Written and Illustrated by Amy Wilde
There are two kinds of vital relationships that women are not encouraged to develop. Those would be relationships with other women and the relationship they have with themselves.
My entire life, I felt I could not come out as a strong queer woman. Even typing this is making me nervous, reminding me of the therapy and church groups my stepmother sent me to after she found out I was in my school’s LGBT club and that I had a girlfriend. I never wanted to be known as Amy the Lesbian. People tried to teach me that my sexual preference meant I could never be a strong and powerful person, that I would have to act straight to attain anything. Common knowledge, they told me, says that queer women are “just” angry dykes who hate men (read: need to get laid.)
Embracing my love for women has helped me develop my relationship with myself. Women have showed me how to love, how to make love and how to accept love. I dedicate these illustrations and words to them. These women are strong and powerful and at 24 years old, I’m ready to join their ranks.
Breathing in the cold 3am air, my lungs tightened and froze. It was the same breathless pressure I had felt just 30 minutes ago creeping out of another man’s house. Now I stood on your doorstep, looking for the comfort I’d been searching for in his strong arms and masculine attention. As you lay me down on your bed, pulling my icy clothes off my body, there were no longer any questions. The romance novels I was devoted to as a child, the porn I got hooked on as a teen, the NYC sex parties, the circle jerks, the tantric workshops, the daddies, the slaves, the dildos, the latex, the video cameras, the bamboo canes and nipples clamps — everything became secondary compared to the power of your pussy.
You ate up my skin like it was a cake that you couldn’t stop devouring. One more bite and I would be living within your warm fleshly insides. You were still dressed in your conservative pantsuit and within the hour you’d be back at your desk on Pear Street, with a new secret to hide. Your lips were cherry red. Smears of scarlet ran across my nipples and ribs as I gazed down at you, tangled within my thighs. My body was glowing with your intentions. You were the giver, and I surrendered.
You had effortlessly slipped on my favorite black panties and my hunger to take them off was growing. As I slipped back to the table where we were sitting in the restaurant, I felt the stares burn. I just focused on the weight of you. Once we were full from wine and spaghetti, your hands became two wild creatures of their own. They slipped beneath my winter layers. Leaving the restaurant, you held my hand to keep your balance, pulling me past the gossiping wait staff. It was impossible for me not to kiss you. As I pulled away, I noticed a mother pull her children away. You just pulled me closer.
I think about your body, your twisting curves, during yoga. I think about the smoothies you make me. The matching feminist books we bought at the Strand. I think about the weed and chocolate you have ready for me when you see I’ve had a long day. The times you’ve vented to me about clients and intentions to retrain the male mind. I think about how proud I am to hold your hand as we wander, stoned around Central Park. The massages you give my tired muscles at 3am. Let me celebrate the body you’ve been told to be ashamed of. Let our dreams seem so much closer when we confide them in one another. Let us support each other as lovers, as friends, but mostly as women.
ABOUT THE ARTIST, Amy Lousia Wilde is an erotic illustrator and painter originally from the UK, now living in New York City. Her main themes are gender, sexual openness and feminist expression. Daddy Wilde is her alternate male persona. Amy actively collaborates with New York based artists and photographers to further pursue these themes in different mediums. She is also a producer, specializing in nightlife and photographic productions.