This one is going to be tough, and long. No need to read it, but the words must be written before I present too many more of my thoughts and opinions on dating, relationships, sex and spirituality. Before I can take you through my year of dating, complete with my plan, rules, dates (I mean data presentation) and man-alysis, I need to go back... way back, and get out of the way, a bit of my sexual history in order to explain some of my viewpoints, perspectives and boundaries that I’ve set as I wander in the Middle.
But first a comment to my family and request to any who do read this:
To my family, should you read this please know I in no way mean to dishonor or disrespect any one except the offenders, and even in that I will speak the truth and whatever disrespect or dishonor it garners is because of their actions. This post will include my perspective of the events; the results of my perception have led me to become the woman I am with the beliefs that I have. Should any of you like to speak to the words that follow I absolutely welcome the dialog and will not judge, blame or condemn you for anything that was done or said or not done or said. In the same way I hope that you all can be understanding enough to let me get this out. It is time.
To my readers. Thank you for reading every blog that you have. You never cease to amaze me. I’m not famous by any means but that so many read so often humbles me… That you share your encouragement, stories and thanks with me is a bigger blessing that I know how to handle, thank you. This post, is highly personal. I’ve tried to always request, accept and appreciate constructive criticism and reviews and have swallowed down the nasty criticism like gristle on steak. I do not want to keep anyone from expressing any opinion in public or in private (by all means if you want to post a review good or bad on Catching Tatum please do!) but I would ask for this post to please remember this is my soul I’m sharing. This is not a character, this is not an issue of structure or arc, this is my life, and one of the most sensitive areas of it. If you want to criticize, please be sensitive of that. I welcome and ask for comments and dialog. Let’s talk openly and honestly about sex, the stereotypes, the dogma, the cultural shifts and trends. Let this be a safe place to speak about the issues. Let’s use this as a catalyst to reach into dark places and expose evil but please be gentle if at all possible.
So here we go... What needs to be said is that my parents were divorced. My father had custody and I was raised in a staunch, Pentecostal culture. My mother saw me regularly and lived a wild lifestyle which included drugs and alcohol and questionable acquaintances. One of these acquaintances violently sexually assaulted me before I was five years old. His approach was what society pictures a pedophile to be, angry, evil, threatening; but this is actually an A-typical pedophile MO. Most pedophiles are, “kind,” “love kids,” and are unassuming and groom their victims with trinkets and secrets. I was blessed to always know my predator was evil. I knew he meant to take what he wanted, make me do what he wanted, how he wanted it done because he threatened to kill my little brother if I ever told. The most horrid memory I have of the whole thing is not of the acts themselves but of my baby brother crying and me being desperate to do the act correctly so he could live.
His threat insured that I knew, and have known evil, from the beginning of memory making but, it didn’t keep me from telling. However things happened, I don’t know, but the man was extinguished from my life, the physical injuries healed, the incident under rug swept, the emotional wounds, untreated, remained.
As is typical for a child who is sexually assaulted at a young age, I acted out in sexually inappropriate ways. I was reprimanded frequently for doing “bad things.” There was never a reason why I ought not masturbate in public, other than it was wrong. There was never a reason for wearing panties to bed other than my private parts should be covered up. There was no counseling as far as I’ve ever known or remembered. I imagine that the incident was so emotionally painful and difficult to digest that everyone preferred to pretend it never happened... and so we did.
Later in my childhood/adolescence I was wearing something that might have been considered provocative and a family member took it upon himself to fondle me. I froze. I couldn’t believe it was happening and I didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing. I let it happen. I said something about it later to my brother, and it turned into a HUGE family fight and I ended up recanting what I said to make everyone shut up.
At this time self-harm (a typical expression in children who are sexually abused) as well as drugs and alcohol became a prominent part of my life.
And then… I let it happen again another time! It was the same kind of deal, I was wearing something I probably shouldn’t have been wearing in a place I probably shouldn’t have been wearing it and this same family member did the same thing again and again I froze and again let it happen. I knew the guy liked porn, I knew he spoke crudely of women, including me... and I knew I was wearing the wrong things. So this time I didn’t say anything at all to anyone ever, I just got high.
After that I made sure to avoid that guy as much as humanly possible, to keep myself covered as much as possible and to keep my mouth shut because it just made things worse. I used a lot of drugs and alcohol and self-injury methods to forget about it. My behavior was erratic, but my grades were good and the teachers at my school, especially the second most amazing man I’ve ever known, my guidance counselor, Dr. David McDolald watched out for me. This man, a good man, worked with my family to get me into counseling. It helped. Even though I showed up high on more than one occasion, I’m grateful for the counseling. I learned techniques in those counseling session with Nancy that I still use to this day. I learned to go to a safe place when I’m stressed; for me that was the tree lined banks of the Stillagaumish River. I suppose that was when I truly fell in love with creation.
Then I started acting out sexually. My first chosen sexual experience occurred just after I turned fourteen and by the time I was fifteen I decided I was going to forget the bad guys once and for all. I wanted to erase or replace what they did but I didn’t have a boyfriend and didn’t necessarily want one so, for lack of a better term, I profiled boys at my school and picked a handsome young man who didn’t run in my circle of friends. I took some time to befriend him, I told him what had happened to me and that I’d like to have good sex to replace the bad sex. I was a cute girl, he happily obliged, and he did much to heal a wounded part inside me. I can’t and won’t advocate for sex outside of marriage, and I honestly wish, even with the abuse, I would have understood how sacred my body was, but I didn’t. I was a lost child trying to bandage up a gaping wound. I did what I thought would fix it and I chose a good guy to help. He did right by me. Right or wrong, good or bad, I will ever be grateful to him for showing me a better kind of sex and intimate touch.
Up to this point I’d never used condoms or birth control. I remember “blah, blah, blah” in health class so I didn’t pay attention. I think the Pentecostal upbringing convinced me that I ought not have sex so I kind of ignored the teaching because it didn’t pertain to me. And then I did have sex and… it just happened once, or twice, or ummm yeah... you get the idea. It was likely during this time I contracted HPV (genital warts) and herpes but because I had no out breaks I didn’t know. So, that’s way more information about me than I want anyone really to know, but here’s why I say it... Kids, adults, everyone reading this, if you’re having sex with multiple partners practice safe sex!! Whether it applies to you or not, whether you’ve ever had an outbreak or not, whether you can have kids or not, learn how to use condoms and don’t have sex with multiple partners without them. Gents, you can carry STDs dormant in your body your whole life and pass it on over and over and over again. Cover it up! Ladies, we’re usually more unlucky and tend to see outbreaks with most all STDs more often than men but not always. We live in a socitey with an STD epidemic. We’ve made a vaccine for HPV because upwards of 75% of the reproductive-age population has it. Herpes is super easy to spread and there is no cure and up to 20% of 14-49 year olds have it (actually CDC says this is probably understated due to those who do not show symptoms). This article from 2014 sites 20 MILLION NEW STD outbreaks each year (http://www.livescience.com/48100-sexually-transmitted-infections-50-states-map.html)!!! Obviously if you have one, you’re not alone, but don’t spread it. And if you don’t have one, why take the risk? I’m done preaching. Do it God’s way, or be safe doing it your own way.
Moving on… As I entered adulthood my sexual explorations took a dark turn. I’d rather not go into the details. Suffice to say I am appalled by memories of things I did and saw, participated in and watched. Before that time I’d known both scary, bad sex and better, gentler sex. I knew what I was doing was not right, but it’s hard when you’re walking down a road with others to be the one to stop and turn around. Then before you know it you’re in a pit, ten feet deep scratching at the sides to get out, but the demons with you keep pulling you down. It’s kind of like there’s no way out and so you sort of give up or give in and stop even trying to pretend you’re a good kind of person. I let drugs take over my life, I was self-harming, I was participating in illegal and illicit activities of all kinds and I was absolutely, unequivocally, hopelessly miserable.
This is where God steped into my life. He gave me a second chance. I took it and I knew a big part of the cleansing and healing for me would revolve around my sexuality. I knew my libido was higher than most girls and my affinity for sex would likely get me in trouble again so I decided, upon pledging my life to Christ, to also make a pledge to not be alone with any guy for a year. It was a tumultuous year. It was full of purging bad thoughts, memories, ideas and visions from my mind and replacing them with whatever was true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent and praiseworthy. There were a handful of occasions that I spent time with my first ex-husband alone, it was also the first time I ever recall actually saying no to sex and having my words respected. He wasn’t happy about it but he respected my words and for that I’m grateful. It taught me I didn’t have to give in to every request and that even if my voice was small, it could still be heard.
The lack of sexual activity was exceptionally difficult. I had become very used to sexual touch, whether good or bad and my body, like it hungers and thirsts, craves sexual release. I had always practiced self-stimulating behavior and didn’t stop but I had a horrible sense of guilt about it at first because “the church” seems to demonize masturbation. I think it’s a very personal and private issue and I think, like anything else, it can be misused, but I do not think it is sin, nor have I found any place in the bible where the ACT of masturbation is noted as wrong, condemnable, punishable or sinful. (I think I’ll be so bold as to challenge anyone who questions me to prove me wrong on this.) At that time, as at this time in my life, while I practiced (and currently practice) abstinence, masturbation is a regular part of my life and I think I’m pretty open about it, and I think it makes a lot of people uncomfortable, but I think it’s a subject worth exploring, especially within the church, instead of condemning.
Then I met he who left me. We did not wait. While we were married I always felt a little sad that we didn’t but it didn’t bother me too much because we were supposed to do that whole “til death do us part” thing. Well, that didn’t work out so good and now I see that he was just another guy that followed the same pattern. I want them, or I want sex, so I sleep with them. It’s what I knew. I want a man so I give him what I know they all want, or a man wants/takes my body and I’m powerless or frozen to resist. And now that he’s left, the what if is… what if I would have abstained? Would he have stuck with me through it or would he have left before we had lives and children intertwined? Is this the big test to see who stays and who leaves? Is this why it’s a big deal to God? I’ve been abstinent for nearly two years and dating for a year of that and I absolutely guarantee you it’s a HUGE deal in the minds of men, and me.
But I want this. I actually asked for this. I remember writing the scene in Catching Tatum where Justin and Tatum are in bed together and she has the choice to make love to him or not. I wrote out the choice she made then remember looking heavenward, in my lovely little writing room that I miss so much, and saying out loud to God that I wish for once in my life I would have waited to put out. It was wistful prayer at the time, I was married to the guy I thought was my partner for life and the chance was lost to me.
But here I am. The longest I’ve gone without sex since my early teens, frustrated, so sexually frustrated but resigned and resolved to walk this out. To test myself: Am I stronger than my physical urges? Am I more than just an animal operating on instinct? Do I exist on a higher level? Can my mind, soul and spirit overcome the base desires of my body, or am I slave to it? To test men: Will anyone wait with me? Does anyone not pressure or beg, manipulate or push too far? Who is master over their body and not slave to it? Because if he can’t even master himself, how can I possibly trust him enough to be safe with him for the rest of my life? See, I don’t want just any man. Any man will take my body and satisfy his animal urges. I know this, life and men: good men, bad men, gentlemen and sadistic men have proven this to me time and time and time again. They will all take my body if I give it and sometimes even when I do not. I’m done having it taken. I want to give it to he who will not leave me. I’m not a virgin, certainly not pure, but I am new and for this time, I can choose to wait for him. I’m more than a body, I am a beautiful mind, a precious soul and a spirit in communion with the God of all creation! I will gladly share a little bit of all that’s in me with any man bold enough to hang with me for a while, but I’ll reserve the best of me for the last man I will ever love. I belong to him, and I wait for him. He’s looking for me and he’ll find me, or… maybe he is already looking out for me and just needs to figure stuff out, so I wait... And while I do I guess I’ll write about a lot of sex and dating, cause while I do not want to be single for long, it does have its moments of awesome.
Cairn landmarks litter my life like the trails I hike. Sometimes they form unexpectedly; an alphabetical seating arrangement that introduced me to a favorite middle school friend, a gift of money stuffed in the crack of my door, that other pink line… twice, the middle of the night plea for help that changed the entire course of my family’s life, the note on the kitchen table that wished me good-luck and good-bye. I couldn’t see ‘em coming. They weren’t there one day, and the next, pillars of reference erected to mark significance.
The unexpected cairns are rare, most of them are intentional beacons of memorable proportion. I pick around on the sides of the trail that is my life and gather stones for their stability, size and aesthetic appeal and purposefully, often painstakingly, build a pillar to commemorate yet another part of my life the LORD has brought me through. I have been making a giant cairn of my Middle for a year. And now it is finished and like I’ve done so many times in my life. I must go from here, to where ever the trail leads next.
A year come and gone... slow, painfully, slow and yet lightning-strike fast. It is time to sit, as it were at the foot of Asgard’s Pass, like I did twice this year, to rest, to regroup and to look up, way up and prepare for the ridiculous uphill hike to what lies ahead. Here I shall take a moment of reprieve before I begin again and share with you what this, the first year of my Middle, this pillar I have made, was all about. As the “plan” for my Middle shifts into phase two, I’ll unpack, like an energy and nutrient rich snack, my memories, moments, reflections, and analysis and dispense with the long awaited data presentation.
First of all, coming into this year, fresh off The Leaving, I really wanted to focus on healing more than massive goal setting like I usually do for the year. I wanted to do what was good for me, not necessarily whatever felt good, but what was good; body, mind, soul and spirit.
My primary personal objective was to avoid a rebound relationship at all costs but to “safely” get out into the dating world, to meet good guys, to do fun stuff, to learn as much as I could so I can move from a single to a companion again in the shortest, healthiest amount of time possible because I fear an extensive stretch of single life for me will only further set me in my own ways and make me quite unbearable for a man to want to tolerate.
For my writing it was to publish five books and use my platform to speak to the issues of sexuality and spirituality that are so important to me. Clearly, with my publisher going out of business, the writing portion has only sputtered along but I find that sexuality and spirituality and dating and relational dynamics all kind of go together.
And so as I sit here, taking in all the things that have come to pass like food and water for my soul, I will not lie, there is a bit of a sense of foreboding as I look up to what awaits me. All that’s in front of me, as far as I can see is a steep, uphill hike. I know it will challenge every ounce of strength and endurance that lies within my body, mind, soul and spirit. Any way I go from here, it’s all uphill. Any words I write will face a pummeling of loose rock from the cliffs of one side or the other. Any relationship I entertain threatens to slide out under my feet. Even the summit I see so far ahead is false hope. There’s more to endure beyond what I can see. It hasn’t been easy up to now, but, as one of my buddies from the gym says, the warm-up is over; this is what I’ve trained for...
Instead of this being a singular review, we will scramble together through a series of posts that will speak not only to the data (or dates) and analysis (which I like to think of more as man-alysis) I’ve prepared but also to sexual and spiritual issues I’ve had in mind. It’ll be arduous. It’ll test your concepts and boundaries and pull me out from behind walls I’ve built whether to keep others out or me inside of my safety zone. I find the feelings involved in “relating” to gentlemen (and sharing that information with my lady friends) makes me more uncomfortable than I anticipated; which is odd because I consider myself to be a deeply emotional person. I find as I journey this single-life as a Christian woman with a high moral standard of propriety but an equally high libido I am frustrated with the act (or non-act) of sexual abstinence but have a stronger resolve every day to see if I can ever be more than just a piece of ass to any man even though I crave a sexual touch so badly.
Warm up is over, energy and nutrition on board, one last drink at the base... One look up... A deep sigh and resigned nod full of hope and trepidation. The cairn, like the pass ahead, massive and complex looms, beckons… You can come too if you like. Let’s do this!
Everyone who has spent a little bit of time around me hopefully knows a few things: #1) I love Jesus, #2) I love my family & friends, #3) I love most things fitness/movement related & #4) I love nerdy things like memorizing historical documents and scripture and watching scientific debates. It would be the #2 category that this particular blog falls into...
I love my family & my friends, I want them all to be happy and feel loved and not have to be alone. What this means is when I see an opportunity for friends of mine to connect with like-minded souls... I like to facilitate that connection in anyway I can.
I’m a wing chick!
I enjoy the role! I’m not cupid but a couple friends have scored a couple dates, I can’t say anyone has gone to the next level… yet but, there’s hope! There’s always hope where Love and Light are concerned! I thought I was a good wing chick until I watched Matthew Hussey’s video on being a bad wing chick… and it hurt my feelings! According to this guy, apparently I owe some of my boys and babes an apology for my crappy wing chicky-ness.
I apologize (and I sincerely mean it from the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry if my wing chickin’ has been an epic fail for anyone, y’all know I love you and only mean to connect people that might not have otherwise met) I would like to take a moment to defend my honor and explain my motives.
Watch Matthew Hussey’s video to fully understand my defense: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ATL01kP0Uh8
#1: The Houdini: OK here’s the deal, if you’re a girl and I’ve ever done this to you, that’s on you, you didn’t signal that you needed me to stick around and rescue you from a guy you weren’t interested in. Guys, trust me she knows what signal I’m talking about, we have a woman sense we communicate with. If you’re one of my guys, well... I figure you’re a grown man and can handle yourself, so find me later, and tell me what your signal is for next time.
Seriously though, I always thought my job as a wing chick was to facilitate a meeting. If I introduce two people and they seem to hit it off talking and I’m just standing there it feels weird. I feel like if I say anything I’m butting in and being rude, and I’m trying to connect you two, so it naturally made sense to me to find something else to do while the two of you talked. Apparently that’s more rude than butting in is, who knew!? I suppose this is something I’ll have to work at because to stay where I’m not necessary feels uncomfortable to me. Moving on…
#2 The overzealous cheerleader: Well, yeah I’m overzealous! Have you met me?!?! What am I not overzealous about? That’s just me, and I’m pretty sure everyone I choose to spend any significant amount of time with is a pretty awesome, amazing, positive, fun and cool person too. Why wouldn’t I tout their sensational characteristics or arms or eyes or intelligence or fitness level? Would it seriously be better to be like… “Hey, friend, this is my other friend, they’re OK… I guess. I mean, if you like people like that...” Nah! You want to hear me tell you something cool about them, right? Or is it stealing their thunder? Or even worse, making them look desperate? I really hope I haven't done that to anyone. Sorry if I have, and to anyone who felt like I was cheerleading for someone, they’re not desperate, they’re cool and you should talk to them to improve your own life and network if nothing else, I promise I won’t bail on the convo this time ;) And finally…
#3 The overprotective bodyguard: This is all I’ll say about this one. I am most definitely over protective of the people I love. Since moving to Chelan county I have invested time, energy, love and life into my community, my friends and my passions. The people that I know aren’t just friends, gym-mates, co-workers, fellow advocates, dance partners, running & hiking buddies, church compadres, etc. these people are pretty much my family. I love them! I want the best for them! … and if you hurt them, you’ll answer for it and… I am a short, feisty Italian and if you hurt my friends I’ll bust your knee caps capiche? :)
So, if you need me to wing chick, I am at your service! But, I’ve decided that I need to dial back my busy-bodiness and won’t initiate anymore connections ‘cause sometimes being a wing chick gets you into awkward situations and I’d like to not have any more of those.
For the first time in my life I love my body! This is ironic because signs of age are creeping in and they won’t disappear. Scars, stretch marks, extra skin, and damage of years gone by linger. I had a beautiful body as a teen. I hated it. I remember looking in the mirror and poking the ugly parts and hiding the parts that might get me noticed. I used my body to turn heads and often did, but I didn’t like it when the wrong men looked the wrong way.
I’m a product of a culture that tells me #1) A woman’s body shouldn’t be objectified and #2) A woman’s body should be objectified. We yell at our men for looking at us inappropriately and then dress in such a way as to sell, food, cars, clothes, you name it, with it #3) I ought to love/celebrate/enjoy my body just as it is… #4) I ought to ridicule the overweight or too skinny #4) I ought to dress professionally to command respect #5) I should be able to show my bra, midriff, thigh if I want, wherever I want and shame the man who looks.
No one wins. Men lose whether they look, keep their eyes down or “bounce” them. Ladies lose whether they dress modestly, professionally, sexy or trashy. I lost. I hated this thing I had to move around in.
Then I started working out. All of a sudden my body wasn’t a thing to look at it was a thing to do stuff with. Run, lift, climb, squat, jump... My body became the best, most wonderful tool I’ve ever known. I didn’t care what it looked like but I was amazed at what it could do!
I am a sensuous single woman looking to not be single long. I expect my body to be one of the first things noticed. I hope it’s appreciated. For me, there are a couple physical features I am supremely attracted to. I will notice big arms no matter how a man is dressed. They’re my thing; my eyes notice them. A man doesn’t have to do anything, dress any way, move at all for me to see them. It’s just how it is. I would never choose a man solely based on physical features BUT I would like to be with a man that turns me on. I do not resent or hold it against men that there are features about the feminine form that are attractive to them and that their eyes just see. If it’s natural to me, I can only assume how much it happens to them.
I like to feel pretty. It’s overwhelming to hear nice things about how I look, but yes, I like it! It’s quite nice to know people think I’m pretty and that my look can turn a head. A big part of sexuality comes from how we move and carry ourselves within our bodies. Whether it’s right or wrong, I want to be pleasing to the eyes. But I don’t want to be “that” lady…
Here’s where it gets tricky. I am proud of my body, God gave it to me and for the first time in my life I’m exploring and appreciating it for what it can do not how it looks. I have hidden my body because I was ashamed of it; because I didn’t take care of it and I wanted to minimize the “bad parts” or because I didn’t want “bad guys” to see it and take advantage of me.
I want to dress and carry myself in such a way as to say, I am a good steward of the body God has given me… feel free to observe, but don’t be rude. I don’t want anything so low my nipples say hello, or high my vagina can carry on a conversation because, I think, that gives an impression that my body is my only asset (but even if I did wear something like that it’s no reason to be used or abused). I think dressing “like that” gives a negative impression and invites a lower quality of men to notice, and touches the more depraved parts of all minds.
I want to be recognized as fit/classy/beautiful, I want to be able to dress in such a way as to feel comfortable working out in the gym or professional at the office or beautiful for a night out on the town and not have to stress that MY choice in attire might lead a man to lust or assault me. But then again, I want to be noticed for my beauty. Yes, I want to honor God and men and not be a source of unnecessary temptation but He’s the one who gave me this body and part of the reason it looks the way it does is because I made an intentional choice to take better care of it.
So, I love my body, I am not ashamed of it, I dress mindfully, to keep myself safe from monsters, to keep from provoking depraved or negative thoughts in good people and to look as beautiful as I modestly can to honor the one and only material thing God has guaranteed me on this earth.
I have only loved one man. I have slept with more. I have said it to more. But truthfully, I’ve only loved one.
I realized it after I’d been married to he who left me for about seven years. I was memorizing 1 Corinthians 13…
“If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to be burned but do not have love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”
It’s simple to say “I love you.” It’s fun to make love. But it's hard to DO love every day… To not be easily angered, to be patient, to be kind, to rejoice in the truth, to protect, to trust, to persevere. These things are love.
I thought of the people I said it to and not meant it. I never loved my first husband. I lusted him. I liked my high-school boyfriend, until I didn’t … I was only a clanging cymbal. I didn’t love.
Now I’m here. Praying for love, hoping for love, waiting for love and I realize... I am afraid of the thing I want.
I loved a man once, I felt hands on my face, stared into piercing blue eyes that promised they’d never leave, this was and is my biggest fear, and here I am … alone.
I miss the touch of a man on my skin; fingers caressing me, tongue tasting me, intimate movements and moments that can bring my body what it desperately craves but I have pledged my life to the One who saved me. I choose Him and His way says to wait. So I will, but it means getting to know men on a deeper than physical level. I know leading with sex and seduction. I know foreplay, arousal, attraction but I have never lead with emotion or intellect or, thought of thoughts, God at the helm of a relationship!
I can give a man my body. I mean seriously men have been taking me sexually since before I was 5. My body means nothing, although I’m learning what a precious gift it is and I have come to a place of honoring it more than ever before. For me, there’s no danger in giving my body, for him there is, but not me. The danger for me is letting a man in again to the rest of me, the heart of me… that is oh so frightening!
I know singles that escaped relationships with addiction, abuse or infidelity. That’s not my case. He was a good man, but flawed like we all are. He let it consume him and destroy our family. I’m not exchanging bad for better. I’m looking to replace good with great. I don’t want to screw it up! I don’t want to jump too fast!
Here’s the part that’s blowing me away…
I don’t want to lose the life I have. I love my life! It is a good, blessed, happy life. Sure, yes, I am lonely. I wish for the masculine presence of a good-hearted man to grow old with. I want to start as soon as possible creating history with he who will not leave me, but not at the expense of how good things are. I feel bad saying it but… I don’t want to give up anything. I want to add intimacy and, of course, intercourse. I want a rock to crash into and to be his soft place to land after a hard day. I want to know and be known, physically, sexually, emotionally, intellectually and spiritually.
But I am a dog run over. I have been hurt deeply. It will take time to build trust. I fear that in our fast-food, hurry now – offer won’t last, instant gratification, society, time is a foreign concept. But… time is what I need, to be sure, to be safe, to fall... again. But for a man looking to grow old with a companion, time will be worth giving, so I shouldn't be afraid, but I still am... So I carry on, acknowledging the fear but, I am brave, I am courageous and I am open to love again, in due time.
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