What is romantic?

I should have done this before Valentine's Day, but maybe this past month will provide some really juicy answers.

What is romantic?

I fear that I may not be romantic.

Isn't it possible to be romantic at home? Or is it?

If I love gerbera daisies, irises and lilies more than red roses, is there something wrong with that? Lilies are breath-taking and daisies make me happy.

I always feel silly when faced with the expectation of romance. I get that REALLY big question mark bubble over my head.


And all I can think is Yikes, I'm in trouble. It isn't that I don't care or that I don't want to do the work. I am just clueless. I have very simple needs to keep me very happy.

I mean, maybe I am just too easy. I love coffee, books, trees, nature, flowers. So, a pound of coffee from one of my favorite coffee shops, a favorite author, and dinner-out, would be a lovely evening for me.

Boring?

What is most important to me is spending time together. I love having 'face time', catching up, laughing together, eye contact, and an uninterrupted conversation about nothing in particular. I need that time to connect and just be. I don't need to be entertained or impressed; I am impressed by getting a glimpse at the inside of my love, not by things. The important part is the interaction and the time together.

I mean, to me romantic is a quiet dinner, a glass of excellent wine, a walk on the beach (but this is Cleveland and there is none of that this time of year, unless you travel), great music (I would request Lizz Wright, Cassandra Wilson, and Miles Davis to start), and then nothing. Nothing but the two of us and time.

Am I missing the point? What is romantic?

Last night I dreamed I decolonized my thighs.

This post is for grown ups. I make no apologies.
This is a part of an essay I submitted to a proposed book about black women and their sexuality, about how we deal with and/or break free of labels.


Last night I dreamed I decolonized my thighs.
I dreamed I had an hour long orgasm.
I dreamed I was being had from behind by someone I did not care to see.
I walked up to delicious strangers on the street and admitted that I would love to lick them from head to toe.
I pleasured myself with my hands, my toys, my lover and then borrowed your hands, fist, your toys, your lover, you
…I moved on in this fashion until I was quite satisfied!

Unfortunately morning came before I really tested my limits. I awakened with a satisfied smile.

Now, reading this to myself in the daylight, I blush. I surprise myself. I am still surprised by my brashness. I wish I were bolder, but I dare only express these things, bit by juicy bit to a lover. I reveal things slowly, as if each revelation were new, and not fantasies I have dreamed of a million times. It would take me a while, and even so, I'd blush when admitting my desires.

It is not very often that I have made love to someone soon after meeting them. There have been times when I have met someone and instantly thought that our bodies would fit together wonderfully. In the cases where we did make love later, I have always been proven to be correct and we were great together. I have learned to trust that my instincts are fantastic. It's important that I validate those instincts. It used to be that I did not trust myself.

It used to be that I carried shame like it was a prize. As an incest survivor, I realize that I own no shame. It took a long time before I came to the realization that I could not afford to hold onto what other people thought about me. It took even longer to realize that I am not responsible for the decisions of others. I have had to realize that there is nothing more crippling than living half a life, afraid of rejection. I decided to live without the labels others would assign. I take what I want, and I leave what I want. I learned self-acceptance, and learned to love me.

I found myself struggling to fight the Jezebel image, even though most would probably figure me for the Aunt Jemima role. I found I suppressed my desires. Even in my own home, in my own bed, in the dark, with the beautiful women who have loved me. I would backpedal. It would take forever to admit a desire, a fantasy. I was ashamed. Some days I wanted to be Jezebel. I wanted to be brazen, a temptress. I wanted to be easy, and not care. I didn't want to feel horrible whenever I strayed from the missionary position. I clung to the image of a good girl. I was afraid I would scare a lover away. But, I had to think about it , if a lover knocks my socks off it meant she had studied the fine art of lovemaking. She had learned and explored. I don't judge others harshly for that . As a matter of fact, I was very grateful to have found it. So why should I see myself differently. I did not judge others the way I judged myself. I did not think of other women as harshly as I saw myself. I often looked at others with an admiration, and respect for having the courage to be themselves. Slowly, I began to unravel the source of my shame.

And now? Well, now, I am looking for someone with whom I feel safe and secure. Someone with whom I can let down my hair, so that I can explore until we both collapse, sleep, awaken, and then explore more and more and more...

Peace