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Returning to the Rock
The tires of the plane hit the ground and the plane erupts into a joyous yip. Already the expressive spirit of this island is singing through me. We have arrived in Cuba. I feel a ridiculously delicious sense of coming home. It feels warm and welcoming, and just slightly tinged with the surreal sense of despair that I know is also deep in the heart of Cuba and its people.
My Cuban lover sits next to me. He touches my hand lightly and smiles. I want to devour him right now and pray that tonight we can be together. It has been more than two weeks now since we have been able to enjoy each other. I am excited for the moment when I can pull him close to me to incite his incantations of primal passion. I have been trying to tell myself I will not sleep with him again, but the draw is so strong, we both know it’s inevitable. I want him and I am not going to deny myself the pleasure, not now, not in Cuba. Not after all we’ve both gone through to be here together.
The airport looks bleak and uninviting, almost intimidating, and there is a soft haze spreading across the tarmac. I know that beyond that stagnant illusion lies a world of magic, music and men awaiting me, and for that I am excited. There is so much that has changed, both on this island and especially within me since the last time I came to this island. I smile inwardly reflecting on the growth that has come in two years of being single.
My lover’s strong black hand grasps my thigh with ardor as I lay my head back against the seat. His passion burns right into me through his hands. My body softens and tingles in anticipation for his lips on my skin. He is my first Cuban lover and I am quite sure that he will not be my last. Closing my eyes briefly, I reflect on the movie of memories in my mind of my last trip to this rhythmical rock. I was so shut down to men, intimacy or any kind of romantic connection when I was in Cuba last time. Yet, I remember the sensations that were roused here all too well. The intoxicating passion and desire that the men stirred in me just passing them on the streets as they looked through me. The heat their eyes could well up from inside of me, despite my walls and defenses.
I am most definitely a very different woman now than I was then. I find myself excited by new possibilities and silently giggle in lustful delight. In the past two years, I have shed layer after layer of my conditioning, fears, insecurities and social pretenses. I have uncovered the essence of the wild woman within me as much as the wise one. It has been a journey of ripping away the soul-suffocating stories that my culture taught me of how a woman should behave to be respectable, proper and socially accepted. I have found peace with my emotional, raving, bitch self as much as my rational, clear, soft and sensual aspects. I have delved deep into the sensual stirrings of my femininity and granted them full permission to find enjoyment in men, who I once would have been afraid to consider because of the social and cultural stigmas I once learned. I stomped out the prude in me and claimed my huntress as an active and titillating part of my being. I faced her with eyes wide open, peering steadfast into the darkness, pleasure and wisdom that she can invite.
I found that at 40 years old, there was an insatiable sexual hunger burning in me that I had never felt. I found pleasure in the lip licking lust that it birthed in me. I grew to understand the younger man’s fascination with the mature woman, and vice versa. I found a somewhat disgusted, but profound understanding in the term cougar (as much as I hated the word and its connotations) when I found myself prowling the night alone, contemplating the deeper worlds of my own inner sexuality in quiet observation of the thoughts and impulses that were flowing through me. I felt the big cat within me. I embraced her wholeheartedly, setting her free on occasion to hunt, feast and enjoy. I learned that my feline intuitive wisdom as a woman also blesses me with clear discernment on which men to steer clear of, and which ones are safe.
I relearned that dancing enables me to enjoy the chase without always needing to feast on the catch so that my temple and mind can remain safe and clear. I discovered that I had been hiding certain parts of myself out of a fear of the power of their expression. I consciously kicked that shit to the curb. My inhibitions and stories about what was “ok” for me as a woman were crushed by the overpowering need to be real with what I was feeling, and to find the truth of myself on all levels. I let myself feel, react, respond and be authentic in my expressions in every way. I stopped giving a fuck about what anyone else would think and let myself follow my desires.
The result is that I have found infinite grace pouring through me in every moment that is mine to claim. I jumped into full acceptance of being and loving myself exactly as I am with no holds barred. There were no more resistances to my true feelings. I stood naked with myself and hurled a stone of intent at the mirrors of my mind’s conditioning. I let all the illusions shatter, standing fearlessly in the unveiling of both the wild and the wise within me, as the shards fell to the ground in a cacophony of simultaneous destruction and creation. I have spent the past two years experimenting with new paradigms for relationships without such heavy emotional investments.
Most importantly perhaps, I committed that I would never again lose myself in the arms and illusions of a man’s love. I decided that being single offered me tremendous freedom and opportunity. It allows me to create my life on my own terms, and to live my dreams fully. I committed that I would not compromise what I want in a relationship just to be with someone, no matter how wonderful the sex or the love is. I came to terms with the reality that sometimes, just for pure fun, I welcome bad boys with bulging biceps and rock hard bodies that just want some hot steamy passion with no strings attached. I learned be fully alive and to be empowered by owning my desire for sensual, soul-merging sex. I discovered that there is actually something incredibly liberating about two adults with no drama, no stories, and no emotional baggage giving themselves fully to each other for pleasure and adult play both on the dance floor and off.
I have faced loneliness, depression and my own deep fears of unworthiness, and accepted that they are companions I will walk this life with forever. I befriended them as my allies to deeper understandings. I no longer fear them or run from them. As Ram Dass once said of his neurosis, “I invite them in for tea.” In short, I got real with myself and found that I can love and accept all of it if I stop resisting what simply is. I redefined what it means to be a liberated, empowered woman at middle age, and I feel sexier, more alive and happier than I ever have. I am free to be me, fully, totally, authentically myself and that for me is peace.
I jumped into full acceptance of being and loving myself exactly as I am with no holds barred. There were no more resistances to my true feelings. I stood naked with myself and hurled a stone of intent at the mirrors of my mind’s conditioning. I let all the illusions shatter, standing fearlessly in the unveiling of both the wild and the wise within me, as the shards fell to the ground in a cacophony of simultaneous destruction and creation. I have spent the past two years experimenting with new paradigms for relationships without such heavy emotional investments.
I am brought back to the moment as his soft full lips brush my ear. I feel my lover’s hot breath whispering to me. Before I even hear the words, my body stirs in response to the warmth of his breath.
“Baby, te quiero, no puedo esperar para ti.” His tongue lightly tickles my ear and I want only him. I say nothing and simply smile. “Vamos,” he says and we are in motion, grabbing bags and filing off the plane.
He slaps my ass lightly on the way out of the plane. I feel a pleasant jolt of desire stir within me. I am smiling in joyous delight as we walk onto the tarmac and Cuba’s hot steamy stinky air greets my senses.
The Breath of Cuba stirs in me again.
