Pondering my self-imposed celibacy
Dec. 16th, 2002 06:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
novapsyche(This may be too graphic; I dunno; I'm writing this stream-of-consciously.)
This thought popped into my head today. This is partly because the mind does weird things when the body is deprived of things it's accustomed to....
This is not borne of the feminist in me. God knows that when I was the most into feminism, I was the most into sex as well. There was no discrepancy between the adopted philosophy and the actual lived experience.
I had the strange sensation of wanting to feel a male member in my mouth. Now, this was surprising, because I've been so happy with being celibate. I like being spiritually sexless. I like not identifying with the body. It's fun. So imagine my surprise when the longing to feel a particular familiar sensation resurfaced (not that I should miss the bumping of my uvula; I don't like retching, especially in a sexual situation...).
That got me wondering if I really, truly like(d) giving head. I always assumed I did. I certainly enjoyed it at the time, I would surmise. But when I really think about it, I think I more enjoyed being an active participant in such an intimate situation. I always worried about being selfish. I know I am/was a selfish lover; I'm bad at reciprocating. So I honed my skills at the one activity that was certainly an act of reciprocation. And by becoming a skilled fellatrix, I took solace in the thought that I could be an attentive and active lover.
I mean, honestly. Semen tastes like rotten saltwater, and smells like bleach. It's the act that counts. That is, the orgasm. The climax. The finale. The ultimate goal of sexual communion. Yes, I know sex should not be a goal-oriented activity. I couldn't change that opinion of mine, even after becoming a feminist. It was tied into my low self-esteem. If I could not bring my partner to orgasm, that was a personal failing of mine. Often I tried too hard. I've had more than one partner just lift my face and tell me to give up.
Why am I rehashing this? Right, examination of my current discrepancy. Because last week I really really wanted some sexual attention. And this made me take a step back and observe myself, my desires. Why would I want this? It wasn't until today that I realized that last week, I was most fertile; while my conscious mind wasn't aware of that fact, my 27-year-old body sure did, and it wanted to capitalize on it.
And so I am made aware most directly that despite what my thinking mind may want, my body has desires that really have nothing to do with any of that. The body is not rational; I need to remember this.
To conclude this offending ramble: I like the sponginess of the penis; it's fun to play with; but I realize I don't need one (in my mouth or elsewhere) to make my life a better one. The celibate life has encouraged me to confront my excessive, obsession-ridden sexuality, and that I value greatly.
This thought popped into my head today. This is partly because the mind does weird things when the body is deprived of things it's accustomed to....
This is not borne of the feminist in me. God knows that when I was the most into feminism, I was the most into sex as well. There was no discrepancy between the adopted philosophy and the actual lived experience.
I had the strange sensation of wanting to feel a male member in my mouth. Now, this was surprising, because I've been so happy with being celibate. I like being spiritually sexless. I like not identifying with the body. It's fun. So imagine my surprise when the longing to feel a particular familiar sensation resurfaced (not that I should miss the bumping of my uvula; I don't like retching, especially in a sexual situation...).
That got me wondering if I really, truly like(d) giving head. I always assumed I did. I certainly enjoyed it at the time, I would surmise. But when I really think about it, I think I more enjoyed being an active participant in such an intimate situation. I always worried about being selfish. I know I am/was a selfish lover; I'm bad at reciprocating. So I honed my skills at the one activity that was certainly an act of reciprocation. And by becoming a skilled fellatrix, I took solace in the thought that I could be an attentive and active lover.
I mean, honestly. Semen tastes like rotten saltwater, and smells like bleach. It's the act that counts. That is, the orgasm. The climax. The finale. The ultimate goal of sexual communion. Yes, I know sex should not be a goal-oriented activity. I couldn't change that opinion of mine, even after becoming a feminist. It was tied into my low self-esteem. If I could not bring my partner to orgasm, that was a personal failing of mine. Often I tried too hard. I've had more than one partner just lift my face and tell me to give up.
Why am I rehashing this? Right, examination of my current discrepancy. Because last week I really really wanted some sexual attention. And this made me take a step back and observe myself, my desires. Why would I want this? It wasn't until today that I realized that last week, I was most fertile; while my conscious mind wasn't aware of that fact, my 27-year-old body sure did, and it wanted to capitalize on it.
And so I am made aware most directly that despite what my thinking mind may want, my body has desires that really have nothing to do with any of that. The body is not rational; I need to remember this.
To conclude this offending ramble: I like the sponginess of the penis; it's fun to play with; but I realize I don't need one (in my mouth or elsewhere) to make my life a better one. The celibate life has encouraged me to confront my excessive, obsession-ridden sexuality, and that I value greatly.
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(no subject)
Date: 2002-12-16 03:58 pm (UTC)Heh.
i enjoy your writing.
Thanks. :)
Re:
Date: 2002-12-16 04:18 pm (UTC)