THE GODDESS OF WILD DESIRE

I was recently sucked into watching a B-grade Netflix series, Sex/life. Honestly, there was little redeeming about the series. The acting was mediocre, the script was basic, and the actors all looked like they were from a soap opera.

The stunning lead character, Billie was still breastfeeding her newborn baby in the series, yet she had no stretch marks, post-baby birth flabby tummy, or swollen breasts. On the contrary, her breasts were so perfect and her tummy so washboard-like that I was surprised to read in her bio that she had three kids in real life.

Regardless, I was riveted and pretty much binged the eight episodes of soft porn. It wasn't till the last episode that it hit me. The life of the lead character was my life as a young mum.

A young, wild, sexually active girl who desperately craved stability, a family, and a good, caring husband. Tick - me.

A young woman conflicted between fulfilling individual needs and the often boring, lonely life of being a stay-at-home mum who prioritises her children. Tick - me.

A woman feeling invisible, lost, and underconfident, with a vagina only good for giving birth. Tick- me.

And what did I do? I squashed that wild woman in a box and firmly taped the box up. I taped myself up, all that energy, passion, and creativity.

I became someone else.

I became someone I believed I should be. Only in my fantasies did I remember that wild, free, spontaneous girl.

But my sexuality proved too potent and unquenchable. I needed to explore, play, and experiment with myself and a willing partner. I yearned to be touched, seen, thrown down on a bed, and fucked, without a kid in the bed or one screaming in the background. It didn’t help that my then-husband traveled constantly, and I was left alone, with few friends in the baby phase yet, (they were still being thrown down on the bed and having wild sex.) My husband was a devoted dad and a caring, supportive husband - when he was home, we had little in common apart from the tribe we had bred. I know that's just parenthood, and it was my choice to marry at 23, be pregnant at 25, stabilize and have three babies by 31.

So many of us in those days just dived in, naive and ignorant of our real needs.

The real problem was that I was too young to give away those years that I should have used to explore myself and grow. I was too young and too unstable to be in a committed relationship, but I thought I needed the stability of marriage to feel good about myself.

I thought having kids would give me the unconditional love that I so craved. I thought a planned and very wanted baby would stabilize me and make me a whole person.

I thought a husband that was incapable of hurting me or leaving me would be enough. But my husband was a workaholic and emotionally absent. We were not best friends or madly in love, and we were two damaged kids in our early twenties who gravitated together to feel safe. Technically it's called trauma bonding.

As a result of this, I started acting out very early on in the marriage.

Like the character Billy in Sex/Life, I felt empty, unsatisfied and confused in despite having everything I wanted. And like her, it didn't take long for an ex-boyfriend to start sniffing around, then a work colleague, then…, then…, and so many more then.

An older, very charming man finally seduced me. By older, I mean I was 24, and he was 36. He was elegant and sophisticated and pursued me vigorously. I was confused because I'd never had a man want me so badly, and I’d only got married that year. I sought help from my stepmother and asked her advice. I idolised her. To my surprise, her answer was confusing. “There's a light at the end of the tunnel,” she said with a mischievous smile. I had no idea what she meant.

Soon she elaborated. It meant that she was also having an affair and the light at the end of the tunnel was not my father but her lover.

I thought if she was having an affair, that was pretty much a green light for me to also have one. It didn't mean that I wanted to leave my husband, and the lover was also married, but that I could act out all my fantasies and sexual frustrations with this man.

So I did. The wild affair lasted a few years.

I felt guilty, and I felt confused. My friends judged me, heck, even I judged me.

Then I fell into a self-blame spiral. Like the character in the series, I blamed myself. It must be my fault - I was defective.

In my defence, my parents were not exactly good role models. Some deflect themselves with drugs and alcohol. I used sex as a way I could be myself. I could have a few hours of just being me and set that wild, uncensored girl free. I could sink into my lover’s arms and forget all my pain, responsibilities, fear, and anxieties. Sex was a way for me to feel safe.

I eventually told my husband of my affairs and we believed there were only two options: faithfulness or divorce. After sixteen years, three kids, many affairs, and a lot of therapy later, I finally left that kind man who tolerated my infidelities as I accepted his emotional and physical absence. The funny thing is, while he was praised for his workaholism and absence, I was damned as a slut and a cheat. Society is funny that way.

Whenever I look back on those years, I feel regret and sadness and so much joy. As parents, my ex-husband and I were a great team. We provided a great stable home for our kids and there was a lot of love, a lot of fun and a lot of adventure. However, as husband and wife, lovers, we were not good.

How could life have been different? I could have made other choices, but it is what it is. This was our journey.

If you ask me if I would be faithful now, could I be monogamous? I would say it would be easier now - my sex drive finally has an off button. Before, I was like a perennial dog in heat. I'm far more secure and confident as a whole woman now. I don't need the adoration of men - however much I like it. I am 65, after all. I’m much happier generally.

Would I stray if a cute boy caught my attention? I don't know. I haven't been in a relationship for much longer than six months in the last eight years. Sex isn’t my priority now - I am more concerned about connection, vulnerability, and authenticity. So if I were to give my heart to someone, it would have to be under those terms. If I felt like releasing the wild goddess, I would be honest and share my feelings - something I couldn't do all those years ago.

So the clincher comes when the heroine is running to her bad boy ex-boyfriend’s house, the viewers believing she was going to tell him it was over, that she would stay with her devoted and determined ex-husband. She walks in and instead of breaking it off, she takes one look at him and says, “I’m not leaving my husband. Now fuck me.”

The audience is stunned, surprised, and delighted. The message is it’s not about one or the other. It’s about her. It refutes the notion of finding yourself or defining yourself as a woman through a man.

Oh, I wished I’d seen that movie forty years ago. It would have saved me a lot of anguish and shame. But at least I felt a pyrrhic victory watching it now and compassion for all of us who have held the badge of shame and guilt all our lives for wanting more. Because the truth is, yes, we can have it all.

Love