Often I find myself in tears. Tears of frustration. Tears of defeat. Black eyeliner running down my cheeks making me look like a sooty mess.
I hug my pillow in my room and scream into it for release. One is entitled to the freedom of sexual expression — without being censored.
I’m constantly told by everyone to water myself down, to not say certain things, to not express myself in certain ways. Society demands me to be something that I am not. Society demands me to not only live a lie but to tell one.
From what I can gather, the majority of the population only experiences the surface level of sex. They are not interested in it’s numerous layers or mountainous terrain. They are not interested in it’s dark rooms or subtleties. To them, sex is like junk food — cheap and accessible.
I have found erotic imagery so visceral, that I have sat quietly and absorbed it for hours. I don’t even have to touch my cunt to get off on it. The visual stimulation is enough.
It’s the same with blowjobs, I can cum by merely giving a man a blowjob without any vaginal or clitoral stimulation. My sensory system is aroused via the experience alone.
In 1926, Mae West wrote a play titled ‘SEX’ under a pen name ‘Jane Mast’. And she cast herself in the lead role on Broadway. She was sent to jail for over a week and given a hefty fine for obscenity and corrupting the morals of youth.
When I went to New York in 2009, I bought some flowers and went to the cemetery to visit her grave. I should have done more research because on arrival, I was told her grave was in a chapel and only relatives or famous people could visit her. Then, the admin lady suggested I visit some dead American celebrity who I’d never heard of. WTF?
It may sound bizarre but I often wonder what Mae West would think of sexuality in our current era. She did so much work towards sexual liberation and like Anais Nin and Josephine Baker, felt erotica deep within her core.
Society treats fierce female sexuality like an abnormality — a disease.
And I have so many tears.