Waves of warmness wash over me now and again. Now. I am feeling the heat of one now, directed at the man I just interviewed. It does always come with being intellectually stimulated. Yesterday it was wine and stimulating conversation. Future plans. This is so much better to steep in than so many other things.
Pleasure. Sure.
There is something about the masculine that draws me in. His scent on the wind?
I am very much a woman to them, even as I am also this
whatever this is
that I am
shapeshifter
maybe
(there’s no such thing as a Shapeshifter, I heard somewhere, maybe in a song 😉 ).
We both feel it. Maybe everyone in the room feels it. It is a form of electricity. Electromagnetism? Synchronicity? I didn’t mention the juxtaposition of his work in my life…though I did hint at it. I thought a lot about it. He’s a busy guy, like most successful people are.
So what sets off that spark? Is it power? Money? Cuteness? Shoes? Style? Skin? Voice? Hands? An ability to read? Interest in life? Big trucks and fast cars? Yes, to a degree it is all of that…though yesterday I would say cuteness and heart, maybe talent. Ability. Skills. Presence. Navigating a conversation. Today it was vulnerability and fierce discipline, and the ability to navigate a conversation. I see a theme. We tossed ‘soft balls’ to each other for my podcast, and mostly caught them, though a bit clumsily at times, at least, for my part.
[I marvel at how and when performance anxiety can strike…this might make a fresh series of interviews…how nervous are you right now? What could I do to make you nervous? Are you nervous yet? How about now?]
What turns a woman on, what turns me on, is the ability to hold space for my feminine. Can she come out and play and be safe? This is the real key. A woman needs a container. A safe space for her wild to be free. Without that we are dangerous or ill or on the edges of everything like me.
The wild wild is no place for an untamed woman to roam untouched too long. Even if those touches come at the cost of distraction…hormones are a bitch indeed.
Calling me my true name is clever. Or a cute nickname…for a while. And appreciating my favorite things about me. I am still learning.
What is clever on one side of the equation can turn out to be manipulative on the other.
The AI said it was third grade initially, and then I remembered seventh grade is still the ‘safe’ -ish point when it comes to anything close to sexual innuendos. The thing is, sexuality is more complex than that, isn’t it? I don’t have the answers. Maybe denial and suppression is the better answer. How will we know? I mean, we could collect data and point points on a graph and then put more data points on another graph or several other graphs probably, and then compare those graphs, which would represent change over time or some such linear thought…
One thing is, our data is incomplete, and our collection methods fucking suck…I mean, they are flawed. Fallibly flawed. I got derailed, didn’t I? Or did I?
Mmmm. Yeah. I do remember being very turned on around seventh grade. And a good number of times since then. Life is good. Get sum on ya.
And in waves, we turn one another on. In so many various ways…when they are sensual…not merely sexual…and also…sometimes when they are, merely sexual…well then…ahhh…the waves.
nmgal007 ~Angel Lilly, Performance Poet, Speaker, Songwriter, Singer 