Live Your Life as a Woman Who Loves Sex

It’s not just an attitude — it’s a lifestyle

In my early adulthood, I struggled with my identity as a woman in a way I think many women do. I constantly found myself teetering back and forth between being all of myself (which included my feisty sexuality and open curiosity about sex) and being the good girl version of myself (which excluded my feisty sexuality and open curiosity about sex).

I can remember struggling with so much shame whenever my sexual curiosity was inspired (which was a lot). Oh god, there I went again, looking for new erotica to read, a friend who would have a randy conversation with me, someone to get to third base with…

I knew I wasn’t supposed to do that. I wasn’t supposed to want that.

I was supposed to be a good woman. Someone who aspired to be a good wife. Someone who aspired to be a good mother.

That woman, from everything I had learned from cultural propaganda, did not want sex. Did not seek sex. Was not sexually curious. Had no sexual desire. Those things were naughty and dirty.

A good woman was pure and moral. Chaste. Non-sexual.

I can remember so many times when I’d have an orgasm (either alone or with a partner) and I’d feel so relieved that it was “over.” My desire had been sated and I could be “normal” again. No, not normal — good.

That was it, I’d think. The last orgasm. Or at least the last orgasm for a while. I could be good for a while. I could be a “normal” woman of high morals.

Thankfully, I gave up all that nonsense by the time I turned 40, after years and years of confronting the damaging cultural expectations around the suppression of female sexuality and the treacherous ways we attach moral weight to sex.

I finally decided I wasn’t going to let this culture excise part of who I am — part of who all humans are. Humans are sexual beings and there’s no more moral weight to that part of ourselves than there is to our digestive or respiratory systems.

I refused to let this world tell me I couldn’t be a good woman just because I liked and wanted sex — like most human beings.

I’ve heard this from a lot of women in my life in the past four years. So many who felt the same way that I did. Trying to walk that fine line of being a good woman, a good partner, a good wife, and somehow trying to fit our forbidden sexuality into that picture.

And for the women who have children — that journey is often so much harder. Expressing sexuality when you are a mother is a deep taboo in this culture.

But I often wonder what it would be like if we decided to overthrow the system. If women chose to rise up, collectively, and rebel against this. (God knows, we can’t afford to wait for our culture to lift the ban on female sexuality.)

Can you imagine what it would be like to live in this world as a woman who loves sex? Not one who is conflicted about it. Not one who feels guilty about it. Not one who worries about the moral implications of her sexuality.

So what does a woman who loves sex look like? What is her life like?

She wears whatever she wants to wear and no matter what it is, you cannot look away. She is so visually attractive, you can’t get enough. She doesn’t care about her weight — maybe she’s round in the middle and still wears crop tops. (Suck it, fatphobic culture!) She doesn’t care about fashion “rules” — maybe she wears chic fedoras with yoga pants. And she definitely doesn’t care about conforming to gender stereotypes — maybe she loves masculine elements like neckties or plaid shirts.

When she gardens, she gets down on her knees and plunges into the dirt — maybe even with bare hands. She isn’t afraid to sweat through her clothes when she’s working out — and not because she wants to burn calories, but because she loves to be active. She strokes her favorite wool blend yarns before sitting down to knit, she licks the spoon when she cooks, and she plays “air piano” when she can’t put her fingers on those black and white keys.

She loves good food, she takes big bites, she asks for a second helping. She always has dessert. And maybe a nightcap, too.

She can’t help but dance when she hears a song she likes. Her best moves involve shaking her hips. She never stops trying to perfect her twerk and isn’t afraid to laugh at herself when she fails at it yet again.

She might have a pile of clean laundry on the chair in her bedroom or dirty dishes in the sink — because she has better things to do than the chores.

She’ll be fast to suggest a new adventure, small or large. Or maybe she’ll be that quiet, steadying presence who makes even an ordinary, everyday moment feel like an adventure.

She says no to that extra task the PTA asked her to complete. And to her mother-in-law’s latest request. And to the neighbor who asked for a quick favor.

She says yes to the tea date with a new friend. And to a last-minute acupuncture session. And to that extra-long yoga session.

She takes every excuse for a party, celebrates every holiday, finds reasons to give people presents, and tears into gifts given to her with gusto.

She plays with the kids in her life without worrying about getting dirty or messy. She dances with friends or lovers without worrying about getting sweaty or disheveled. She tackles chores and projects without worrying about getting tousled or grimy.

She sits out under the stars. She loves to feel the warmth of the sun on her skin. She walks barefoot in the grass.

She hugs her loved ones. Puts her hand on their arms when she talks to them. Kisses their cheeks and foreheads. Says “I love you,” regularly and with emotional emphasis.

And maybe most of all…she smells like freedom, somehow...

Can you imagine a world in which women acted this way — and were encouraged to do so? Can you imagine a world in which women demonstrated this kind of primal energy?

Can you imagine being this kind of woman?

That’s the kind of woman I want to be. Truthfully, I’m still working on it. There’s a lot further on this path that I have to go. Making peace with my body and appearance is high on the list of priorities. Learning how to twerk is somewhere on that list, too.

But I’m grateful for the ground I’ve gained. I’m grateful for the distance I’ve already traveled.

I count it as a success when most people in my family make jokes about what a pervert I’ll be in the retirement home. That I’ll be sexually voracious and outspoken even in my 90s.

Clearly, I’m making progress.

© Yael Wolfe 2021

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