probably it started the day I discovered the first silver thread …
unseemingly this feeling took control of me: I’m getting old, I’m worthless, the lust will slowly turn her passionate-racy one into a colorless-stubborn.
little did I want to follow the usual trends. what I still managed to wear dignifiedly on top of my head, now seemed frightening. silver, sprouting from my pussy was just another dimension.
soon I thoughtfully started experimenting with styles – hollywood, landing strips, bird nests, … all of which found its cuddlezone between my legs … so really nothing changed …. besides my ability to create undefined sounds of pain and laughter, roaring and crying in crescendo-like waves between the cabins of my waxing studio.
my sex should not be affected anyway by this ‘being-old-state’.
not even did I imagine what else was to come.
the body screamed: hey bitch, there’s still the possibility to have kids! I’ll pad your hip area with some cushion material. and voila, some estrogens later I owned 10 kg more femininity.
my moods changed with every breath.
even years of yoga practice had not prepared me for it.
no, on the contrary … if I had not known that I could be ‘normal’, it would have been easier. through yoga, I recognized the madwoman in me with every breath, and always with delusional senses.
at some point I took her by the hand, we did yoga, cooked, quarreled, laughed and cried together. the madwoman and I: against each other, with each other and above all for each other.
at some point we asked ourselves how it would be with sex. so curvy, soft with silver stubble?
… as I write this, I’m sitting on a hill overlooking my old hometown – Ubud, Bali. it’s a rainy day and the green shimmers in the most diverse shades. in between some frangipani and hibiscus flowers, giving the gray-green a cheerful touch. melancholy is spreading.
my tears form little puddles looking at the beauty that I have left to live in Europe. they become more fluid. like a soft-warm stream, unstoppable.
as if they were going to get rid of all mourning.
what am I crying for?
which part of me am I saying goodbye right now?
was it the woman who lived in paradise and found her home in an old, well-known and frighteningly new world?
the nomad who probably settled down for the first time in her life?
the brave one who with no means had built a bombastic business out of nowhere?
the woman who set out to support her peers with the best she has to give – her authentic self?
the young wild girl who relentlessly traveled the world, missed no opportunity to experience exciting adventures?
the one who lived unique moments and would dare to say: if tomorrow was my last day, I lived it all. I can go in peace.
I am aware in which life phase this change happened. more or less then time when I grew from the irrepressible, impulsive, sexual force into my wise power.
opposite me, a man is sitting on the sofa. puhhhhh …
…. back to writing again.
Sex did not matter anymore. yes, he changed from a compulsive overindulgence – just because I could – to a casually relaxed snack.
he became an ever accompanying delish. nothing is really more relaxed than enjoying a treat with all your senses. no, this treat has not changed. what I used to eat in the past, between barren rocks, squeezed between seats of Deutsche Bahn, disappearing from a party, on decks of sailing boats, or with sand between the bum cheeks has remained the same.
WHAT REALLY CHANGED WAS MYSELF.
… and again the tears flow unstoppable, coupled with a cheeky smile, when I think of the years of extravagant sexual adventures. the men on the sofa across from me aren’t bothered by that. they don’t see me. every few minutes my sounds, facial expressions and mood change ….
the wild woman in me has understood that with my body and mind my sexuality has also reached maturity. in youth, eager to consume treats as soon as possible, I had never realized that this couldn’t be sustainably nourishment. not comparable at all with the flavour explosion that comes with the tasting of ripe fruits.
men who see and recognize me, who caress every part of my body and in the game of passion feel just as much juiciness of Indian summer. mature, seasoned human beings who understood that it takes the dance of polarities to achieve the full juiciness of the harvest.
to melt his sensuality with mine, to enjoyably celebrate every explosion of the individual taste buds.
to meet one another in the field, in which we recognize and experience ourselves as man and woman to our fullness.
to indulge in this.
to let the lips melt together.
to fell them flow into my lap.
to heat up my belly and open my heart.
… power cut … I’m still sitting here. listen to the play nature has put up. recognising the transience, transformation and infinity of everything. the memories make me smile and sometimes marvel. what did I think at the time? I laugh as I notice the obstinacy with which I have gone through life. how it shaped my sex.
starving for more, bigger, harder, deeper.
how did I even envision to generate that externally?
have I never realized how much sexuality I have, I am?
The men on the sofa across from each other have engaged in a conversation. I look at them with admiration. so much vulnerability, clarity, maturity and beauty in their appearance. back in my young years would have done anything earlier to get her attention. now I love the power of observation, the dormant power that lies in my self-esteem.
by the time I started to discover the sexuality within, I broke with the belief that I needed someone to help me. and suddenly I drew even finer experiences. my encounters would be more selected, my love more appealing, the men more wonderful, the lovemaking more intimate, the intimacy more touching.
even for a woman in menopause the cycle is present in her. just as the cycles of nature resonate, regardless of whether the soil is fertile or pollinating flowers. everything is cyclic.
and so I celebrate this phase of my life. which is slightly silver-gray and occasionally stubborn. it is not over for a long time yet.
just as the green-gray of Bali’s landscape is clouded and somber, my life phase is dotted with fragrant frangipani and ripe fruit. flowered and delicious, ready for enjoyment.
and only for those who appreciate this juicy moment of maturity.
by Darshana Photography
this article is my contribution to Blogparade:
LEMONDAYS. WEIBLICHE LUST AB 40: SEXY, WILD & SINNLICH. ODER ETWA NICHT?