In my last entry, I wrote:
Last night, I cuddled close to my lovely husband, enjoying his presence. I love to hear him breathing, hear his heart beating, smell his unique scent, and feel his smooth skin and soft hair under my fingers, lips, and cheeks. I nuzzle his neck, arms, hair, and back while touching his hips, legs, and torso with my fingertips. He is warm, cuddly, and does not pull away from me when I press myself against him. He permits me to touch him anywhere, everywhere, anytime; he is completely open to me all of the time, completely mine all of the time. He does not deny me a kiss or a touch, a hug or a smile. We have sex often, without restrictions or conditions attached, in many ways, with both of us enjoying it, neither submitting joylessly to the other.
In that entry, I talked about the joy of not having to sleep alone. Now, I want to talk about sex.
I like sex. Even though idiotic jackasses of long ago tried to say that women aren't capable of sexual fantasy, and they tried to deny our enjoyment of it, I am yet another woman that has the gall to enjoy sex. I know, I know, I should be shot, right?
As long as I can remember, I have been bombarded with the message that sex is a commodity, something that women engage in because they want something in return, not because they like it. Men are little more than animals that will give just about anything for sex, while women hold it in front of them like a carrot on a stick. Sex is to be used to manipulate, to bargain, and to acquire, but it is not to be enjoyed in and of itself if you're a woman. It's a distasteful, miserable act, barely tolerable, but if you want your husband to give you money or let you go out with the girls, you have to grit your teeth and spread your legs.
Then, at an age I will not specify, I found that my body did actually want that dirty stuff! I liked it, and I was appalled that someone would lead another person on, leaving them frustrated, just to manipulate them into something. My first marriage was a disaster, and a huge part of that was my former spouse's icy libido. Since I had grown up with the idea that the man always wants it, and the woman is always denying it, I somehow had the idea that my being a woman who wanted it all the time was a desirable thing. Not so, with the first spouse; we were a complete role-reversal of the sexual stereotypes. I felt betrayed, ugly, and, of course, extremely frustrated. There are only so many times a sex toy is sufficient; I needed a man's warm body pressing against mine; I needed kisses, I needed hugs, I needed to be held and stroked. In other words, I needed someone else.
I suppose that relationship, despite the anguish it put me through, prepared me to appreciate those very basic things. I probably drive him nuts sometimes, but I marvel at being touched, kissed, and admired. I feel a sense of wonder when I touch him, a joy and relief at finding someone who is unconditionally in love with me. I don't think that I will ever be able to take these things for granted because I know what it is like to be in a relationship without them, to beg, plead, and cry to have them and be denied. To have to ask permission (and often be denied) to kiss or be kissed, to touch or be touched. I hope I never again have to live that way, but as long as Brian and I both live, I won't.