Being ME while Loving YOU

Dear Patreons,

I'm on my rooftop terrace in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, after presenting my play, Naked at My Age, to a house full of friends. I've been asked to present next winter at San Miguel's most historic and beloved brothel, Casa de la Noche. What a dream to present my play about the value of sex work in a famous woman-lead brothel with all the painted ladies on the wall. My message of sexual and reproductive freedom rings true in Mexico where a woman's cooperative in Guanajuato (neighboring town) sends abortion pills to Texas and other USA states where women need them. Proceeds from my performance go to this woman's coop, Las Libres. Thank you, Mexico, you are a good neighbor and we will try to be the same.

Lovingly, Charla During my house show of Naked, this photo was taken of me by Kate Van Doren who has Healing Words Project and paints women's words on their bodies and then photogrpahs them, like Being ME and Loving YOU.

I'd also like to share with you an article I wrote years ago on Orgasm Shame that I just ran across.

Orgasm Shame

When first having sex with a partner, I was feared that my orgasms wouldn’t come or I’d take too long. And when I finally did start coming with a partner, about age thirty, I tried to hide my orgasms—like oh, I'm coming, I’m so embarrassed. I'd burry my face away, hold my breath, and try not to move.  Duh, how did I ever get shamed about having an orgasm?

Later I learned, women have different kinds of orgasms;  I may be having the wrong kind. Was my orgasm clitoral or vaginal? I wasn't even sure. Was my orgasm mature or infantile? Before I could figure it out, I learned I was really supposed to blend the two. 

Then another shame sprung forth. I heard if I really Let Go Big, I may ejaculate--other women do it. There’s books and videos on it.  Oh no, what if I couldn’t do it?  Shame on shame.

As if that’s not enough to worry about, how many orgasms am I supposed to have anyway?  I may not have the right number. Porn shows women flopping around like a fish all night.  Gosh, I’m teary eyed and ready to be held after one—is that weird? 

Do guys have these same dilemmas, or is it just, “Hey Joe, I had a big one last night.” I don’t know. 

As I age I worry that my orgasms aren't as strong as they used to be, or not as often. No rest for the weary.  Can't  we just feel good and celebrate the simple gift of orgasm?  And stop worrying that everyone else is probably doing it better—when they’re probably dealing with their own shame. Let’s hang it up. Here's my new bumper sticker--Have you hugged your Orgasm today?