This really shouldn’t be a how-to for how to kill the horny girl that resides inside of me. But it’s been happening so often lately that I might as well put it into words. But I’ve been watching so much Mad Men lately that I think I need to pour myself a drink before the right words will come tumbling out about this subject. It’s something I have been wanting to talk about for quite some time, but just couldn’t find the words. So it stalled on my lips, waiting for some kind of release.
Since my post on Friday, I’ve been taking a step back from myself sexually. Meaning that I’ve been somewhat detached abotu my sexuality, looking for a good way to actually describe the ebb and flow of my sexual arousal and attraction. I’m hoping that if I can examine it without taking hold of the guilt that comes along with it, that maybe I have a chance of healing the right thing that is mucking up the process.
I know for a lot of people sexuality is a complex thing. If you look up sexual arousal for women you get a number of articles most of them glossing over this process: 1) excitement, 2) plateau, 3) orgasm and 4) resolution. Nevermind the fact that most women don’t get to #3. None of this explains why I feel such interference in the excitement part of arousal. And that’s not to say that my body isn’t ready. My body itself is in a state of readiness more than my mind and heart are. So I might be wet, my nipples might be sensitive and ready but my brain is just not ready to say yes.
The problem occurs with excitement, staying excited, staying engaged enough to be excited and more than anything, avoiding the fear that flows almost hand in hand with the very things that arouse me. So, this is where I take that post from the other day with the 7 sexually stimulating images/ideas and piece them apart so that I understand if there is a common thread in the fear. (Original post is in blue; new writing is in black)
The past few months I’ve been very proud about taming the applicability of guilt and shame in my life. However, last week that monster came back with a vengeance. A friend’s blog (Bigger Love) helped provide some perspective.
While my guilt last week has less to do with my fantasies, I know my fantasies have plays into the guilt that I impose on myself. I remember soon after learning of a friend’s childhood abuse, I felt shame for reading erotica that dealt with age play or anything non-consensual. That’s the empath in me …and it stopped any desire I had to have any Daddy-girl play.
Imposing that guilt on myself for the suffering she endured felt like the right thing to do at the time. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t allowing me the healthy playful sex life I wanted. One in which I could play the little girl drawn into a tawdry relationship with “daddy” that is both consensual and grown-up without having to play the grown-up. That sex life became one in which the little slut wasn’t celebrated but demonized as being representative of a very real trauma millions of people have endured
Like I.said. I got perspective…but I’m not entirely rid of the guilt yet.