The Pit in my Stomach

 One thing on my mind is the objectification of women. Specifically, women's body parts. Ass. Boobs. ass... you know. And I've blogged about this before, but the whole, "you must have liked it...." spiel. Sex and sexuality are very confusing in that sexual touch does feel good. Even when it doesn't. So even though some touch gives me a knot in the pit of my stomach and a nauseated feeling that I might consider puking to express my emotions that confuse me so much, I also encounter a level of okay-ness and pleasure. And I have to decide which is the emotion I am going to value. 

Well, of course, it's more complicated than that. Definitely. One of my friends was talking to me about an eligible bachelor we know. She said, "he's a catch." I said, "only if I want to feel like a prostitute." Which spurred a conversation about sex as a simple transaction, just part of the business of life. And there might be a profound truth there. I think it's more about what a person can live with.

I am finding that I can't live too far outside the bounds of what I am comfortable with. I mean, I have done this. Many times. Year after year. Relationship after relationship. But the more I'm okay with being alone (and I'm there, finally, I'm more than okay with this), the more I can't really abide the pit in my stomach. I guess the bigger thing is this: I want the big win. I want love and freedom. I don't want to cheat or step outside the social constraints of what is acceptable sexually in a monogamous relationship. But I want to live my little Hippie Chick Life being the one solely in charge of my body and when I give and what I give and not have it taken without permission. I want the ultimate in trust and respect. Trust that I won't trample your trust and companionship with my selfishness. And respect that I know what I am a ready for and not ready for. 

I'm angry and confused with myself today. Why can I easily put this all out here for the world to see, but I'm terrified of just having the conversation in real life? It's anxiety producing. I know part of it. You, my dear readership, are a captive audience. Not really. You are free to stop reading at any given moment. But the thing is, you can rant at my writings, but you are not interrupting the flow. The words have already poured from my being to the space of this blog and I had complete and total freedom to use the words I wanted and to edit and to purge and dump. For this, I love writing. Writing has gotten me into trouble a plenty of times. "Why didn't you just talk to me? I read your letter and I feel attacked and ambushed." Talking terrifies me. I think I will choose it because I want what happens when people talk to each other. I want to learn to build trust and intimacy. I want to learn give and take. In a way that doesn't leave me with a stomach ache. I'm not sure how to do this. But I want it. Graceful or awkward. I want it. More will be revealed...