Member-only story
The degradation of Venus
How we profane the sacred with our misogyny
I love women. The older I get, the more I appreciate the beauty of the feminine. I love our bodies, our gentle humor, the way we can emotionally understand and support each other.
And I love my own body.
It’s taken me a while to get to that place. That is what makes it so lovely to be growing old.
When I was young, I was beautiful and thought I was ugly. Now, I am probably considered ugly in the eyes of the world. I have only one breast. I have a hole in my head that only barely healed after surgery. I have scars on my thigh from where flesh was taken to graft on the wound over my ribs, where a breast used to be. I am fat, which is the worst sin in our superficial society.
But inside, I feel more beautiful than I ever have before.
This is the beauty of old age.
I know things now that I never knew before. I have more to give, and need less from others. It is a good place to be.
And I love sex.
Then again, I always have. I am lucky this way, but I shouldn’t be. Enjoyment of sex should be as natural as breathing or enjoying food.
