When it comes down to it…. could you fuck like a bloke? Say thanks, then walk away, as if it were a game of poker you happened to win, with no more emotional investment than that?
At what point does promiscuity become destructive? And who decides when it’s empowering? Not paid, professional work where the women are in control; smiling, naked angels who take these silly men for all their worth. I mean strictly unpaid, and outside the umbrellic cover of a relationship– sex for pure carnal pleasure.
Am I even allowed to talk about the topic…? I’ve talked sex plenty before, but under that embracing cover of intimacy and monogamy. It feels almost ugly to think of the purity of motherhood ruined by hedonism. I feel almost as if this is, still, a sin… if social services knew what I did behind closed doors, when my time is my own and I’m responsible for no one but me, that they would take my children away, afraid of the influence of me on them, determined that what I may be showing them right them now, although they never actually see anything at all- mummy is a completely autonomous human to them; that all that will be damaging for them, not now, but in some far off adulthood that feels as shifting and malleable as the rest of the world.
Is sex a sin? Without any boundaries, and guiding factors… To put it as crudely as it feels, fucking just for the sake of it, simply for the purpose of getting off?
Less than fifty years ago, promiscuity in women was a diagnosable mental health problem, symptomatic of something much bigger. While it’s no longer an exclusive factor fo diagnosis of anything, the stigma sticks, just like it always does… stains people like oil, clogging your pores with is viscousness and refusing to wipe away.
It’s generally assumed that women who choose to sleep around have ’daddy issues’, that they’re insecure or overtly confident; or that a lack of inhibitions and an extremely open mind can’ t possibly coincide with a relationship that is monogamous, fulfilling and intimate beyond blurred levels of physicality.
Is it even possible to accept that a woman might have sex, just for the fun of it? As a hobby, as thrill, as a way of feeling (alive) good. Men can do it with very little exploration of the psychological reasons behind…. Women, not so much.
So… what am I saying here, what tiny secrets am I pouring into the confessional of my blog this time…? That relationships are difficult to the point of impossibility, and cause me far more harm than good, but I’m a sensual kind of person who misses sex? That I’ve discovered anonymous, somewhat kinky sex is right there with riding a motorbike in terms of feeling connected? That I am safe, always safe, in everything, that need to feel alive again tempered by a net of self preservation that no longer feels cloying but is a comfort, a reliable boundary, a buffer to allow me to feel alive again (don’t lay down and die again….) while not worrying that this is going to far, too risky, but myself in danger?
Hell no. I’m not saying any of those things. This is all hypothetical, a story of what might happen to a widow in the sexual prime of her life (men, they peak at eighteen, women at thirty… where is the justice in that?!) who is emotionally incapable of a relationship.
But, as a women with a history of mental illness, I couldn’t possibly tell you that. It might be misconstrued. As self destructive behavior. As the high pitch of a mania. As a desperate stretch for love, trying to fill a literal hole with something that is not tangible.
It might be any of those things too. As I said– where do we draw the line, and who gets to draw it? When is selective promiscuity destructive, and when is it empowering? Isn’t the essence of empowerment taking back control, assessing your situation and finding a way to fulfill your own needs without a dependence on others…?
Nice girls simply don’t do those kind of things. But, unsheathed, that’s a social concept and nothing more.
We’re all just creatures of simple, heated biology.
It’s a very fine line… I can sit on both sides of it.