Yell It From The Rooftops

Last weekend was business as usual: after a brief visit to Tulip, I took the train home. As each one of the upcoming stops were announced, I kept my eyes on the passengers around me. None of them could know what I was keeping in my backpack. I couldn’t stop smiling the entire way home.

More now than ever, as a member of the Tulip community, I realize that everyone has their “secrets.” I see folks come into our store – bend over boyfriends, solo flyers buying their first vibes, couples, singles, tops, bottoms: you name it – and some shy, eager smiles tell it all. I know that they’ll be having the time of their lives in an hour or two, and no one will know except for them and me.

As a part of the Tulip community, I am honored to be trusted along quite a number of sexual journeys, approached discretely, summoned for advice. I am always more than happy to help, but I’ve got to wonder: why so secret? Why is it in this “liberal” city, complete with representatives across the rainbow spectrum, with sex in our movies, our magazines, our stores, people choke whenever they try to say the word “clit”? Why is it that, even within a safe space, the demonized character of sex looms over and incites shame?

We all have our reasons to approach sex in the ways we do. But to those out there with your little secret, let me assure you: you’re not alone. I would bet that the person sitting across from you in the office has got a little something in her underwear drawer, or a condom or three in his bag, at least. That man in front of you in the grocery check-out line has got a set of anal beads that could make a rookie cry. Maybe he’s got on some lacy underwear. Or maybe he hasn’t gotten it up in years. Who knows?

My mind wanders to this utopian, vamped-up version of the world as we know it, where no one mistakes their sex/sexuality as taboo. Old ladies sitting around a table, cackling, deeming who’s the biggest size queen of the bunch; suits in a corporate office comparing the quality of their chosen lubes; calling a friend because I’ve run out of bondage tape and asking to borrow a yard or two: in my perfect world, sex is not scary. Sex, instead, is like brushing teeth: everyone does it, and they do it however damn well they please.

Also, ideally, the more I did it, the whiter my teeth, but that’s another dream altogether.

I pose a challenge to you, fair reader: when you are silenced by the subject of sex, ask yourself, “why”? Is what you have to hide as embarrassing, shameful or uncommon as you think? Or is it possible that your dreams and fantasies are ones you share with Bob from next door? You might surprise yourself with your answer. In fact, I hope you do.

I had a dildo and a packy in my backpack, by the way.

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