When it gets quiet here on the blog, the odds are…The Sensual Life is busier than ever!
Recently, I launched a new series of workshops called The Orgasmic Living Series – which is going very well so far. The first Introduction to Sensual Living was held in Manhattan two weeks ago, and when I posted it on FaceBook I got requests to bring it to Philadelphia. So on May 2nd, that’s exactly what I’m doing. (If you know anyone in the area, please do pass it along. And if you’d like The Orgasmic Living Series to come to you, wherever you are, email me!)
And tomorrow, another big step of the series takes place: The Orgasmic Possibility is being held here in Manhattan. This is the demo and discussion of Orgasmic Meditation that I wrote you about a while back. I have been preparing for this day for the last couple of months (see the blogposts starting with Everyday Orgasm). I do need to update the blog with the insights and learnings along the way…but for now, I’ll just share this:
My whole system — from my orgasm to the way I speak to the degree of intimacy I feel with others to my internal sense of happiness and well-being — have all been altered by the experience. It is sometimes hard to explain how this happens and what it means. It is perhaps best compared to having an exercise or yoga practice, or preparing for an athletic competition. Some moments are joyful and fun. Some are challenging, causing you to reach deep into yourself for courage to keep going. And always, the option of quitting looms.
Until one day, it doesn’t.
At some point, you fully own and take responsibility — for everything. The practice, your life, your desires, your orgasm. Your part in your relationships, your choices, your suffering. There is no more blaming, there is no more victim status. There is just you. Your physical, emotional and spiritual being. And of course, your orgasm — which exists on all of these levels. And how all of these parts of you collide with the world around you. And what you do with every moment of that collision.
My biggest surprise: Freedom is not what I expected. It’s much, much better. Much more subtle. Nothing changes in some ways. And then, everything does.
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Last week, Writing The Sensual Life was held in Philadelphia for the first time. I’m going to end this blogpost with a couple excerpts of writing generated there, with more to come. And a promise to get back here more often!
Writing Prompt: “I wish you would do this to me…”
I wish you would consume me. I wish you would go so slow in some moments until I am writhing under you, begging you, groping for you. You would not see my need as less. You would not give in. You would know the right time to sink yourself into me. And you would know that it is many hours after I begin to ask.
I wish you would wrestle with me. Invite out my animal. Never letting me win, of course. But never needing to assert more than an amount of force equal to or just a hair more than mine. I wish you would let me scream, holler, cry, rant, and rave until I am exhausted. I wish you would hold me when I dissolve into tears after. As I cry, as I grow soft. As I go from minx to kitten. And move seamlessly with me, never for a minute, judging me. Never taking on my rage, my sadness, my despair. Being my witness only. Until I am empty.
I wish you would braid my hair, rub oil into my body, expect nothing from me. And then when I am free, when I am yours, when I am ready, I wish you would take me. Hold back on nothing. Tell me everything you are going to do to me from across the room. Blindfold me. Surprise me. Put your hand at the base of my the back of my neck. My hair, yours. My breasts, yours. My pussy, yours. My spirit, yours.
I wish you were that brave, that crazy, that safe…
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Live Modeling Segment: Female Perspective
I desperately want to feel a breeze come through the window. I want the noises to stop. The incessant car horns, the motorcycles puttering by, the tinny music from the record store next store. It is just like my life. I am desperate for a distilled moment, to feel just one thing at a time. The deepest recess of my palm pushed into the green cotton on his shirt, gripping his chest. But just that fast, there is the next moment and the next. Unable to slow them down, to taste them like separate courses of a meal, I do the only thing I can do…
Surrender my weight to his lap. Forego feeling, in lieu of being felt. The music blends with the car horns. The voices are an ocean to the traffic. His hands, unbuttoning me slowly, is the melody. The orchestra of life takes me over. I swing my legs high up off the ground, like a little girl on Daddy’s lap. But this is a naughty Daddy. As I pull off his shirt, bury my hands in the hair of his chest, I feel a smile break out across my face…and I’m playing.
Grown woman spilling out of my bra, of my pussy, of my fingertips…but the girl is in charge. The girl is on top. Taking the man, the daddy in him. If for no other reason than because she can.