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For so long, I viewed sex as power.  If I could get you to sleep with me, I had power over you. The hotter I was, the more sexually desireable I was, the more power I amassed over others and the more power I wielded in general. That was the game. And that made me feel good, valuable. It contributed to my self-image and worth. 

And then I shaved my head. So many of the people I had power over sexually were no longer subdued by my conventional attractiveness. I lost a huge source of my power and began to feel in some ways, powerless. While I knew I was living my truth more than ever internally, the external validation that I had depended on for years had been rescinded. I had to redefine my worth as something independent of others’ perceptions of me and extricable from my appearance. 

It was hard; it made me question how much of “who I was” was just a function of me thinking other people thought I was hot. When people saw me as sexually desireable (or more accurately, when I saw people seeing me as sexually desireable), I felt free to be rancorous, outspoken, and defiant. I found power in upsetting people’s perception of what a hot girl was; I was more than just hot, I was in some ways undefinable. I relished being perceived as sexually attractive, confident, and enigmatic and these characteristics reinforced one another.

My equation of sex with power is the result of history, a past trauma. When someone likes me romantically, I see an opportunity to shower myself with attention, adoration, and idealization by someone who thinks that everything I do is perfect. I create this expectation for myself. This person thinks I am the cat’s fucking pajamas and I do not want to disappoint them or resign to the fact that I’m not perfect. I’ll do the dance for them, woo them, charm them, while withholding myself from them so they can’t get a closer look at the cracks and imperfections. Sex is part of my power, my charm, the spell of sensuality that I cast. I hang it overhead like a treat ready to drop, creating constant tension & harnessing control over other peoples’ desires and emotions.

This is not the sex I want. One based in pleasure, power, and perfection. True intimacy is sharing your flaws with someone, of which I have many. Vulnerability is not voluntary, it is spontaneous & uncontrollable. Like when I was a ball of sweat & salmonella shitting my brains out in front of my Polish lover while he didn’t bat an eye. That was the first time I felt romantically vulnerable with anyone and to be met with unwavering kindness and compassion was the first time I felt real love.

I just want to view people as people, extending that invitation of flawed humanity toward myself. I don’t want to reduce the intricacy and complexity of our being into the carnality of physical form or the fleeting whims of pleasure & power. I don’t want to see others as forms of gratification or exploitation because that is a reflection of how I see myself. I am learning to accept all parts of myself. I am beginning to realize that being human is being flawed and that sharing our shortcomings and welcoming them without fear is love.