Emperor's New Clothes

There is a reference in my blurb (located to the right on this blog) to the Emperor's new clothes and how I identify with the child in that story. This was a commonly shared parable when I was little, written by Hans Christian Andersen, and familiar to everyone (or so I thought).

Recently, I discovered that it has fallen out of favor, is no longer routinely taught to children, and realized many of you may be unfamiliar with what my reference means. It's a commonality with human beings to pretend to understand things we don't in order to save face. 

I'm that one person in however many who is curious enough to come out and ask when I don't understand something. I am like that young child, too unaware or unconcerned with social norms to care, who asks the questions and points out the truth. 

Without further ado, here is the summary of The Emperor's New Clothes. From Wikipedia:

A vain Emperor who cares for nothing except wearing and displaying clothes hires two swindlers who promise him the finest, best suit of clothes from a fabric invisible to anyone who is unfit for his position or "hopelessly stupid". The Emperor's ministers cannot see the clothing themselves, but pretend that they can for fear of appearing unfit for their positions and the Emperor does the same. Finally the swindlers report that the suit is finished, they mime dressing him and the Emperor marches in procession before his subjects. The townsfolk play along with the pretense not wanting to appear unfit for their positions or stupid. Then a child in the crowd, too young to understand the desirability of keeping up the pretense, blurts out that the Emperor is wearing nothing at all and the cry is taken up by others. The Emperor cringes, suspecting the assertion is true, but continues the procession.

Authenticity

Caution: Frank sexual topic ahead. Bail now if you have delicate sensibilities and/or do not want to read a blunt discussion about sex. I did not write this -- I wish I had. Maybe I will write something similar soon. I feel every word of the following essay.

I found this essay in several places, but never saw a title associated with it. So I dubbed it "Authenticity." ~~GH

Okay, as soon as you get to the bottom of the image below, the text begins immediately. 

Last chance to bail. 3, 2, 1 . . .

Sex is not a goddamn performance.

Sex should feel as natural as drinking water.

It should not require confidence.

Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe.

Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.

You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh.

It’s not about being “good in bed.”

It’s about being happy.

One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.

What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you.

Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.

Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be.

I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.

I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want.

It’s originality.

It’s passion.

It’s joy.

Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.

I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.

“Good in bed,” what.

You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you.

Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel.

This isn’t a test. ~~ [author] skwyrtle