Owning our desires

Sophia’s long, thick brown hair, olive skin and wide sensual mouth are set off by the most amazing light green eyes, and the effect is electric. With her tall and slim five-foot-eight frame, men and women are instantly attracted to her. We’ve been at breakfast when men stopped by our table, or phone numbers were delivered.

What a burden.

She never told me when she was first sexually abused, certainly before she was 15. She “always looked older” than her years, and barely finished high school as her beauty became the defining element of her world.

Becoming of legal age, but naive, she was offered a world that was glamourous but came with hidden agendas. In her early 30’s now, she refers to a period “about ten years ago” when she led a life on the edge, riding her beauty for cocaine, Cristal Champagne, jets, Vail and Chicago. She has the thin arms and legs of a runway model, with cheekbones to match, but also these large, grapefruit-round breasts attached to her chest, the gift of a man who liked that sort of thing.

Some of her friends from back then still live in trendy neighborhoods, rent paid. For some reason, internal compass or sobering event, Sophia moved to a small flat in the suburbs and “left that behind.” Now her worry is memorizing 30 medical terms by Wednesday in the effort to be a dental hygienist.

Somewhere during Eggs Benedict, she started to cry.

“He was such a sweet and gentle guy, really smart and I really liked him. I was doing everything to get him to cum. Every position, talking dirty. Finally I said, ‛will you please have an orgasm! I’m going to fuck you again before we go to sleep, we don’t have to do this for hours!’ He stopped, looked at me, then got up, got dressed and left!”

She didn’t know why.

Most of her sexual experience is of men who learned about sex with online porn, I suppose. Men who want her to talk dirty, to flail her hips so they could get off as if by their jack-off hand, want her on her knees or on top or backwards, frantically changing from one to the other. Sophia has been cum on and in so many times by men who didn’t care about her or what she would like, oblivious to her lack of emotional participation, that the beauty of sex is lost to her.

It’s become a performance for the benefit of somebody else. She no longer has the ability to be vulnerable, to trust, so that she can lose herself in the experience.

Worse, she has begun to resent sex because of what she has been through, and the demands of others. The beauty of sensuality is lost to the beauty most people would like to share it with.

What an crappy irony.

A lot women can relate. This isn’t the just the result of Sophia’s choices. Another woman I know was married for far too long to a man who humiliated her into starvation because he liked fucking skinny women. When he wanted sex, which was often several times a day, she was used so he could get off. Part of the routine, or there would be consequences, was that she had to fake a convincing orgasm.

I don’t know if Sophia will ever heal, if the right man (or woman) will fall in love with the girl within and with tremendous strength, maturity and patience, bring her back into womanhood in the right way. What a gift that would be, but how risky for Sophia, to let herself become that vulnerable.

I could blame men for this, but I’m not going to. In many ways, the price they pay for the lack of love and romance is just as great, though masked by power imbalance. That’s as far as I’m going down that road, for the moment.

You may question my morality, and the fact that I love men and sometimes enjoy more than one simultaneously, and sometimes enjoy all that in “public.” But I’m so thankful that I was empowered to own my own sexuality, regardless of what you think, and to celebrate that when and where and how I choose.

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