Mojitos, Money, And Fuck Me in a Barn

From the age of ... I don't know, fucking YOUNG, I have had a seriously deep shame surrounding my lovely lady bits. My vagina. My vulva. Clit. Pussy. Twat. Cunt. Whatever the fuck you want to call it. I remember being 11 when I watched my first porn. It was on the Playboy Channel, and I couldn't see anything more than some squiggly lines. Any human who is over the age of 30 knows exactly what I'm talking about when I say "the squiggly lines."

I was hiding in my room at my dad's house, and it was about an hour before we had to leave and go back to my mom's. I am pretty sure I finger banged myself into a glorious, deep slumber. Because the next thing I remember is waking up to my dad in my room, awkwardly standing by the door and averting his eyes from my shorts and underwear pulled down around my ankles, and going "uh... I need to get you back to your mom's." 

Well.... fuckin' shit. How's that for a first pornographic masturbatory experience?

DEEP.

FUCKIN.

SHAME.

Fast forward a few years and I had mastered the art of porn. In fact, I was such a reputable source for pornographic material, that I literally had other kids from around the neighborhood regularly swinging by my house after school to watch snippets of ladies getting the shit pounded out of them and men making awkward O faces. Oddly enough, I would stay in my room when people watched these films. A creeper with big eyes staring at their faces. I was curious to see what their reactions were. But beyond my creepy gaze, and how uncomfortable it probably made every neighborhood boy to have me in the room while he watched porn, when what he really wanted was for me to leave so he could jerk off in my room - the one thing that I remember, more so than the super acrobatic positions and the awkward techno funk in the background, was that my body... did not look like the women's bodies on these films.

They had perfectly tight tummies, they had beautiful, bouncy, perky tits with tiny nipples that bounced effortlessly at the slightest thrust. And their lady parts were... well, let's be honest, it looked like they had the vulva of a small child. No hair. Closed lips. WHERE THE FUCK IS THEIR CLIT? I legitimately did not understand how they got their shit to look like they were 4 years old. By that age, I had seen a lot of pussy. Not in porn, actually - but just from being a female with female friends. And I was equally as confused that I did not have the tits of a Greek statue - mine were HUGE and, while moderately perky, not porn material. And let's not forget the importance of the surgically enhanced vulva. I remember being so confused by this. Why the fuck is it that I was spending all my time wishing I were old enough to drink (or even drive, at that age), but wishing I could reverse the age of my pussy to that of a small child so I could fit the narrative?

Those memories stuck with me.

They stuck with me when I was 14 and got eaten out for the first time, and my 29 year old pedophilic married boyfriend went down on me in a car in my dad's neighborhood. They stuck with me when I was 15 and I was shaving myself for the first time and I cut my damn pussy and it hurt for WEEKS. They stuck with me when I lost my virginity at 16. They stuck with me when I was sexually assaulted at 17, when I woke up to someone I trusted and had allowed to spend the night at my house after getting kicked out of theirs (someone who I told to sleep on the goddamn FLOOR) literally LAYING on top of me so I couldn't move, with their hands down my underwear and their fingers fumbling clumsily in my holes. And they stuck with me, even when I was alone and in the comfort of my own safe space, and I would get myself off before going to bed so I could sleep. And those memories brought absolute and utter fucking shame.

Now, don't get me wrong... I have grown a lot since those days and after 2 kids, I DEFINITELY don't look like a porn star. But the underlying shame of how my body does not fit the narrative of the porno prototype has never gone away. And the constant fear that someone is going to look at me standing naked in front of them one day and go "um, you know, I think I've made a really REALLY bad mistake" and run out of the room screaming for their lives, has always been there.  

And it's so damn frustrating because it doesn't matter how weird a dick looks. I don't think guys worry about this. I don't think I've ever seen a discussion where men are like "dude, is my dick weird? It doesn't look like that dude's dick." Maybe there is a secret Dicklluminati organization where men discuss their dicks, but I've never been invited to one. I've never had a dude stand in front of me with anything other than complete confidence as he clumsily pokes my face with it, or smacks my ass with it, or whatever confident shit dudes pull when they whip their dick out and know they're going to get laid. It is always with the confidence of a Las Vegas Show Girl. Except a Las Vegas Show Girl with a dick.

Out of this shame has grown the first of many intense desires. The desire to love my body. The desire to be shame free. The desire to understand, FULLY understand and appreciate that I am not here solely for the male gaze... or the female gaze because, honestly, I love pussy just as much as the next frat boy. To be able to stand naked in front of someone and think "I am a fucking Goddess, and this human is lucky to worship at the alter that is my body." That... would be fuckin' RAD.

That... will also probably not happen. I think I might need another few decades to unlearn all the shame that has come from what I think people expect me to look like. Or from what I WANT to look like, but don't. And the funny thing is, I'm not horrible. My tits aren't bad. I'm 41 and they're still pretty nice, actually. And my lady parts are not bad either. Are ANY lady parts weird or bad? The answer should be a firm and resounding no. But it's that fear that whatever I have, and whatever it looks like, is never going to be good enough for the male gaze. It wouldn't matter if I had the pussy of a damn Russian ballerina, I'd sill feel shame, still be scared, still not want anyone looking at me.

This shame has occasionally made me want to be someone else, somewhere else. And I am more ashamed of this tidbit, than I am of the desire to love my own body. It is sad, but I expect to hate my body because I've been taught to hate my body by a society that wants me to spend money in order to make my body look like the bodies on screen.

But to want to magically morph into someone else, somewhere else? That I'm ashamed of. The grass is always greener on the other side is an absolute fact in my world. I have to wonder if the idea that the grass is greener in my neighbor's yard isn't really all that illogical because, as far as relationships go, I've picked some really shitty ones. I've been with some horrible people, who have treated me like shit. And I've stayed, for YEARS. So yeah... I wonder a lot what other peoples' grass would feel like under my feet, and that makes me feel ashamed.

I also like the grass in the neighbor's yard because maybe they have more money than me. And, I hate the fact that I'm a Capitalist whore in a Capitalist society, but I LOVE money. I love the freedom it can buy and the travel it can buy and all the comfort that having it can bring. You know that phrase in that book that those weird dudes in robes wrote? The ones that followed Jesus around all day - it says something about not coveting shit. That coveting is a sin. I'm pretty sure, if this is true (it's not - the Bible is a lie, late night PSA for you) there's a bar seat in Hell with my nameplate on it because I covet the shit out of other peoples' things. And their lives.

I have a constant desire to travel, and I live in a space in my life when traveling isn't easy. I have mouths to feed and a house to uphold. And I also have limited cash flow. Traveling represents ultimate freedom to me - and I think that, as much as I looooove being a mom (and I really, really do love it) I have invested SO MUCH of my time and energy and lifeforce into BEING a mom that I have let go of a huge portion of myself in the process. And after about 14 years of doing that... I need a fuckin' break. So I sit around and fantasize about hopping on a plane and going BY MYSELF to the vineyards of France and walking in lavender fields. And then, after multiple glasses of fancy French wine, I take a train and I spend an evening in Paris under the lights, and I eat all the most expensive food and drink all the most expensive drinks and I watch all the most expensive plays. Then, I pass out in my hotel room that overlooks the Eiffel Tower... and the next day I hightail it over to Normandy and walk the beach to Mont St. Michel and I watch the ocean do a magic trick as the tide rises and Mont St. Michel becomes a floating castle in the Sea. All of this, I do by myself. No kids, no partner, nobody but me. I'd like to think that, eventually, I would get lonely... but I honestly have to wonder about the validity of that. Whether that's my conscience TELLING me I'd feel guilty because I "should" feel guilty. I think I would secretly fucking LOVE it, and I think I would feel ashamed for loving it.

The problem is, I want to do all of this traveling like... 20 years ago. When I was in my 20s. And I think one of my most shameful and intense desires is to just... not age. I'm SCARED of getting older and that shit is happening FAST. I feel like I'm wasting parts of my life, stuck in a fear cycle where I don't make decisions because the fear of the unknown is scarier than staying in the same fucked up space I've been stuck in for the last 2 decades. I don't want my body to age. I don't want my facial skin to droop. I don't want my tits to get saggy, and my tummy to look like a squishy pancake. I don't want to have to go to the doctor more, or to worry about some of the procedures that older people have to deal with. I don't want to lose whatever magic I feel like I have as a young and moderately attractive woman. Because, let's face it, as much as society tells us that our bodies are shameful, it also tells us that our sole importance is to pulse out those shameful bodies for hungry men who want to eat all day. And I'm scared of not having that. I'm scared that I'll be left alone to be old and ugly, and I won't be desirable, and I'll be one of those angry old women sitting at a coffee table smoking a cigarette and talking shit about the young and vivacious women at the table next to me. And how their youth is wasted on them. There is absolute shame in the desire I have not to age, because I want to stay young for reasons that really annoy me. Somewhere, deep down in the pit of whatever dark space in my body, I understand that I am more than the skin I walk around in. I have a personality, and intelligence, and worth that goes beyond how I look. But like... part of me just... doesn't fucking give a shit? Part of me wants to walk down the street at 80 years old and have men die of heart attacks because their eyeballs are melting out of their fucking eye socket holes from all of my effortless sexiness.

It's very similar to my weird desire for sweaty, dirty, southern dudes in cowboy hats, who ride bulls and fuckin' hunt meat and shit. I'm a damn feminist - I make over six figures a year - I'm independent and I don't need a fuckin' man. I'm also a lovely lady of color - like a pretty chai tea latte color. A nice caramel macchiato shade of NOT FUCKIN' WHITE.  But I also want a sweaty white dude in a cowboy hat to take care of me and frequently to bang me against the wall of a barn while he wears nothing but his hat and a wife beater. It's gross. But it's true. Extra points if he smells like sweat and hay and dirt and pheromones and if he's got dirt on his hands. Gross, I know.

In line with the desire to bang a cowboy in a dirty barn, I think I have developed a really weird and deep desire to connect with people. Which is very, VERY strange. Because, honestly, I hate people. Not all people. I love my best friend, and I love my 2 friends that are not my BEST friend, and I love my kids and I love my family. But like... I don't do the whole "connection" friendship thing. I don't typically like talking to people. After a day of work, which is literally just 8 straight hours of me answering emails and talking to people and trying to give them advice that they, inevitably, will never take, my social battery is so low that I have to hide under a weighted blanked and detox for 12 hours. I HATE socializing. But I find that, lately, I do want connection. Not with a whole shitload of people. I do not need a connection orgy where like 74 people get in a room and emotionally/spiritually gang bang each other's thoughts. I want connection with a few people, deeper connections, that require time and bonding and effort. I want to talk to people that I love, and understand them more, and to listen more. But also to have the ability to speak without fear of shame or rejection. So maybe like I could bang a dirty cowboy in a barn stable... and then we could talk about... I don't know, about fuckin' BARNS for a few minutes or something. Either way, some sort of connection would be amazing. Because I really feel disconnected from some huge parts of my life - and a few of those places, I know I'm not going to feel more connected because it requires 2 people to participate and there is only 1 that is willing to try. I think I mind that fact way less than I did a few months ago - but I also think it makes sense that I still want to connect with people - even if a few of the key players in my life do not want to connect with me. I definitely do not feel shame for wanting to connect to people on a deeper level as I think that would really help with the deep fucking pit hole of lonely despair I've felt for the last few years. 

Unlimited travel by myself, because I NEED A FUCKIN' BREAK

Banging a dirty cowboy in a stall

Connecting with people on a deeper level

Staying young forever

And not being ashamed of my body - particularly the parts of me that people are going to bury their fucking faces in so that I can finally get off and actually enjoy myself instead of being constantly freaked out that I don't look "right" or "perfect" or whatever today's standard of porn perfection is.

Honestly, only ONE of those desires doesn't bring a sense of deep shame. So I would say that my desires are maybe not the healthiest ones. But I legitimately feel no shame in saying that I don't give a fuck if they're shameful, so a least I've got that going for me!

Am I supposed to say The End?

That's the end of this blog post.

I'm drunk soooooo... TEH ERND.