Cross-dressing, homosexuality or just plain sexual enjoyment

Dear readers, have a look at this letter from a worried ‘girlfriend’.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2012/oct/21/my-boyfriend-wears-womens-underwear

If you don’t want to follow the link, here’s a quick summary.

Girlfriend is worried that her boyfriend is gay because he likes to wear her panties under his work suits.

The great Doctor responded by saying that it’s unlikely that he’s gay but may be showing that he is a cross-dresser.

Wrong with a capital W, Dr. Stephenson. Wrong with another capital W from some of the below the line contributors who either find this appalling or continue with the old adages about cross-dressing.

From my own very wonderful experience, your man wanting to wear your undies is NOT a sign that they are a cross-dresser. It doesn’t mean they are about to reach for your nearest bra or your favourite stockings and skirts.

What it means is that they like having something of you close to them in a possibly quirky but utterly delightful way.

One of my fondest memories of my lover is receiving a text from him to tell me that he was not only wearing my panties, but was also wearing my tights on a cold day in February. My response? Reach out for the dildo and give yourself a delightful orgasm as you consider the wonderment of this man’s sexuality and his desire to be close to me even when I’m not with him.

I also have many photos of him dressed in an array of my lacy lovelies, with his bits in and out. They are extremely erotic photos and ones that I will treasure for the moment in which they were captured. There’s nothing kinky or dirty or coarse about it. In fact I felt it was one of the most loving things ever done for me and with me.

Wearing other people’s underwear is absolutely not a sign that someone wants to cross-dress. I would have worn my lover’s undergarments if I’d ever been given the opportunity to do so, and I hope that he continues to wear my panties should the desire take him.

Open your minds, lovely people, and start making those lovely sexual thoughts into reality. Wear each other’s clothes if it suits you, don’t think of it as a rocking great crime because it damn well isn’t.

And don’t think that just because your bloke likes the feel of lace against his own skin, possibly as a reminder of the delightful arse and cunt that is usually in it, that he is somehow deranged.

He’s not, and neither are you for enjoying it.

Nuns on the Sex Run

Can you really go from being a nun to a sex therapist? Of course you can. This woman, Dr. Fran Fisher, is living proof that this type of transformation can take place.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2012/oct/15/nun-who-became-sex-therapist

As indeed am I.

Not that I was ever a nun, you understand, though my behaviour was certainly akin to someone who had taken the vow of chastity.

Brought up in a strongly religious family where sex was never, ever discussed, the only chance of developing one’s sexuality was by going with your instinct and learning “on the job”.

I was always interested in the opposite sex. Come to think of it, I was always quite interested in the same sex too but that thought couldn’t possibly be contemplated, and it took me years to finally admit my fascination for the female form as much as the delights of penetrative sex.

But retrospectively, I was hopelessly naïve. I hid my masturbation for years, not even admitting to the person who took my virginity away from me that I was a perpetual wanker, and had been for many years. I even managed to separate the pleasure of masturbation and the climaxes that I could give myself with the first  and subsequent experiences of penetrative sex. Never once did I have an orgasm with this man. Never once did he touch my clitoris and make me cum. Never once did I know of my ability to spread my legs and shower the onlooker with a delightful spray of sexual juices.
And all because I was hopelessly unable to talk about my sexuality, and thus it was suppressed as much as the nun in the article above.

Enabling people to be honest about sexuality would overcome so many problems.

If only we could be honest about sex. If we were honest about sex perhaps we could have more love-making in the world.

A friend often talks of how women come into their own sexually when they turn forty, or thereabouts. The fear of unwanted pregnancy is passing. The notion of having sex for procreation is often over. The sex can now be enjoyed.

Only it can’t be enjoyed unless you talk about, and I’m beginning to think that there must be a distinct correlation between talking and doing here. Perhaps, if we could encourage women to talk about sex and stop feeling as though they are dirty in doing so, then perhaps women could enjoy their sexuality long before their fortieth birthday. If I’d felt at ease talking about masturbation, about my fascination for boobs, about my hunger for penetrative sex frequently, then I might have enjoyed sex in my twenties and thirties far more than I did.

I never demanded sex, never really appreciated it because I had no idea how capable I was sexually.

It’s time to talk, and we need to talk more openly now.

Wake up world.

This article blames Catholicism and various other suppressive tendencies for this woman’s inability to come to terms with her sexuality until she was older, but it’s not just the Catholics that are suppressed. It’s not even just the religious. We’re so frightened by sex that we shield our own selves from its joy and its wonderment. We’re frightened of screaming out and telling an astonished world that we want sex.

Let’s embrace sex and sexuality and stop another generation from suffering the effects of not having sex. Let's prevent them from having bad sex, and let's try and understand how difficult it is once the light has shone..........