I’m in the habit of lying.
Not in a “I was at my friend’s house watching a movie” when truly at the bar sort of lying.
Not, “No, officer, no crack or crack pipes in this car. No, sir.”
More along the lines of: No, I’m fine; Yes, that works for me; Sure! That wasn’t what we talked about, but it’ll be just fine … Those sort of lies. The kind of lie where I shoot out an answer to keep the other person appeased before I even consult with myself. Or even realize that the other person doesn’t need appeasing.
As soon as I say Yes! I’d LOVE to! I feel it in my bones that that isn’t really true. Because I didn’t really even consider my options before agreeing.
These lies apply to a lot of valuable areas in my life. Dinner, What To Do This Weekend, How I Feel in a Disagreement, if I’d really prefer the heater on….and a biggie: Sex.
It’s crazy, but for a while (which means most of my sexual career) I knew I was missing some of the dreamy adjectives you hear related to sex…. but I didn’t have a clue what to do differently, so I didn’t say a damn thing. Nor did I realize how deeply being quiet affected my body, my soul, my life.
Thankfully, little lightbulbs of possibility started showing up:
The Five Hour, Enlightening Conversation at the end of 2009.
The Return of Desire by Gina Ogden.
The ridiculously intense journaling, which included ranting, blaming, complaining, lamenting, designing What I Might Be Missing and finally, ownership & responsibility.
Finding Sheri Winston’s 3 breath orgasm video.
Ordering Sheri Winston’s book.
And this snowball of clarity culminated in:
The Bodily Epiphany.
A night of such intense arousal that not only did I understand FUCK YES, I’VE BEEN MISSING A LOT, but I also understood that every orgasm I’ve ever had was forced.
And forcing sucks out the juicy.
Which, sucks.
And explains why I felt kinda sad and let down sometimes after sex.
Here’s the clincher: I told my lover that that was the best night of my life. So on some level, he gets that whatever he did, he did well.
However.
I didn’t exactly explain that I don’t ever want to force sex again. Or that my amazing night changed my mind about sex completely. As in, fuck having sex when I’m mildly interested. I want juicy, wild and uncontrollable desire.
And: I am willing to admit that I am a sexual beginner.
Even though I’ve been having sex for a long time, have all manner of sex toys, and am my circle of girlfriends’ go-to girl for sex talk.
I just want to be brave enough to admit all this to my lover.
And that’s where the truth comes in, because it’s scary for me to admit when something is less than perfect. I know why this is. But what’s more important is letting perfection go.
Just as important is owning what I know now, and taking the time to re-learn sex. Because I like to read about it, write about it, talk about it. The actual exploring part is where I feel hesitant – and I suppose rightly so. I realize I’m not sure where to start, and that’s difficult to admit to myself. Because in the past, it’s been a dry experience with a goal. And even now, I know it can all be different, and yet I still have a bit of a goal: I want to feel that incredibly alive again. All by myself, for the sheer pleasure of feeling that way and knowing it’s part of me. An accessible part of me.
It’s just that the goal part makes it feel like work. Or a pass/fail test.
Which isn’t incentive to play, let me tell ya.
So that’s where I am: telling the truth and starting over. And one way I’m telling the truth today: not wearin’ a bra. Yep, I’m at work. And yep, it’s probably obvious, because the girls are less padded than usual.
But I feel a lot more like me.
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