me: we’re not a couple, we’re an art collective
Month: July 2015
“Baby, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Your sexuality is powerful, that’s a magical thing. I’ve seen you exhaust two healthy strong men in their prime, I’ve seen you devour all of that sexual energy and still want more. You’re insatiable. It’s fucking astonishing to watch. Own that. Revel in that, it’s a gift.”
Cub said this to me years ago, I could feel my cheeks grow warm as tears stung my eyes. I had never heard such a positive affirmation. My sex drive had always been framed as excessive, abnormal, shameful… he validated my desire in a way that felt beautiful.
I find myself wanting things that are extreme and overwhelming. I love the way my brain feels when there is no room for anything other than the base electric erotic sensations pulsating through my body. I wear boys out and it feels fucking incredible.
A lifetime of being told women don’t think of sex as much, men are the ones who have these needs, men have higher sex drives, women don’t want these things, these are just male fantasies, men think of sex more often, women have more romantic fantasies where as men’s are explicit, men are never sexually satisfied, women fake headaches and throw them a bone once in a while, men are expected to flex their sexual prowess, women want to settle down, what’s wrong with you? What will people think? There are names for women like you.
I want to embrace my desire, to feed it and find out where oh where it’s limitations might be. I want to push into my ravenous want. I want to know how deep it goes. It feels bigger than me sometimes, but it doesn’t scare me anymore. Different bodies have different capabilities, different needs. I like my body and it’s voracious ambitions.
“I just feel like it’s not for me, two cocks is just excessive, it’s more than I can handle, you know?” I nodded. She had just had her first threesome with two boys. I understood what she was saying but I could not relate. “That’s the thing,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I feel like two cocks is my comfort zone. Every time I’m in that space it feels like yes, this is the level of ability I should be playing at. I feel competent and content managing this situation.” We both burst into laughter at our casual comparison. She knew it wasn’t a criticism, she happens to be a complete bad ass and does bdsm scenes that intimidate the fuck out of me. We all have our strengths, and knowing your strengths is a skill in itself.
I don’t think everyone should fuck like me, but I don’t think anyone should feel ashamed if they do. And some days giving shame the big fuck you isn’t quite enough; I want to celebrate my sexuality.
I want to be proud of my imagination and boundaries and needs.
I want to honour my drive and my desires.
I want to revel in it.Painting: Insatiable by Will Cotton
Words: Her Dirty Little Heart
here’s the deal with self care, for me:
pleasure, in the fun late-capitalism hellhole of present-day america, is treated like a luxury. it’s expensive. it’s frivolous. it’s guilty. if we want to eat ice cream out of the carton and be socially acceptable at the same time, we’d better have earned that ice cream. maybe by like running a marathon or getting dumped by an asshole. if we’re going to duck into the corner store and buy fresh flowers, it’s because we’ve had a hard week, not because flowers are nice. we can take a day off work, but only if we’re sick. we have to suffer before we’re allowed extra kindness.
in this equation pleasure is optional (irresponsible, even), except when it’s a balm for suffering.
however! we need pleasure to live. a life without nice feelings in it is like a diet with no vitamins in it. it’ll make you sick and eventually it’ll kill you. we know this because people with depression stop feeling pleasure, and they often kill themselves. left untreated, depression is a fatal disease.
pleasure is not optional. pleasure is not a luxury. without it, we die. that is literally the opposite of a luxury.
because pleasure is treated like a luxury, and priced accordingly, it is fucking hard to get. it’s hard to take time to relax and see loved ones when corporations aren’t required to offer paid vacation. it’s hard to buy that special face scrub or art print or pretty yarn when it costs $35 and student loans are breathing down your neck. so pleasure gets saved up for when things are really bad. pleasure gets budgeted. pleasure, once again, becomes something we have to earn by abstaining and hurting and gritting our teeth.
do this to people long enough and pleasure becomes potently associated with guilt. this thing we need desperately to stay alive is suddenly something we can’t seek out without looking over our shoulder and wondering if we’re allowed to have it.
that’s why it’s so important that we talk about self care, and tell ourselves and each other that it is okay to do things that feel good. it is necessary to do things that feel good. we have to uncouple suffering and pleasure, because the idea that we have to earn feeling good by first feeling bad is monstrous and wrong.
take care of yourselves, darlings. don’t feel bad about it.
I hope the day will come when the world will know gender to be a personal understanding of ones self, instead of an outward understanding of everyone else.
Elliott Alexzander (via golden-sandwich)
Yo what’s your sexual orientation
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it’s turnt up