I came home from a high school dance one night and discovered I was alone in my house. Oh joy. There was nothing I loved more. Those were times I could crank up the music and dance, or try on clothes to create wild outfits…to try on different aspects of myself.
I could write in my journal in the living room without my stupid brother yanking it from me or my mom suddenly recalling a chore that had to be done right at that moment. It was a time of being me without judgment or remodeling.
That particular evening I was feeling incredibly sexy. The dance hadn’t been the high-pressured, formal, boy-ask-girl sort of thing, it had just been a dance…jeans, low-lights, crowded dance floor. It was always a toss-up at things like dances if I would be my exuberant, sexy, fun self or my insecure miserable self. Often this was determined by how easily my jeans slid over my ass. This particular evening my jeans purred their way on.
Boys I loved asked me to dance. We danced. We bumped (a precursor to grinding). I danced a few slow dances without awkwardness. Pelvic found pelvic….arms readjusted to pull the other in closer…lips of boys brushed my forehead and neck. I came home alive and wet and thrilled.
It was late and I was tired so I just went to the TV room, left the lights off and turned on the TV. I sat on the couch and tried to decipher what was going on in the movie that was clearly almost over.
It was black and white. There was a woman running terrified. People were following her….slowly. They lumbered. I watched in horror as I realized these lumbering people were mostly dead. They were walking corpses. They caught and grabbed and chewed on the people they encountered, and after they had gnawed on a human the dead body became a new zombie.
Night of the Living Dead was the movie and it changed my life forever because I was so alive at that moment…so sexually alive…that as I saw these zombies create zombies from the living I realized there were those in my life, many of them, teachers, preachers, ladies from my church, parents, and judgmental kids all lying to me about sex. They weren’t purposefully lying; zombies don’t think things out like that. I just saw so clearly that because they had been turned into sexual zombies they were trying to do the same to me, again, not because they were horrid, but because zombies are compelled to create other zombies.
I was being told to put my sexuality away until marriage (which for me was at the age of 31). I was being told not to dance or hug or kiss. I was being told to submit to men, especially my future husband, to do whatever he wanted, to be sexy for him and him alone. I was told anything outside of that would really piss God off and he’d have to punish me with pregnancy, groin-area diseases and a horrid, poor, ugly life. Unlike regular zombies, sexual zombies can talk and talk and talk.
Unlike that poor woman at the end of Night of the Living Dead…(she was devoured)….I did not and have not succumbed to this plague…I know how to outsmart them…to out run them…to avoid their verbal bites….and sometimes to even heal them if they are not too far gone. (BTW…thank God for Warm Bodies…) I know the ways to survive and thrive and stay sexually alive.
It starts with absolute honesty and ends with zero tolerance for bad, marginal, boring, dead-ish sexuality. That’s the cure, the immunization, the weapon: truth and excellence in all things sexual. From there? OMG!