I explain that when you live as a woman, there is often a power imbalance. And that power imbalance means that I would in all likelihood let myself be raped if I perceived a threat. And seeing as the prevalent power imbalance means that threat is ever present, rape is always a viable possibility.
It had been a joke to my boyfriend, an anecdote from a fun evening out. They even have an expression for it in locker-room Swedish–‘gut-brothers’–for those men who’ve shared a vagina. But when he saw the expression on my face, he got an inkling that something, somewhere was very, very wrong.
I’m a veritable poster girl for reframing painful perspectives. One of my passions is to help people, particularly women break free from society shame, to help them love their bodies, so that they may be able to stand confidently and happily, no matter what they – or their vaginas – look like. I’m on my own journey, as I help others through theirs. How am I doing?
I want to shout out to all those who have been brainwashed by the media and who expect hours of pounding that sex is delicious, fruitful and altogether more frothy when you don’t count the minutes.
What if caressing didn’t have to lead anywhere? What if your sex consisted of whatever felt good for you in the moment? What if there were no pressure on either of you to orgasm to satisfy the other person’s ego? What if you could experiment without expectation and judgment?
Women like men, fear rejection. Coming out as bisexual by dating another woman without a man present, changes your relationship to men and the world forever. If you question the hetero-norm of society by your actions, you become a threat. It’s that simple.
What I want is for my lover to glory in my smell. To breathe in my musk and feel the heat rising in his body. To lap it up even if I haven’t had a shower 2 hours before, or even 24 hours before.
I was crazy about him but had no idea how to communicate it. Loving, wanting…it was all the same. If we had sex wouldn’t it mean something for him? If he wanted me wouldn’t I be happy? Because I was so unhappy. Insecure. Unpopular. With no idea who I was.
I have and am still struggling to extract myself from this mindset – in my old world you do not talk about it (unless it is to mock), you do not think about it (unless it is to check it medically) and you certainly do not look at it (luckily it’s rather tucked away – inaccessible unless you are a yoga goddess or have a handheld mirror handy).
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