Anonymous Stories....continued
We all have so many stories within us that want so badly to be told. But sometimes, for whatever reason, it doesn’t feel safe to speak them. What feelings and experiences are you holding within you that need to be heard? That need to be witnessed? Or maybe you know they would bring some joy or laughter to others? Shared stories bring connection, even when we don’t know the person telling it. They can help us feel seen, understood, and not alone.
We have a shared experience and similar stories with everyone really- because we are all experiencing life through a human body. Bodies tell their own unique stories as well, and seeing other human bodies, especially those that others can see their own uniqueness mirrored in, creates connection between us.
.This Anonymous Stories series I've been working on as a personal project has been so incredibly inspiring to me. The stories folks share with me are full of so much bravery and strength and personal truths. When shooting this series, after a story is shared with me, I ask my subject to share what area of their body their story most resonates in, which I then focus on capturing photographically. Our brains aren't the only part of us that hold our stories. The connection we share through our stories and the human experience of living in our bodies can be so cathartic and inspiring - whether you know the person or not.
This is an ongoing series and free to participate in. Do you have a story to tell? I'd love to hear from you! Email me at amy@wilde-company.com if you are interested in joining in on this project!
“When I was growing up, like many, I was told that sex was a thing between a man and a woman when they love each other that happens after they get married. I was taught that nice girls don’t ask for sex. Good girls don’t like sex. I listened. Females in Cuban culture aren’t encouraged to be sexual. Men, on the other hand, are encouraged from boyhood to be Don Juans.
The first time a boy showed interest in me, I was 13 and he was 15. We were both in band and he was so cute. And funny. And sweet. We hadn’t dated or anything, just talked quite a bit during rehearsals, games, etc. He was interested. And one night my Dad had gone to a local bar. When he came home, he was furious. He called me a slut and a whore because this boy was at the bar talking about me. It was confusing because the boy wasn’t old enough to go to the bar and surely there had to have been a mistake. I cried myself to sleep. I hadn’t done anything with this boy, not hold hands or even a kiss. I couldn’t imagine how bad I would feel if I had sex.
I confronted the boy the next day at school. He asked why I was being weird, and I told him what happened. He swore it wasn’t him. He wasn’t at the bar. He’d never been to a bar. When my Dad picked me up from school, he talked to my Dad and clarified everything. That was the last time a boy in high school showed any interest. At least to my face. Any time a guy did show interest, I turned the other way. I didn’t want to experience that shame ever again.
I read my first erotica when I was 17. It was the Beauty series by Anne Rice. I don’t really remember how I got my hands on it, but I devoured the books and I remember it as the first time I ever felt turned on. I didn’t know that this was a natural response that one has when they read erotic literature. I do remember hiding it from my parents because I didn’t want to be made to feel like a slut for reading it. Even though I really enjoyed reading it and I enjoyed how it made me feel. My body woke up and I wanted to keep it that way. I had a difficult time rationalizing how such a good feeling could be bad.
Fast forward to college. I learned to party, have fun, and let go. I was 21 years old when I lost my virginity. It wasn’t to my husband. It was to a man I was in school with and he told me all of the right things. We dated for about a month when I finally slept with him. I had no idea what to do. It didn’t feel good, in fact it hurt. And he didn’t seem interested in making sure I was ok or that I even enjoyed it. The next day, he broke it off. I was a conquest to him. Because of how I was raised, I felt ashamed and embarrassed. I felt like damaged goods, which I now see as completely ridiculous.
Like many, I read the Fifty Shades of Grey series because I was curious. Those books to me were brain candy. I could escape and read about another woman’s sexual awakening and their relationship. And even though it’s not Charles Dickens or Faulkner, it helped bring erotica to the forefront. It wasn’t just a dirty book that women read in secret. Loads of people read it and then went and watched the films. Smut was now front and center. It was a conversation that people were having.
About two years ago after I took all of the sex out of my book, and subsequently hated it, a friend of mine from church recommended I read the One Night series by Jodi Ellen Malpas. Her books are well written; it wasn’t just brain candy. The protagonist, Olivia, has some serious hang-ups when it comes to sex. Miller, the love interest, has his own issues, but helps her discover how great sex is, especially when it’s with the right person. Most of her novels follow the same plot. What her writing taught me, is that I’m not the only one with hang-ups about sex. Currently I love reading Sybil Bartel as well. Good writing and great sex.
The short story that has become the basis for my novel started off as a fantasy of mine that I wrote down. Sex in the bookstore against the stacks. The thought of it still makes my heart skip. I will neither confirm or deny that my husband and I may have had sex in the library at our college, but that fantasy definitely fueled the story. A friend of mine read it, and despite my embarrassment about writing something so graphic, he told me it was good. He gave me permission to be a sexual being in public. And it felt like a massive weight had been lifted off of me. Sex is ok. Liking sex is ok. Writing sex is ok.
In November of 2018, I finished the first draft of my novel during NanoWrimo. I remember going to my bible study and being so excited about being done. I had written over 77,000 words. I had joined a writing critique group and they liked my writing. I felt accomplished. One of the ladies, who knew that I was writer asked what my book was about. I told her it was an erotic thriller.
She did a pearl clutch and said, “Oh, you write porn. Are you sure you’re doing things the way God wants you to do them?”
I took a second and thought. Because she had hit the nerve of something I had struggled with my whole life. She shamed me with her question. I didn’t want to give her the power to steal my joy of finishing my first manuscript.
I calmly fired back, “You have sex with your husband?”
She said, “Yes.”
I then said, “More than just the two times that it took to conceive your children?” She looked at me, appalled. I grinned and said, “I think that God made sex feel good because we are supposed to enjoy it. And my novel that I have worked hard on for over five years isn’t porn. It’s two people that love each other and sex is a natural expression of their love. If you consider that to be porn, then that’s on you. I don’t expect you to read my writing.”
I write “smut” because I love sex. Sex is a natural, normal thing. Now my book doesn’t explore any fetishes or BDSM. I write plain old vanilla sex. Hot, steamy vanilla sex, but still nothing fancy. There are some interesting positions, but it’s fairly straight forward. My hope is that I can help someone let go of the stigma that controlled me for so long. I hope it can give a reader some confidence to try something new. Maybe see themselves as a sexual being, too. Sex feels amazing. Masturbation is perfectly normal for women, too. And even good girls that go to church can love having sex.”
“For as long as I can remember, my mother had a tenuous relationship with her body. She was constantly picking out its flaws in front of me. On top of that, she was very judgmental of other people’s bodies. When I became a teenager, she was quick to tell me that I shouldn’t wear my shorts too short or my tops too tight. Heaven forbid you could see my bra strap or any cleavage.
So growing up, I internalized a lot of her viewpoints as my own. I developed low self esteem. Didn’t feel confident in my body. Struggled with my average sized body. I didn’t learn ways to care for it just how to hate it. Honestly it’s a wonder I didn’t develop an eating disorder.
Years go by and I continue to hate my body. I try losing weight throughout the years which never stuck. Then I got divorced and miraculously I’m able to keep the weight off. I find a local boudoir photographer who shares ideas that go against what I grew up with. I deserve to love my body at any size with all its flaws. I go to therapy. Learn to love myself. Give myself grace even when I’m not perfect. I find myself a boyfriend who loves me especially because I’m not perfect. He tells me that my body is sexy even when I struggle to believe him.
So here I am this morning getting ready at the age of 42 to go shopping for shorts for the first time in my adult life. I’ve always worn capris because I’ve hated my legs. But in doing the emotional work, I’m hoping to “fake it until I make it” and maybe find something a bit out of my comfort zone.”
“P.S. So I went shopping with my boyfriend for shorts. I struggled even picking out which ones to try on because they all seemed too short for me, so I let him pick out what ones I should try. I’ve always been one to try on almost every article of clothing in the store, so I was fine with that. So, I get into the dressing room and try on these shorts that show way more of my thigh than I’ve ever shown. I get out of the dressing room to show him. He asks me how I feel. I tell him that I’m uncomfortable because I have cellulite and others can see it. He gestures to the store and reminds me that every single person in this store has cellulite which helped me feel a bit better. So we end up buying one pair of shorts then go to another store.
While I’m in the dressing room, there are two teenagers trying on clothes as well. One girl says that she doesn’t like her thighs. Her friend says to her, “well, I do.” That’s the kind of confidence and support I need in my life!! After it was all said and done, I end up buying 3 more pairs of shorts. So now I wear shorts now. Who knew?!”
“My body started to betray me in 2013. Unbearable pain attacked me and I had no idea from where. I had to move back in with my sweet parents, who have since passed away, for a year while I gained a handle on my health. I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis and fibromyalgia. Pain became my new normal. I worked hard to get a handle on my new normal. With pure grit and modern medicine, I was able to get back on my feet. Each day is hard, but I am harder. I love my independence and I love to teach. I am thankful every day for being upright. Now, I am so grateful for the year that I spent at my parents home. I was able to spend so much quality time with my parents and several other family members that have now gone on. It’s funny that the worst year of my life in many ways is now such a cherished memory. They carried me through with love and that love still lives in me.”
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