Sex positivity comes easily to me. Connecting through physical touch and nakedness is fun and super enjoyable. However, I’m learning that I still attempt to maintain control during sexual encounters as a way of guarding my intimacy. I think I’m an intimacy-phobe.
Obviously, there are different degrees of intimacy. I mean, I let a penis inside me, which is pretty damn intimate. But, body intimacy is not the same as heart intimacy and the vulnerability associated with each is dramatically different.
I’m fine with someone seeing my vagina and occasional ass-pimples, but to see me drooling, with bed-head, and morning breathe is something that is way too far down heart-intimacy lane. What if I fart in my sleep? What if I sleep talk? What if I develop a white head overnight and the guy wakes up before me and sees it before I have time to go check out my degree of morning-funk in the bathroom mirror?
Morning-funk is intimate.
Now, I have to call myself out as a hypocrite here, because I don’t care if a guy has morning-funk. The times that I have stuck around for a sleepover and the guy has farted, snored, developed a white head, had stinky breath, etc. I haven’t cared at all. So, why am I so much harder on myself? Not cool, self. And, also: Sorry, self.
What if if the guy I slept with tries to steal my stuff? Or worse, what if he wakes up and looks through my private drawer and my photo albums and the stuff I haven’t chosen to show him that reveal parts of myself I may not want to share? I think the diagnosis here is control issues. Along with the advice to not have sex with anyone you suspect may steal your stuff. But, sometimes the sexy devil on my shoulder finds bad boys with an edge super desirable. Ah, have sex at their house. Or, a neutral third location.
In the meantime, I plan to work on my “maybe you should go now” or “I’m going to head out now” habits and challenge myself to delve a bit deeper into heart intimacy. Wish me luck friends and have a drink waiting for me.