I should not be writing.
Another probably painfully tiring day awaits me tomorrow, before what is liable to be a mockery of a weekend, on which I believe I need to work Sunday, but the verdict is not yet in. (No, not real work. Taking a bunch of kids to a space museum. Yeah, who’s your sex goddess NOW, huh?)
I should not be writing, but I am.
You see, I took a terribly sinful break earlier today on what has been a gruelling couple headtrip days, and I acquiesced to the evil that lurks within: I submitted to my craving for poutine. If you’ve never had poutine, then you’re probably not Canadian. A pity for you, you poor fuckers. You’ll hear about it, and you’ll think, “Ew, ick!” but really, that’s just your ignorance talking, or perhaps it’s the silly little granola-loving freak you nurture deep within. Either way, it’s all about the fat. Mm, fat!
Poutine’s french fries smothered in cheese curd and gravy. In other words, it’s potatoes that died tremendously worthwhile deaths. And I salute them! So do my lovehandles. But I do digress.
There, there was a paper lying about. I shouldn’t be so brash as to call the Province a newspaper, because it’s hardly a good newspaper at all. It’s a tabloid. It’s the McDonald’s of news for people who are news-tritiously challenged. Or chronologically challenged, and I was the latter. Oh, and apparently the former. How convenient.
Dammit, again with the digressions!
Lemme get to my fucking point, shall I? They had a story today about seven Vancouver chicks (you go, girls) who’ve opted to get married to themselves.
Yep.
They’ve all got the gowns and they’re doing a public ceremony down on Vancouver’s Jericho Beach, and when it comes to the “Do you take this…” part of the ceremony, I think it’s going to be changed to, “Do you take yourself, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, until your dying days?” or something like that.
I wanted to fucking stand and cheer then and there.
It ain’t some feminazi gig or anything, boys, so don’t get your panties in a bunch. It’s about saying, “Hey, I don’t need no man for happiness. I can provide that to myself.” None of us really needs anyone… it’s just nice to have them.
Like Margaret Atwood once said, “a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.” I happen to believe that goes both ways, but too many women are too fucking obsessed with getting a ring on the finger and being validated by having some studmuffin by her side. It’s a sad state of things, and I would have thought we’d be farther along by now, but here we are: same shit, different story.
I made a brief comment about the “How to Get the Guy” show the other night, a show that still pisses me off on premise, even though the things it’s saying are sort of on the money. Yes, good ways to get a guy. Just bad ways to keep them.
If you’re not yourself when you snag a guy, it’s gonna be pretty fucking hard to keep yourself in that hyper-perfect state. And when you’re not that woman anymore, is he still going to be interested? Or are you just the dating equivalent of spam – building up an average product into something extraordinary, only to have it fall flat? Only you can know.
These chicks, they have the right idea. They might be being weird about it and taking it a bit far, but hey. Whatever gets you through the night, baby. You want to embrace yourself, love yourself, and make a commitment to yourself, then I say more power to you.
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this week, wondering what all my stress and frustration about this job search is coming off as for the masses. I mean, you all look to me for whatever the hell it is you want to find here on these pages – mantras about your body type, tips on hand-jobs, profundity on being single, scathing commentary on whatever the hell the flavour of my day is… Honestly, I have NO idea what you’re here for, but I’m thrilled you tumble onto my doorstep, and I thank you for it.
But here I am, in all my flawed glory: Stuck in a financial conundrum that I know will end, but I’m terrified won’t end on schedule, my fears and my horrors hanging out for all to see, and the fact that I’m brutally, completely human. I’m as fucked up as anyone, man. I don’t have it all together, and I probably never will. Do any of us? No, probably not. We just play the roles well.
It’s that old, “I’m not a doctor; I just play one on TV” schtick. I ain’t no guru, baby, I just play one on the ‘net. I hurt, I get vulnerable, and, baby, I get scaredy-scared some days.
In the face of all that, I found myself there on Commercial Drive, strolling around in the mid-afternoon sun, a few minutes to kill, when my cellphone rang. Yes, yet another job interview call. (I’ve sent resumes around for just under two weeks, and by Monday’s end I’ll have had eight interviews, all for “real” jobs, so let that tell you what it will.) The funny thing was, this was an agency, and I responded to an ad of theirs earlier this week. I got The Big Rejection Letter. And there she was, calling me now, about an ad I responded to earlier today, knowing full well they’d already rejected me once this week.
She goes, “Your name sounds familiar!”
“It should, I applied earlier this week and got The Big Rejection Letter. But I’m stubborn, and it sounds like a great job for me.”
“Well, it’s a new posting, and I’m glad you’re persistent! I’d like to have a chat with you and see if you’re a good fit for our client!”
I got off the phone (the appointment’s at 9:00am, for an advertising co., one of two interviews tomorrow) and felt SO FUCKING SMUG.
The thing is, keeping your head together and being strong and loving yourself in the face of adversity’s the hardest thing in the world to do. When you’re single, it’s even harder. And that’s why I love hearing about women like this, the ones who say, “You know what? Fuck convention. This is about me.”
Oscar Wilde said my all-time fave quote that I keep citing here and should finally just put in my fucking sidebar, that loving yourself is the beginning of a lifelong romance. It’s times like these when I need to consciously try to love myself. It doesn’t come with ease. It’s work. Every damned day right now, it’s work. Every employer I talk to, every resume I send, my first thing I tell myself is, “I fucking ROCK. I can DO this.”
I don’t really believe it… but I play a guru on the ‘net, you know, so it’s convincing.
Tag Archives: self-love
Here's to the Forty Percent
Masturbation is a sin. If you do it, you will never be able to be satisfied by your lover. If you do it, you will become addicted to it and will never be able to control yourself, even in public. If you do it, you will be a dirty woman. If you do it, everyone will be able to tell. If you do it, you will never be forgiven in God’s eyes.
If you step on a crack, you’ll break your mother’s back. If you cross your fingers, it’s not really a lie. If you kill a spider, it will rain.
If you believe in the above misconceptions about masturbation, you might as well believe in superstitions, myths, and anything you read in Harry Potter, for it’s all equally grounded in fiction.
Do you really want to know what masturbation is? It’s the physical manifestation of the search for your own inner beauty. It’s relying on yourself to provide yourself with the pleasure that you may never receive from anyone else. It’s about developing the kind of self-knowledge you need in order to really become a lover of any consequence. It’s a tool for discovering what works and doesn’t work in the love department for you, because every single body responds differently to touch. How does yours respond, do you really know?
But most of all, it’s okay. It’s all right.
What’s shameful isn’t the act of masturbation. What’s shameful is that you’re being made to feel as if you’re still subjective to men, that you still need a man to be the woman you deserve to be. What’s wrong is the flagrant abuse of power and authority these people have committed when they’ve told you these lies about what masturbation is. What’s disgusting is this endless sense of embarrassment you’re expected to have about your body, and the lack of knowledge you’ve been provided.
What’s empowering is the realization that all we’re talking about is the sense of touch. That’s it, that’s all. There is no deity from on high that will strike you down for a stroke of your own flesh. I know, because I’ve yet to be turned into a lightning rod for the Almighty’s wrath, and the Lord’s had as many opportunities to smite me as I’ve had to wash my hair. I kid you not.
You will never get “too good” at masturbating. You will never exceed your limit. It will increase your ability to orgasm with your lover, no matter how many times you come alone. You will not be stigmatized if the world ever finds out. You will not get so addicted that you lock yourself in your room and never come out.
You will, though, learn to feel better about yourself. You’ll be better at managing your stress. You’ll be more confident when you’re displaying affection for your lover. You’ll develop curiousity about more sexual experiences. You will have a more open mind. You will better know how to be satisfied, and if or when you’re ready to share that with your lover, you might be astounded at how happy he (or she) is you’re able to help him (or her) better please you.
This lack of support, in the media or otherwise, for the notion of a woman pleasing herself is one of the last major hurdles we, as a sex, must overcome. It is time we demand what we deserve – a sense of self, and a sense of satisfaction.
If you don’t ever want anyone to know, then they don’t have to find out. You can keep it to yourself, and maybe one day you’ll want to share that with your lover, or maybe you won’t. But don’t deny yourself, not one minute longer. Don’t allow shame to control your life. Don’t allow others to make you feel you need to be judged by a higher power. Don’t allow them to tell you that you must continue labouring under the insecurity you’re so clearly feeling.
There are those who tell us that it’s a sin. Is it? Really? Is your perception of your god one that would leave you believing that he/she/it wants you to be less than completely in love with yourself? Do you believe he/she/it wants you to not feel beautiful, attractive, desired? Why would the creator have made the clitoris within arm’s reach? Why not just have the vaginal canal, instead, which isn’t exactly a convenient distance to reach with ease? You want to talk Intelligent Design, then let’s talk about how much we’re designed to please ourselves. Let’s talk about how masturbation and orgasms are the best kind of physical releases, best outlets for stress, that anyone in any condition can engage in.
In the movie Pleasantville, Joan Allen hears about masturbation for the first time in her life in her 40s. She runs herself a hot bath, gets in, starts to stroke herself, and she suddenly changes from a black & white character to a Technicolor character (literally). She explodes with pleasure, feeling the first orgasm of her life, and is overcome with waves of love – for herself. It transforms her as a woman. She awakens to her female desire and learns that she can be her own everywoman, that being subservient to the men in her life isn’t making her who she wants to be, that what she’s been looking for all these years has really been inside her for all that time. She learns that she has entitlements to her own happiness, and that she can now ensure that happiness by just showing a little tenderness towards herself.
It’s a sad thing that we’re taught, as a culture, that happiness comes from the people around us. It can’t. We can’t wait for others to enrich our lives. We can’t hope that the things they do or say will contribute to who we are to become. We must achieve that on our own, and if masturbation is a tool towards that, then I’m all about me.
As a society here in North America, we’re suffering from an all-time high touch-deficit. Meaning, more people than ever before go for days, weeks, months, and sometimes years without touching another person – be it a pat on the shoulder or a kiss on the lips. We’re so deprived already, that the notion of not allowing yourself to be personally pleasured through masturbation is nearly cruel and inhumane, and self-inflicted, at that. No one deserves to be alone, and no one should have to live without having that feeling of coming alive through an orgasm.
It’s not dirty, or shameful, or sinful. It’s a beautiful, empowering act. And sometimes, it’s just a damned nice thing to experience.
Take back control of your sexuality. Learn about yourself. Live a little. Ditch the shame. Embrace your femininity. Push the magic button that’ll change everything you feel about yourself. It’s the first step to becoming the woman you always wanted to be: Strong, sexy, confident, and self-aware.
For first-timers, instructions are here.
Why 40% of Women Don't Masturbate
Every now and then male-female relations seem like a bad day at the UN. Understanding the issues is imperative, but no one speaks the same language.
John Gray got rich off the chaos that exists in that weird little world of relationships, by telling us that men were from Mars, and women from Venus. It’s true. We have so many differences it’s a wonder we ever crawl under the covers together. But we do, and still, we speak entirely different languages. It’s a pity we don’t have those interpreter-on-the-fly headphones in our ears like they do at the UN – it’d make hooking up a hell of a lot smoother, don’t you think?
I sometimes wonder who my audience is comprised more of: men or women. The chicks who read me tend to like my feminist attitude that doesn’t get clouded with antagonism towards men, and that’s awesome.
But the men who seem to read me tell me they’re here for, I don’t know, a different take on sex, but most importantly, the fly-on-the-wall perspective of the modern female’s mindset.
So, it’s no surprise I’m getting asked a lot of questions by those guys right now about why women are resistant to masturbating, why some (a staggering 40%) just flat-out won’t masturbate. I’m saddened I’ve heard nothing from the women who don’t, but perhaps the notion of lacking the sexuality and curiousity it takes to be a masturbator is incongruous with reading sites like these. Let’s hope not.
That said, I’m going to tackle that question here and now, but from a point-of-view directed to the men in my audience. There are some commonly accepted reasons for why so many women are hesitant to touch themselves, but I’ve got a few perspectives on my own. I think this topic’s far more complicated than most people allude to. I think it’s a societal problem that encompasses everything from religion to upbringing to media.
Let’s start off with the commonly accepted perceptions of why these women resist the urge, and my take on them.
- Dirty Girl Syndrome: These are the chicks who think that if they touch themselves, it means they’re dirty or slutty. This is one of those things I think we can lay the blame for squarely on the media, and on our parents. In the media, even now, it’s only the promiscuous women that are portrayed as masturbators, whereas every guy is commonly accepted to jack off, like it’s a male right of passage. Kim Catrall’s character on Sex & The City is an obvious example. “Of course she masturbates. She’s a whore.” God forbid we ever hear about Oprah owning an assortment of vibes. It’s almost as if we’re still left with the impression that sexually desireable, successful, independent women don’t need to “Jane off,” as one of my readers has dubbed it. And oh, do I beg to differ.
- Addicted to Self-Love Syndrome: There are those who can’t help but think that if they get into the mode of masturbating, they’ll become addicted to it and won’t be able to stop. Unfortunately, these testimonials we get of women who masturbate twice a day, for half-hour stretches, etc, aren’t doing a lot to change the Resistors’ mindsets. These are likely the women who do have strong sex drives, who are scared at the intensity of their desires, and who fail to realize that not masturbating is making it worse. They don’t realize we’re sexual volcanoes, and without a release, we tend to blow – or just shut down entirely, which is more often the case. They don’t learn how to regulate that pressure, how to cope with it, and that the more familiarity they acquire, the better they will be able to handle the pressure mounting in times of arousal. Instead, they feel the intensity, get scared, and everything shuts down. They don’t experience orgasms, and don’t know how to get there, and are scared of reaching one.
- All Or Nothing Syndrome: “If I masturbate, I won’t be able to come any other way.” These are the people who fail to understand balance. I’m amazed at the number people who ask “Is it possible to get too good at masturbating?” I don’t know the answer, and maybe it is possible, but we have to take into consideration that your touch isn’t ever going to be the same as someone else touching you. This is why it’s not only nice, but smart, to masturbate for your partner. They can learn how you make yourself come. You can take it a notch further and make them have their hand over yours as you do your own “dirty work.” The thing you never, ever have in masturbating is the element of surprise, and that’s the element a lover brings to the table. This mode of resisting is essentially a lack of faith in their lovers. Nothing more. These might be the people who obsess about things and get really intense about anything they commit to, and they might just not know how to achieve balance. Instead, they avoid trying masturbating so they don’t need to find out if, in fact, they can balance masturbation with partner sex.
- Obligation to Partner: These are the ones who think they have to save their excitement for their partner. They know they have issues with orgasms, and they think that if they pursue one alone, they’ll never get to come with their lover. They’re also the people who don’t understand that orgasms take skill, take developing. The more you learn about sex, about yourself, the more pleasure you’ll find. They don’t realize that the human body doesn’t have a quota for pleasure. This is as much borne from ignorance as it is fear and bewilderment.
- It’s a Substitute for Sex: These are the women who don’t realize that masturbation influences a lot of who we are as lovers, what we’re willing to try, what our confidence level is with ourselves, our bodies, and our performances.
And that is that, some will tell you. That’s all that’s preventing women from touching themselves. But they’re just whack if that’s what they believe. Like I’ve said before, there’s so much more to it, whether we want to accept the blame as a society or not.
Let’s take one example. I’m sure every man who reads this has, at some point or another, had someone say to him, “Suck it up. Be a man.” How did that make you feel? Unable to express concerns or fears? Ashamed to be weak? Forced into the stereotype of being Manly Man when, for once, you just wanted to be human and feel whatever was hitting you?
It’s no secret, vulnerability isn’t exactly encouraged in men. And let’s face it, no matter what you want to say about the media today or the modern woman, sexuality is NOT encouraged in women. We should be pretty, alluring, gorgeous, but God forbid we be overtly sexual.
Chris Rock said it best, as a father, your ONLY responsibility is to keep your daughter off the pole.
Men may want a woman who likes to fuck, who will do the things that are borderline dirty, sexually experimental, but ultimately, we’ve all been raised by fathers who shared Chris Rock’s POV: We have to stay off the pole.
So, we’re raised with hearing tidbits like, “That’s not ladylike.” Personally, I’m not Fluffy-Miss-Feminine. I’m in touch with my femininity, but as a kid, I hated Barbies. I disliked dresses, and I heard, all my life, “That’s not ladylike.” When it came to sex, I believed there were certain ways I had to behave. Masturbation was my secret shame until I was in my early 20s, when I learned my boyfriend loved the fact that I did it, when I heard him tell me how much he admired my confidence and my ability to admit it. He told me it made me a strong woman. I began changing my perspective then.
For women, we have to battle so much bullshit we’ve been fed about what a woman is. Until the media begins embracing the idea that masturbation for women isn’t something exotic that only promiscuous chicks do, that stereotype is going to prevail. The fear and shame and apprehension will remain.
And you can’t tell me that men, when they were boys first discovering their sexuality, didn’t also feel like they had a secret, like it was a sin. We’ve all heard the stories of boys playing under the blankets, hoping not to be caught. It’s the same deal with women, but we’re on a different timeline. Men peak at 18, we peak at 32. Of course it’ll take longer to reach the point of comfort with masturbation. Many women don’t get there until their 20s. Hesitant women need to feel like their lovers aren’t trying to get them to perform like a porn star when they’re asked to masturbate. They need to know they’re not being perceived as someone dirty because they’re touching themselves. Unfortunately, that support isn’t as common as we’d like to think. And also unfortunately, a lot of guys are pretty lousy at requesting things from their lovers without making it sound too dirty or risqué. And that, again, becomes a communication issue.
Like I said, this is a huge, huge topic with vast implications, and it’s not a problem that will go away overnight. The media is responsible. Parents are responsible. Lovers are responsible. And the women, in their ignorance and fear, are responsible. So how does it get fixed?
I haven’t a clue. With time, I guess, and with the media, and parents, and lovers, and women all getting on the same page.
Just a second here, I need to glance out the window and check if pigs are flying yet. Hmm, not yet. So, yes, the problem persists. I’ll give some thought on how a woman might be persuaded to learn the fine art of self-love, but I honestly don’t know where to begin just now. It’d be interesting to hear feedback on whether anyone’s had success on that front. Care to share?
Female Masturbation: An Intro For Newbies
And I’ve been thinking about masturbation. Not doing it, writing about it. I still want to hear more results and comments and emails based on the letter down below, but I think this topic is growing in importance for me.
Yes, guys need to understand more about female masturbation – but so do 40% of the female population who never, ever do it.
Why don’t they? You got me. Hang-ups of every kind, from social perceptions of what masturbation means, to fear, to religious implications, to good old-fashioned second, third, fourth generation shame.
Honeys, listen to me when I tell you this: Get over yourselves.
Oscar Wilde once said “To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.” Yes, it is, in more ways than one. Let’s put it this way: The orgasm is the ultimate in human sensation. It’s every nerve ending in the human body shuddering its way to absolute ecstasy, then collapsing upon themselves in spent euphoria.
Orgasms, though, don’t just fall out of the sky. The ability to come isn’t just something a woman wakes up with overnight. Female masturbation doesn’t get talked about, aside from jokes about vibrators, and that’s very misleading for a lot of women who have no experience in this area. Masturbating yourself is far less complicated than having to screw up the courage to spend money on a potentially embarrassing sex toy that you may not wish to have found.
If your courage lacks, it shouldn’t. We hear that we need lube, we need vibes, we need all this shit, and that’s all wrong. All you need, girls, is a happy little thought, and the soft pad of your fingers. Shorter nails helps, so you can get more variety of feelings, but so long as you’re working with your soft finger pads, not the tips, but the bit down closer to the first skin folds on the top joint. Like the photo below, you just slide your hand over your mons (that bit below the bottom of your belly, the mound) and into the first recesses of your vulva, the home of your clit. And massage around it at first, not on top of it right away because you might be too sensitive when you begin, but as you massage more, start increasing both the speed and the pressure, and begin going right over the top of the clit. And just keep going until you finally orgasm.
Any female who has not yet orgasmed, who’s approaching it for the first time, might feel fear and confusion. Some strange things happen to the body. At first, you might think you’re experiencing pain. Maybe you think you need to go to the washroom. But there’s a million different ways it might feel, and you need to relax and get past that point.
Then, there’s the issue of moisture. When you finally do orgasm, you will probably produce some form of ejaculate. You will be wet, lubricated, and you might even squirt some out. This is normal. There should be no shame with this, so try to be aware of it being an absolutely common occurrence. If it bothers you, one little visit to the bathroom will make it all go away. But you’ll become comfortable with this as you experience more orgasms and learn to let go.
I sort of discovered masturbation at about the age of 13. I remember being really excited about some George Michael photos I’d found – shirtless, tight shorts, that kind of thing – and I found myself dry humping a pillow. I kept getting up and running down the hall to go “pee” because I kept thinking I had to. Nope, that was approaching orgasm – something that never did happen for a few more years. I went from dry humping a pillow to them putting something solid and round under a pillow so I’d get more pressure, then I, well, let’s leave that one out, but the point is, it took a while to get the nerve up to start rubbing myself. Years, really. As for touching myself “under the panties,” well, that probably didn’t happen until I was 19 or 20. I was only comfortable rubbing over my panties because I thought it was dirty, wrong, and strange to touch my vagina on purpose. It was that moisture, it baffled me for a long time.
Fact is, being uncomfortable with masturbating is normal when you’re a woman. It’s sad that that’s the case, but it’s true. This generation coming up now, they’re the first ones to ever hear about female masturbation, really. My generation, and I’m 32, we never talked about it. Sex and the City has changed that. It’s suddenly okay for women to self-serve. But there are still so many hang-ups that interfere with our ability to orgasm.
And that, my friends, is another program. But here’s a great site with neat statistics on the female orgasm (and some on the male’s).
Come to think of it, I’m a little tense. Maybe I’ll go tend to something. Ahem.
The struggle to love one's self
I am imperfect. Maybe it’s a newsflash to you, but it’s something I’ve been far too aware of for my entire life.
As a kid, I was plagued with health problems. It wasn’t until my early teens that my epilepsy went away and we discovered that the causes of my endless troubles ultimately stemmed from a rare kidney disorder.
Nearly two decades later, my health issues are things of my distant past, but I’m still a member of the bonus lover plan. I’m not some svelte sexy thing who’s able to squeeze into a size six, and some part of me doubts I ever will be. No, like my personality, my body’s larger than life, and it suits me fine.
I’d rather not ever be thin, despite struggling to lose nearly 20% of my body weight these past two years. During that journey to toneness, I’ve gained a better sense of self than I’ve ever known. Who I am, though, is larger than life, and that’ll never change. Presumably, my body will remain the first clue of my nature for others.
On that same journey, I’ve discovered something else. The “ideal” beauty is seldom our “real” beauty in the eyes of the everylover. While we all lust after our glossy magazine celebs, when it comes to having them as lovers, day in day out, we wouldn’t be interested. Why is that?
I’ve been trying to understand the seemingly incongruous nature between lust and desire. I’m more than able to lust after nearly any man I see, since sexuality for me isn’t a formula, but rather something almost impalpable. You have it or you don’t. When it comes to desire and attraction for the longterm, though, I find myself zeroing in on men who carry a little extra weight on their large frames, provided they dress well and groom well. What is it that makes me want them? I’ll never know, but I know they’re what’s in my mind when I touch myself in the dark.
The point is, we all have a certain make and model that drives our desire, and it may not be worthy of a glossy magazine spread, but they’ll spread just fine for us, thank you very much.
Until this past year, I was always aggressive in my interpersonal dealings, in an attempt to mask my everpresent insecurities. Somewhere along the way, probably when I escaped death last August in a scooter (think Vespa-ish) accident, I realized the insanity of not loving myself for who and what I was, since I had almost ceased to be and had another chance at this merry-go-round called Life. Loving myself then became my number one goal.
After all this time, all this work, I can say it’s true now. I’m a vixen in my own right, in my own way. I’ve also discovered something I’d forgotten: No man has ever complained about my body size to me. The contrary. Back in the day, though, I thought they were trying to make me feel better. I didn’t want to believe they could want me or love me for who I was… because what would that say about them, then?
Now, what it says about a man is evident to me: They understand passion, desire, and they know it when they see it. They see me for all of what I offer — intelligence, wit, charm, stylings, deviousness, sensitivity, romance, dominance, submissiveness, all wrapped into one package that’s just the right size to hold the dynamism of what I bring to the bed and to life as a whole.
A few years ago, I read a study that revealed those who were carrying a little extra weight generally had better sex lives. The scientists were at first stymied by this discovery, until they realized a very simple truth: Food, when done the way food ought to be, is as erotic and sensual as anything we can experience. Those who were overweight were in touch with their sensual selves and sought to enjoy all the delectable goodness offered by life, in whatever form they came, be it bed-bound, baked, or otherwise.
I have found myself besieged by young women of late, all of them emailing me about their inabilities to orgasm. I find myself having to keep explain to them that they got to love themselves — physically and emotionally — before they can handle the Big O. The odds are against them, though, and it’s largely why we sexually peak in our 30s. As young women, we suffer through the most inexplicable expectations from society and the hang-ups we develop are legion. There was a good mainstream example last year in the form of a short-lived TV show called Life as We Know It, with Kelly Osborne in it. A guy fell for her, but admitted he couldn’t handle having her as a girlfriend, because what would his buddies think if he was slapping thighs with a tubby girl?
We live in a society that’s so hung up on appearances that we’ve forgotten the beauty that comes from within. We’ve forgotten how incredibly hot and sexy it can be when someone simply digs themselves for who they are, regardless of their appearance, and can bring that passion and goodness into play in every thing they do every day.
I recall once being asked why I wanted to lose weight. I bit my lip, looked at the ground, thought about it, and responded “Because I want my inside beauty to match my outsides.”
These days, on a good day, I know I already match. In the last decade of my life, I have overcome enormous obstacles — the death of a parent, massive debt, illnesses, a couple near-death experiences, and writer’s block that hounded me for half a decade. But my greatest accomplishment is this: Loving myself.
One of my all-time favourite quotes is Oscar Wilde’s. “To love one’s self is the beginning of a life-long romance.” What can I say? I’m a romantic at heart, and now it shows.