Monogamish and Assumptions on Sex

This morning on the radio, I listened to a woman in her thirties talking about sexuality, sexual freedom and the “de-gendering” of sexual desire.

Emily Witt has written a book called “Future Sex” and although I haven’t yet read it, the reviews and commentaries suggest it’s a book I will be picking up very soon.

Emily’s comments about sexuality resonated with my own.

It’s wrong to assume that women are incapable of enjoying pornography. It’s wrong to assume that women should play a subliminal role in a sexual relationship where the desire and orgasm of the man is the most important issue (obviously I’m talking about heterosexual sex in this case). It’s wrong to think that women can’t want physically, sexually in a way it’s assumed men do.

Surely this isn’t news?

And yet it sadly is to some, though it’s also refreshing to hear it on a mainstream programme such as “Woman’s Hour” – even though it shouldn’t be perceived as unusual or sensational.

When is the world going to wake up to the desires of women and refrain from appalling name-calling if a woman admits that she’s not monogamous, likes outlandish sex, fantasises about fucking people other than her partner and basically enjoys sex?

Emily Witt was asked whether she was in a monogamous relationship. Her answer was that it was “monogamish”.

I think that’s something I always wanted. Monogamish.

Having been through one supposedly monogamous relationship, all I wanted was “monogamish”. I never wanted to deny anyone their sexuality – including my own sexuality. Monogamish is honest. For some, it’s very real - attainable. It’s accepting the importance of a relationship irrespective of sexual “indiscretions” – which aren’t indiscretions if there’s honesty and trust in every aspect of every relationship.

The only reason for saying this is that I think this could be said of many people, if they were honest enough to admit it.

Monogamy does work for some people. It really does. But for others, it’s an impossibility – and a perpetual feeling of failure is good for no-one. For others, it was and shall never be an aspiration or a desire.

Some people like monogamy. Some people like polyamory. Some people like bigamy. Some people like sex with relative strangers. Some people like fucking, just because of the physical sensation. Some people can only commit to sex with someone they have deep affection for.

There are no rules and there are no definites – other than the fact that sex is a very personal issue, and that “decisions” on sexual preferences or desires are as fluid as – well – you know!

One point I would take up with Emily Witt is the notion of sex being a young person’s game. She may well not have had the time to discuss it fully within the programme, but she implied that people were at their sexual prime in their twenties and that sexual desire kind of dwindled after that.

I can state categorically that I was more sexually active and aware in my forties than my twenties. I had a greater energy for sex and sexual experimentation in my forties rather than my twenties. My body may not have been as good as it was when I was twenty-odd years younger but that never negated the desire – once I’d got over the fact that my body was less attractive as it once had been. Mind you, my tits were bigger in my forties than they were when I was a youngster. So that was some consolation.

There is probably only one rule when it comes to sex – never assume.

Never assume that your desire will magically synchronise with your partner or lover all of the time. Never assume that attraction is always going to be maintained.

Never assume monogamy.

Never assume that people in their 20s enjoy sex more than people in their 50s.

Never assume that you’re always going to want homosexual or heterosexual sex.

Never assume that just because a woman loves watching other women caressing their breasts or fingering their fanny that they automatically want to have sex with another woman.

Never assume that certain sex is “kinky”. It’s a personal choice.

Never ever, ever, ever assume that sex is for another person’s fulfilment and not your own.

The list goes on.

I love this quote from an interview Emily Witt did with “Vogue” magazine.

The narrative that female sexuality is less desire, it’s less volatile, that it’s turned on by stories rather than images, that it thrives best in monogamous environments, in comfortable and safe environments, all of these ideas in the culture about what makes women sexually happy; for me, suspending those ideas allowed me to experience the feelings in my body, to name them for what they were, and to be surprised by what could make me happy. If I pushed myself a little bit outside of my comfort zone, outside what I was taught to want, I was able to feel a greater sense of agency over my own happiness.

As a woman, I feel entitled to everything that I’ve experienced sexually. Maybe “entitled” is the wrong word. You can’t be entitled to sex with someone who doesn’t want to have sex with you. But I do feel, as a woman, entitled to the sort of sexual liberty and healthy libido that’s all too frequently determined by gender stereotypes associated with men.

This is liberation. This is the feminist freedom that so many of our predecessors could barely dream of – through our sexuality “a greater sense of agency over my own happiness”.

For this I will always be truly grateful.

…………………………………

For more on the interview with Emily Witt for Vogue - http://www.vogue.com/13491469/future-sex-emily-witt-interview/

Future Sex –

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Future-Sex-Emily-Witt/dp/0865478791

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22929486-future-sex

P.S. Bloody love the front cover of this book. How gloriously erotic!

Nudity - What's Not to Like?

I’ve woken. I’m lying in my bed in my night clothes and I move towards to window to draw the curtains and let in the natural light, however dull it may be. I return to bed to complete my morning meditations.

It’s a longer session than normal as I have many conversations from the weekend spiraling round my mind which need to be released before I start my work for the day.

My plastic friend is there to help me relax.

It’s time to get up. I move to the wardrobe and choose my attire and then I stand still, questioning, thinking.

Should I close the curtains before I undress? Should I protect the world from my body? Should I thrill the passer-by with my fairly hefty and still relatively admirable boobs, even if the rest of my body is past its sell-by date?

Should I give a toss or simply do what I feel comfortable with? Do I really care if the old geezer over the road gets an eyeful of my buxomness?

He crawls into his bathroom and looks towards the neighbouring house that backs onto his garden. Through the veil of the blind, he sees the outline of activity in the room opposite. A woman is sitting in the window, brushing her hair, fully exposed as he watches the fullness of her breasts when she raises her arm to do its work. Stroking and stroking, she methodically pushes the brush through her locks, unknowingly in time with his own rhythms as the voyeur rises to life.

Nudity. What’s not to like?

Why are we constantly ashamed of our bodies when we ought to be celebrating their liveliness?

The moments in my life when I have felt total freedom, total oneness with myself let alone with another person, have been when I’ve been naked – naked in body, yes, but also naked of thought, naked in my mind, naked and transparent in my soul.

These moments will always be the best moments, the favoured moments.

They open the book. They careful fold the pages over.

A woman crouching, eyes down, facing the floor. One leg extended out to the side of her torso. The other is holding her weight. Her fuck-me shoes accentuate the length of those stunning pins. Her arms effortlessly fall forward, either side of her pussy.

Her bodice is open and her breasts are partially exposed – one corner of a nipple out, another outlined through the antique lace that pulls her waist into an inviting clasp. Her vaginal hairs invitingly parted by her positioning to show her labia, subtly juicing with a dribble of moisture on the parquet floor.

Erotic art or pornography? Does it matter if the result is arousing?

Close your eyes and imagine that scene – that woman, that body, that floor, that sexuality. Do it slowly. Give yourself time to allow the image to become embellished through your imagination, your memories, your feelings.

Where would be without images on nudity?

Sometimes, some people need this beauty to inspire and to arouse. Sometimes, some people simply want to look at the wonderment of the female form to relax and appreciate the pleasures of life.

Sometimes, images such as these are far more enticing than a formulated fuck on a pornography site.

So Mr Hefner and Mr Cory Jones - editor at Playboy – I think you’re wrong. I think there will always be a place for nudity in your magazine and others. Pornographic sites do something different. They can’t be held in motionless admiration. They can’t be zoomed into. They don’t always leave space for your own interpretation and imagination – your own creativity.

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/10/13/business/media/nudes-are-old-news-at-playboy.html?_r=0

A still photo of sexuality can do all of this.

Helen Mirren – a beautiful woman. Nothing needs to be said about her age. She’s just beautiful. Her sexuality radiates from her face as much as her body but she’s decided that she really shouldn’t do nudity any longer.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/helen-mirren-onscreen-nudity_560a7e8be4b0af3706ddc417

Naturally, that’s her choice but it concerns me that she might be saying so because she feels it’s inappropriate.

It’s not.

Nudity isn’t age-appropriate. Nudity is in the moment, in the mind of the voyeur, in the movement or stillness of the model.

The feminists scream of exploitation and rightly so when so many women have been subjugated – against their will, to expose themselves without thoroughly considering what they’re doing. But not all. Some women have chosen to pose for photographs because it makes them feel empowered, invigorated, free – just as I did when I was naked and accepted for my bodily flaws and fascinations.

Other feminists applaud because we should be proud of our form. We should celebrate, and if those amongst us who have seemingly flawless bodies want to share their beauty with men and women who choose to be aroused by their nudity, then so be it.

I embrace nudity and even as I am right now, with my far from perfect body, I won’t close the curtains.

Writing and Reading Erotica

This week there was an article on BBC Radio Four’s “Woman’s Hour” about female writers of erotic or pornographic (depending upon your personal views) novels.

The programme referred back to an interview in the 1990s with Erica Jong – author of “Fear of Flying” and “Any Woman’s Blues”.

She explained how she thought some women had seen female sexual liberation as a panacea when, in her opinion, true liberty came from enjoying your own company and developing a strong sense of self-esteem. She talked in length about how some women involved themselves in sexually free relationships, thinking that this was going to give them the release from mundane middle ageism, only to find that such a desire for mind-blowing sex became a bondage  - not a freedom.

I would concur!

Actually, it’s not quite as simple as that, but for me there’s definitely some truth in the need to like yourself, enjoy your own company and make sure that it’s this, not an attachment to another human being, that truly liberates and makes you feel free.

Having said that, there is also a huge amount of freedom from being sexually liberated; the empowerment and enlightenment felt from this can’t be underestimated.

The topic then concentrated on writing and in particular the issue of women writing erotica.

The two guests on the programme, Louise Doughty and Nichi Hodgson  - both of whom write erotica – had a very stimulating discussion about the merits of female writers of erotica, about the failings of “50 Shades” and how much of the issue regarding female sexual liberation was about economics. They suggested that the real fantasy of “50 Shades” wasn’t the sexual excitement but more to do with the fact that the lead character was obscenely rich!

That reminded me of a comment from Victoria Coren who once wrote that the main attraction in Christian Grey from “50 Shades of Grey” was that he allowed his partner to eat anything she wanted – and that was the real attraction.

Again, I would concur.

The economic issue is huge – one that is too huge and requires a post of its own, as does the whole issue of finding yourself and being comfortable with who you are.

For now, I want to concentrate on my personal experience of writing and reading both erotic and pornographic stories.

As both Louise and Nichi said, there’s a considerable amount of dross in this area. Some of the writing is over-laden with explicit adverbs and graphic scenes that end up feeling functionary rather than fantasy or arousing.

Essentially it all depends on your frame of mind. If you are in a moment when you want to be sexually aroused or stimulated, you can be so – even if the writing isn’t particularly good. I have strong memories of lying in bed, listening to erotic writing being read to me, and feeling completely overwhelmed by a desire to replicate what was being read.

Other times, when I’ve been alone and in need, yes need, of an orgasm, I’ve deliberately chosen some pretty crass writing to get me in the mood, ready for a dildo to help me on my way.

There have been other times it’s been the other way round when I’ve read something that has aroused me and I’ve reached out for assistance – either from the vibrator or the real thing – to bring me to an orgasm.

The point is if you are inclined to be aroused by reading, then it really doesn’t matter what you are reading as long as it brings forth the desired effect. Personally, I’m aroused by erotic rather than explicit graphic descriptions. This is probably because I love the feeling of closeness and oneness in sexual liaisons more than the actual act of having sex. It’s the feeling of togetherness in penetration more than the penetration itself that does it for me.

When reading, I like a sense of mystery, of creativity – of writing that allows you to bring in your personal experiences or imagine situations that complement what you are reading.  As one of the women on Woman’s hour said, the possible difference between porn and erotica is the artistry – how sex is used in writing. Is it used to power the story on (in her opinion, erotica) or is it merely there for its own sake (porn)?

But where I really get turned on is when I am writing.

And it’s this that links directly to what Erica Jong was saying about finding yourself and being happy with who you are as a person.

For when I’m writing about sex, about female sexuality and sexual emancipation for women – that is when I feel I am being really me. That is what I miss about being me when I’m not writing.

For many years, I lay in a wilderness of sexual antipathy. It wasn’t until I met someone who enabled me to feel sexually liberated that I started to write about it. When that happened, I really do feel as though I found my voice and thus found my self-esteem, my value and my worth.

The writing that I did may not have been the most eloquent. I too was probably highly guilty of the overt and over-use of the adverb. My literary illustrations of thrusting cocks oozing with wonder juice and vaginas cascading with enthusiastic gushes were probably highly corny but that didn’t matter. What mattered was how I felt when I was writing. What also mattered is how my readers might feel when they were reading it, and if they were turned on, then my own arousal was increased.

And that is how it’s been with me. I write because it empowers me. I write because it makes me feel alive – and those two statements are true of all my writing, not just what I write in the world of sexuality. However, because sex is so personal and so vital, the writing that I have done on this blog has felt, possibly selfishly and self-indulgently, to be more about me than anything else.

The reality is that being sexually active makes me more willing and able to write about and talk about sex but in times of celibacy, my voice is still there and I damn well ought to use it.

The irony is about freedom though. Writing about sex frees me. It makes me feel liberated. It makes me feel ME. In order for me to be truly me, I probably need and want sex as it’s because of my experiences of sex that I’ve felt a need to convey a message to others who are either without sex or enduring lackluster, tedious and uninspiring sex. Sex and, more importantly, the feelings associated with having sex with someone that you really adore being with, enable me to be me.

Now returning to Erica Jong, does that make me dependent on another for my freedom and for my happiness? Or is it just a reality that it takes two to tango?

I know I felt at my most liberated when I was writing frequently about sex and for me, the stimulation to write came from being stimulated sexually by another person. Therefore, is there that possibility that I am actually reliant on another soul for my sexual liberty, and if that is the case, how can it be true liberty?

The other reality is this. It’s the economy stoopid!

Those who are economically independent do have the freedom to be sexually liberal and liberated. Without that economic freedom, can you ever really and truthfully be free to be the sexual person that you know you are?

For me, I will try my hardest to get back to writing about the important aspects of sex and female sexuality.

I started this blog many years ago. There’s still an ostrich-like approach to sex and particularly towards female sexuality. There’s still no absolute agreement about female ejaculation. There’s still feminists who think that female sexual liberation means that you can’t possibly enjoy watching pornography or who think that valuing your own body means that it should be hidden with your sexuality suppressed and not flaunted. (I’m being a little disingenuous and facetious here, of course).

But the simple message is that sexuality is about you, and because of the nature of the glorious beast, it’s about someone else too, but you can’t enjoy that someone else fully unless you are content with yourself – and that contentment comes from economic liberty as well as a confidence in your own self-worth.

To any reader of this post, please remember, these are my initial thoughts on a subject that I may well return to. I mean to cause no offence to anyone. I am merely clarifying my own thoughts in my own way, and what I write here today might be different to my thinking in a month or a year’s time.

Enjoy your sexuality today. I mean it. I’ll try and enjoy my own.

Pride in London, I'm heterosexual but.......

Yesterday was “Pride in London 2014” and I took to the streets to see what all the fuss was about. Friends and colleagues had attended these rallies for years and somehow, I had always been busy. This year I decided to go along and see for myself.

Positioning myself in Piccadilly, I was struck by the extent of the crowd. I was also struck by the diversity. Onlookers were not all gay; far from it. There were heterosexuals all over the place – families, couples, siblings, friends and me.

Me.

Am I heterosexual? Because I’ve been kissed and fucked by a woman, does that make me bisexual?

Recently, I contacted a charity for advice and support. They asked me if I would mind doing a quick survey. I agreed.

What is your gender? – Simple to answer. What is your age bracket? – Another easily defined response. What is your sexual orientation?

What is my sexual orientation?

I paused.

My response was that I was heterosexual but……. 

The person at the end of the phone waited for a more complete response. Was the “but” big enough to call me bisexual, we were both thinking although not saying? Eventually, I just left it at that; I was heterosexual.

But this answer was and is incomplete.

I like women. I love big, natural boobs. I like looking at cleavages accompanied by fulsome tits. I love the shapeliness of women. I love kissing, and whether the person I am kissing is a man or a woman is irrelevant if I am turned on. And I am turned on by women but I am far more turned on by men. I’m a person who would prefer a WILF (Willy I’d like to fuck) rather than a MILF.

If I was looking for someone (which in itself is a pathetic phrase because I don’t exactly go out looking)  to have a sexual relationship with, I would certainly prefer men. If I were to join a dating agency, it would be men I wanted. Yet I’d probably want to have sex with men that would revel in my enjoyment of women too. I’d want to spend time enjoying looking at other women – maybe on pornography sites, without necessarily wanting to fuck them. I’d want to share erotica with any sexual partner and I wouldn’t want him to be disturbed by my interest in other women.

I look at women in the street. They are beautiful. I look at them and see a beauty that isn’t always sexual. They are just beautiful. I find myself looking at women, possibly more frequently than men, but that doesn’t mean to say I want to fuck them. I want cock!

So am I heterosexual? Or am I bisexual? Or am I actually as gay as gay and deluding myself that I want willy?

In truth, my sexual orientation is “without label”. I’m a non-person as far as the survey goes. I’m a heterosexual woman who likes tits but I don’t necessarily want to have them in my mouth, and I don’t necessarily want to get down and offer some cunnilingus. I just like looking at women, and yes, I’ll readily wank myself off when doing so.

Yesterday, at Pride in London, there were plenty of beautiful women – stunning women, who happily marched down the streets of the capital city, declaring that they were gay or bisexual. They were proud of their sexuality and they were demonstrating their pride with others.

That was, and is, admirable. And whilst I didn’t join in the march or parade, I wanted to be walking with them with my label-less sexuality there for all to see. I wanted to walk with a banner saying “I am heterosexual, but…..” without having to explain the “but” - because that is who I am.

In the same way, I have never wanted to be labelled in a relationship either. I’m perfectly happy to be in a relationship. I’m perfectly contented to be called someone’s “woman” without the connotations of what that might mean to others. What is important is what the relationship means to one another – the two (or more) people in a relationship. And yes, I want to be the most significant because that is what I deserve, after putting so much into a relationship. But I don’t really want to be called a partner or a lover or a wife or a friend with benefits. I just want to be me – a woman; a heterosexual woman, but……

Yesterday, I watched all these beautiful people (and some more beautiful than others) walking by – laughing, smiling, dancing, chanting, skipping, loving, being.

It was a celebration of gayness, yes of course. However, what struck me most was that it was a celebration of being a sexual human being.

There they were, demonstrating to the world, that they liked being gay but within that broad word there was an underlying statement that they liked sex. They liked being sexual. They celebrated their sexuality. Some even flaunted it.

Lucky, lucky buggers.

And here’s my Utopia. Once we live in a world where people are free from discrimination due to their labelled sexual orientation, then shouldn’t we see “Pride” as a rally of sexuality, where people like the “heterosexual but….” could join in the march too and tell the world that they are sexual beings, that they love sex and that they want everyone to know the importance and value of sex in their lives?

The vivacity, the honesty, the emphatic and constant smiles said it all yesterday – “I am an actively sexual being and proud of it”.

I wish I could have joined in with that label alone.