It was.

It was.

From the moment I put that tape in my VCR I knew I was getting something that would excite me. Something that wouldn’t bore me like the rest of my 12 year old friends.

I was 13,  basically a grown woman. I had lumps and humps and I had that bothersome brawd that liked to jack my back up and mess up my bed once a month so I was a whole woman, basically, right?

Didn’t matter, I had them feelings, them physical feelings. I knew it wasn’t right for my age but I didn’t care. My body knew what it wanted and I knew this tape I got out my parents cabinet was the closest thing I’d get to it. I’d had the moments at midnight watching skin-a-max and show-time but this was XXX-splicit, Full Frontal. Pandora’s box was WIDE open. NOTHING to be left to the imagination

I saw. I liked. I came.

I watched the tape over and over for the next year until my momma found it. I got sloppy one day and napped after the fap without stopping the tape. Nothing went to sleep on its on back then, except me. But she never saw the ladies I watched diving only boring hetero hammering so the conversation was limited to scolding and why it was inappropriate. With a dash of religious purity to guilt me, but I KNEW I enjoyed what I saw. It wasn’t new, not even taboo.

I wanted a woman. Not just a fem either. Tall, thin, fat, thick, white, brown, black. A nice set of lips and hips and I was hooked. I didn’t show it but I never had to hide it either. Going to an all girl high school came with perks. My new friends could slide thru without question. I kept a skirt on hand, I liked my boyfriends but they just were too hard sometimes. I liked softness. I liked men and women.

My sexuality did not need discovery. It was

Not a question
Not a conflict
Not a debate
Not a fight
Not a family intervention
Not a ritual or prayer
Not a protest
Not a cry out

Just another tween watching porn they found and snuck to watch.

So when asked about the moment I found my sexuality I say,

it just was.


Squishy–when he hears that sound
he stops
mid stroke
to relish in it

It’s a goal
that you don’t go after
but one that leaves you
feeling accomplished on meeting

Squishy, may not be
the most accurate
phonetic interpretation
it’s like batting a good hit and
hearing the perfect crack from the ball
hitting to the outfield is reward enough
but that sound
creates the memory
it’s the music of the timing
and the cherry on top

I know I’m not the lover
I once was
I’ve made it about him but
it has nothing to do with him
I’m closed, shut up and down and
inside myself so deeply
I am without direction
on giving more of me
I feel like
the only thing I can give him is

The moment
he slows his movement
pauses his mind
continues his thrust
to create the sound
he is in it

I feel the stroke
The sound was at first
a consequence
until his rhythm changed
he changed in me
then it became—

It was no longer the ins and outs
I got lost in it
I no longer wanted to direct him
on how to love me
he was getting better
better than me

I had not opened myself
to receive him
only get what I ask
and take what I want
taking love selfishly

I still think
we are issues to read
we have more sounds to make and
more moments to make—