At the age of 33, I finally had the courage to learn how my body worked and explore without shame. Finally, I shared that with my husband. There aren’t words to describe sharing this for the first time with him.
In this moment, I could look him in the eyes. I could even hold his gaze – I longed for it. I could show him places and feelings and speak of things I’d never spoken about before. There was no embarrassment or shame, only love. He could express his excitement and curiosity and eagerness.
He could explore and talk and whisper and want. I wanted, too. We took our time. It consumed us.
Honestly, it was one of the most intensely emotional moments between us, but not simply because I had an orgasm. It was what the orgasm represented. I was willing to strip away all the self-consciousness, the guilt, the shame and fear of rejection and simply be there, in that moment with him. To be accepting of my own body and it’s responses. To allow myself to be reactive to him, to connect with him, and to accept his desire to please me. He was willing to set aside any ego or pride or disappointment in not having been the catalyst for this kind of pleasure before this moment. To take pleasure in learning with me, willing to explore and build and nourish, all while creating an accepting and loving atmosphere.
This simple act marked a milestone for us. Our communication, not just in the bedroom, increased and went to depths it never had before. We were willing to be vulnerable with one another and accept whatever that vulnerability uncovered. Walls began crumbling down, bit by bit, and we began to really ‘see’ one another again. Although we were the best of friends and were deeply in love, we’d let the passion begin to fizzle. We’d let life and it’s constant barrage of clutter get in our way. This marked the time in our lives when we chose to begin to sort through the clutter. Even if it took me way too long to get through it all.