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“Can I kiss you?”
He asks me.
No man had ever asked before.
Usually they just went for it.
“Can I kiss you here?” He murmurs into my ear as he kissed my neck.
“Can I kiss you here?” as he moves his way down my arm.
“Can I kiss you here?” He’s kissing my elbow, wrist, hand, my fingers…
My whole body surrenders into the safety and respect I am being given.
He’s so gentle. So intentional. So present.
I’ve been sexually assaulted five times. By five different people.
I was sexually abused as a child.
All I knew was abuse.
All I had known was pain.
I had lovers who were kind but never gentle. Not like this.
True love heals.
His love enters into every wound. Every painful spot loved.
I feel adored.
I feel protected.
I feel seen.
There is a softness within myself I had never known.
“This is what love is,” I think.
I am swimming in love with him. Enveloped by love.
He looks me in the eyes. He is careful and confident.
This is sexy.
This feels good.
He asks for permission.
Every traumatic moment falls away as if it had never happened.
I know this didn’t happen by chance.
I know I worked for this. I prepared for this.
I learned how to receive this.
I learned how to love my body first.
That’s the magic.
I could receive this in a way I never had before.
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
He tells me every day.
Trauma shuts us down. There is no way of getting around that.
I see so many people walk around the world disconnected from their body, so unaware.
Before meeting him I would dance in my room at night. Sing love songs to myself. Treat myself with care, compassion and tenderness. I believed I could be loved like this.
We have ideas about love, thinking it’s only the kind of intensity we see in the movies or that the media portrays—that every woman wants to be controlled by Christian Grey. Adrenalin. Excitement.
I found true love in peace.
This is intimacy.
Let love flow.
It’s like this every time.
He loves himself.
He loves me.
True love heals.
True love is what’s real.
Author: Catherine Hummel
Editor: Catherine Monkman
Photo: Charlotte Astrid/Flickr