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| Photo: _mubblegum_ |
Inspired by EJ’s recent articles on femme/femme eroticism
(most notably by Lori Ann Lothian and Lyla Cicero), I decided to do my own
inquiry into my attractions, both emotionally and carnally, to the female form.
I will not deny that when I see a woman’s shape molded by an
elegantly tailored cocktail dress (complete with stilettos), I feel my skin
prickle and my mouth water.
I love to bite the soft, peachy flesh of her neck. I love my
fingers wrapped up in strawberry-scented hair.
And yes, I love the wet, velvet tang of a woman’s pussy.
No doubt this is no shocker. I think it would be a rare
human indeed who was not physically attracted, in some way, to the feminine
form.
And yet, there is more to my story than pure lust.
Yes. I had had sexual experiences growing up: playing ‘Romeo
+ Juliet’ as a pre-pubescent girl; cuddling topless as a teenager; and the
usual ‘makeout-with-your-female-classmates-so-the-boys-think-you-are-cool’ in
college.
But when I chose, at the ripening age of 28, to give my
presence to a woman and ride the undulating fire of her orgasm, I discovered
that being with a woman was no experiment or titillating dare: it was one of
the most miraculous experiences I’d ever known. It was like God raining on my
fingertips.
And it was fucking hot.
It confirmed something I’d always suspected but was too
ashamed to admit: a woman, surrendered to her orgasm, is undeniably, divinely
irresistible.
Was I ‘in love’? Well, yes—in that moment, when the old hetero-normative
patterns faded and I simply said ‘yes’ to what felt right, I can honestly say there was nothing in my world but
love—within and without.
That first real experience with a woman opened a door for
me. A door of abandonment. A door of disarmament. A door of possibility.
A door of love. Love: that burning teacher who whispers
chilling truths.
And love: that gentle wind, which molded and shaped my heart
so I became capable of receiving both woman and men into ecstatic embrace.
And love: the magnetizing force between my life partner and
me.
A few weeks after my feminine epiphany, I wrote the
following poem to capture the holy magic of that night—for to love a woman is
to love all that is strange and exquisite about humanity:
To Love a Woman
Her liquescent cries
Inundate the hollow
night
And it is here
In the palm if my hand
That the earth’s story
Is born.
The lotus
The lily
The magnolia
Unfolding flowers
Whose nectars
Form the seas
My fingers
Tickle Her petals
My thumb
Discovers Her pearl
My mouth
Alights on Hers
And as the sloop slips
under,
Descending the
Ocean of our Love,
Sweet, salty waves
Rock us
To death
Who knew that
Unexplored reefs
(With the potent power
Of floral coral)
Could produce
Such radiant life?
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