It began in my fifteenth year, this
disgust for self.
It continued unabated for decades, this
hatred of my body.
It remains a permanent mark on my soul like a tattoo.
With each promise,
with each posturing move,
with every demand, the ink in my flesh grows darker.
The trench to my heart has been fortified,
solidified, ironclad with extra balustrades.
Turning in on itself,
turning out reflecting images of men,
transforming into disgust.
Teeth gnashing,
wagging tongue,
limp dick
mundane fuck.
Did I cum …
Did I release…
Did I feel the burn…
I felt nothing,
nothing at all.
Photo Credit: susan solinski Flickr via Compfight cc
Well we can all identify with this! But we’re all so good at pretending aren’t we? Perhaps no longer. I gave up pretending years ago, faking the orgasm to make the guy feel good! So silly, as though we can’t enjoy sex without orgasm! Perspective is definitely one of the greatest advantages to growing older! I hope you’re done with any negative left-over feelings now Julie! Love you! S xo
Thank you K xoxo
*****Did I cum …
Did I release…
Did I feel the burn…
I felt nothing,
nothing at all.****
Powerful. I felt your words inside my bones, Julie. xx from MN.