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  • Yesterday a woman, who is a social worker in a Mayan Indian community told me that she was just seeing a 87 - year - old woman, who got raped by a young man of the village. The woman is severely traumatized and cannot bear any man approaching her. She just allows her daughters to tend to her.

    The social worker told me that this is a common ocurrence in the communities she works in.

    I am shocked. Somehow this made me remember a very different and not so completely different story, even though no rape is involved, just seduction, but also a kind of very sad sex:

    " I am an indigenous woman from a small village. I am forty–eight and a single mother of eight, four boys and four girls. Well, they are all grown men and women today. I got pregnant with my first son when I was fifteen. That is still normal in many indigenous communities.

    Most women I know around my age are close to menopause and are happy about that. Making love is a burdensome obligation for them, getting pregnant year after years, raising so many children. When menopause sets in, they feel freed from all that. They feel like young girls. They don’t have to have much sex anymore and no pregnancies. They feel free to explore parts of life they could not before.

    Not me, though. Well, the giving- birth part, the raising-children part, that is and was a drag. Giving birth hurts like hell! Raising children was hard. I never enjoyed it. I never really much cared for my children, to be honest. I never played with them or laughed. I was an angry mother They bothered me a lot and I scolded them. But, yes, I did bake tortillas for them and did my work in the corn field and in the house.

    What I loved was my husband, such a handsome man! What I really loved was the sex! We had sex every day and I enjoyed it very much. I could never get enough of it. I thought about sex all day long and longed for evening to come. I know people have sex to have children. At least in our communities, it was like that. But I could skip the children part. Back then, there was no birth control available. The price for sex was high and I had no choice but to pay it. My children weighed on me. I do not know if I can honestly say that I love them. Maybe I did not even love my handsome husband. I loved sex!

    Satisfaction didn’t last long. I always wanted more and I just could not have as much sex as I longed for, so I was frustrated. I was angry a lot. My bad moods hung over our house. One day my husband left me and the kids. The bastard left me for another woman! Maybe she was not so sexually demanding. Maybe she could manage better moods. I don’t know. It still hurts me because he was such a good lover!

    I fight with my children, especially with my oldest son. Him I try to embitter his life. Maybe it is because he resembles his father so much. Well, he looks like his father, but inside, he is different. He was a sad man; he was a sad boy. He complains that I have never loved him. Maybe he is right, but I would never admit this to my children. I just keep scolding them. This son is married. He has two little girls and it makes me angry to see him happy with them. He forgets about me when he is happy. I want him to think about me. I want all my children to think about me, to worry about me, to give me money, and if they don’t, I make trouble by saying bad things about them and their spouses in the village. I love to spread gossip. Then I feel important.

    Since my husband left, I have been even angrier. I am obsessed with sex and lovemaking. I try to arouse any man that comes my way and sometimes they will have sex with me. But most are family men and everything has to be secret and hidden and no one stays for long. I never get what I want. I never get enough. I am a hungry ghost and that is a very harsh, sad life.

    When my son, my oldest, comes to visit I tell him in detail about my sexual encounters. I see in his face how he gets aroused, how he hates me to arouse him, how he suffers and a very dark part of me enjoys that. It is not all true, what I tell him. A lot I make up, but he does not know that. The other day I realized what I want: I want to seduce my son! I am only fifteen years older than him. I am still an attractive woman, or so they tell me. If he succumbs, I will have control over him. I will have more control over him then than his wife, who I do not like. She is a whore. She has slept with other men and he knows it and accepts it!

    Sometimes I wonder if I have been taken over by a bad spirit. Sometimes I wonder what love might be, not sex, but what they call real love. Maybe I have never felt that. Sometimes I envy those other ladies in my village that happily let go of sex at my age. There is a sparkle in their eyes. They do things they have never done before. They dance. They learn about women in other parts of the country and sometimes go visit them and make new friends. They play with their grandchildren and I hear them laugh so hard! I hardly ever laugh. I always feel anxious. I am always longing for a man, And now I desire my own son. I am not stupid. I know this is not love. Maybe it is even the opposite of love. What do I know? I know I do not know about love. It is a very sad life…."

    I hear quite a number os stories - some of which I have published here - that make me wonder once and again, if sex is a blessing or a curse....

    Art by Kiki ("Fuego en la panza)

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