Sex (p. 21)
My name is Erica Jones. I was molested when I was eight years old and raped when I was sixteen years old. This is not a MeToo exposé; I no longer blame those men. In fact, several years after the rape, I ran into the man at a bar. I looked him directly in his eyes and said, “What you did was not okay.”
He met my gaze and replied, “I know. I’m sorry.” “Thank you,” I said.
Experiences like these leave a girl incisive and acute-minded. So, I changed my name, moved every two years, and fell in love with sex a little too early. The pleasures of sex far outweigh the shame of loving something that hurt me.
Sex is beautiful. Orgasm is a glorious celebration of our humanity. So much of our society, and its religions, have sex twisted with evil and punishment that we have become misguided through labyrinths lost until we begin to think that this is the way life is. I say reclaim the holiness of being horny.
And when caring, consensual sex is not available, learn to use that passion to set yourself on fire so that you become lit by this life, wild inside for the next breath. Instead of moaning in ecstasy, scattering those dreams across the bed, dance, paint, write, sing–and then sing, write, paint, and dance some more. When we bring respect to sex, we discover our own sexual, creative fire.
Photograph by C. Roberts