I watched cartoons a lot as a child, I mean, a lot. My youngest sibling was born when I was a few months away from 10 and he became my real life doll. I spent hours entertaining and supervising him when my mum had driving lessons, or when my parents went out, but the character I always identified with most was Taz the Tasmanian Devil. He would spin onto screen destroying everything in his path and no one seemed to understand a word he said.
He puts the Taz in Tasmania.
I was a messy child, I complain that my eldest child is a shedder, he arrives and drops items of clothing and his belongings anywhere and everywhere along his path, and I was not as bad as him. My messy nature was contained to my bedroom. My clothes were rarely hung up, except my school uniform, and every so often when my stepfather would decide to do a room inspection, I would channel my inner Taz, and rush round throwing clothes in the wardrobe and shoving them under the bed. I hid my true nature behind a mask of civility that was expected of me.
The town I grew up in women had one function, to look after their husbands, keep house and raise babies. They worked part time, usually in local shops or supermarkets, or they trained to be nurses or teachers if they were really smart (which generally also meant they were considered unweddable).
I grew up with simple ambitions, to get married and be a mum. I wasn’t considered smart, and I figured I would be a nurse until I met a man and got married. I wasn’t even sure what it meant to be married; I was sexually ignorant. I knew the biology of it from classes, but had no idea that women could orgasm until I was 17 and already pregnant. My partner at the time rented a video about sex and they talked about female masturbation and orgasm. I only half paid attention, shy and thinking that now I was a married woman this wasn’t something I should be doing anyway.
At 19 I filed for divorce. We had been together for 3 years, and not once had I been close to orgasm, I rarely got even slightly aroused during sex and as a result it was uncomfortable for both of us really. Looking back I am not surprised we didn’t work out. He made out that he was experienced and that me not getting wet was because I was frigid and cold. I know now that isn’t true of course, we were just not attracted to each other in that way, and he wasn’t interested in learning what made me excited. He just wanted to live out every sex scene he had watched in the movies and thought sex only needed to last a few minutes. If I didn’t get off that wasn’t his problem. Having said that after watching these movies tried out every technique – he rubbed by clit until I was raw, jabbed his fingers inside me making me cry out in pain. He misinterpreted this and decided it was an orgasm. Pleased with himself while complaining it had taken so long, I learned to fake it so I wasn’t left sore.
After I filed for divorce I tried masturbating one evening. With a Bon Jovi CD playing in the background, I climaxed for the first time in my life. After that first time I guess I masturbated every few weeks, and got pretty good at scratching the itch… but never really focused on myself and enjoying it for as long as possible. Instead like my old friend Taz, I would whirl in and get the job done as quickly as possible.
Embracing the Tiger in me.
At the age of 22 I discovered that I was born in the year of the Tiger (incidentally Mr. H is a dragon) and I really liked this. Powerful and fierce I exuded confidence on the outside while on the inside I wanted to hide, I wanted to be taken care of and protected, but as a single mom I had to be strong. Having ineptly flirted and seduced Mr. H into my bed, I bought every sexy piece of underwear I could find, I was desperate to prove I was not cold and frigid. I was equally desperate not to lose the man I had fallen for, hard.
The thing is, I want to think of myself as graceful, in reality I am Taz. I blunder around knocking thing over, bumping into doors and walls. If Mr, H has a cut or bruise, you can guarantee I will touch it. I spill my food down myself, get food on my face. I am a messy pup and I am so grateful Mr. H loves me as I am. I have also been known to make strange noises… LOL
It’s been 25 years since we met, and we have been spinning together doing our looney tunes dance in perfect harmony. When I realised I was not as fierce as I thought, he was there to hold me up. When my world became the thing spinning out of control, leaving me stood in the center of a vortex, he stopped it. He helped me find my way home. When I can’t find the right words and I am babbling like Taz he understands me – and I don’t know how – but we are looney tunes together.
This post is linked to Wicked Wednesday #427 “Looney Tunes”, please click HERE to see the other amazing posts linked to the topic.