An (Ex) Convenient Woman

by Kim H.  Feb 22, 2014

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I used to pride myself on my ability to get off easy.

I could climax on command.

Granted, I didn’t actually feel much in the experience, but I could ring that bell, no problem at all.

This brought me great pride because I believed my worth was increased by how easy I was to handle. How little effort I needed you to devote to me. And it went way past what happened in the bedroom.

You see, there was a central belief I had, and I think that is endemic to woman’s standard conditioning, that I was too much.

That the less space I could take up, the better.

I was the friend of the girl he wanted. The one who at some point, he would turn to… maybe after they’d been fighting and I was there to hear all about it…

And suddenly, for a second, he’d look at me with appreciation and pay me a compliment. And I was sure it was my day to get mine. Today my ease would pay off.

And it was a challenge- I am not, by nature, a take no space woman.

I am physically tall and broad. I have a loud voice. I like attention. I love food and cock and pretty, glittery things and wide open spaces and…

There is a lot in here, and I was seriously convinced I had to hide away. Because who wants a big woman? Who wants a loud-mouthed troublemaker designed to be worshiped and who is, horrors, challenging.

No, no, no. I will not be one of those woman.

And yes, I saw “those” women getting men. But I was pretty sure it was because they were prettier. Thinner. Definitely thinner. Their breath was sweeter. Their boobs more buoyant. Some reason that they started with more points than I did. And I was convinced, that one day, I would be rewarded for my convenience.

 

And then a few years ago, I was watching a movie. There was this man following a woman up stairs, begging her to talk to him. Explaining why she shouldn’t be mad at him. Telling her how much he loved her. All while she gave him the cold shoulder. And he just kept coming. Because you could tell he wanted her so very much.

And I just started to cry.

Because I was jealous. And Heartbroken.

I had a fundamental belief that I wasn’t allowed to be that much work.

That I had too much to make up for to be worth that much effort.

And a realization that I’d never let a man see enough of me to love me that much.

Soon after, a friend introduced me to OM.

And it got harder and harder to be quiet and contained.

And there were times I couldn’t- and the me that was hiding under the “good” slipped out.

And every single time that happened, someone thought it was hot.

Often MEN.

It really fucked with my head.

 

And then I looked around, and saw all these men DYING to please. Dying to put their attention on a woman who wanted them to work for it.

I began to think I had read the wrong rule book.

 

And you know the awesome thing about OM? Beyond the clit stroking, I mean? (Which is pretty awesome by itself.)

You meet people who OM. And people who OM, well, are incredible.

Because they are willing to challenge the #1 festering belief I see in my urban landscape. That to withhold is more valuable than to give.

That worth can be measured in reserve rather than generosity.

And these OMers? They said, “fuck that shit. Bring it on.

Bring me your messy, loud, wet, fucked up, crying, smiling, happy, neurotic.

Just be you. I like you."

 

And now, I get to live in a world I can measure in units of joy rather than units of reserve. I can love men who love women, not convenience. I can be loud (or, yes, occasionally quiet) because its who I am right then, not who I think you will like better.

I honestly can't say I have perfected this demanding thing yet. No, I am a little more complicated than that. Thank god.