I’m writing this with inspiration from a comment made to me awhile ago that tore me to pieces, I’m bandaging up with a little blogging. As much as it hurt, it did spawn some wonderful thought processes that I’m sure I’ll see as lessons and blessings in disguise. And ironically, Love Languages have been coming up in almost every conversation I’ve had with anybody since. This post is about love. And sex.
I’m not ashamed to blatantly admit I’ve made mistakes in my life, why? Because I’m blatantly human. And blatant humans (you know, everyone) all have a need to be… loved. It’s that simple. Why do we ever do anything that we ever do? To feel loved. Why do we say loving things? To hear loving things. Why do we say awful things? To feel better about ourselves, to feel worthy, to feel loved. Why do we do loving things? To make the other person feel loved, therefore, making us feel loved. We’re made of it, we’re constantly feeding it and receiving it whether we know it or not. There is something in each word, in each action, that is a cry for love.
But people feel love in a manner of different ways. They receive it in a manner of different ways. They express it differently sometimes. It can get misunderstood, confused, not received, unheard, unspoken, or just… misunderstood.
My number one communication of love, that’s been hardwired into me since birth, is physical touch.
A hug will speak more clearly of love than a million words. A back rub will melt my heart. Holding my hand will erase any and all feelings of sadness. Being touched cleanses my soul and refills me with love. I know someone cares when they hug me, hold me, touch me. I crave it when I’m sad, I crave it when I’m happy, I crave it when I’m in need of comfort, I crave it when I know someone else is upset, because I show my love through touch.
I take touch, in all its various forms, very seriously.
In the past I’ve made mistakes in trying to find love through touch, from all the wrong people. It was a tough lesson to learn to realize not all people who touch you lovingly mean it. I’ve gone to bed with those who had no intention of loving me, in order just to feel that temporary sensation of love, only to highly regret it later. Let me tell you a secret, sex, to me, is love.
How anyone can use it for any other manner but to express their love is far beyond me. Yet, in searching for love through sex, I was partaking in the act without love. Without feelings. I was lying to myself. And I got hurt for it. I learned just how badly and quickly emotions can be hurt in such a thing. But I once went an entire year without a single human touch. It was torture. So I turned around, and went entirely in the wrong direction.
But the love language of physical touch and sex are so very highly misunderstood. So let me tell you with… sensation.
When somebody takes me in their arms I feel their soul, and I feel mine. The warmth of their skin warming mine, filling me with comfort as I feel and listen to the beating of their heart, each touch just a little whisper of emotion from their heart to mine, the truth told without words, subtle vibrations that cannot lie. The hardness of their body and the softness of their skin, their breath like a breeze to cool the heat and their pumping blood to warm every bit of my inner self. I feel their body with mine. There is something very divine about the human body most nobody understands, and that is what I feel. The power of their hand on my body, the trust I give to allow it, the protection of being in the arms of somebody whose intent will never be to harm. The intent as pure as love, pleasure, happiness. The perfect give and take. Gentle sensations and tactile acts with closed eyes, soaking in everything that is heart and soul. Refilling your inside spaces with love, so deep you never knew you even went so deep in the heart, in the soul. Awakening passions and desires and discovering ways to love that you just can’t feel otherwise. Sharing breath, sharing heat, sharing sweat, sharing everything. Sex isn’t something you do with just your body, it’s something you do with your heart and soul, too.
I’ve made mistakes in thinking everyone thinks of sex this way. I no longer make that mistake.
Because how it can be a game, how it can be just something to do, how it can be anything but love… That is a question that I cannot answer. I tried and failed miserably. I grew the fuck up and realized my truth.
To accept an offer, or to give an offer of sex, is a sign of ultimate trust to me. I’ve peeled my heart raw, tore out my soul and handed them to you, trusting you in their safekeeping.
Sex can never be anything but love to me. And I’m done trying to prove otherwise.
I’m ashamed to admit my past mistakes, because, quite blatantly, I feel like a whore. I’ve had very very few partners, especially in comparison to most I’ve spoken to. But I feel like I’ve whored myself out entirely. That’s not a feeling I’m eager to repeat. Ever. So I won’t.
But juggling the emotional aspect behind sex, the way it’s meant to be, is a whole different thing.
It’s not complex. It’s simple. It’s love.
Society, perception, misunderstanding, bad experiences, makes it anything but simple.
I’m just so very tired of the complication.
It must be real.
Because I’m real.
Thank you everyone, and have a wonderful night.