I want it all.
After so many years of denying I want anything, that statement is a little frightening. Scratch that. That statement is a whole lotta frightening. I was raised to believe that I shouldn’t want anything. I am given what I’m given, and that is that. It’s partly Asian culture. It’s partly sexism found in both American culture and Asian culture. It’s partly my family dynamics.
Very OT: I had a talk with my bro about our childhood. He couldn’t remember much of what I mentioned (because he’s not in tune with his surroundings), but the one thing I did get out of him was this. I asked if he remember Dad being home very much. He said, “Oh no. Dad was always gone. Working. Supposedly.” We glanced at each other. I said, “You know about that, too?” He said, “Oh sure.” Another glance. I said, “Supposedly?” Pause. My brother, “He had…meetings.” Pause. Me, “With women.” Brother, “Yes.”
Funny how a family secret can be not so secret. My mother and I have talked about it. I had a cousin tell me that he knew about it from his parents. Now, my brother has acknowledged it as well. And yet, when I brought it up with my father, he…well, he didn’t deny it, but he put his own spin on it. “It’s not fair to me for you to say that. I had many female friends and male friends as well. It’s not fair to me.” My therapist pointed out that his response was instructive as to the general pattern of our family dynamics. It’s the same thing that happened when I confronted my father about the abuse those many years ago. He said, “I don’t remember it happening. Wouldn’t I remember it if it happened?” We are a family of deniers, we are.
Anyway, back to the original topic.
I have always been a bit too much. I laugh too loudly (my brother told me years ago that I had a weird laugh. I ended up laughing silently for about a decade after that because I was mortified by his comment); I eat with gusto; I fuck with even more gusto. I adore the feeling of a hard rain pelting my skin, and I love how a biting cold wind sears open my nostrils, tightens my nipples, and makes every pore sing. I am a sensualist to the core. The feel of velvet on my skin makes me want to purr. The taste of an exquisite chocolate dessert actually makes my pussy pulse and gives me an orgasm face. Kiki laughed at me when she saw the look on my face one time this happened. “That good, eh?” She asked me as I nearly moaned out loud.
It was that fucking good. Oh my god. Silky-smooth chocolate ganache sliding down my throat….It’s making me wet to think about it now.
Relationships. They have been on my mind lately. I have had several discussions with friends around the world about them, so on them I ruminate.