He was the hunter of my soul, lying in wait - silently and motionless. Coaxing me out of hiding, Enticing me with love, Dangling hope in my face. Pulling me in, drawing me close. I gave in and walked into his trap. He did a good job too, tearing me apart and ripping my heart out. He was the hunter and I, the game. How could I forget that a hunter's job is to kill?
Some women do not masturbate for pleasure; they masturbate to make a political statement: to remind us that women do not really need men (or at least not as much and as frequently as every single male chauvinist and every single misogynist believes).
It was masturbation, not willpower, that made it possible for gazillions of women to walk down the aisle with their reputation and their hymen still intact.
Some women have been faking orgasms for so long that they sometimes fake one when they are masturbating.
Through love, tribes have been intermixing colors to reveal a new rainbow world. And as more time passes, this racial and cultural blending will make it harder for humans to side with one race, nation or religion over another.
If one does not make an ego out of gender, one would still know whether one is a man or a woman, gay, straight, bisexual, transgender—whatever else we may think of. But those identities need to fit very loosely and be worn very lightly. All sense of privilege or deprivation that has developed around one’s gender identity, all rigidity regarding proper roles and behaviors for the various genders, must be cut through.
Every relationship that has hit a crossroads has asked, “What is it that you want from me?
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Breathing in the pain, the heartbreak, my stubborn, willful insistence on closing him out because he hurt me. Then I breathe out with forgiveness, love, and acceptance that you can only be hurt so deeply by those you love. And that the real lesson here isn’t to never date a doctor; it’s to let love in, no matter how much it scares you that you could be hurt. Because it’s worth it.