If thou must love me, let it be for nought Except for love's sake only. Do not say 'I love her for her smile—her look—her way Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day'— For these things in themselves, Beloved, may Be changed, or change for thee,—and love, so wrought, May be unwrought so. Neither love me for Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,— A creature might forget to weep, who bore Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby! But love me for love's sake, that evermore Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.- Elizabeth Barrett Browning
To the Ladies,
Liberation has given us choice. This freedom bestows upon our sex responsibility to fare well against men bent on disposable pleasure. We are sluts if we fall for cheap charms and instant gratification, yet remain sexy and exciting before the conquest. I argue instead for chastity.
Chastity has become nasty; a word recalling covered ankles, shrouded hair, and lowered eyes. We must rejuvenate the definition by the refusal of unzipping his pants until we can be assured in opening our hearts to warm welcome. These atriums vaulted in athletic muscle and animated with the blood that sets us to panting, must be guarded with the same zealous abandon that guides lovers’ pressing hands. Lips should catch both breath and heart by instinct, instruction, and consideration.
Ladies, we should not settle for take, and take, and take to come, but for share and explore what draws us closer into one. If the purest pleasure is well-shared and trusted, then we should not be ashamed by our standards. Though we are raised to imagine Fate as our handmaiden and pray by conspicuous consumptions, is there not power in discrimination?
I do not mean to suggest growing jealousies and gossip in bushels, but rather there is no great prejudice or shame in mastering the cartography of love without knowing all the land.
There are some that take as men take and own the slander of “Slut” as a designer scarlet S smeared on each breast. To these “Sex and the City” acolytes spinning sexual connections wherever blood boils, I direct some caution. Not for seeking pleasure, but for taking it with men in such an abandon that hanging out and hooking up have given uncommitted men excuse for bad behaviors. There is desire and a primal thumping beat that pulls our blood in desperate territories. Against this tortuous searing, consider a tension sustained and weighted before a full surrender.
The reality is we hold and shelter men in that physical act, while they push and pull away again and again and again. If they wreck us and disappear, we are the ones left with the knowledge we let the wrong one in. We are the so-called Sluts, and they the Playboys.
Thus, it is not bitter prudeness that fuels this address, but deep contemplation while dangling a toe in the abyss of sexual satisfaction and transgression. I see some leap and then fall alone. They are knocked against sharp outcroppings or search blind. I watch my peers pierce the air, tangle, and part, while I look for a stair or glider. Or at least a fellow to lead me off the edge and hold tight as gravity pulls. I do not expect the bond to stick, but wouldn’t falling be so much easier if we knew our partner had some regard for our impact? Some women dive alone and take what they can in flight, but that does not have to guide us all.
So please, consider the reputation of our sex. Steam the glass ceiling with your breath and write your name with a flourish only so long. We are free to be both the sexually adventurous “Sluts” with a capital “S” for sensuality and curiously Chaste discriminators. After all we shouldn't demand anything from men we do not require of ourselves.
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