I want to be desired. I want to be wanted. I want to make men’s heads turn and their thoughts stutter.
I am starting to know what it feels like to be desired, and I love it. The man in an open marriage who, quite earnestly, propositioned me; the man who, when I mention on a chat channel that I am trying on clothes, “sends camera drones”; the man who invites me to sit on his knee: these are all beloved to me. Their desire is a blessed event, making me Viola and not the awkward, shy, frightened girl I was.
I am writing a sex blog. I sometimes look in the mirror and marvel at that. I have somehow gained the confidence to say these things in public. Yes, they are under an assumed name, but more importantly, they are in a public place where they can be read and responded to by anyone. This is partly because I understand myself enough now to know what to say, but it is also because I have a new surety that I am desired, I am desirable, I am seen as sexual.
The assurance, by action, that I am considered a sexual being considerably reduces the cognitive dissonance involved in writing this blog. Before, I expected having a sexuality to shock people. Now that some men have made it clear that I am included in the category of potential sex partners, I don’t worry about that. The nature of my sexuality might surprise people, but not the fact that I have one.
I love it.

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