Dropping her clothes, and with them, the shame that society has attached to them, is a big step. It's one she's long overdue for. In her own skin, she's complete. Her breasts, her belly, her wide hips, as round and smooth as the ocean following the moon, all of these are hers and that's all there is to say about that.

Touched by you, she gets a response from way back in her past. All the women who've ever had their bodies taken from them come alive again in her. They're rolled back into her like the July sun brings the day's heat.

When she tilts her head, it's with a woman's sense of ownership. When she moans, that's her sound and no one else's. She doesn't share it. She knows what she wants. And that's what scares all the men who've built their lives on her not knowing.

She owns her space in a crowded room. With her hands and lips, she says yes and no. She closes doors like a swinging screen door in the wind. In the light of day, she says more and asserts herself even more.

Her pleasure gushes out of her like a waterfall off a cliff. It's cold, strong, and it's a done deal. Between her legs is where she prays and rebels at the same time. Her fingers know exactly where to go and how to get there. Her breathing catches when she teeters on the edge and then goes over. She comes back to the present whole because she left the same.

If you take her, be sure of what you see. She's letting you look, and that's not the same as looking and being let in. She's actually sharing.

Her desire is always on, always on the move. In her, it's like a fire that's burned itself into her bones. It's a low, steady heat under her tongue or a big, wild fire on a hilltop. She says all of it in plain language. She says her needs and her desires and the parts of her that are hungry.

At some point, she figured out that a woman's desire is a form of power. And since the world began, a woman's power has made kings nervous.

She makes love like it matters. Hard and with all her might, and with gasps and a lot of slippery motion. She takes and gives. In her passion, she's all out. She's a good lover because she doesn't try to be a martyr.

When she comes, the room holds its breath. She tenses up and this is the honest, raw sound of a woman who's finally living instead of just going through the motions. Her voice is older and wiser, which is the after-soundtrack of a woman who's stopped pretending and is now really living.

Afterwards, she stretches like a happy cat. She's had her fill and is already thinking about the next time. She'll give her love when she likes and take it when she likes. She knows who wants her and when. She rewards herself in her own special way.

Since it's her body and her satisfaction is the prize, she trusts herself to know what she wants.

What really frightens the men, all of them, is a woman who sees and feels her own power, a woman who admits her own pleasure, who says, “I want,” and means it, and who only offers her own satisfaction on her own terms.

Watching her use her power is the most exciting part, her confidence in saying her body is where she finds her certainty, and her decision to say it's a matter of will. Her determination in getting what she wants is the center of all of this.

She's untamed.

She's unafraid.

She's free.