The word ‘freedom’ is incredibly powerful and meaningful to me, hence the title of this blog. I titled it, and myself, at a moment when my life changed completely; I was realizing just how unfree I had been, for a stretch of time in my relationship, and more largely during my whole life. Unfree to be me, unfree to want the things that I oh so much wanted, unfree to express my sexual desire.
Up until this spring, and the changes that inspired me to start writing here, I was not free to be a sexual person. I was caught between two difficult places: my relationship, in which I was not allowed to express sexual desire for my partner because it made her feel inadequate and unsuitable, and thus panicked and upset; and the outside world, which for me at that time was entirely straight, where my sexual expression inevitably led to unwanted attention from men.
This led me to have very little sexuality, at least on the surface. I constrained my expectations over and over again, trying desperately to fit into the box labeled “acceptable” by both my relationship and the straight world, and ended up unthreatening to my partner, unsexual, and severe towards the outside world as a result.
Believe me, I do severe very, very well. I get very little attention from men these days, because I learned how to deflect it; I turn away from them, I scowl at them, I wrinkle my nose at them as though they smell bad. Extreme perhaps but effective. I’m glad I developed that skill, because it saves me no end of hassle when I’m out in public.
But adopting that severity and plainness meant dire things for me sexually. I depended on my partner for everything, and she was unable to give me much. She reacted against the plainness, using it as a reason for being uninterested in me, which turned into a vicious cycle; she didn’t want me, so I dressed down, so she wanted me less, so I dressed even worse.
On some level I truly believed that no one but a straight man would ever want me, and I so profoundly didn’t want them that I gave up thinking of myself as a sexual creature at all. Part of the issue was being completely cut off and isolated from the queer community. I was depending on my partner for everything because I had no friends (or even really acquaintances) who were queer — little did I know how close I was to a wealth of resources.
Things changed this spring, and you can read the rest of my blog if you want details. But the results are startling and amazing for me. I developed so much more confidence (it’s still low, but when you start from basically zero a little seems like a lot). I think that the combination of realizing how much a prisoner I had been, both of my relationship and at my own hands, and finally (finally!!) meeting another butch/femme couple made me understand how much I had been craving contact with other queers, and more specifically sexual attention from other women.
So this new-found confidence has really changed how I interact with the outside world. For example, I am free now to wear sexy clothes out in public. I am free to be checked out in clubs. It happened just last weekend, at a drag/burlesque show — a visiting artist walked by me to buy a drink from the bar and she gave me a thorough once-over, from head to knees, lingering over my (if I do say so myself) nicely displayed bosom.
And it has also changed how I interact with my partner and conduct my half of our relationship. It is huge for us that I could deliberately dress to attract that kind of attention, willingly receive this woman’s gaze, and my partner, sitting right next to me, could smile happily at me upon revelation of this event, knowing that it made me happy to be the object of desire if just for a moment.
But it’s more than just opening the chains of my relationship; it’s also removing the limitations that I imposed on my own mind and my own desires. Sexual freedom is the new joy in my own body that I’ve found this year. It’s claiming my sexuality for myself, not for my partner or in opposition (or conformity) to some societal ideal.
It’s also being able to say “hey, this isn’t working for me. You don’t have to fix it, but you have to acknowledge that things could be better.” It’s deciding to take steps toward being comfortable enough with my naked body to consider sharing it with someone other than my partner, who is the only person who has ever seen it.
Feminism is really important to this process. I have struggled with the things in this post partly because of being socialized female, of being taught to serve others ahead of myself. I think one of the most feminist things we can do is say ‘fuck it, I’m going to be selfish. I’m going to do what I want, not what you want me to do.’
As women, I think we are taught from birth that the worst thing anyone can ever say about us is that we are selfish. But how often do you hear that said about men? And if it is said about them, how often is the tone one of censure instead of fond indulgence, that ‘oh, men will be men’ thing that drives me crazy?
So my journey to sexual freedom is a selfish one, and I freely admit it. I am trying to be less afraid to demand what I need out of my sex life, and not to apologize for anything that is inherently me. If my partner doesn’t like it, we can talk, but I’m not going to hear her complaint and then rush out and try to change myself to better suit her needs. When I try to change now, it is in pursuit of better fulfillment of my own needs and desires.
To me, the definition of sexual freedom is not being sexually chained to another person; being free to own my own sexuality and celebrate it and express it however I want to. I suppose there is an argument to be made that what I have described is really sexual autonomy, but to me there isn’t a huge difference between those words, and I might assign them a hierarchy: one must be free to be autonomous.
In any case, I don’t consider myself sexually free, completely, yet. But I have faith it’s only a matter of time.
