A Different Fare
2002-04-22 @ 10:25 a.m.
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Sometimes I fantasize about reaching into Jake's pants and finding a penis. Yesterday she came out onto the deck where I was sitting. She was wearing shorts, and I thought about playfully reaching inside the leg of her shorts to gently grab her dick. I'm not talking about her packing dick that she got at Good Vibrations in San Francisco when we were there a couple of years ago. And I'm not talking about finding a hard dick ready for action. I'm just thinking about putting my fingers around a neat small sausage of skin to playfully get her attention. Maybe holding on long enough to see the surprise in her eyes and feel a bit of growth in my hands.
Of course you'll notice the distinct female pronoun, and no, she's not intersex. It's a fantasy. The really odd thing about this fantasy to me is that when I was with men (I was married to one for nine years) I never considered playfully grabbing for dick. I'm not sure I would now, even though I haven't really lost my attraction to men. I've always been shy about sex, reticent to make the first move and even more hesitant to just be playful. Even with women, I'm still inclined to wait on her to make the first move. Though I have felt the safest I've ever felt now that I'm surrounded by a loving family of women who have a very healthy appreciation for sex and love (and for sex without love).
Sex is a very powerful tool to me. It is something to be frightened of, to be in awe of, to be overwhelmed by. It was never something I felt comfortable playing with and walking away from. Some people can do that. I envy them.
I am what is called an incest survivor. Some days I think that term is way too dramatic. But some days I feel like I still haven't survived the abusive nine year relationship with my father. My relationship with my father lasted much longer than that of course. He continues to be a thorn in my side even now. But for nine years my body was his toy to take out when he felt like playing without any regard for my own feelings, wants or desires. What's worse is that my body responded. Much to my chagrin, the things he did to me felt good even as the fear in my head built to the point that I had to turn it off in order to go on living. My body betrayed me by feeling desire for the hands of this man who should have been my protector rather than my lover.
I learned not to trust my own body, in particular, to ignore my own desires. I couldn't even make a decision about what kind of food I wanted to eat or what movie I wanted to see because the part of my brain that told me my own desire was turned off.
My ex-husband was a very understanding man. He was the first man I was able to say no to. It frustrated him, but he accepted it. He joked about the dubious honor of being this particular first in my life. But it was a freeing step for me.
My wife has been the first person I was able to say "I want" to, as in "I want you now." She, too, is very loving and understanding when old ghosts come out to haunt us. With her I've learned the healing aspect of giving in to desires too perverted to have admitted to anyone before her.
In my family of women, sex is an undercurrent that could have drowned me (they would never have let that happen). But I am learning so much about my own desires and about safety. There is always someone there to hold me when I need it. Sometimes I just have to remember to let my needs be known.
Now it seems that I am entering a new phase of sexual desire, in my fantasies at least. More and more, sex loses the power to frighten and gains the power to heal.
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