Slippery Sexuality, by Gillian

Sex itself is of course physically slippery, as designed by nature. Metaphysically, metaphorically, sexuality can be every bit as slippery.

It took me about forty years to get a good grip on mine.

In my early years, I would catch tantalizing glimpses of it, slithering sneakily about, just under the surface, but before I could even reach for it, it plunged back down into the murky deep; out of sight but never quite out of mind. Certainly, never completely absent from other body parts. I felt its presence but could not, or would not, identify it.

In my thirties, it began making itself more visible; more identifiable. Like a dolphin beside a boat it now skimmed alongside me, only occasionally disappearing beneath the surface waves, and more often leaping into the air in full view. It taunted me, it beckoned me, this beautiful slippery temptation. It called to me, come on, come on, come out and play! Sometimes it led, sometimes it followed, but it never fell behind. Occasionally it forged ahead, leading the way with its blissful athletic leaps. This way, this way! For the most part it stayed by my side. Sometimes the joyous frolicking threatened to capsize my boat. Only with great effort did I keep it afloat.

It was a mirage, I knew. This was no reality. Not my reality. No reality I wanted any part of. I blinked and shook my head, and sure enough it was gone. The glorious creature disappeared, no longer leaping before my hesitant self to show me the way. I was left adrift on a sunless sea, once more becalmed and rudderless. It would return to beckon me again and again, each time looming a little larger, but although I occasionally reached a tentative hand in its direction, more rarely even touched it, still it slithered away. I could never quite grasp it. The leviathan returned to the deep.

Approaching forty - a little early for a mid-life crisis, surely? - that seductive dolphin somehow grew, matured, became huge, became that whale, that very leviathan which I had somehow always sensed it to be. And I became that legendary mermaid. Despite my slithery tail, I was suddenly on its back, hanging on to the slippery creature with all my strength as we crashed together into the waves. Then we were no longer two entities but one. I had embraced it fearlessly, wholeheartedly, and become one with it. I was a part of it and it was a part of me. I swam against the tide: against the waves, against the currents. They were powerless to stop me, powerless to redirect my journey. I knew exactly where I was going and I had the strength to get there.

Now I lie in the sun on a beautiful beach. I snuggle into the caress of the warm white sand, just as I cuddle into the warm caress of the wonderful woman I love; my partner of almost thirty years, my spouse, my wife, the love of my life.

I am home.

© 16 Apr 2016 

About the Author 

 I was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30-years at IBM. I married, raised four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself as a lesbian. I have been with my wonderful partner Betsy for thirty-years. We have been married since 2013.