Desire is a funny old thing. Especially women's desire.
Wait? What?
Women have…desire?
Really?
So. A couple years ago. In London. I went to the Wellcome Collection's exhibit on sex. The exhibit covered many things, including the Masters & Johnson and Kinsey studies on human sexuality. For this exhibit the Wellcome summarised some of the findings of that research and one of the key findings of both studies, one of the
main
touted
revelatory
findings was:
Women have sexual desire.
Holy god damned hell I flew so far off the handle after I read that that I may still be in orbit. I am even now gobsmacked that it took two in-depth and scientific studies to figure out that women want to fuck? Like to look? Like to come? That they want love and affection and sex and sweat and that they desire other human beings?
Are you kidding me with this?
*breathing*
Then there's television, film, books, magazines, again and again telling us about our desirability, but rarely recognizing that we desire, want, need, and lust and so the media spends little time attempting to turn us on.
What a waste.
And an opportunity.
Because when no one's looking—and the world at large is not looking at women's desires, except sometimes to mock—you can do whatever the bloody hell you please.
So for the love of god please yourself.
I've written three quarters of a million words of what most fandoms call porn. It isn't pornography in the traditional sense, it is instead writers like me using our skill at writing to tell stories that turn us on, turn other people on, to tell stories that bring us joy and expression and sweat and the friendship of the like-minded.
Writing and publishing erotic fan fiction has been one of the best gifts I have ever given myself in my fifty-three years of living. I would not undo a single awkward word I've posted, would not unwrite a single filthy thought to which I've given voice. In a wider world that pretends I do not have desire, I say fuck that noise to the tune of three quarters of a million words and I'll keep going because I love writing messy sweet wet lusty sex between two men in love and I don't care if there are people who don't understand that or who think I shouldn't.
This all by way of saying that I hope you know your desire is one thousand percent valid. That you are normal for loving tentacle porn and Holmescest and mpreg and age play. There are millions of women who desire stories of desire in all its freaky, filthy, fantastic facets. Please never, ever be ashamed of this because sure as hell the people who are telling you you should be are not ashamed of theirs.
Want is universal. Desire is universal. Physical pleasure is the provenance of all living creatures and we are responsible for our own.
Take your pleasures in both hands. Share your pleasures through words or art if that's what you wish to do. Share your pleasure in the comments to someone else's words and art and I promise you it'll inspire artists to make more (never ever doubt how powerful your tiny comment can be, creators blossom under the sweet rain of 'Loved this,' and 'Beautiful.' You need not write odes, just write something you mean).
The world may keep telling you that your purpose is to sexually give. Know that your purpose every single day is joy. Your joy makes breathing worthwhile, it makes making the world better an easier thing to do, your joy creates more joy.
Sometimes your joy is a latte. A job well-done. A movie. And sometimes it's porn that makes you wet and you know what? That's fucking fantastic because you can give that to yourself and no one, no one has the right to take your joy away.
Please yourself. You're the best one who can.
Find your joys. Share them. We are here with you, we love all of this, too.
You are in good and lusty company.
Wendy C. Fries also writes as Atlin Merrick. Both of these people are often very shouty. P.S. This wee rant—and tons of other content not here—can be found in our first newsletter. Subscribe to Spark!