High School Blow Job Queen


An Open Invitation to My Bedroom  

Recently I have been thinking about bodies and sex. Obviously, our bodies are connected to our sexual experiences, and as someone who has had a history with an eating disorder, my body has been connected to my entire definition of self. The way we talk about bodies has recently started to shift in a positive direction, especially since I first got sick. When I was in high school, like for most high school students, bodies were objectified and criticized. More and more often, bodies are now celebrated. But still there is progress to be made.   

 
Screen Shot 2017-12-19 at 10.40.26 PM.png
 

Beyond the countless articles that discuss how body image can affect your career, relationships, and mental health, it so blatantly effects how we have sex – yet we rarely discuss this when talking about body image. We sexualize bodies, have sex with bodies, but fail to discuss how the way we see our own bodies effects the sex we have. For some reason, discussing insecurities isn’t invited into the bedroom, despite already having a private first-class seat in our minds. We've almost all been in situations where during sex, we are preoccupied with how we look or feel about our bodies. Even more, this can be simultaneously met with our partners complimenting the very body we are silently critiquing.  

At the height of my eating disorder, I was seeing someone somewhat casually. I had no period for almost a year due to my restricted intake, and therefore sex hormones weren't flowing through my body like they would be regularly – in other words, I had no sex drive. At all. But, there was a nice guy who wouldn't ask questions and help me keep people from thinking something was wrong. "She's happy and dating, of course she's fine." 

But, without a mental connection to my body, and without the physiological processes driving my sex drive, sex became something completely different from the experience I had known. It was like preforming a dance I knew they moves to, but without any passion, commitment, or fun. Which, as an adult, now makes sense. As a scientist I understand that physically it would be different without the hormonal push. But there was more than that, because without a connection to my body mentally, I wouldn't be able to share it with someone else.  

That is not to say that I now feel confident in my body during sex. But I do feel like I am in it – in my body and in the experience. I think what it comes down to is trying to find a way to not define sex as giving your body to someone else, or someone sharing their body with you, but each person simultaneously giving and receiving their own body. Be in a love affair with yourself. Watch yourself masturbate. Dress up in lingerie and dance sexy in a mirror. When it was hard to see myself as sexy, it was hard not to let the confidence solely grow off of complements of my partner, but that only means that they are enjoying my body – I need to enjoy it with them, flaws and all. When I have sex, I still know they parts of me I don't like, and the things I wished they didn't stare at, but I no longer hide under the sheets as soon as we're done. I have forced myself to be uncomfortable and say, Stomach, you're invited to. Thighs, climb up to that face. Me and my body are in this and enjoying this, and way more than we ever could when I tried to keep it under the covers.

 
Screen Shot 2017-12-19 at 10.36.37 PM.png
 
Jeremie Saunders