I used to think that I had to master sex. I used to have all kinds of books about sex. I used to have a big box of sex toys and lubes, various sex position and BDSM books, erotica books and mags like On Our Backs (lesbian sex magazine). Also various sets of sexy lingerie.
I think it's possible that I don't have any of these anymore. I realized this when I was looking for a book to loan to someone and couldn't find it. I don't remember what came of these things.
What I do have now:
A few books about massage, and one or two about energy healing.
Enough cookbooks to fill up a shelf, and a lot of kitchen gadgets.
Enough cookbooks to fill up a shelf, and a lot of kitchen gadgets.
Several old issues of "Real Simple" and "Martha Stewart Living".
A bunch of empty flower vases and plant pots, various plant care and gardening supplies and books/mags, a lot of tea, and books of short stories and poetry. And the beginning of a collection of fuzzy pajamas.
The only thing I have left over from the old me, are a few bottles of massage oil.
I don't know what happened to all of the sex stuff and I don't remember what I did with it. And I don't care.
I have the sneaking suspicion that my possession of those materials has little to nothing to do with my acumen as a lover, and my lover wouldn't necessarily want a glaring reminder of my past. We'd buy new stuff together, anyway.
The other things... I feel... offer much more. Coming from me, they do. I used to feel I had to master sex because at the time, it was all I had to give.
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