“There is a momma bird in our hanging plant.” I say to my smiling husband. “And she just sits on the eggs all day, you know until her husband comes back, but then he is only there for a few minutes.” He smiles back in a loving way.
“Uh, huh.” He says.
“Oh! And today I had Eli work on an essay about Mourning Doves. School was good today, but you know we are ready for summer break.” I conclude. For a moment I am silent, only to break it again with, “Oh ya, sorry, I know birds, kids, and school are not exactly sexy talk.”
“No, not really.” Keeping his smile, Nathaniel agrees with my oblivious oversight in the moment.
I have been emailing a friend from Texas recently, that’s going to be her nickname, “Texas” (which incidentally is said in my head exactly like the Emcee from Cabaret, my favorite musical I have ever been in…twice. It is actually quite a fitting voice over really, since all she and I ever talk about is sex. But I digress.) Texas and I were chatting about sex and my inability to keep bedroom chatter either on topic or at the very least non-existent. I am sure in 11 years of marriage and 889 nights of a sex streak I have said something from time to time that was considered naughty, or at least sex related, but I in no way consider myself fluent in the art of dirty talk or even comfortable talking about sexy things in the bedroom, or any room for that matter.
Texas is learning to become a “talker” in bed, which might give a peaceful benefit to her, besides revving up her husband more than her pretty face and rockin’ bod already do. For my friend is a screamer, I doubt she will ever get arrested for a noise complaint, but she is loud enough that it is a legit concern for her. So I thought, perhaps all the dirty talk she is willing to engage in might relieve her of the uproarious screaming in ecstasy she is accustomed to.
So, back to me and my non-habit of dirty talking in bed; if I do it on occasion out of the throes of passion with seemingly no constraints because I am in the midst of pleasure, does that constitute me as a dirty talker? Or is there a minimum amount of overall times one must hit to be considered for this title? Or maybe, it is just embarrassing for me to talk about talking dirty, so I deny it, push it away and refuse to talk about my bedroom conversations that are occasionally not about mundane daily activities.
I think it is the latter.
That which I choose to define myself by I will be. True. But so is the inverse. If I choose to deny a part of myself (that exists in any amount) I presume I will, therefore, not be defined by it.
Yah, it is classic denial, Step 1, page 1 of the 12 Step manual; that which I can choose to deny will never be dealt with and will eventually come to bind me or define me whether I like it or not.
Prior to three years ago, the more I denied my anger issues and its causes; the more I became bound and defined by it, perhaps not by society or even friends, but definitely by myself and my immediate family members.
While talking dirty in bed isn’t a major concern here nor there for me, it did wake up a very important place in me, the place where I question myself. This is a place that has been dry and overwhelmed by life lately. It is nice to have this place feel fertile again.
What are you bound by or in denial about?
How does that affect your relationships with yourself, your spouse, friends and God?
Peace out peeps! CLR