MY CONTINUED INQUEST INTO SEX
As you might have observed from one of my posts (The Minister’s Daughter series), I have made up my mind to educate myself on sex. My friends know that I can be very conservative, even shy when it comes to things of a sexual nature. I profess–truthfully!!–that I am not, in the least, liberal when it comes to such engagements. More specifically, I am not active, have no reason to be as I am not in a relationship. Still, I deemed it a good idea to widen my understanding of sex, perhaps in preparation for the time in my life when I cast aside my “nunnish” ways. Also, it seems that, given the severity of former traumas, I should do what I can to arm myself with knowledge and so establish a healthier awareness.
Though I have tried, in my quest, to remain academic (really, it is the only way I know–to research sex as though it were a solar system or major war), I have stumbled upon some shocking information; and, upon its discovery, I could not help but surrender to loud, unscholarly cackles, topped with sudden horror. Woman though am I, I have been, until recently, quite oblivious to the infamous queef, the wretchedly loud sound emitted when air escapes from a woman’s vagina, during or following penile penetration. I never heard of such of thing, could never have imagined it! What’s this? Female flatulence? Could it be so, that in my day of passion, I, who drinks tea and nibbles on crumpets, whose hair is almost never out of out place, who cannot abide wrinkles in her jeans–I, named for a dynasty of Queens, may someday be at the peak of orgasmic nirvana and, at that glorious instance, release a ghastly sound that may be likened to gas belching from my backside? I, who loves to dine on fine foods, may, at various points in my life, resound lustily, without control, like an old bat who snacks on prunes and wheat germ porridge?
Dear, dear me!
Now, thus far, it seems nothing can be done to control this unmusical impulse. It just…comes, or rather blasts, often noisily, leaving little opportunity for anything more than a smile of embarrassment. I truly wonder how my world sisters handle it! This is very disconcerting to me. I always imagined love-making to be quite physical, but with low, sweet murmurs and gentle, rhythmic movements. Judging from what I have learned on some organizational sites, it can sound quite the opposite–loud, aggressive, like a rumble in the Bronx, and riddled with brazen intonations. Like the ladies’ fart. And how do I feel about that? Well, odd…I guess because I can be rather introverted, and I have a hard time letting go. Quite naively, I felt I could take my shyness into the bedroom and preserve it there; but I see now that this is not the case. Part of the decision to become sexually active, within the confines of a trusting relationship, is the ability to let go, not hold on. I cannot take that step until I am ready to do so, to allow myself to be vulnerable and to give, freely, without restraint. I suppose I can come to a place where I can do that and let go. But really, ladies. Must it be air, too, “from between?” Is not bottom flatulence, with its clamorous shriek and ensuing stink, concession enough?
We will see how I handle myself. I am not likely to tell you much about that, if and when I become involved, at least not in great detail :)! But I am happy to share what I learn with you, my friends, even something as personal as this. Your Inquest is growing, perhaps growing a little less reserved, after all. Thank you for being part of that process!
Posted: February 27th, 2007 under Moments in Time: Personal Stories, Tales of Growth.
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