My Soul is Restless

Something is not right in my soul, there’s something amiss.  I feel ill at ease, anxious maybe, like I’m suffering from withdrawal; something’s just not right.  Old folks used to say, “Honey, you just have a good ole fashioned case of the blues.” It’s not that I’m depressed or melancholy; I’m simply frustrated. My body is aching for connection, touch, for intimacy.  Really, what I feel right now can be summed up with two words.  I’m lonely. 

I want to dive into that magical bond with a man that is chemical, genetic even.  I want to sit across a bistro table in the warm summer night air and stare into beautiful brown eyes and laugh at silly jokes and flirt.  I want to smile . . .  just smile from my heart when I see him. I want my hand to fit perfectly in his when we walk along the water’s edge, staring at the full moon, and feel him put his arm around me when I get a chill.  I need that romantic, thoughtful, sweet, amazing brotha in my life who takes my breath away every time I see him. 

I want to kiss.  Oh God, I want to kiss for hours.  I want to feel his body on top of mine, feel his arousal pressing against my body, his hands roaming over my entire curves while he whispers in my ear, “Scottie, I want you.”  I want to be serenaded by Coltrane playing softly in the background as I feel his lips kissing the nape of my neck, nibbling softly on my ear.  I need to fall asleep in a brotha’s strong arms, feel his body conforming to mine, our naked bodies covered by a soft, white, cotton sheet as a ceiling fan swirls above us. 

I’m lonely.  I miss the sensations that only a brotha can bring.  I want to make love.  I want to join body, mind, and spirit together in a hot, sweaty union of passion and bliss.  I want to fuck for hours: tasting, touching, exploring and every inch of his body.  I want to feel my orgasm building to a fevered pitch, feeling the pleasure consume my body as I fight it, as I struggle to channel that energy up my chakras through the top of my head.  I miss the sensation of my juices flowing freely, that slippery, sticky sweat coating our bodies. 

I can’t sleep at nights.  I don’t like going to bed alone.  I toss and turn in solitude, longing for that touch, that connection that I crave so intensely because I’m a better woman when I’m connected.  I offer up my prayers, my petition to the One Most High that I might find a partner with whom I can connect and bond intimately. 

Made for Me

If I could have a man created specifically for me, with all the things I desire in a partner, I would ask for a man who took my breath away every time I saw him.  He would be tall and brown and beautiful and ooze integrity from every pore in his being.  He would be wise beyond his years and his words would be carefully chosen each time he spoke and they would flow like honey from his lips. 

If I could have a man created specifically for me, he would consider Africa his cultural and spiritual homeland and be willing to shed the belief systems that we have incorporated during slavery for a more holistic way of living.  He would be driven to fulfill his purpose in life and single minded in his dedication to a cause that is righteous and good.  He will meditate every morning and he would pray with me every night.  Of course, he will be able to cry on my shoulder and ask for support because he has come face to face with the demons that have kept men from evolving emotionally and he will have a commitment to redefining himself anew.  He will listen first and then speak, he will not internalize every comment as criticism, and he will apologize when he’s done something wrong. 

My perfect man will live off of a plant based diet, practice a spiritual system other than Christianity, and he will be openly bisexual.  He will have been in an intimate relationship with another man and loved him.  He will be comfortable with his sexuality not being tied to ridiculous roles that define him.  He will be a patient and attentive lover who will be willing to please and pamper me with the knowledge that I will only return the favor tenfold. 

He would never be intimidated by my intellect, potential, or my activism and he would support me and my efforts with words of encouragement and praise.  He would put other’s needs above his wants and we will travel the world in search of truth.  He will know the first and third verses of the Negro National Anthem and he will stand up when it’s being sung without being told.  He will never use the word nigger, nigga, or any phonetic or derivative spelling thereof out of reverence and respect for our ancestors. 

I want my perfect man to be equal parts creative and intelligent, equal parts spiritual and carnal.  Make him open-minded, tolerant of people’s differences, and as far left as he can get politically without falling off the scale and ending up in jail at Guantanmo Bay.  I want him to be an avid reader and lover of jazz, art, real theater (not Medea plays) and capable of articulating why the current brand of hip-hop is misogynist and offensive to not only women but to men as well. 

His commitment to our relationship will be beyond compare.  My perfect man would prioritize and sacrifice in order for us to continually grow.  Ahh, my perfect lover would hold me in his arms at night and kiss my forehead and whisper, “I love you, Scottie” and make me feel as if everything was right with the world. 

I’ve Got a Secret

I’m going to let y’all in on a little secret.  I’ve been keeping it for a long time. Now, when y’all hear my secret, the sistas will hiss and boo and think of me as a weak traitor, the brothas will say, “I told you so, I knew it all along.” I’ve wrestled with this secret for a long time, feeling guilt and shame for harboring these thoughts. Living my life in the closet, afraid to express myself, living a lie. In public, I deny my true feelings, crossing the line, extolling the sentiments exactly the opposite of how I feel. What is my secret? My badge of shame. Come close. Don’t tell a soul. I need a man. There I said it. It’s out in the open. I need a man.  

I grew up being told that a woman needed a man for survival, to be the provider and protector. The man was the breadwinner and the woman stood behind him. I was told that men could lie and cheat and treat you like shit and as long as they paid the bills and eventually came home, that’s all you could expect. Women were never supposed to argue or disagree with a man. “Oh, you are so funny.” “Stop, don’t say that,” in a coy and docile manner.  You had to have a man in your life. Even if that man was somebody else’s. A borrowed man was better than no man at all. I was raised to believe that all a woman could hope for was to play stupid, never have an opinion and to do whatever it takes to make a man happy. Which included spreading your legs, cooking, cleaning and being passive.  My momma never said outright, ”You have to have a man to make you complete,” but actions speak louder than words. There was never a day when she didn’t have someone’s husband calling her. She would fix them gourmet meals and offer them her dysfunctional mind and sexual body. And of course they took it and went home to their wives, bellies full and balls empty, egos enormous.   

I grew up knowing deep inside that there was something wrong with this ideal. I knew I didn’t need a man like that, in that way.  I’ll admit. I stumbled once or twice, forgot the truth as I like to put it. I’ve been known to put a man’s feelings above my own.  But then I got strong. I’ve been by myself for almost 14 years now. I wish I could say 14 long, hard years, but I don’t want to use those words to describe anything in my life over the last decade. I’ve decided I don’t want no lying, cheating, unemployed, good for nothing, game playing, self-centered, immature, passive aggressive, dick slinging man in my life (or any combination thereof). I have avoided relationships with men whose egos were grandiose and intellects miniscule. I chose not to get involved with men who have had other lovers or insincere motives. I’ve had sex more than a few times, maintenance dates, yes. But I’ve not had a man in my life.  I need a man.  I don’t need a man to pay my bills or rescue me. I don’t need a man to make me feel attractive or make me feel complete. I don’t need a man to fuck me because I’ve become quite proficient at that my damn self.

What I need is someone to be there for me when times are hard. I need a man to give me unconditional love and support. I need the comfort that comes from laying my head on that strong, secure shoulder when my head is weary. I need a man, a lover, a friend, and a partner. I need a relationship where I can me encouraged to grow as an individual and be a member of a team. I need a man to share my secrets with and my dreams. I need a man that will not make me feel bad about my fears and shortcomings.   Should I be able to fill up this void from within myself? Yes, and find the love that I so desperately need inside myself. But I can't. I should be able to find support from my family and friends, but it ain’t the same. I go to bed at night alone. There is emptiness, a void, a painful abyss. It is physical, it hurts. I don’t have human contact.

I hear sistas saying that they don’t need a man but I sure as hell do. And tell me this, if men were so damned unnecessary, why is it that successful sistas who have got a man are not trying to give them away. All these women out here talking about I don’t need a man. I tell you what I don’t need. I don’t need panty liners with wings.  I don’t need low fat chocolate ice cream. I don’t need 36 pairs of shoes. Seems like to me, if men were so damned unnecessary, there would be a lot more hairy-legged lesbians around.  

I need a man who has dealt with his issues and is ready for a mature adult relationship. I need man who has outgrown sticking his dick in anything without regard for pregnancy, disease and hurting someone’s feelings. I don’t need a man who is trying to get into my panties three minutes after meeting me. What I need is a strong, African-centered, evolved, emotionally mature man.  Whew, my secret is out. I feel better! It’s a tremendous burden off my shoulders. If there are others like me out there, stand up and be counted. I NEED A MAN!

 

The Opportunity to Love

The end of the year always ushers in the opportunity to reflect on the past year and optimistically dream a new world into reality.  I can say with unwavering conviction that 2011 gave me the most incredible opportunity a person can ever have.  I had the opportunity to love.  I was able to share my heart intimately with another human being.  There is no greater gift.  In 2011, I had the chance to feel connected, to feel that someone, somewhere thought about me.  I was able to pamper, cater to, nurture, and care for someone else.  I’m incredibly blessed for that experience.  Love is what we’re here on this planet for.  Each and every time we get a chance to share of ourselves, to be open, to connect, it is nothing less than miraculous. 

On this day one year ago, I was aching with betrayal and pain from someone who hurt me terribly.  Less than 24 hours later, I met the man that dried my tears, made me smile, aroused me, and eventually became my lover.  And while it’s true that he didn’t love me in return, I am no less rewarded for MY opportunity to love him.  I’m thankful that I had the chance to express my love.  Bottled up inside me, unable to be expressed, my love is suffocated and stagnated.  My spirit soars with the opportunity to give love, show love, and to become love. 

On the threshold of a new year I desire to love and be loved.  I desire a partner who revels in being partnered with me, who sees me as a treasure, who challenges me to be a better woman, who stimulates my mind, body, and soul with his character, integrity, honor, sincerity, and above all, his love.  I invite a lover who is my intellectual, spiritual, social, cultural, mental, emotional, sexual equal who is available to love and be loved.  I create this reality with my intention, with the belief that I am, in fact, deserving of having a partner with integrity, who has dealt with his issues and is working on himself and sees in me something to be treasured and adored.  I draw this person to me by being my most authentic self, by honoring that I am profoundly lovable, by accepting and understanding just how special and unique I am and not settling for someone who is not my equal.  I invite, real, true, deep, abiding love into my life. 

And so it is. 

Intimacy Deprivation

A friend of mine told me the other night that he suffered from a condition called skin hunger.  I was reminded of him telling me that years previously and it resonated with me then but it’s just something that I haven’t had in my conscious mind for a long time.  Skin hunger is a term used to describe basically a lack of human contact.  Other than the same short article reposted on several sites, http://everything2.com/user/arianne/writeups/Skin+hunger there really wasn’t much information on the condition.  I need to find out the effects of adults going without touch.  I’m convinced that I suffer from the effects of skin hunger and I suspect a great deal of what’s wrong with our society is because of an epidemic of skin hunger on a very large scale. 

I’ll summarize the article for you.  Essentially it says that babies, the elderly, and monkeys suffer without human contact and that they thrive, are better adjusted, less aggressive, and overall just do well with touch.  It also says that adults probably, more than likely, maybe in some vague, abstract, undocumented, unscientifically researched way do also.  It says that technology, the media, and disconnected lifestyles have led us down a path where we no longer touch.  It doesn’t discuss the results of adults going without touch and it only offers massage therapy as a solution. 

I’m here to say that going without touch for extended periods of time is detrimental to our physical, spiritual, and social identities.  I suspect it’s a vicious cycle.  We don’t get touch which in turn means we feel isolated, which means we recoil in solitude where we don’t get touch.  Going without touch hinders your interpersonal skills, leaves you feeling isolated and lonely, it just isn’t natural to go without human contact.  This society tells us that human contact is bad, sinful, wrong.  We discourage children from touching because we think it means they are going to be sexual.  I think we need to explore the effects of going without touch in greater depth and I think it needs to be called something else other than skin hunger.  Intimacy deprivation is what it is, going without connection, being deprived of that which makes us flourish. 

I’m single, have been for four months now.  Other than an accidental bump into someone at Wal-mart and a few hugs from friends, I’ve gone without any human contact whatsoever.  I crave to be held, touched, caressed, and to snuggle.  I know for a fact that my heart feels better when I can just lay my head on a man’s chest, I feel lighter, less burdened.  I used to babysit for a little boy and we hugged, kissed, and touched all day.  At nap time, he would say, “Scottie, you rock me to sleep,” and I would hold him in my arms and gently rock him until he couldn’t fight the sandman any more.  I remember what I felt like for that year and I have tried to get that sensation back.  I’ve tried to figure out what it was about that time in my life that made me so much more enthusiastic about life and serene and I’m convinced it was because I was getting so much touch.  I’ve often said that I flourish in relationships, that I just function more optimally in with a boyfriend.  It makes sense.  If your heart rate, your vital organs need touch, and you have someone with whom you can share a bed, even if it’s not every night, it just makes perfect sense that people are supposed to be partnered, that it’s genetically wired into us to have that connection. 

I know in the past when I’ve lamented about feeling lonely and depressed and longing and aching for intimacy with a partner, people come out of the woodworks to tell me that I should find happiness being alone, that I need to work on myself.  They basically suggest that I’m some sort of whiny, insufferable wretch who is complaining for the sake of complaining and that I just need to suck it up and put on a happy face.  But just as babies fail to thrive without touch, as do the elderly, I know in my heart that human beings of every age suffer from lack of human touch.  I think of the number of Black woman who are alone and who say, “All I need is Jesus,” and they go without human touch for years.  I think about how trapped they are in behaviors that are detrimental and how it’s accepted as normal.  They feel the longing for human contact and they go out and have sex with someone and then deny it because it goes against their religious beliefs when clearly God created us to need touch for our human survival.  I think about how Black men are socialized to not touch, feel, to seek anything other than sex.  They are getting their touch needs filled by being promiscuous because they have never been taught to snuggle or hold hands or hug.  We don’t teach our children to touch in a healthy way so they go out and have sex.  Baby strollers and playpens and all the stuff of an advanced age has created a nation of aggressive, unbalance, unhealthy people and we are cutting ourselves off from one another even more. 

I’m sitting here, alone, with no prospects of touching or being touched any time soon and I have to say it feels like a death sentence.  I don’t even live close enough to someone whom I can say, “Hey, come spend the night with me and let’s just touch.”  I’m going to work on that in 2012.  I’m going to throw AfroerotiK cuddle parties, I’m going to develop friendship with people I can touch and be intimate with.  I’m going to make intimacy and touch a priority in my life.