“It’s easy to take off your clothes and have sex. People do it all the time. But opening up your soul to someone, letting them into your spirit, thoughts, fears, hopes, dreams…that is being naked.” ~ Rob Bell
It doesn’t matter how much I adore sex—this time I want love more.
I didn’t understand how much my journey to self-discovery was connected to the way I approach sex and relationships, until I realized that I had been giving the best parts of myself away to those who never really appreciated what a gift it was.
I’m not arrogant, nor do I enjoy riding around on my high horse, but I do know what kind of woman I am. That means I now understand that I’ve been selling myself short for all these years that I’ve accepted only half the love that I had hoped to receive.
From the time I was a young girl, it was drilled into my head that sex was something special and sacred—and it shouldn’t be just given out to the first person who called me “baby” and told me I was beautiful. I don’t know if it was because of that, or just because of some innate sense I had about myself and my body, but I have never been able to separate love and sex.
It’s just not in my DNA.
At times I felt guilty by this, as though I had some sort of personality flaw that didn’t allow me to just fuck the nearest man and not catch feelings, but now I realize that there was never anything wrong with me, but with those that told me I should be able to just hook up and leave it at that.
I’m not a “one and done” type of person, nor am I the kind of woman who needs to fuck her way through the alphabet to know exactly what love is.
I don’t need to go through the office workplace or my circle of friends, creating more complicated situations than the Jersey Shore. (And no, for the record, I’ve never watched that show, but from what I hear I think it’s the right metaphor for my analogy.)
The point is that for me, the only man who can make me cum also happens to be the one my heart belongs to.
There have been times when I had tried this theory out—and regardless of the physical stimulation, if my heart wasn’t his, then there wasn’t any amount of touching or licking that could get me to shudder with sweet release into his hands.
But the thing is—now I am proud of this.
I think that my loyalty and my huge enormous heart are my greatest gifts. I can’t just “hook up” with people, and I don’t need a “fuck buddy,” because what I am after is the kind of love that makes me cum in spades simply from someone letting me know that I am loved as much as I love.
There are a million varieties of what is “right” for a person, and by no means do I intend to be “slut-shaming,” because honestly, whatever makes someone happy and satisfied is fine with me—but just because I can respect it, doesn’t mean that it is the right fit for me.
And that’s why this time, I’m saving myself—for love.
At first, the idea came into my heart that I was to save myself for marriage—but that is another tricky slope I’m not sure I am ever meant to walk again.
But that doesn’t mean that I don’t know if I am wifey material—because I am. I know it deep down in my bones, I am meant to be someone’s wife. But whether I will need to wear white or a ring or even have a ceremony is a completely different matter.
So for now, I’m simply saying: I am saving myself for love.
I’m saving myself for the one who—even if he is a bit scared—doesn’t get completely scared off. The man who shows me that he’s not like everyone else, and that sometimes it’s the simplest gestures that can mean the most.
I’m saving myself for a man who wants to come into my life to love me—not just into my bed to fuck me.
It’s hard to say at this point, because lord knows how much I enjoy the act of sex, but I was kidding myself thinking that I could ever separate my sexuality from my heart—and now I know that I am only comfortable letting out all of my bedroom secrets to someone who has already shown me that he can hear the secrets of my heart and not run for the hills.
in all honesty, I’m really not a lot to handle, despite words that sometimes sting like shots of Jameson over a roaring fire—and regardless of how strong of a goddess I am, I’m also extremely vulnerable when I am in love. I bruise easily, and in the end—no matter how often strong women are conditioned to not say this—I simply want someone to take care of me.
Because there’s no doubt that the man who has my heart will be well taken care of.
But that’s just the thing—until I have that, my panties will stay on, and my legs will stay closed. I don’t need fumbling hands and sugary promises that reek in dishonesty, because I can see right through to the truth.
The only man who deserves to have his hands on my naked body is the one who also holds my heart.
The man who knows me, and knows what a mess I can be at times, but still chooses me because he can’t imagine loving anyone else the way he loves me.
So whether it takes a day, a week, a month or even a year—this time, I am saving myself for love.
Author: Kate Rose
Editors: Yoli Ramazzina; Nicole Cameron