Room

There is room for being a baby girl to a daddy in the equality I'd like to see.
There's room for being a prostitute who loves the freedom of fucking.
There's room for being a housewife who loves the warm, heavy blanket of responsibility.
There's room for the business woman who loves to be bent over a conference table and fucked with her arms held over head, after a long day of making difficult decisions.
There's room for a woman who spends her days in sundresses and her nights in leather and latex.
There's room for the teacher who just doesn't like sex all that much, though she loves cuddling and kissing.
There's room for the librarian who visits the swingers club every other Friday and watches couples fucking in public.
There's room for the 14 year old girl who's just discovering the pure power of her cunt and hips, her lips and eyes, her hair and feet. She's not scared, but she knows you are.
There's room for the 52 year old woman who self consciously holds her tits up as she rides her younger lover into a remembered and seamless oblivion.
There's room for the 23 year old girl who roams the nightscape frantically every weekend, searching for the one who'll hold her hand and watch a sunset with her on the beach, just like she's imagined happening since she was first told that's what she should want when she was 9.
There's room for the artist who loves her work more than she'll ever love you.
There's room for the young, beautiful musician with the voice of a nightingale and the unabashedly broken inner life, who sings all her thoughts, even the ones that make you uncomfortable.
There's room for the 35 year old bartender who hasn't been told she's beautiful by a man she'd like to create a home with in 10 years, but who still looks in the mirror and sees the woman who fucked Bon Jovi.
There's room for all of these women, and there's room for me.