My Sexuality Belongs to Me

I am my own universe

I recently posted on Instagram about the way I’ve been holding my sexuality close these past few weeks — months, really. I’ve been shaken by recent events. My trust in the world is just a little bit torn.

I don’t feel safe.

I said that I wasn’t sure if the world was ready for sexually liberated women. And I still am not convinced it is.

Many people are. Many people, I truly believe, are starving for sexually liberated women. The people who want to be like them. The people who want to have a soul-stirring tumble in the sheets with them.

But the world at large is still committed to the power imbalance. To violence against people of color, women, and members of the LGBTQIA+ community. To shame. To dominance. To control.

And it scares me.

But I’ll tell you one thing I didn’t take into account when I decided to preciously guard my sexuality during this tumultuous time: I forgot the power of my body.

I’m ovulating right now and I’ve learned that an ovulating woman in her forties is at the mercy of her ovaries.

You might think I’m joking, but I’m dead serious.

I can’t help myself. I can’t stop this tidal wave that is washing over my body.

So I’m going to use this energy to remind the world what a woman’s sexuality is for. I’m going to type with trembling fingers — because I am still afraid of a world that gives men permission to interpret a woman’s open expression of sexuality as an invitation to doggedly, insatiably pursue her, using any means necessary to achieve his objective.

I’m going to be free — because that’s what I am, despite the world’s insistence to the contrary.

My body belongs to me. I sing this song loudly and proudly. Because this is the first time in my life I understand this truth.

It is no longer okay for a man to take from me what I don’t want to give to him. It never was.

Do you know the joy I feel in this truth? It makes my skin tingle. It makes my breath deepen. It fills me with passion and fire.

My body is mine.

There is still an insistence that others own it. People who tell me how to groom it. How to dress. People who warn me not to get fat as I enter perimenopause.

But I can’t hear them.

I’m too busy dancing in the joy of my own sovereignty.

My sexuality is a universe unto itself. It has its own sun around which the parts of my life orbit.

Revelation. This is my revelation.

I am not a man’s moon. I was not breathed into existence to orient around a man’s sexuality, a man’s satisfaction.

In my universe, I am a star, a comet, a supernova. I can crash with passion into someone else’s perfect and beautiful heavenly body. I can explode into white hot debris, scattering across infinity. I can send my light across galaxies, touching another, loving another, nourishing another, even from so very far away.

My sun shines brighter every time someone correctly identifies my position in the universe — not a satellite. No, I am my own center.

If I decide to let my breasts travel freely, nipples blazing in the grocery store, I am not asking for attention. I’m not a slut (or maybe I am — who cares?). I’m not easy. I’m not horny. I’m not hoping someone will corner me in the vegetable department asking me if I’m interested in seeing his cucumber.

My hormonal 40-something breasts are extremely tender and don’t like being bound in bras. And I needed some broccoli. That’s all. I didn’t come for dick. I dressed for my own comfort. I came to the grocery store for food. I exist for myself. Not as a sexual invitation.

If I post a sexy photo of myself on social media, I am not looking for a lover. I’m not trying to entice anyone. I’m not tempting anyone or teasing anyone.

I didn’t act from lack. I am complete as I am. I’m not hoping someone will come along and sweep me off my feet. I’m not praying for a man to complete me with sexual realization.

I am trying on new faces. I’ve never seen myself as pretty or sexy before. My sexy photographs are self-expression. Stretching myself out of my comfort zone. A determination to see myself through new eyes.

I’m sharing my journey. That’s all.

If I write about my sexuality — even in aching, lurid detail — I am not talking to the strangers out in cyberspace. I’m not asking for it. I’m not hitting on anyone. I’m not inviting anyone to touch me, to pursue me, to decide they must have me.

I don’t believe in the ways our culture shames sexuality — particularly female sexuality. I speak honestly about my sexuality as an act of rebellion. As an act of healing. I believe in normalizing female sexual desire, female sexual expression, and the naked female body in all its endless iterations.

This is not indicative of a desire to want a man I’ve never met ask me for sex. This is not an invitation. And FYI, this is also not an indicator that I am healed enough to heal another.

I’m doing my own hard work to heal. And that’s my only job. I’m not here to heal another at my own expense. (And trust me, no one would benefit from that.)

I am a woman living in a world that will, at every turn, compartmentalize me, shrink me, silence me.

But I need space. I demand it.

I am not waiting for it, anymore, because I know it will never be given to me freely.

I take it now. I stand in it, my arms out wide.

This is my world, too.

This is my body, only.

I was not made from a rib. I was not made in the image of a male god.

I was made from stars by a creative force that gave me a body that generates miracles over and over and over again.

I am a marvel. Me, this body.

I am here, right here in this space, and I will keep standing here, even when I am afraid.

No one can take that away from me. No one can pervert, shame, manipulate, or steal my sexuality.

It is mine. It exists for my pleasure.

Just as the creative force of the universe designed it to do.

Author’s note: Thank you to all the people who make space for this kind of woman. Who not only make space but guard that space. Thank you to the women who stand up for their sisters. Thank you to the men who champion and uplift the sexually liberated women of the world. With every word, with every action, you are building a safer, more beautiful world where we can all thrive.

© Yael Wolfe 2020

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