I’d started this blog as a testament to how little I know, in my thirties, compared to how much I thought I knew in my twenties. And that irony definitely stands. In fact, the only thing I’d wager on, for sure, is that fact.
Then I started into a rambling orgy about the gathering of knowledge as you age and how things can only stand to get better. And after about a paragraph—I deleted everything.
Why? Because I don’t want to write about insight and enlightenment and such. I want to write about sex.
That’s right. Sex.
I want to talk about the experience of sex as you get older, specifically for a woman, because it occurs to me that, no matter what century we’re living in, there are an awful lot of repressed females out there.
And it’s no small wonder. Let me share with you an observation that goes back to my childhood. Now, my family was very Catholic. My parental sorts did not discuss sex. Period. So I often turned to encyclopedias and science books around the house to try and decipher what the heck this whole sex thing was all about.
This is where it gets infuriating. Do you know what I discovered, as a kid, looking through my grandmother’s old nursing school books from the thirties and forties? I found a passage on reproduction that taught, (and I’m paraphrasing, here…but it’s close enough), “Contrary to popular beelief, a woman does not experience any sort of pleasurable sensations in the vagina during intercourse.”
Oh really, then. Might I please bang on your door and knock down your walls to differ?
Anyway, this always stuck in my head, mainly because of the sheer (unintentional or otherwise) lie of it. And I had thought that things would get better for women since those ridiculously ignorant, repressive days, (which they have for the younger generation), but I’m shocked to find that a lot of women in their late twenties on upward are still view their own sexuality with shame or indifference or confusion.
I mean, come on, ladies… we’re not old… the fun, free, independent part is just beginning, so, what in the heck are some of us hiding from? All that stinkin’ adolescent crap is over. This is supposed to be the prime of our lives, right?
Shows like Sex and the City are pretty hopeful when it comes to the sexual courage of the over thirty set. But a conversation with a group of well-educated, well-travelled women the other night left me asking just how many women my age are still clueless about their own needs. The idea makes me sad. After all, I’m a pretty passionate and open girl, and the majority of my friends are, as well, so I suppose I’ve been sashaying around in a bit of a bubble.
Okay… I was living on Ignorant Island in the middle of Know-Nothing Lake. Which is just another example of how you really don’t comprehend how little you know until you’re older—which leads to more understanding, if that makes sense.
Anyway, I suppose my guest blog is a sort of challenge to my generation of women just entering or still stuck in a rut in their thirties. Are you still swimming in a sea of intimidation about your own sexuality? If so, what can you do today—just one thing—to become better educated and more empowered?
Here’s to the next several decades being loads of fun. ;)
Thanks Jen, it means a lot that you could stop by!
Well, that's it folks! Tomorrow is the big day! I'll officially be 30 and our contest can begin. Make sure you pop back tomorrow for details on how to win and to read my birthday post!