We’re two episodes into Season 2 of Masters of Sex, one of my favorite shows.  While there aren’t too many quotable quotes from the story of Masters and Johnson and their clinical sex research at a time when no one talked about orgasms or vibrators, I heard a good one in this last show.

Dr. Masters told a young girl with a debilitating, uncontrollable sex drive, “I’ll tell you what you’re not – you’re not your worst part.”  
I love that. 
I’m not my worst part.  I’m not sure which part of me is the worst part, but thank god it doesn’t define me.  My smart mouth… my intolerance of assholes… my judgmental nature… my continual fight with food…  I could go on, but one thing I don’t consider a negative is my sex drive. 
I can’t believe it was such a short time ago when we knew nothing about women’s bodies and any health issue that couldn’t be explained demanded a hysterectomy.  The story was, men chased women around for sex, and women did their best to avoid them but endured it when they had to.  How sad.  I wonder if my grandmother ever climbed on top of my grandfather and rode him hard until she howled at the moon.   
Good sex is so much more than genital humping.  If all I needed was a quick orgasm, I’d live happily ever after with a box full of vibrators and a never-ending supply of fresh batteries.  Great sex has elements that can’t be measured in a clinical study.  
Women stereotypically prefer having sex with someone we have “feelings” for.  But I think we want our men to have feelings for us, too.  A penetrating gaze into my eyes that says more than “I want to fuck you” can do as much to charge me up as a touch in just the right place.  Trusting him implicitly lets me relax and opens me up to receive pleasure with Love, not Fear.  
My body is a vehicle designed to allow my soul to communicate with another.  And as much as I loathe it at times – as much as it fights against me and disappoints me – I love when it starts talking.  
I am not my worst part.  

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