but in my mind, I could be doing worse things. At least I was reading, and I wasn’t doing badly in school.
The Imagery: Outgrowing The Disney Channel
Things began reaching a fever pitch by the time I was 13. This was when inklings of my “No Labels” philosophy started to surface. I wasn’t having sex, but I was having very vivid dreams. Dreams that didn’t make sense.
In quite a few of them, I imagined I was a guy and that I finally ended up with the person I wanted to date, who in many instances was a girl who I was close friends with. I would feel bad afterwards because I believed I wasn’t supposed to be having such dreams, especially with my switching genders. I didn’t really have anyone to talk to, and I didn’t know how my friend girl would feel if I confessed this to her. To this day, she doesn’t even know.
Thirteen also represented two milestones for me. One was I received my first kiss from a guy. It happened next to the K section in the public library. I remember because Stephen King is one of my favorite authors, so I would normally go there first to get a book. For a first kiss, it was pretty pleasant; no tongue, but it was enough just to have received the kiss.
I never saw that guy again after that; I think he moved away.
The other milestone was that I discovered masturbation. I had gotten to a steamy scene in one of the Silhouette novels and noticed that my rosebud was a bit swollen—agonizingly swollen. Usually, when it got like that, I just ignored it, but it had never been that bad. Dumfounded as to what to do, I went to the bathroom. Perhaps I needed to pee. However, even urinating seemed way too difficult.
So I held the book with one hand and decided to rub on it with the other hand. A few minutes later, it was feeling better and this sticky stuff was on my fingers. I looked at it with shock and fascination, then in horror, since I immediately imagined what would happen if my grandma had caught me.
I washed my hands and tried to act normal. As much as I wanted my self-pleasuring to be a onetime thing, I couldn’t shake how good it felt to me.
So I continued to do it, but I had to be careful.
My grandma and grandpa had stopped sleeping in the same room. So, my grandpa’s room was across the hall. My room and grandma’s room was joined together, only separated by a wall which had an opening. Near the opening was one of the bathrooms, so to get to the bathroom, I’d have to partially step in grandma’s bedroom to get to it.
I usually waited until Grandma was in one of the other rooms or when I knew for certain she was asleep before going in the bathroom.
It was usually safer for me to do it in the bedroom because she would have to go through my bedroom to get to the hall, so if she was getting up, I would be able to hear her and stop before proceeding.
I think masturbating was the greatest thing to happen to me during those years. One reason is that I didn’t think about having sex with the guys I was dating as much. The novels were my main inspiration. Also, I was able to discover what satisfied me and what didn’t.
Back then, I didn’t understand my grandma’s apprehension, her disdain of anything sexual, but as I got older, I realized she just didn’t want me to turn out like my mom. I think she partly blamed herself for my mom getting pregnant with me, and as a result, I had practically no freedom to do some of the things my other friends did.
I couldn’t invite my friends over to the house; I wasn’t allowed to hang out at theirs. I couldn’t even hang out with others outside of school activities. I didn’t want to disappoint my grandma or do anything to remind her of all that went wrong with my mom, but I couldn’t lie. There were times, particular as I got deep into my teenage years, when resentment started to creep in, and I felt like I was missing out.
The Experiences: Cable TV and Free HBO/Cinemax Preview
High school was a very interesting time for me as it pertained to my sexual awareness. One of my female friends (not the same one who I was crushing on at 13) wrote a full blown confessional to me concerning her desires for me. I was 16 at the time. I admit, at first, I hadn’t thought of her in that way, but the fact that she felt that way about me intrigued me.
One day, she wanted us to meet in the bathroom, and I agreed. I went in the stall (because I actually really needed to go), but the stall door didn't properly latch. I flushed the toilet and was about to head out when she came in and latched the door behind us. She gave me the softest, most intense French kiss and placed my hands on her breasts. It felt natural to me to caress them, and then I felt her hand slide underneath my panties and her middle finger penetrated my vagina. It only lasted a few minutes but our moment felt longer. I remember her sucking my juices off her finger before she went back to class. I sat in the stall—throbbing, heart racing, nipples still rock hard, and unsure what to do with myself.
Initially, I told her “this thing shouldn't happen anymore.” Then, she asked me if I enjoyed it; if it felt good to me, and I couldn't lie about how good it felt. She said her boyfriend already knew, and he didn't care.
I was able to stand my ground for a time, but she would do things that made it even more difficult. She would wear certain outfits where if she bent down, you could see things. When she would walk by, she would make a point to touch me—lower back, the curve of my ass, brush against my chest.
Her letters to me would become more graphic, more detailed on her tryst, even going so far as to say it was difficult for her to orgasm for her boyfriend when all she could think about was being intimate with me.
Eventually, the two of them broke up, and she was pretty distraught about it. Her tears tore at me, and I wanted to comfort her. I didn’t have it in me to resist her touches or her kisses anymore. It had become torture for me, but she was a lot braver than I was. At least, she was bold enough to admit her sexual needs and not suppress them. I didn’t know if I could ever get to that point, but all I knew was that I ached for her, and the closeness I had experienced with my boyfriends up to that point could not even come close to the magnetism I felt in my moment with her.
So for a while, up until I graduated from high school, she and I had “our moments.” I’m not sure whether we would call it a relationship, per se. We still acted like friends who occasionally had make out sessions. It never went all the way, although achieving completion was discussed many times. Partly because I didn’t like her new boyfriend, and I didn’t want to do the threesome thing, but mainly because I was struggling with whether this part of me was experimental or not.
The Revelations: The Discovery Channel
Filth…fun…filthy fun; if it’s fun, how can it be filthy? All of the talk running rampant in my head.
My time in college opened up the floodgates. I was exposed to a lot of new things, and the more I became exposed to, the bigger the debate became. Was sex really filthy or only if you were with the wrong person? If sex was so wrong, how could we have all these desires?
I guess the fallacy is trying to control the urges all the time. I would go from moments of allowing myself to let go to reigning it back in and locking it away. It’s not exactly the best way to go about things because I’m not being the full person I need to be. It’s not fun to have trepidation as it pertains to complete surrender, and I know, along with those messages in the past, is the reason why I suppress, why at times, I torture myself on purpose.
I’m not talking about the buildup of anticipation, where you wait for days or maybe a week to achieve satisfaction. I’m talking about a couple of weeks before I decide to go ahead and become intimate. It’d be different if the person wasn’t available or if I didn’t have toys at my disposal, but for me not to take hold of flesh or toys when both are willing to be used, it borders on ridiculous.
I’m not satisfied with just giving those parts of me at random anymore.
Yes, I’ve been through some sexual trauma as well, and it, too, plays a big role. Yet if I am completely honest with myself, I know this existed before the trauma even took place. It’s just time for me to own it and be comfortable with my own findings of myself, even if it doesn’t make sense to others.
So instead of pausing them, I’m just going to let them play. For those things I’m really uncomfortable with (or a “no, I can’t do”), just admit them and put them to rest. If a person really loves me for who I am, they aren’t going to throw stones at me for the sensual things I enjoy nor the ones I refuse to do...
The more you try to contain the Fire, the more It burns bright.
Be your truest you always, not just on random nights.
Your body has its way of telling you it has needs.
When you decide to suppress, you're causing resentment to breed.
The only solution to this torture is just to let loose these chains;
Quit letting the morality and prude debate drive you insane;
Embrace me, I promise Unity and Bliss can ensue;
Let me cum and just accept that I'm a part of you.