When I Was Your Age….!

This is a recent article I wrote for the upcoming gutterbird NEST zine (an awesome publication that promotes artists in Toronto). They will be having their next issue release party on May 1st. You should be there. I will be there.

When I was eight I was having sex dreams. I also humped my teddy bears. Yeah. I said it. No shame. BUT I WAS EIGHT.

Our current understanding of anything to with children and sex is that, to them, it is explained in a manner that is all very mechanical and logical and maybe connected to this distant non-understandable concept of ‘love’ that our parents talk about, blushing and stuttering all the while.

The dreams I had were comprised of rather obvious symbols and images that would depict what the subconscious of a hypersexual eight year old might resemble; enlarged genitalia that you traveled through to get to other realms – but needed a password before entering – and strange naked games in which there were always boys, naked, jumping on top of me.

BAW

To be frank – I have no idea if I understood any of this. I knew it made me feel all tingly and happy and excitingly naughty, so I didn’t complain, because, why WOULD you complain about something that made you feel all those things… Not that I could control what I dreamt about anyhow… Sex was just running rampant in my randy, young subconscious mind.

What also happened when I was 8: I found my mother and her boyfriend’s underwear on the couch one Saturday morning when I went to go watch the Weekenders and Sabrina the Teenage Witch. It was mind-boggling. What on earth would they be doing taking their underpants off in the living room? Let alone taking them off TOGETHER?!

I knew this likely meant that I should recognize my mother and her boyfriend as sexual entities in their own selves (as they seemed to be reenacting the naked games I was having in my dreams) – but quite like how my mother did not want to imagine her young, innocent daughter as a being with a libido, I was in denial about every adult having a libido.

When my parents divorced, my grandmother bought my father about 200 different types of condoms for Christmas. I looked away and chose to ignore the fact that my father may have been a sexual creature.

Which is hilarious, because I was eight.

What is sexuality to an eight year old?

I remember watching a girl very gently, softly and carefully focus on braiding another girl’s hair and feeling ‘funny’. I remember doing ‘back tickles’ late at night with my female cousins, extracting pleasure from the sensitivity of light fingernails on the skin from our necks down to the waistline of our pajama pants. I remember seeing a flash of testicles in grade one when a fellow classmate was doing sommersaults and again, feeling ever so ‘funny’. I remember trading candy hearts with a boy named Luke and thinking we would get married.

This is not dangerous stuff. This is nothing that we need to be terrified of for our offspring. To me, these instances strike me as moments of intense sensuality that derive not from genital stimulation, but an ability to appreciate and experience pleasure.

I feel the need to paint you a picture: I was the quietest, shyest girl in my class. No boys had crushes on me. I became a flaming red ball of blushing embarrassment if ever asked to speak in front of more than one person at a time. I didn’t keep up with the latest fashions – at ten, I tip-toed around the schoolyard in purple velvet pants and an over-sized pink teddy bear sweater to hide the swollen nipples mother nature hatefully handed over to me.

What I am hoping this characterization of myself as a child will do is to negate that image of a half-naked, extroverted tomboy who went around asking if she could see down every 9-year-old boys pants, and her hand always between her legs regardless of the fanciness of the restaurant.

Something is okay to recognize: children are sexual beings. Not just the flagrantly obvious horny little boys – but also the quiet, shy timid girl in the corner.

SHOCK GASP APPALLING DISGRACE HOW DARE YOU SAY THIS CAITLIN?!

Now I’m not saying we should toss away all thought patterns we have on the subject matter. Throwing in the towel and just letting our kids masturbate all over the place likely won’t solve any of their internal sexual reservations that most of them will have when they reach adulthood.

However, it would solve a lot of our future generations psychological turmoil if we acknowledge that children are already pre-programmed for sex long before we even have a chance to explain to them that it has to do with a bed, two individuals who look at each other longingly and lovingly, and with mushing our genitals together.

MOST ADORABLE COUPLE IN THE HISTORY OF TELEVISION

To Be A ‘Slut’

Every now and then my mother feels it is absolutely necessary to tell me to change the name of my website.

To her, a ‘slut’ is not something one should be referring to themselves as.

She tested this theory about a year ago when I had just started the blog and exclaimed to me in the car one day: “So, WHAT! Do you just want to be called a ‘slut’?!”

I reacted neutrally, shrugged my shoulders, and said “Yea. Sure.”

We just so happened to be on our way to a restaurant. A small, dimly lit place where people go to pay lots of money for a small glass of wine and delicious food.

When the waiter comes over to our table, my mother animatedly turns to me and says: “What do YOU want to eat, SLUT?”

That was a nice touch. Like the mother who attempts to turn their offspring off alcohol by giving them a six pack when they are twelve and saying to them: “You want to be like your dad! FINE. But that means you’ve got to really be like him. Drink all of these in one sitting.”

What my mother didn’t quite understand was that I was already pre-conditioned to being referred to as a ‘slut’. Continue reading “To Be A ‘Slut’”

Other Options…

This is what girls do when people don’t show up to workshops…

costumes, anyone?

Outfits courtesy of Misha Lovelock, a ‘sextanista’ to the death.

As a sidenote: This is not a workshop. This is just fun. Super sexy fun.

And some of you may say: BUT CAITLIN. Why advertise this on your website that advocates healthy body-mind relationships full of healing, learning and consensual experiences? Doesn’t it seem kind of backwards, flakey and like you aren’t an adult who is in control of this potential website-boom that could likely make you famous??

A) Maybe. In your mind. If naughty outfits with awesome ladies equates with unprofessional.

B) Wouldn’t it be wildly hypocritical of me to not express and be proud of my own sexuality when I am trying to promote such things in others?!

Yes. Yes it would.

Tune in next week when Caitlin dresses up like a clown and starts sexily popping balloons.

Get it while it’s hot, gooberfaces. Soon this junk won’t be for free.

No, We Aren’t Having Orgies, Thank You Very Much

This is a general, random posting on the current ongoings and fumblings of the Body Pride Workshop Parties.

First of all: There are no orgies. Trust me. I am an instigator of orgies and this is neither the place nor the time for girl orgies to be occurring. Sorry to all of the hopeful and creative sexual minds of men and women.

Second of all: Some of the feedback we have gotten so far,

“Ladies, thank you for such a fantastic night last night. It was so empowering hearing all your stories and learning from them. I will always remember that party. It was a joy meeting you all and I really hope our paths cross again in the future. I woke up this morning feeling (a little hung over) but also so refreshed and feeling like I learned so much about myself. My roommates should get ready because I feel like I will be doing a whole lot more naked dancing around the apartment.”

“‎I’m rating this as a 10! It was so refreshing to be exposed to girls in their ABSOLUTE truest form! I felt like I was in one of those Dove Real Women ad’s but like a reality version hahahaha. It’s really great to be around real people with real stories, because everyone’s sharing real stories that you can probably relate to in some way or another. It’s was so liberating! Feeling a slight boost of naked confidence now.”

And most influential to my Superwoman ego:

“you’ve enlightened me in a way my therapy and group counseling never did.”

Now. About the booze, because this seem to come up a lot. These ‘parties’ are workshops in the sense that you walk away having gained/learned/grown or whatever have you. It’s hard not to. You are experiencing something that you have not experienced before. And who knows, maybe you grew up in a nudist colony and have absolutely no problem hanging out in the nood with your BFF’s. BUT, this party will be a new experience for you regardless, because: a) I’m the host, and the creation of these parties has developed from the creative, spiritual, and ‘my-mother-trained-me-to-host-properly’ part of my mind – as well as the colorful and comfortable right brains of Stella and Khadeja, b) because… I don’t know, I’m like… teaching you shit, or something…

WHY I DON’T WANT THEM TO JUST BE WORKSHOPS:

1. Every workshop I’ve been to has bright lights, things to distract me and I often get distracted by shiny clothes, how many times the ‘teacher’ uses the word ‘actually,’ and the seam of my jeans. Heh (side note: previous sentence was a really good example of why the Oxford Comma is a useful tool…)

2. I don’t know about you, but every experience thus far in my adult life that has brought reason to ‘celebrate’, there has been some form of alcohol involved. Always. DONT ASK ME WHY. This isn’t a blog about the history of alcohol consumption. It’s a blog about sex and body and relationships and all that junk that is more fun than history. Celebration = booze. Unless you are in AA or are allergic… It’s a general human tradition. A rite of passage occurs and we fuck up our minds to see the world differently. Being naked and happy and accepting with each other seems like a damn good reason to celebrate, if you ask me.

3. Parties are fun. It’s how we bond. We drink, loosen our tongues, pour out all of our secrets to each other, and now we are best friends. It’s just how it works. For some reason, we become closer when we let go of inhibition, are slightly vulnerable and get chatty. And naked.

The above reasons are why there will continue to be alcohol provided at our Body Pride Workshop Party’s.

I am no Sexual Education God (…yet). I don’t meditate every day, I don’t read as much as I should, I don’t know how to orgasm with my mind (JEEZE CAITLIN. Seriously?! You don’t know how to orgasm with your MIND?! WTF is wrong with you!), I’ve done stupid things, I have stupid stories, I’ve done drugs and smoked cigarettes and had sex with people I didn’t want to have sex with. And these reasons, my darlings, are exactly why you should come and hang out with me in the buff.

This is where it gets all deep and weird and when my small amount of meditation and spiritual texts actually come into play:

It doesn’t matter.

Just let go, and let it be.

And, from the wise tattoo I got when I was probably far too young, spontaneous and silly to be getting tattoo’s (nothing has changed…), “Love and do what you will.”

Eh. There it is.

Now come get naked and party with us.