Warning: naughty language ahead!
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Fucking is the often-misconstrued, delicious, soul-melting practice with messy minds that become channelled to the moment they are in.
When we say we fucked someone, are we always talking about a meaningless experience? It can trip off the tongue almost as easily as if we were declaring we had just brushed our teeth.
The beauty of fucking another person is that it can be as meaningless or as meaningful as whatever is in our hearts. We can fuck with mind, body, and spirit if that is how we are connected to a person, or simply just with our bodies, with no other emotions invested.
If I call you and ask you to fuck me, it could be just because the mood takes me, just because I am horny or emotional or I just want the connection to be as deep as it can be.
But I hesitate.
Can I say that without being judged as a slut?
You’ve judged me before, after all, and those judgments feel like a tight knot in my stomach. But that was in the past, and I learned to grow beyond your conditioning.
So, I will say it anyway, because I gave up playing by other people’s rules when I found my voice. I no longer give a care what judgments people place upon me.
I am a woman who enjoys being sexual, and a woman who has been shamed more than once for standing in her own power. I learned that only the ones who have not gained access to their own pool of inner power would shame another person who has the balls to ask for their needs to be fulfilled.
I will ask, because I do have the balls.
Will you fuck me with all the passion and basic instinct of your being?
Does my question make you feel uncomfortable? Ask yourself why.
Are you imagining changing the subject right now, to the weather or how my day has been?
Perhaps you think that I am not ladylike for asking such a thing.
I did not claim to be a lady.
If a “lie back and think of England,” faking orgasms, and making you a cup of tea afterward is your type of gal—well, it ain’t me, buddy. (I might make you a cup of tea, but only when I’ve had my fill of you.)
Don’t get me wrong, I am not a “ballbuster,” and I don’t have issues about needing to control men. I am fluid and gentle, but also passionate and willing to defend my womanhood when it is being misunderstood.
Tender and kind women still want to be fucked sometimes. There are moments when the sweetness of making love just won’t cut it.
I have been accused of being a nymphomaniac before now, and for a while I was shamed into believing that I had a problem. Then I realised it was the other person’s way of dealing with their intimacy blocks—to project it onto me.
I will never again feel the need to apologise for wanting to be fucked by the person I love and who loves me in return.
When I ask you to fuck me, I am really asking you to show me how you feel from your deepest intimate places that are often so cleverly hidden. I ask you because, with gentle force, I invite you to face my strength and all the uncomfortable feelings it stirs up within you.
I am the catalyst for your learning.
I ask you because I love you and I want you to grow. I ask you because I have been willing to feel the sting of rejection when you replay your old patterns of emotional unavailability.
When I say “fuck me,” I am asking you to shape me, in these moments of rawness and our exchanges of energy. I am giving you permission to change me, like malleable clay at the mercy of your touch.
I want to feel the spark of love that burns brighter when the flow of energy between our bodies is fierce, and I can see the fire in your eyes where usually it is shrouded. I want the real, hard, full force of you and all that you are—without holding anything back.
I want you to fuck me because that is the only time I see your vulnerabilities laid out before me.
When you are inside me, I see you—wide open and real.
I fuck you because your heart forgets its anxieties and insecurities in those precious moments, when you are just a man following the instinct to be physical and letting go of everyday thoughts.
When I want your body, it is because I want to feel the pure connection that is often obscured by issues and the illusions of thinking.
I learned a lot about my own boundaries from those I chose to, and chose not to, let into my body. I learned how fucking can both heal and destroy.
Meaningless fucking taught me how to build self-love from having none. It taught me that I am worth more than those empty experiences.
I learned that when we love someone, it doesn’t always mean that we make love. Sometimes we fuck the person we love and it opens doors to other places, it burns away stagnation like wildfire and deepens intimacy because there must be trust.
We are putting our trust in that person to fuck us and not hurt us—emotionally or physically. We are letting their weight bear down on us and trusting that, however lost in their desires they are, they will stop if we tell them to.
“Fucking” is not a dirty or shameful word; it can be bluntly beautiful.
It is connection in its most primal sense and can teach us as much as we are choosing to see.
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