Happy Spring Equinox! A little warning. This is a sex story. And the Spring awakening seemed like the perfect time to share some eroticism. If you are a family member you might just want to skip it even though it is beautiful and real and healing.
“You smell like pure woman and an herb garden” he says. “We become what we love”- I replied. He moaned at the poetry moving through the musk of my body. I could still smell the coffee he had that morning, the allure of the essential oil he tucked behind his ear just in case someone came close and the mezcal I had just poured him beginning to pour through his skin as the heat between us rose to a slow simmer.
We hadn’t planned on the encounter. I ran into him on the beach after sunset. My intention was to go down into the village and see a show and he asked if I wanted to walk the beach a bit and chat. I had been in such un espacio de tranquilidad for a few days that I didn’t hesitate to go with the flow. I have learned that hanging onto most plans is like grabbing at waves. We had met the previous week in a Contact Improvisation dance immersion, 5 hours a day for 5 days we and 50 others immersed ourselves in the daunting container of moving in close proximity to other bodies while attempting to stay within our own and not get swept up in story, attraction, distraction, repulsion. All the triggers. I noticed how he moved, and yet we were amongst a beautiful buffet of international bodies from all corners and walks of life, connecting to this common thread- the desire to dance and express the vulnerabilities of our hidden worlds without words. I hadn’t given him a third thought after the dance ended.
I had been on the search for the perfect someone to inhabit my rustic little home while I am away up north so that it kept all the good vibes I had poured into it. He innocently came up to see it quickly and we found ourselves 20 minutes later with a small splash of mezcal in hand, sharing stories of our lives. He laughed as I told my journey in Ireland when a Bard fed me salmon that he had just caught, sang to me as he played the harp while the story of my life poured from his lips and planted the most lush wild man kiss on my gaping open mouth, on the summer solstice as bagpipes played atop the sacred hill of Uisneach. It really happened.
We talked about intimacy, desire, dance. I maintained an energetic distance as I have committed myself to a posture of curiosity and deep listening when I meet men, people, after my last break up. What is it that attracts me to another? Where and what does this magnetism, or lack of, rise from? The wound, the dreams, a need for healing, sacred contracts, twin flame polarity- so much lives in the space between two human beings and I am a devotee to understanding, responding to, honoring and naming what is alive. I opened a discussion about the nuances of what a full YES feels like when engaging with attraction, sex, penetration, commitment, connection etc. This typically shocks the person (man) in front of me because honest vulnerability is still a rare bird. Instead he leaned in.
I felt him open and we joked about how we must both be attracted to unavailable people still as I was leaving in three days, so meeting one another was safe. We agreed that long term monogamy with the flowering open to more shared love is what we both felt was the highest form of spiritual union as a pathway. He then shared with me about his complications with achieving and maintaining an erection. He was a victim of porn culture that separated his phallus from organic sensation and his lower half had been cut off from his upper. This gorgeous, large, Austrian, world loving, dancing man- went soft in front of me, I melted with compassion. I did not sense that he was telling me for any reason other than I opened the gates to vulnerable sharing. And I do transmit something that opens places of safety in others to unlock the chambers in the backside of their hearts. I am constantly tracking the tendency to be the healer in my connections. I am not here to heal my partner(s), just embody, transmit, be and let them be so that true healing, sovereignty, can ensue for all. But I am what I am. I do what I do. It wafts off me.
I continued to ignore the idea of any real desire in the space, that this man was possibly vibing me. Since my last relationship I have been in touch with my worth wound, lucky me- but really it’s a good thing, and how it manifests in this projection of a woman who is obviously not going to be the one chosen despite the good medicine, so I play gal pal, sister friend, good agreeable listener and healer to keep me safe. I stay aloof. Because I can track the energy now, I was able to turn it around and remind myself that it is my choice, my voice. What do I want? Rather than wonder what he thinks of me- what the hell do I feel about him? I felt my power come back, my true sensual nature that needs no veil of seduction, and I remembered:
I am a healer’s healer, a lover’s lover, the breath that carries prayer, the waterway home and the salmon, a woman who knows what she must know and all the secrets, and that I choose who enters the garden. I am the rose in the middle of the briar.
It was creeping close to my bedtime, so it was about 9pm (when everyone else is eating dinner in Mexico). We hugged goodbye and did not let go. The minute our flesh collided we locked our limbs into places and spaces that called out to be made real by the presence of another’s hands, then lips, soft breath, heavy breath, noses smelling, nuzzling into crevasses, inhaling human. We surrendered to the dance and naturalness of two bodies needing one another, revealing what is most true in that moment that words cannot express. The naturalness of honoring part, a large part, of why we are here- on Earth.
That moment with a new mouth will forever take me to 13 years old and the terrifying time of my first kiss. As he and I breathed around each other’s necks, brushing our faces close, I dropped the story and dropped right in. Yeah- my woman knows how to use her lips to reach all the way down into the sex and raise the hairs on the toes of the other human- body. Kissing tells a million stories, like seeing someone’s house for the first time. You can [almost] get the full download about the other person. The tongue rises from the heart in fetal development and to kiss someone, tongue twirling over teeth, reveals so much about the presence and openness of their heart.
We groped and grabbed and kneaded one another until he picked me up like I was a feather and laid me down in my bed. He was so present he growled. I howled little bits of laughter as his man body just kept devouring my woman body. His defenses and postures of any disinterest, a little bit of hubris designed to protect himself, melted away as his primal truth roared forth. He was 3 and 12 and 27 and true at 39.
I let him love me, look into my eyes with an intimacy that felt as though we have known one another for lifetimes. And we have. Each organelle forming every cell of beaded sweat and saliva has been part of the landscape of life for much longer than he and I, in these borrowed shells of composite feather, sun and stone, will be alive. One little hair on my skin meeting his “hey didn’t I know you when you were the tree and I was the wind?”. I felt my innate shameless pleasure come alive again. My true sensual power, presence and beauty after a heart breaking separation with a man I poured my heart into in the recent months. To be touched was…Oh my Gaaawwwdess!
The blessing of this moment brought my body back into communion with what I am made of, made for, which is to make more love in this life. With presence, naturalness, awareness, sacredness and the beautiful messiness of being a raw and clumsy human- even if it is for one unexpected moment.
We kept melting and pawing and moaning and laughing at the hovering unanswered questions. “What next? Who are you? What is this?” It didn’t matter because we were following a deeper current guiding us around each bend. And at every turn we both knew, without speaking it, most importantly I knew, that we were safe, I was safe, we had our voices, to say what needed to be said, do what needed to be done for our hearts and our bodies, and there would be no love lost no matter which direction we went and it didn’t have to mean a million things. And we were intentional.
With every NO he thanked me. When I placed his hands in places that served me, turned me on, released me from enduring, for one moment, something that didn’t feel all the way delicious to me, he thanked me for taking care of myself. When I said YES, he moaned, and then again, he thanked me.
I moved down his body with my lips and my breath testing the edges of my own desire, reaching his cock so tender and small and shy. It felt like it had shrunk away from too many days of seeking pleasure through pornography and had gone into hiding. Yet I could feel its true size, meaning presence, as size actually does not matter when the cock is connected to the heart. His body was vibrating with sensation and power even though it didn’t reveal itself through his penis. He layed exposed to me, so ready to face his healing and vulnerability. Any shame disintegrated in his willingness to trust me. I watched my subconscious responses surface and how porn culture has shaped my mind and body. Anyone alive today, unless they are truly aboriginal, has been indoctrinated into porn because it’s in our face every single day in blatant and subliminal ways. Because to contort desire is to maintain control of desire by falsification of desire.
I watched the judgement about how his flaccid phallus meant I had to perform more or wasn’t performing enough for him to love me. That the only way to express our sensual nature, get off and connect, is through our genitals reaching some climax, thereby missing how every other inch of our skin is standing erect, alive, open and pouring forth. Our breath was alive, our eyes wide and penetrating each other with our willingness to be in this crucible of healing the lies we have been subject to about sex, and we were doing it together and there was zero lack of pleasure Most things, especially these things, are better together.
I held his sex in my mouth gently. I held his deflated scrotum in my hands and bowed reverently, because in these moments of intimacy, his body is my body. I could feel the grief, the conditioning in both of us. And he didn’t shy away one time, he knows what he is made of and is willing to face what he must to embody that love, that wholeness as he kept saying. To be made whole again, he said three times.
I moved back up to his mouth with mine after just a very short time as I didn’t want to default to old roles. He kissed me deeply and he asked if I wanted him inside of me. It was the one moment I retracted because we had a conversation about the sanctity of my full YES when it comes to engaging in that level of intimacy, but his passions overtook him and he was 18 again, for a moment. I said NO and waited for his contraction or rejection and I was 18 again, for a moment.
Instead, he asked me if there was anything I wanted. “I want your tongue inside of me”. He moved down my body with his mouth and put his face between my sweaty legs. I was a little afraid of what he may discover after a long day, despite the three showers, in 90 degree heat. “You smell amazing, like cacao”- as I said, we become what we love. His tongue swept over every inch of my pussy, sucking, breathing, licking, growling. His finger slipped into my deep well and I released a layer. A layer of what, it doesn’t matter, because sometimes I don’t need to know, just another layer, so many layers- and this is a righteous way to let them go- blessed be whatever was coming from my body.
He stayed in place long after the waves moving through my body subsided and my eyes found themselves looking forward after being rolled back in my head. Then he began to move deeper into me with his fingers and he touched something that had been jammed up for too long. And then a little leak broke through the damm and a tiny slippery silver stream poured onto his hands. But no more. I know my body and she wants that river to flow fully, drown completely, the one who loves her as deeply as she loves herself, who opens his heart without fear, he is a rarity. And that level of sharing myself requires time and commitment. He could feel what I was experiencing and didn’t push. An in tune man is a gift. An in tune man has also had experience with other in tune women. Judge away, call it what you want. It’s gorgeous.
He asked me if I could return the favor and love on his phallus a little more with my mouth. I eagerly, with great curiosity, wrapped my lips around his soft cock, not with any intention other than to honor and love and bring pleasure to a place that has been subject to so much pain and that has likely been the bearer of it also. He began to grow in my mouth. I could feel his heart, his passion and his penis align, and out of hiding came his true form, his true size. And to pretend like a hard cock doesn’t turn me on would be deceiving you. I am no saint, I am human, woman. The sacred and profane both need a space and as long as they are named, made conscious, then sex can be a container of profound alchemy for the wounding and a place for exploration without shame. He released and growled and flushed with fire. Then he held me until I told him I needed to sleep and he thanked me again for stating what I needed and left.
Are you gasping, blushing? Yes we talked about the sexual safety of our container if you are wondering. What do you think about me writing this? I am here to tell of a human life fully felt, explored and revealed. I am not a half woman so why would I tell you only half the story? When the beauty of naturalness, of sensual erotic desire, the same force that made you and the Earth and all things that feed you and enliven your senses, that help you breathe, to be here, to feel here, to make love here, to die under the touch of someone’s panting tongue for your sweaty skin here- when it is hushed away, then the beast of malicious behavior comes out to play trying to claim what it should never have had to grab at and grovel for and steal in the first place. Of course there are things that remain between me and my beloveds, me and the Goddess. I am actually a very private woman but I do not hide things away. To know me, to love me, is to maybe, most likely, have your life put into words through me. And when I told this man I was writing about us, he laughed and kissed me. Art is always welcome and who doesn’t want to be a muse?
We met one more time under the stars on the beach and made our way back to my bed to enjoy each other, say goodby, say hello again. At the end of the night I organically laid my hand gently over his sex and rested it there. I felt a warm tingle move through my arm and into his body and he began to gently shake as energy released from him. I allowed it to flow, I knew it was a healing from my heart and yet it was just moving through me from a deep well of love and compassion. He sent me a message the next day and asked me what that was because he slept like a baby without waking and felt amazing. A gift I said. From the Goddess herself. What else could it have been for a man so honest and present with a woman despite his human flaws and conditioning.
The next morning, right before my flight I went back to the beach to say goodbye and something significant had shifted in me. I could sense the ways that I used to attract and be attracted had shifted. I was moving now more from my true innate worth rather than my wound. That a man in his heart, standing vulnerable and willing and present before me penetrates me deeper than any large erect thing, of which I have had plenty, and used to, because of my own subliminal subjugation to porn, think that that was what I wanted and needed because then I would feel worthy and in control of something that would leave me or change anyway. Yikes. I can feel a difference in my biology and am excited to see who moves towards me now as I am calling in the one who is worthy of my waters. Who wants to drown- in love?!
Blessed be.
ONLY ONE WEEK UNTIL FEMTHEOGENESIS AND THE WOMB- A FEW SPOTS OPEN.
Unveiled
a wise person once said to me "I do not want to FALL in love-I do not want to FALL anywhere." They were referring to being present in all ways when loving-I loved this writing....
Ahh, the moments of surrender, the eternal dance of human form love and lust. I know this well, resonating through my shell as I read your experience......
Thank you for sharing these truths.
Capt'n Ken