Personal Growth and Orgasms
I love my woman's body, y'know that? It's beautiful and soft and sensual and sensory and responsive and just plain yummy. I like the things I am able to do with my body and the things my body is capable of. And I'm not just talking about sex, you gutterpate.
I wrote on my other blog that God showed His wicked sense of humor when He sent me my first period in a month and a half in the lavatory of the plane on the first leg of my vacation to Barbados. Yuck, yuck, yuck. I've used the masculine to discuss this manifestation of God because only a masculine deity would do that to a peri-menopausal woman. Then again, the feminine side of God should have just clicked off the baby factory at 35, when I was sure I wasn't going to be manufacturing anything else in there so, who knows. Maybe She is capable of such bitter irony.
It's great being a middle-aged woman. It really is. I've finished my Mom job and can now bask in the semi-retirement that is grandmotherhood. I've come to appreciate myself enough that I've taken two years out of external relationships, the first time in my 49-year life I've not been involved with someone (counting motherhood as an equally valid "relationship," of a sort). It's great getting to know myself and define the person I am.
It's not so great finding more head hair in the tub drain every day while marveling at the proliferation of hair in other, unwanted places. Stray eyebrows...a long, long way from home. It's not fabulous to spend 45 minutes each night struggling to get to sleep because the room and sheets are too hot only to wake up in the deep freezer every morning wearing a shirt that's been dipped in ice water. It's not so great getting a 'power surge' when you're already overheated from running around like a nut in an 80 degree atmosphere for hours on end. But, what the hell.
Since I began cultivating a relationship with myself that is as weighty and important to me as any external ones, I've been the recipient of many wonderful fringe benefits. I'm more likely to stand up for myself and what I believe in or feel passionate about. I am less fearful of confronting an issue head-on, I'm not as driven by a motivation to avoid conflict at all costs. I now try to consider myself and my needs and feelings as carefully as I consider others'. I am accepting that I am at least as good and worthy as those I love, probably more so than those I dislike or despise. I am less afraid to be rejected or ignored. I am more willing to believe people accept me. I'm less likely to give a real shit if they don't.
I've tapped into a deep well of feelings I haven't been in touch with since my youth. Wonder at nature's beauty in my garden, at the sea shore, in birdsong, is watching a snake slither or a spider weave. When the Pandora's box of feelings is opened, they all come tumbling out, elbowing each other toward a position of primacy. This means joy comes with sorrow, love with disgust, courage with fear. There was a lot of fear in my box.
I've reaped physical and sexual benefits from finding the real me in mid-life. I've lost a little weight. That's not an issue for me and never has been but I could have used to shed a few pounds. I stopped weighing myself regularly and "dieting" when I was in my thirties. I decided I was supposed to have this approximate weight attached to this frame. I decided to accept my body as it is. I won't say I have a full acceptance of my body. I probably never will. It's hard to overcome decades of persistent conditioning to progress to the point of accepting my lumps as fine examples of variety in skin texture or my wrinkles as "character lines." But I'm a lot more accepting and appreciative of my body now than I've ever been.
Sexually, I've been to places I've never been before. I have been extraordinarily libidinous for the past year or so. I don't know if this is physical (hormonal) or psychological but I really don't care. It feels great either way. I masturbate regularly, often on several successive days. Used to be I would get terribly sensitive if I did that but I don't seem bothered by that problem anymore. I achieve a clitoral orgasm almost every time but I'm no longer bothered or frustrated if I don't. I seem to be able to allow it not to happen today because there's always tomorrow. I don't feel as if each "little death" might be my last. I am not desperate.
I love feeling this sexual.
Now, I don't want to burst the bubble of my anonymous masturbation aid, FlickrMan, but when I said last night (yesterday morning, whatever...) that I'd just had the most intense orgasm of my life, that wasn't meant to infer that this resulted wholly from being privileged to view his HNT photos while having at it. (Yes it helped, I'm sure, and it was very pleasant : ) Thing is, I've gotten in the habit of topping my last personal best on a regular basis. (Aside: If you've never seen it, rent Personal Best. The imagery is incredible, so many powerful women. The visuals make it worth it even if the story sucks.) It's as if I regularly touch upon some other, secret corner of my psyche that allows me to better appreciate what my body is feeling. So, I might have had my last most intense orgasm the day before. (I'm not saying. I'm not complaining, either.)
Yes, having beautifully erotic images to appreciate is lovely. It's nice to be in whatever hormonal Bermuda Triangle my body is in right now. (We can just put it in a holding pattern right here for a little while, okay God?) But the real freedom to feel the luscious things my senses and the world have to offer comes from inside me. It comes from self-love, acceptance and value. It comes from letting go of fears. It comes from being able to take an emotional chance, even if it's only with oneself, knowing you can survive any pain that might come and may receive blessings in the process.
The real sex organ is the human brain and loving yourself is the best way I've found to turn it on.
(Oh my God, I can't believe I just put little heart pictures all over this post! Seems I'm claiming my inner pre-teen.)
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