I’ve been thinking about death
Not death in general,
but my own. It began when a far-away friend,
who always sent me a birthday card, didn’t this year
and I learned she died the month
after my last birthday. How easily
that could have been the other way round, I think
So I make my will, arrange my affairs, talk frankly
with my children about cremation, donating body parts,
funeral services and dealing without guilt
with the loss that will be me.
I see myself an enlightened woman
trying to make death real. I say aloud,
"I will not always be, I will not always be."
My stomach tightens at the thought of my “me”
dissolving into the void.
I contemplate after-life and decide reincarnation and transmigration,
despite my love of travel, are for others,
not for me
I admit, in the smugness of an earlier time,
to a fantasy of my wisdom and example
living on, even flourishing,
in those whose lives I would touch
I know now those close to me
will find themselves as blessed and plagued,
as enlightened and baffled by their legacy,
as I have been with mine
Regarding heaven and hell — I have neither
enthusiasm nor trepidation…and recognize
I would make a poor candidate in either place
So where am I left in my reflections on death?
Confused is the word — and more often bemused
at my reluctance to accept this new neighbor
from whom I can never move
It’s come to this:
One day I may welcome death, but for now
I choose to pass him by with a nod, head up,
inhaling sun, wind, words, visions,
sweat of bodies, aroma of rising dough, hugs, hurts,
flute songs, a baby’s hand curled around my finger —
and celebrate the mix and tang and wonder
that is my moment — and my self
You’re born naked and the rest is all conjecture
"But I just can’t imagine…" he trailed off. And that’s the whole problem. Many men just can’t imagine women using porn, enjoying porn, getting off on porn. Although we no longer live in an era when enjoying sex is the mark of a "bad girl," there’s still a common misconception that female sexuality is fundamentally different from male. Most people still think that women are never carnally motivated, that we always need to be emotionally attached to our sex partners, and that we never indulge in sex solely for the sake of pleasure. Studies have kindly informed us that women don’t get aroused through visual stimulation, never considering, of course, that they just need to get better visuals for the study. The studies ignore social factors and only serve to confirm pre-existing biases. Countless magazines, books, and advice columns—not to mention friends and relatives—still feed us myths about women putting up with sex to get love or commitment, and men doing the opposite.
Once I saw porn that turned me on there was no going back.
In general, porn has been good to me. Having it as an outlet has put me more in control of my sexuality; if I want something, I know how to get it. It has also made me a hell of a lot more comfortable. Talking about porn, and knowing that other women are entering the market as consumers in droves, has made me realize that I’m not a hypersexual freak, as some people have made me feel in the past. It has widened my sexual horizons by showing me things that I didn’t think I’d like. It has made me more confident in my sexuality. It has exposed me to more sexual variety.
But perhaps the best thing about pornography is that it’s never not in the mood, and it’s never not attracted to you. Porn never wants to be just friends. These things help when you’re in, as I was, a quite protracted dry spell. Hey, I know how to satisfy myself as well as the next Sex for One-loving gal, but everyone needs a little variety now and then. And when it’s just you, your hand, and the Flex-O-Pleaser, porn can be just the thing. When I went virtually without partnered sex for almost two years, it was Jeanna Fine and Georgina Spelvin who helped keep my fires stoked.
This is depressingly accurate.