Years of Change

YEARS OF CHANGE

it probably started on the day I discovered the first silverish one …
slowly that feeling crept up on me: I’m getting old, I’m worthless, the lust will slowly transform me from a passionatly-wild into a colorless-stubborn one.

somehow I seem to have accepted this fact with my top hair. as opposed to the usual trends to cover any signs of aging, I had left it natural. but THIS now… this was frightening.
silver strings – protruding from my pussy – takes on a completely different dimension.
carefully I started to experiment with styles – Hollywood, Stripe, BirdsNest … all those created cuddle zones between my legs.
just … nothing really changed … besides my ability to refine my sound production between pain and laughter, roar and cry in crescendo-like waves in-between the waxing booths occupied with other petrified customers.

my sex wasn’t supposed to be affected by this ‘being old’ anyway.
I couldn’t even imagine what was yet to come.

my body screamed: hey pussy, there is still the chance to get children! I’m going to pad your bum and belly with cuddling material. and hey, a few-more-too-many-estrogens-later I carried 10 kg more femininity.

my moods change with every breath.
even the years of Yoga practice could not prepare me for that.

on the contrary … hadn’t I known that I could be normal, decent human being, it would have been easier. through Yoga I recognized the insane person in me, flipping characters with every breath, and always different in a crazy sense.
at some point I took this crazy one by the hand. we did Yoga, cooked, argued, laughed and cried together.

the two of us 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 stubbles?

as I am writing this, I am sitting on a hill with a view of my old home town – Ubud, Bali. it is a rainy day and the green shines in the highest variety of sparkly shades. in between some frangipani and hibiscus flowers, which give the gray-green a joyful touch. melancholy is spreading.
my tears form little puddles because of the beauty that I have left to find myself living in Europe now.
the puddles become more fluid.
like a warm, soft stream.
unstoppable.

as if they would get rid of all grief.
what am I crying for?
which part of me am I saying goodbye to?
was it the young girl who lived in paradise and now found her home in an old, familiar and terrifying new world?
the nomad who probably settled down for the first time in life?

the simple girl that had built a fabulous business out of nothing with only little resources?
the woman who went out into the world to support other women with the best she has to give – offering her authentic self?
the young wild one, who was inexorably traveling the world, never missed an opportunity to experience exciting adventures?
the one who had unique moments so she could easily say today: would it tomorrow be over, I lived up to all my desired and can I go in peace now?

I become aware of the time of my change. it was about when I grew from the overwhelming, driving, sexual strength into my wise power.

opposite me on the sofa are two amazing man sitting. getting hot here. puhhhhh …

…. let’s bring my focus back to writing again.

Sex no longer mattered. yes, it changed from compulsive-overindulging – just because I could – to relaxed snacking.

it became an accompanying delicacy. I learned that nothing is more relaxed than enjoying a treat with all my senses.
no, this treat has not changed. what I used to swallow quickly ‘on the go’, between barren rocks, squeezed into Deutsche Bahn seats, while stealing from a party, on deck of sailing boats, or with sand between the buttock cheeks, has remained the same.

WHAT CHANGED WAS ME.

… and again the tears flow inexorably, paired with a cheeky grin when I think of the years of excessive sexual adventures. the men across me on the sofa don’t pay any attention. my sounds, facial expressions and mood changes every few minutes….

the wild one in me understood that along with my body, my emotional and mental ripeness, my sexuality has also reached a level of maturity. when I was young, eager to eat everything and as soon as possible, I never realized that it wouldn’t be really nourishing me sustainably. not at all to be compared with the sensual explosion that goes with the pleasure of tasting sun-ripened fruit.
Men who see and stay with me in their full presence, who caress every part of my body. who feel the delicacy summer has delivered to this delicate, passionate interplay. mature, experienced human beings who have understood that the play of polarities is necessary to achieve the full blossom and juiciness of the harvest.

to unite their sensuality with mine, so we enjoy every explosion of the individual taste buds.

to meet each other in the field in which we recognize and experience ourselves as a man and woman in their wholeness.

to luxuriate in this.

to let this harvest melt on our lips.

to let them flow into my womb.

to warm our bellies and open our hearts.

… powercut … I’m still sitting around here. listening to the sounds of nature. recognize the impermanence, transformation and infinity of everything. the memories make me smile and sometimes even amaze.

what was I thinking back then? I start laughing when I notice the craziness with which I went through life.
how she shaped my sex.
hungry and craving for more.
bigger, further, deeper.
how did I expect to generate all this on the outside?
did I really never realize how much sexuality I carry within? that I am a complete sexual being.
the men sitting on the sofa have delved into a conversation. I look at them with admiration. so much vulnerability, clarity, maturity and beauty in their appearance. before I would have done anything to get their attention. now I love the power of observation, the dormant power that lies in my self-awareness, bathing in self-respect.

at the time I started to discover the sexuality within, I broke away from the belief that I needed someone for it. and suddenly I attracted even finer experiences. my encounters would be carefully chosen, my love nests more appealing, the men more amazing, their energy more present, the lovemaking more intimate, the intimacy more touching.
a menopausal woman also does experience her cycle. just as the cycles of everything in nature adjust – regardless of whether the soil is fertile or flowers just pollinated. everything comes in cycles.

so this is how I celebrate this phase of my life. which is a bit silverish-gray and occasionally stubborn.

I know: it is far from being over.
just as the greyish greenery of the Bali’s landscape looks foggy and dark, my phase of life is sprinkled with fragrant frangipani and ripe fruit. blossomed and delicious, ready for pleasure.
and only available to those who appreciate this sweet, juicy and ripe moment.

with love.
pleasurable mature.

Violeta Labella