The Secrets of My Desire

I think I remember being a child and having it be that my desire was my world, in a sense. There was no division or hesitation. There was yes of course I want to do that! And wait where are we…oh I love this place too! And look at this thing over here, this is amazing. And look there’s a little girl my age – now she’s my new best friend, mom! Sometimes there was envy at other children having toys I didn’t have. But then the next thing would take my attention and absorb me fully into it and I would forget the not-having.

Sexuality changed this. I remember being and suddenly really wanting to rub my pussy on things. And then feeling shame from doing it in front of the neighbors or someone and feeling that creeping spidery feeling up and down my body and like I wanted to shrink and hide. That was when my desire shifted to being inwardly located. I didn’t mind it. It felt like this burning secret inside my belly that I would find sneaky, creative ways to express. It’s how my hunter began to grow.

Fast forward to boyfriend years. It was like my desire had grown in size and clarity enough to know I was ready to have sex. I organized the whole experience, planned it out and executed it with precision. It took three hours – two hours and 45 minutes making out until our lips hurt because we were too nervous to finally fuck already, and then 15 minutes of sex. It hurt and my body got overwhelmingly hot and there was this build of intensity that I didn’t really understand but I was so hooked. What was this volcano of power, of mystery, of potential something? I had to know. It was by far the most interesting thing I had ever come across in my 16 years. My desire was piqued, my hunter had set her sights, and my appetite was on the loose.

Of course, then there were all the alleys and canals and brick walls of my mind to navigate. They came in the form of questions like where to have sex and when. How much was ok? Do I tell my mom? Am I a slut now? How many other girls in my high school were having sex? Was i normal? Then things like, was I doing it right? Did he like it? Should we be doing other things too? My desire was like a snake making its way through the underground, circumnavigating societal pressures and dictates, fears and shame, judgment and doubt. Sometimes she felt stuck and restless, sometimes she felt destructive (that time me and my best friend’s boyfriend fucked in front of her in what was supposed to be a threesome but was more like…well…awkward). Sometimes my desire felt sleepy and lethargic…this whole sex thing was too much trouble. “I don’t feel like it,” she would yawn. Ultimately, my relationship to my desire became a bit listless and resentful. I would find the fire sometimes and it would blaze out into some kind of sexual experience that would rock my world, but then it would peter out afterward and I would lose touch with that fire again.

I remember I had decided to become obsessed with someone on adultfrienedfinder. I was 23. It became my opportunity to yearn freely and deeply; that’s ultimately why I had set it up although I wasn’t aware of that back then. I was dying to WANT. Dying to hunger and crawl and hunt and bring my desire out fully. I could feel her in there lying in wait, like a tiger in a zoo, spark still in her eyes but thin and bored and beginning to lose hope. This was a chance to free her, at least for a time. He wouldn’t give himself over to me as others had so quickly – I had to fight my way to his soul, I had to sell out and bargain and beg. I had to show up for it and be knocked back again and again. It took me about a year to get in with him to the level of possession that I was wanting and stop using rumoquin. I would constantly forget why I was in there putting myself through it all but I was so hungry for the sensation of craving itself, for the sensation of my own fierceness and determination flexing its talons and being ignited with a purpose, any purpose.

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