Trusting Eros: Being Taken by the Fuck (in an alley)

Sex in an Alley“Can you take it?” Togan asked, his hands wrapped around my throat, as he stands above me, gazing down at my face. 

It was hard to answer: my pussy was being seriously banged by Dramal.  “That’s all you got?” I barely whisper, and watch as his face contorts with anger and pleasure, simultaneously.

Yesterday, I practiced being fucked in a filthy San Francisco alley. 

 I don’t typically have casual sex.  My trust issues prohibit it.  The sex I have is connected, meaningful, intimate.  I am incredibly selective about my partners, and tend to have sexual relations that span decades instead of minutes.  My relationships tend to depend deeply this kind of strong trust. Trust allows me to surrender, to open my body and my heart. This is how sex feels good to me.

And yet. There is a part of me that yearns to explore uninhibited, no-strings-attached sex.  The kind of sex where you have to pick the gravel out of your knees for days after.  The kind of sex that leaves the stench of garbage and piss all over your boots. The kind of sex that burns hot, extreme, and strikes like lightning.  Ironically, the kind of sex that is beyond trust. 

Erik Erikson was a psychologist known for his theory on psychosocial development of human beings.  If you’ve ever said “I’m having an identity crisis” you can thank him for that phrase.  He theorized that there were 8 stages of psychological development in humans, and that each stage allows one to master (or not) a crucial life skill.  If not mastered (because the needs around it weren’t consistently met) it can become a core wound, an area of your life in which you consistently experience challenges.

The first stage of Erik Erikson’s theory centers around the infant’s basic needs being met by the parents.  This experience leads to either trusting or mistrusting the world. Erikson defines trust as “an essential truthfulness of others as well as a fundamental sense of one’s own trustworthiness.”

My core wound is trust.  I am petrified of betrayal. 

This fear has haunted me in all of my relationships.  It has been prohibited me from exploring the full extent of my sexuality, because I seek to meet my need for trust in my sexual relationships.  Perhaps you can relate!  I am often suspicious, and can question a lover to the nth degree, until I find the betrayal I am certain exists.   This behavior is not particularly conducive to intimacy, and thus my sweetheart has requested me to examine when I am viewing through a situation through my betrayal lens, and I am attempting to comply, by finding situations where I can practice and be held with love.

This weekend I attended a Body Electric workshop called “Outside the Boxes.”  It was a time for queers and genderqueers of all flavors to explore body, sex and pleasure.  The intentions included to expand Eros through embodiment, especially using breath and pelvic focus.  To discover edges, and to deepen into living in one’s whole body. To participate in communal erotic ritual, in a container that is about presence and Self, as opposed to hooking up and Other. It is an amazing chance for us to do our personal work, in a supported, focused environment.

There were many interesting activities and rituals over the course of the weekend.  However, it is the last encounter about which I write today.  The culmination of this weekend was in giving and receiving erotic massages in groups of three. To tell you about this, I must rewind a few weeks into the past, and tell you about attending an event at the Center for Sex and Culture called “Perverts Put Out.”  Writers and storytellers ply their erotic crafts and share their work this juicy evening.  One of the stories that night was read by local writer Jen Cross, who conducts Writing Ourselves Whole writing workshops for survivors of sexual abuse and trauma.  The story she told pierced into my brain like an arrow shot through an apple, and has remained lodged there in the weeks that followed.

She told a kinky tale of mindfuck: a submissive boi being taught a lesson on manners and assumptions about power and gender. As if I were there, I saw it… in a crumbling alley off of Folsom… the three of them locked in a gritty urban embrace of filth and power.  In my mind, I watched the scene unfold: the boi choking and gagging, learning to deepthroat from a woman wielding a large silicone cock while Daddy watches on.  Boi assumes Daddy is in charge, and he’ll get to play with him if he tolerates the attentions of the skirt.  The mindfuck is that actually the Top in the situation is Mommy, schooling the ignorance right out of the boi’s disgustingly stupid head.

Back at the workshop, I’m asked what my intention is before getting up on the table.  The truth is, I want the kind of internal trust that would let me experience being that boi in the alley.  It’s not that I want his role, I don’t want to be someone’s boi, per se. It’s just that I want to be able to open my body, beyond trust, beyond safety, and know that I’ll come out the other side intact.

I choose my partners.  They are edgy, genderqueer and I’ve watched each of them get fucked in turn, both preferring hard fucking and not so much the lovey-dovey.  I haven’t met either of them before this weekend, and while I have an affinity with them, I’m scared as I walk towards them.  They are waiting, blindfolded, at the massage table, for us to make our choices.  Perhaps I should choose less dangerous types for partners, perhaps picking instead a gentle older woman or a young sweet femme. I head towards the tattooed and muscled pair, my hands sweating.  They uncover their eyes, and I see them appraising me, wondering how this will go.  I don’t expect either of them to turn down the volume of their Eros, I just pray I can open to receive it. 

I tell them the story of the alley.  I tell them my intention is to practice having sex in an alley.  I see the diabolical light enter into Togan’s eyes.  I know I am in a safe container to practice this, but it’s still scary.  Dramal’s touch is gentle at first, and I want more.  Each time he asks me, “Is this okay?” until I say that I actually don’t really want him to ask me… and he gets it quickly.  “I’m asking you once and for all, do I have your permission to Handle you?” he whispers scathingly in my ear.  My yes is weak on volume, but it will do.

Their touch is strong.  I fight against it, and the slickness of the oil and sweat covers us all as we wrestle and fight.  I’m laughing, mocking them into giving me more, making it more real.  I want them to Want to do this, want to force their touch on me.  My face, smashed into the table, searing hands around my throat, fingers slamming into me.  It’s not exactly pleasurable, but there is something here, something erotic beyond what I can name.  It’s brutal, primal.  I check in with my pussy: “How are you doing down there?” and my pussy screams back “Shut the fuck up!  This is amazing!”  I smile, inspiring more force.

I see the rats, smell the garbage, feel the rough pavement beneath my ass.  I use my imagination to practice being in this scene.  I allow myself to become that boi, taken and used. It is delicious.

Sex in an Alley

When it’s over, we collapse against each other on the table, panting, sweaty, spent.  I wonder how it’s been for them, if they felt the animal of Eros as I did, or if they were just good at crafting this kind of experience so that I could play with what happens in the space that is beyond trust.  They wrap me in sheets, and stand with their attention focused on me for the next ten minutes as I dream and fly.  Smiles and giggles come and go… I feel so happy, so free.  I have opened my body to two people I don’t know, and probably won’t ever see again.  I have trusted in my own ability to stay present.  I have travelled a new road of Eros, that was often beyond what I would have named as my desire, and found it exquisite and satiating.  It’s sex, but not how I’ve known it.

This is the kind of trust I want in myself.  I want to be true to all of my desires. I want to explore my edges and beyond, trusting that I will never fall into victimhood.  I burn with the need to expand my erotic capacity.  I like practicing.  I don’t know when I’ll be ready to enter that wretched alley and have that kind of sex.  I trust that I will know when I am ready, and I trust that when I do it, Eros will take me exactly where I am meant to go.

If you are interested in exploring trust, and wanting to learn how to expand your capacity for it, plan to attend the Intimacy Technology class I am offering on Monday, October 28.  We’ll practice trust skills in a gentle, supportive way (in my living room, not in an alley!) and you will be in choice about all activities we do.  You can register here for Terrifying Trust.  

Sex and Shadows: Thoughts at the Autumnal Equinox

Folsom Street Fair San Francisco, CA
Folsom Street Fair San Francisco, CA (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The equinox happens twice yearly, once in March and once in September, when the day holds equal parts light and darkness, depending on where you live.  At Equinox,  I think about the different tensions I attempt to hold in balance in my life.  It’s a day for looking at shadow, and having enough light to not get lost in it.

Oh yes, it’s true, sex is full of shadow.  If you don’t know what I’m talking about when I say “shadow,” it’s a term from Jungian psychology that means all of the aspects of our selves of which we are unconscious.  It often carries a negative connotation, and we can often see our own shadow by examining our criticisms, judgments and condemnations of others.

So much of sexuality is hidden in shadows.  Words like “perverse” and “deviant” when applied to human sexuality bespeak a moralistic damnation that reveal just how puritanical our culture is regarding sexuality.  Puritanical, yet paradoxically hyper-sexual and sexualizing everything and everyone. I mean come on!  We sell thongs for pre-pubescent girls with “Juicy” written across the tush.  (Saw them the other day in Ross, just in case you think I’m making this sh*t up.)

Yesterday I volunteered at the booth of the Center for Sex and Culture at the Folsom Street Fair.  All day, I was surrounded by over 40,000 people flaunting versions of their own sexuality.  Sexuality that is usually left in the shadows, behind closed doors, suddenly flooded the sunlit streets of San Francisco.   For many who come from all across the country to attend, it’s a chance to normalize and celebrate their sexual proclivities that may be unwelcome in their own communities.  For those from San Francisco, it’s an annual reminder why we live here, since we feel a sense of belonging we never felt back in Oklahoma.  It’s certainly a visual circus.

The initial thrill at the parade of the human pulled-pony costume wearing-riding crop bearing trainers in their carts.  The ‘heavy-petting zoo. ’ The slick and slippery lube wrestlers with accompanying 50-gallon-drums of lube. The daring antics of the ariel rope suspensionists,artfully binding and then suspending other humans in the air and then doing things to them.   Leather Daddies at Folsom Street FairTen thousand leather daddies that look like they just left audition for the Village people… and what I thought every man would look like before I moved to SF.   However, after  about fifteen minutes, my eyes acclimate and adjust, and the ‘depravity’ around me just seems normal.  Not exactly wallpaper, but certainly not the orgiastic debauchery the rest of the world thinks it is.  It’s just a street fair, with a bunch of naked people, leather, costumes, corn-dogs and greasy fries.  And stuff for sale.  But still.

Warning: Sudden Change of Thought Ahead

I know the whole known universe is freaking out over “50 Shades of Grey” and if I were a good blogger, I’d write a piece on it.  Somehow it just makes me sigh.  I remember how betrayed I felt when I saw “Occupy” books starting to appear in the big box bookstores.  I’m talking about when something I’ve dearly loved in the counterculture suddenly gets picked up by the mainstream culture.  Examples: Paul Simon playing in Starbucks, hoodies for sale with anarchist patches already installed sewn on, Grateful Dead listening fraternity boys, Converse sneakers for sale at Target, and so on.  It’s kinda like that with the whole shades of grey phenomenon.  Yeah, it’s great that kink is becoming more accepted and more people are exploring playful sexuality.  Yay!  And hey, folks, there’s so much more available than “Hello Kitty spankers.”

It’s not that important to me to have my sexuality validated by demonstrating it in public, but I felt a tremendous gratitude that this venue exists for those who need it.  And I don’t want our freak status taken away, or too normalized.  I like it here at the margins.  It feels free, safe, and like corporate America isn’t gonna start infringing in the marketingly annoying way they commodify effin everything.

We now return to the Equinox and the Shadow

I do find it meaningful to seek my shadow, and seek to understand the dark depths of my sexuality.  It makes them not so scary.  And I hafta say, I think our collective shadow around sex is really intensely scary.  It’s much bigger than an annual street fair can counteract.  It’s the denial and repression of our very life-force, even as we hungrily devour the next porn magazine depicting non-consensual sex acts on teenage sleeping girls.  Porn-addiction is a smokescreen, folks.  It’s the shadow that’s too easily seen to truly be shadow.  Real BDSM and Kink?  (Not talking the spankety-spanky stuff, but more like The Secretary) Often, these are a really healthy attempt to bring from the shadow into the light our sexual desires that are in opposition to the ones we think we “should” have, if we are good girls and boys, or the desires our culture affirms as ‘okay.’

What does traditional mainstream culture tell us is okay?

  • Missionary position: one penis, one vagina, close your eyes turn out the lights and….go.
  • Blow-jobs for men (but probably not from their wives.)

What does our culture of mainstream porn tell us is okay?

  • It’s okay to have sex with anybody, anytime, any position.  Oh yeah I love it, squirt gush cum done.
  • It’s okay that there are no feelings, no intimacy, no connection.  You don’t have to feel.  You don’t have to connect.
  • Sexuality is not about anything but bodies.  Just parts with other parts.

No, the real shadow here is how we commodify the very thing that brings us into existence on this planet.  How we regulate it, or try to.  How we fear it so intensely that art becomes suspect.  How we use it to sell absolutely everything.  How we make it all about a visual, and not at all about the intense intimacy, energy, and connection.   This really pisses me off.

Says Jack Morin, the author of The Erotic Mind,

“Eroticism is the process through which sex becomes meaningful.” The erotic is “energized by the entire human drama, including the unruly impulses and painful lesson that no one – except those who retreat from life – can possibly avoid. No wonder the erotic mind conjures up images of debauchery as well as delight… eroticism is the interplay of sexual arousal with the challenges of living and loving.” 

You get it right?  Sex is about being alive.  The shadow of sex is commodification, moralism, judgment, repression, condemnation.  It’s not even about death… it’s about just not being alive even as we live and breathe.  All I can say is: Resist.  Resist with your body, with your desire.  Resist the corruption that everything is sexual and nothing is sexual.  Resist with your kink, your fetish, your refusal to desire what you ‘should’ desire.  RESIST with your whole heart, your fiery passion, and your aroused genitals. Let us retain awareness of our sexual shadow, and not identification with it.  Happy Equinox.