My body is an archive. Through it I bound to others. You cannot take back that which has been given. I cannot steal my body away from another’s experience of it. I cannot lay claim to that which was shared, in vulnerable and awed resilience, with other bodies. I cannot hide it away from the ways in which it brings me back, again and again, to the women I have had sex with. This almost fearful gaze that attacks my eyes when I know that soon I will com bust in a bundle nerves. You have seen it. That angry swelling that almost hurt with its need. You have felt it. This shyness, of wanting but afraid to have that which I could never ask for. You have tasted it. This fever that rose to meet your fingertips wherever they land(ed). This fever was ours, not mine. We were sick with it, and in trying to break it we made ourselves sicker with heat.
(She had me at archive.)
Read, view and hear other #rwocsex & #blackfeministsex interludes over at Betta Come Correct. Happy Saturday.