This morning I woke up next to a gorgeous woman. Her back was turned to me, and she was naked. As she had pushed the blankets off of herself, I could look at the curves of her hips, as the rays of sun that sneaked in between the dark blue curtains caressed her, lighting up the feather-like tiny hairs on her body.
I felt my heart open wide, my belly glow with loving feelings and a desire to touch her. To let my fingers glide along that curve. To kiss her neck. Or to spoon her again as we did last night. I was quite sure she would love all that, as she was slowly waking up to the tunes of the song that played on my phone.
And I hesitated.
I felt the fear of crossing boundaries I had allowed to be crossed myself so many times.
I felt the fear of causing hurt I felt myself so often.
I felt the fear of being rejected by her, which somehow would feel so much intenser than the reaction of a man.
I felt the fear of possibly allowing/inviting/stop holding back feelings of desire. Of lust. Of wanting to celebrate sexuality and just wanting to touch every inch of her skin.
I felt the weight of so many years, of so many generations, where women allowed themselves to be suppressed, afraid to let their voice be heard. To hide their sexuality. To hide sexuality between sisters. To hide the innocence of the desire to share touch and kisses.
I felt my inner masculine being confused. Wanting to take lead and follow his desire to not so much conquer and fuck, but to relax in her presence and tune into what he could provide as the container to the contained.
As she woke up and turned around to me, I shared it all. The confusion and fear. the longing and joy. The celebration and puzzledness.
And we held each other, recognizing this load we carry. And agree to let ourselves be led by curiosity. Discover together what we can find on this unfolding journey of sisterhood intimacy.
Painting: Rex Whistler – A Nude Study of Lady Caroline (creative commons)