The Sting of Rejection, the Birth of Desire

When they write the rejection letters, why can’t they just say “Thank you, we’ve chosen another proposal.”

There’s always the bit about how many awesome proposals they received, how it was excruciating painful to choose (as if I care) and how truly, truly amazing my proposal is.  How they look forward to seeing my work out in the world.  And in the really stellar rejection letters, they find a way to ask for my continued support for their project.

So far this year I’ve received ten rejection letters, for a variety of projects, including conference proposals, writing contests and performance proposals. Each proposal I’ve submitted has taken hours upon hours of work to conceive, articulate, edit, answer all of the questions, and gather submission materials.  Each one has been a dream, a calling forth of something important into being, only to let that dream slip away, perhaps to be reborn in a different form, or perhaps not.

The painful heart of rejection

With each rejection, the sting has been less. I won’t say it’s stopped.

I really, really wanted to create that performance piece about the circus freak show: the fat lady, the bearded lady, the half-man, half-woman, and the sexuality of each.  It would be a powerful reclaiming of the fetishized, for purposes of validating our own eroticism.

But. “When the Fat Bearded Lady Sings Subterfuge”  is not to be, at least not this summer.

With every proposal, and also with every rejection, I feel I stand at a bifurcation point: one path leading one way, another leading to a completely different destination.  Taking the path marked “Reject” leads somewhere, often to somewhere unexpected and enlivening.

Creating meaningful content is not a challenge for me.  I have ideas all day, every day.  The challenge is to curate the ideas, discern which ones will further not only my work, but the issues that I stand for. Faith seems to be the only means by which to understand the mystery of why this project, this idea, and why now. Or why not.  I am choosing to engage with the various selection committees as a divinatory process.  The Hand of God, tapping my creative efforts that best serve my people.

The generative force behind all of my ideas is erotic.

It is inarguably the tide of Eros, churning within the moving  rivers of my body. Each idea is a desire born of an embodied longing, bubbling up. These things, they want to be born, they yearn to manifest.  They crowd around, like impatient spirits waiting to reincarnate.

When I answer the call of a particular desire, the ebullient and effervescent delight which courses through my body is sublime. Merely putting the words onto paper is sometimes orgasmic. Letting them then go off into the world, to be petted and stroked and sometimes mauled by complete strangers is oddly liberating.  They are not mine alone, anymore.  They belong to us, to our species.  What is our medicine today, this week, this decade? What beauty, what insight do we need to ensure our collective survival?

Sometimes the desires are resilient. Tough, with bouncy edges.  Sometimes they are tender, and become easily cracked and disheartened.

Sometimes, when I send an especially beloved desire out into the world, it has the quality of reaching out to touch an achingly desired potential lover, for the very first time.

That moment when you don’t know if your touch will be welcomed.  That fragile, heartbreaking pause between your gesture, and their acceptance when the entirety of your self-esteem is up for grabs.

I’m practicing trust in my creative process, when I send those ones out, that the rejection I face will not damage me.  That the burn of Eros will be fed by the ashes of rejection, and honed into an ever-clearer flame of yearning and expression.

It is a terrible-wonderful thing, to put one’s heart on public display, time and time again, for critique and judgment. The not-good-enough trolls stand just at the edge of that autonomous zone, waiting for my transgressive heart to cross the border into the land called self-doubt.

But wait!  Ding, you’ve got mail! What’s this? A call for submissions for a new zine on fat acceptance? A film contest exploring marginalized sexuality?

Sorry trolls, not today.  I’ve got the work of desire, burning down the house.  

P.S. Geography of Pleasure: Embodiment for Trans Guys is happening 2/21-23 in San Francisco. 

Am I feeling all I can? Honoring sex and life

candle-circleTuesday was my 43rd birthday.  

I spent the day at Orr hot springs, moving between the water, the woods and the bed.  All day was magickal,  from the tarot ritual in the afternoon to the devotional fire ritual in the early evening.  I dwelt in Spirit all day, finding the territories of the body and heart that welcome in the numinous.  I made love with Kali Maa, my Ishta Devi (which is like your deity BFF), and listened for the voices of the land, the water, the creatures.

I reflected on my year, on the 43 years of my life, and worked on honoring the life the resides in this body.  We often focus our honoring of life on ‘life out there’ forgetting that we too harbor the spark. What is it to honor the life force within?  

For a birthday gift, my lover gave me an NJOY, which is a really beautiful stainless steel dildo.  It looks like a work of art, and it feels incredible.  Best sex toy ever, and this is not a review.  This post is a celebration of the unrealized pleasure and feeling potential of our bodies.

Scientific American debunks the myth that as humans, we are using a mere 10% of our potential brain power, but until this morning when I was fact checking, I believed it.  What is true that is we are not using all of our brain at all times.  What if the same is true of our sexuality?  When I learn something new, my brain somehow codifies and stores that information that was not there before.  I have more information now than I had before.  I have learned.

I believe we all accept far less pleasure than we are capable of experiencing.  It is possible for us to learn new things in our sexuality.  It is possible for us to feel more.  These are my lived experience.

While every sex toy promises the ultimate pleasure, the pleasure does not arise from the toy itself, but from how our bodies respond to a different kind of stimulation.  When we are able to place our attention on subtle difference in sensation, we become able to feel more.  We can attune our attention to be ever more nuanced.

One of my favorite questions to ask myself when I notice that my mind is wandering during sex is “Am I feeling all the pleasure I could be feeling at this moment?”  In effect, asking that question both refocuses my attention on the pleasure I am feeling, and opens the door for my body to be able to feel more pleasure.

This same question can be extrapolated to our sexuality as a whole.  Am I feeling as much/experiencing as much/exploring as much as possible?  Or am I settling for 10% of my potential? 

The intention of such a question is NOT to create shame, or “I should be doing more,” but rather to invite space for more to be present within our sexual experiences and our sexuality.

On my birthday, I felt sensations I have not felt before.  My body responded in ways in has not responded before.

While we were soaking in the delicious hot water, my partner asked me if I thought that we would ever reach the end of the road with our explorations and our learnings about sexuality.  He then answered his own question, saying “Actually, I’ve been enjoying sex since I first figured out masturbation when I was nine.  It’s been getting better and better since then.  I don’t think it will ever run out.”

It can be easy to settle.  We get lulled to sleep, lured into complacency.  We think it’s too much effort to change, that our sex is good enough.  We can believe our demons are too scary, too difficult to face.  We can stop exploring, and our sex can become routine, limited, rote.  We can convince ourselves that sexuality isn’t that big a part of our human experience, that it’s a bunch of hype.  I know this too because of lived experience.

When I honor and listen to the voice of the life force residing in my body, I hear a different message.  I hear the word “Hope.”  Heeding the call of this voice, quiet as it initially was, has saved my life again and again.  So many times I have tried to settle. Tried to resist change, resist the hard work of intimacy, resist the call of my true animal nature.

This week, as many of my kind are setting resolutions for this next trip around the sun, I am instead honoring the life force that insists I pay attention to my sexuality, my creativity.  I am honoring the fire within that quietly but firmly resists falling to sleep and missing my life.   I am honoring the continued learning and evolution of my sexuality and my pleasure.  I am honoring my commitment to showing up for the exquisite theatre of the body.  And I am honoring the insistent voice of Hope, telling me that there is more to feel.  

 

These boots were made for walking: Fluevogs, Sex, Divorce and San Francisco.

I moved to California in 2004, from a homestead in the backwoods of the North Carolina mountains where I literally baked my own bread each week. I could never have imagined all the ways San Francisco would infiltrate my skin, my soul, and my sex.  It ended my marriage, and brought me into my true partnership.  It turned me queerer than I’d ever dared to express before.  It radicalized my life. San Francisco has been, and continues to be, my totally  hot transformative lover, like no other.

Today I’ve been pondering what it is that my child self wants.  Making room for the desires of that girl, and trying to give her space for play and trust.  This afternoon, she has called out for dress up. Boots, in particular.

And although it feels incredibly vulnerable to share, here’s a little post-holiday gift for you.  I wrote this poem in 2005 about the pair of Fluevogs I bought that eventually changed my life. When I wrote the poem, I didn’t know all that would happen, but you’ll notice that somewhere I had a strong inkling, or at least some forshadowing.

As it turns out, I’ve ridden those boots home to a sexuality that continuously expands and furthers my expression of my deep, animal nature.

Back in 2005, my then-partner told me I looked like a prostitute (he didn’t mean in a good way) the very first time I wore the boots.  I was heartbroken.  But something raw and powerful inside insisted I wear them anyway. Ultimately, that moment informed my decision to leave my marriage and reclaim myself.  I felt a distinctive “fuck you” to those threatened by my sexuality.  I continue to feel that way.

In the post-capitalist-frenzy of the holidays, may my humble offering remind you that we can always travel home again, and sometimes the ticket is even for sale.

Buying the Boots on Haight Street, 2005

These boots are San Francisco.

As the striding, heel-crushing totems work their black magic,

supple black leather, long lines, heels curving up like city streets,

I tell my companion I am not ready to ride these.

As the striding, heel-crushing totems work their black magic,

my fingers trace these routes.

I tell my companion I am not ready to ride these

She says I will not wear these boots until I wear these boots.

My fingers trace these routes

like streetcars of desire.

She says I will not wear these boots until I wear these boots,

and there is longing, coveting, desiring.

Like streetcars of desire

carrying a bad-ass passenger,

There is longing, coveting, desiring

to be the woman who owns these boots.

Carrying a bad-ass passenger

Up, up, up, up

Oh, to be the woman who owns these boots,

pouring my legs into the casings, making me taller, badder, readier.

Up, up, up, up,

supple black leather, long lines, heels curving up like city streets,

and pouring my legs into the casings, I am taller, badder, readier.

These boots are San Francisco.

The Day I bought my Fluevogs (looking a little apprehensive.)
The Day I bought my Fluevogs (looking a little apprehensive.)

Selling what I got: Making a living commodifying Eros

sex-for-saleI sell sexuality.  

As a sex coach, I sell my time, energy, attention and knowledge to assist clients to realize and express their full sexuality.  This is service work, and I feel myself in deep service to my people.  And there is something inside of me that resists the conflation of money and sex.

What started as a simple question of “What does success mean to me?” has spiraled into an intense reckoning with my personal integrity about being someone who markets sexuality.

It’s the commodification of Eros that disturbs me. 

Do I want to have a big fat bank account?  You bet.  Do I want to put a price tag on your orgasms so that I can have that?  Not a chance.  Selling sexual empowerment for big bucks sit wrong with me.  I have no doubt that people can really benefit from participating in such programs, so then why do they make me feel gross?

When I sink in, I realize I feel ever so protective of our Eros.  Of that magick, fluid energy we humans feel inside of us, that lights us on fire.  That mysterious force that can enlighten our whole lives.

Recently, I watched an fMRI of a woman’s brain as she orgasmed.  At the moment of orgasm, her entire brain was alight with oxygen.  Her.  Entire.  Brain.  Imagine what would happen if we were consistently using our entire brains?  It’s not too far of a mental leap to think (okay maybe it is, but it’s fun to consider) that having more orgasms as a species quickens our evolution.  Eros, friends, is a biological force that deserves homage, and not commodification.

The sexual empowerment model for sale subtly reinforces that sexual power is “out there.”  You must claim it, as if you do not inherently possess it.  It’s kinda like “getting religion.”  (Commodification of spirituality also raises ethical questions for me.)  If sexual empowerment is not within you already, you are fucked, but not in a good way.  And if you’re not sexually empowered, you are what?  Sexually disempowered?

In contrast, let us reframe with a “remembering” model.  You know, the one where we remember who we truly are.  Instead of focusing on sexual empowerment and erotic mastery, I choose to recall my sensual nature, the one I was born with.  The pleasure-seeking self that was entranced by the play of light on water, or wind through leaves.  We can choose call into being our sexual wholeness, to invite home our erotic personage. And I don’t think it’s bullshit to have a companion on that path of remembering, paid or otherwise.  

It’s also not bullshit to desire a degree of mastery in the realm of sexuality, and to seek teaching from those slightly ahead on the path.  Teachers have invested lots of time, money and energy into the wisdom they possess, and paying for solid teaching feels just fine.

There are two deceptively simple free resources are the actual building blocks of evolving personal sexuality. The necessary ingredients for erotic success  are dedicating enough time to exploration and practice, and building the capacity to hold your attention where you place it in the body.

Slightly more difficult to come by but readily available are an attitude of curious exploration, and a beginner’s mind.  The price of both is the unknown. No, I mean for reals.  Like, stepping into the not knowing, and giving up the security and comfort of all that you ‘know’ about yourself as a sexual being.  In the not knowing, you become available for all manner of unexpected surprises.  Scary as hell.

I don’t have any answers yet to my philosophical quandaries.  I’m not sure how to reconcile my desire for financial success, my desire to serve my people and their sexuality, and my desire for Eros to be protected from further commodification.  But my commitment to transparency includes delving into the questions that making me uncomfortable, and offering the process as a gift.  I’ll update you once I know more.

But for now, a little magickal spell casting.Casting a Spell of SynergyHere’s my anarchist, synergistic view of how I want things to work, that’s actually backed by evolutionary history.  Species that cooperate, survive. 

So, I do my part, you do yours.  Interdependence is real and necessary.  We all need each other to help us live to our fullest potential.  Working together, we accomplish more than working against one another. By allowing myself to be vulnerable by needing you, I am strong.

My part is that I think and write about sex and relationships.  I compile resources, and distill the wisdom of many sources, and give it to you in a cogent form, for your benefit.  Your part is to do the work of your soul and your heart, and share the gems with me.  We don’t all have to do all the things.

So Mote It Be.

So Mote It Be!

Is this what I want? Adventures with Wanting, Yearning, and Craving

Is desire at the root of everything human?

(We all come from desire.)

I wake up today (everyday,) and not a full minute goes by before I’m thinking about what I want.  Coffee, return that phone call, text my crush…. and the list goes on.  Every moment of every day, thinking and feeling into what I want.  Sometimes getting what I want, sometimes not.  Sometimes able to ask for it, sometimes, the desire smoldering inside.  Doing all of these human dances, with desire as my constant partner.

It’s got me thinking, this desire thing.

What is it? It seems like every big religion’s got the word on Desire.  Recognize this one? “And the woman saw that the tree was good to eat, and it was desirous for the eyes, and the tree was lovely to behold.”

buddha_stars1Buddha teaches that attachment to desire is the root of suffering: The second noble truth the origin of suffering:  Within the context of the four noble truths, suffering (dukha) is commonly explained as craving.

  • Craving for sensory pleasure
  • Craving for Union (togetherness)
  • Craving to not feel painful feelings (not aloneness)

 

 

 

 

ChinnamastaShakta Tantra (the Hindu variety which I practice) resolves the fundamental dilemma presented by being human and having desires and those desires causing suffering by directing human desires towards liberation rather than repressing them. This philosophy argues that trying to deny certain desires only empowers them further. Rather than repress potentially harmful impulses, Tantra tries to harness them in service of setting ourselves free.

Of course, Christianity gives a narrow container for the expression of limited desires, and seeks to control through fear and punishment all desires that fall outside that purview.

Pagans seem to welcome desire and pleasure, and don’t fret too much (maybe not enough) about the impact on our spiritual development.

In my admittedly very limited knowledge of Islam, it seeks to provide a code for the expression of human desires, seeking balance between wanting and fulfillment of wanting.

Judaism prescribes a law-filled code for the fulfillment of desire as well, that at least includes pleasure.

None of these ways of engaging desire really work for me.  They seem like how it could be, or should be, or an idea…. but not personal enough. My own experience of desire is so complex.  It is often glorious, often painful. My desire ignores codes, rejects shoulds, and is often the antithesis of what is culturally conditioned.  I wonder if this is not the experience of most of us?

Every person I have ever worked with or discussed sexuality with has expressed their desire in completely unique, and specific-unto-them terms.  The only common thread is the liminal, and ever-changing nature of desire, and its insatiable quality.

I want permission for my desire.  This process you are reading is about me giving myself permission, and hopefully giving you permission.  Imagine, all of us, simply wanting what we want.

I desire things that I am not supposed to desire.  I desire much that my socialization tells me are taboo, wrong, disempowered, disgusting, shameful, abhorrent, too far from common decency, too powerful, too violent.  I notice my desire like hunger.

Last week, I noticed the gnawing in my belly.  I tried to fill it with too much Halloween candy. I tried to fill it with socializing, with sex. I tried to fill it, and then I stopped.

Just noticing the hunger, noticing the emptiness, is so hard. It is so terribly hard to just sit with it.  My mind clamors: Try a beer. Try some cuddling.  Try a bath.  Soothe it, dissipate it, quiet it.  Somehow lessen the ravenous void of its immense gaping maw.

Wanting is terrifying.  It is the rawest, most bloody form of nakedness that I know.  Wanting without a tether, without something at the end of the desire, is what lies at the root of the hungers we try to feed through addictions.

This is what I want, right now.

I want her. I want her precious, big-eyed vulnerability.  I want her tenderest tears and fragility. Her badass intellect. Her heartbreak. Her need.  I want to make her come and cry, and then wipe her tears with my hair. I want her to want to give her orgasm to me. I want to cut her heart wide open, and take it from her chest, licking the dripping blood off of it (this is a metaphor.) Or maybe I just want her to text me.

I want him. I want his fierce submission. I want his most vroom vroom passionate passion to have room to express.   I want him to have the flexibility to turn his crazy erotic energy up and turn it down, at will.  I want to see him naked, dancing, feeling completely free within his bondage.  I want the intensity of his James Dean eyes turned on me, his unfettered desire throbbing and thrumming as he awaits my instructions for the afternoon. I want him to serve me lunch.

I want to build a container (a world)  in which you never again question if you are wanted or desirable.

I want to be able to name my desires freely.  (Ironically, while writing this a dear one emails me.  In that moment, I find I want him, too, and write and say so.  Naming my desire is terrifying.)

I want reassurance that my desires are not too big, too disturbed, too insatiable.   

I want to feel poignant, intense feeling. I want to not be separate, insecure, alone.  I want erotic community.  I want magick and synchronicity.  I want clean underwear.

I. want. to. be. taken. care. of.

There are other desires, things named and unnamed, that I will probably never do or have.  I name them (and ask you to know that there are others I am not naming here) because I don’t want to offer you a diluted version of the truth of my desire.  I don’t want to give you lukewarm permission to be fully, completely in your base human desire.  So here is what I also want: I want to sell my body, to make them pay for it. I want to tear and bite with my teeth, rip with my blade.  I want to hurt.  I want to humiliate and I want to worship. I want to lay my body down and open, prostrate myself in front of the Divine, and offer the service of my meager life.

And it never, ever completely goes away, no matter how close, how intimate, how much power exchange, how much energy, how many orgasms.  The wanting remains.

I feel so humbled by the power of my desire.  I have spent years trying to quiet it.  Trying to feed it.  I have this big, fat body to show for it, all my wanting.  While there are certain standbys for bringing comfort and offering temporary satiation, I find that even they are growing old and cold and less effective, as I get closer to being able to express the heart of my desire.

What I am learning about desire, as I give myself full permission to want what I want, is that it almost never is what I expect it to be.  It is continually surprising and an elegant mysterious process of uncovering what I want in each moment.

Internally, my experience of my desire is sweetly familiar and freshly distinctive and exceptional.  I notice I can’t breathe deeply.  The best I can do in that moment is to say, “Sitting here, next to you on this couch, touching your hair, I am feeling desire.”

Of course, the next logical question is “What is your desire?” and it is here the breakdown and the loss and the grief occur.

I can only express around the edges of my desire.  It is not because I am shy, or inarticulate, or unable to tell you because of shame or repression.  It is because when I try to put my desire into words, there is something essential I cannot capture.  Using words, I cannot put my yearning into pure form.  There is something lost in translation.  And no matter how close I get to expressing what I truly want, when you give it to me, there is always another translation gap which I also grieve.

So many different, intricate dances with desire.  What I’ve never done is just stay open to it.  What is on the other side of this yearning?  What is it to not know the answer? What is it to wait, hungrily waiting?  What is it to acknowledge that the want in me is the want of the very universe, exploding itself into being?  What is it to allow feeling that power, to feel the hunger that will never, no matter what, stop?  And even as I contemplate, and practice, just sitting with the wanting, there is that within me that wants to want.

You ask me what I want.

But my dear, although I can never tell you, of course I want you. And I want you to want to be wanted by me.  I can’t tell you in words.   But my eyes, my eyes can tell you.  My eyes can tell you, without losing the pure raw brutal power of my lusting want, my aching need, my unadulterated desire.  I want you. Just look in my eyes.

Tell me what you Desire. 

Sexual Liberation: Calling Ourselves Home to Erotic Wholeness

Emancipating Sexuality Calls us home to Erotic WholenessLast week, a client said to me “Well, I know you have always been free sexually, but I’m not like you, I’m stuck.” I smiled/cried because nothing could be further from the truth. I was sexually blocked for years.  Right now, I’ve got an erotic energy block the size of a small city at my diaphragm that I’m working on.  And, even being able to identify that stuckness is a profound indicator of how far I’ve come.  (We are called home to Wholeness)

No, this sexual liberation that I’m always nattering on about is hard won, every single day.

Each day I traverse the challenging road back to the body, back to my breath, back to pleasure, back to trust and vulnerability and intimacy.  Just as a path quickly becomes overgrown without traffic, this liberatory road of the body must consistently be tread and reinforced.  I must continually reinforce the neural wiring I am consciously choosing for my sexual liberation.

It’s important to name that being sexually stuck is where my journey began.  Stuck in a sexless marriage, stuck with a limited potential for pleasure, stuck.  I was settling for a mediocre sexuality that I knew was problematic.  I didn’t know how to get out of it. I had no support resources.

Around me, I saw those who were going further and deeper into their sexual potential.  I felt tremendous guilt that my sexuality was so limited. Deep shame that I seemingly had no libido.  When my then-partner would try to touch me, I felt fear and confusion at my arousal process, and no ability to talk about it or seek support.

In that ho-hum Eoyore way, I was accepting that this was as good as it was going to be for me in this lifetime. (We are called home to Wholeness.)

In therapy for food addiction, one day my therapist gently pointed out that as I was healing my relationship with food, I must also heal my relationship with my body.  An important next step was to enter more consciously into my sexuality.  When a client comes to me and expresses how stuck they feel, or how blocked their erotic expression is, I completely get it, on a body level.  I KNOW intimately the aversion, the fear, the shut-down.  And, I also know the desire and innate craving for erotic expression that led me out of that painful morass. Ultimately, it has led me to playfulness and joy in my sexual exploration.

We are called home to Wholeness.  In each new relationship, we are giving ourselves opportunity anew to heal our wounds, both from our past and from our lineage. I was recently in a group and there was a man there in his mid-seventies who had just come out as gay. He had spent his entire life taking the “easier path” (his words) only to find that hiding one’s erotic identity is ultimately a denial of one’s very life. I am grateful to have learned this truth at an earlier age.  But whenever we do decide that the pain of claiming who we truly are as erotic beings is LESS than the agony of trying to be someone we will never be, coming out allows us huge, instantaneous advances in our own liberatory process. 

This morning, I was reading Susie Bright’s lovely little book called Full Exposure: Opening Up to your Sexual Creativity and Erotic Expression.

Susie writes:

“Not many people are actually looking sexual liberation, at least not until they get to the end of a very weary road of dissatisfaction.  That usually takes a decade or two.  Liberation, per se, is not the sort of thing people count as tops on their to-do list.”

In my perfect world, we all feel and acknowledge the pull of liberation as an imperative of being human. I KNOW we feel it.  I KNOW we deny it. And I know we get ourselves stuck, with the very purpose of later being able to set ourselves free. 

One of the agreements made in order to attend Black Velvet, the erotic experiment in the dark that I hosted last week, was an agreement to reflect in writing on the experience.  We asked participants several prompting questions, including “What were the rules you found, that you made for yourself?” Many people noted internally constructing rules that were not implicit in the structure of the event, or that didn’t necessarily benefit their erotic experience or freedom.  Here is qualitative data about how we construct our own erotic limitations, our own sexual prison cells, often without realizing it.

One of my dear friends, a teacher of erotic education and sexual liberation, has said to me upon several occasions, “I don’t feel sexually liberated, most of the time.”  Ironically, it was my observations of the erotic life of this person that led me to decide I was worthy of sexual liberation, and that I could have it in this lifetime.  That person helped me to realize that the rules I had about arousal, desire, and lust were not mine: they were internalized cultural constructs, or internally created prohibitive rules, that were not expressive of my true erotic nature.

Sexual liberation is a process, not a goal.  For the rest of my life, I will be freeing myself from all of the rules that I have swallowed, either those that culturally constructed or those that are self-imposed.  For the rest of my days, I will be calling myself home to erotic wholeness.

How do we start that sexual liberation process?   How do we free ourselves of the limiting beliefs, constructed and internalized rules and codes about eroticism, sensuality and sexuality?  How do we take those first, scary steps into our own erotic authenticity? How do we call ourselves home to erotic wholeness?

One of my favorite sayings by teacher Liu Ming: “Resist as much as you possibly can.  Only do that which you truly cannot resist.” Ironically, resisting the process is a crucial first step.  (Read my blog post about Resistance) While we can live in denial for a long while, at some point, our own heart becomes our compass. The pull of the truth that resides in our hearts and our genitals may be a quiet truth, but it ultimately is undeniable. 

There is no wrong way to step onto the sexual liberation path you are already on. 

One of the most important things I learned as a Montessori teacher was that I never know more than my student about what they need.  I don’t know when a student is ready to learn something, or if they even need to learn that thing.  All I can do is watch carefully, and be present to offer support when readiness appears.  It’s a philosophy I carry into this work.  I stand in honor of your process, without judgement or agenda.

Whether you choose to put sexual liberation at the top of your list (as I have done, and you could too; it’s fun!) or whether you choose to ignore sexuality altogether, press your legs tightly together, and think of England, there is a biological programming inherent in your cells that compels you to move in exactly the right motions and rhythm for you.  There is something inside that knows exactly what you need for erotic wholeness.

Here’s a final thought for today: you are already experiencing sexual liberation.  Susie Bright again: “When you do finally get laid, and then it happens again and again and again, the confidence you acquire leads you to some new questions about the value of sex, about a lover’s companionship in your life, about your own sense of adventure and mystery in your erotic body.” Let us call ourselves home to Erotic Wholeness.

What is one thing you can do right now to honor your Erotic Self?

Have your commitment witnessed by writing it in the comments below.

Take Me Down Where I am Whole: Take me down, to My Black Velvet Sexy Soul

il_570xN.171899971Yesterday was the 27th anniversary of losing my virginity.  

In honor of the long road of my sexual life, I’m reflecting today on how it was to make that first decision about sexual engagement, and how it is as a sexual being 27 years later.

Last Friday night, my friends and I offered “Black Velvet.”  This was an intentional experiment in what happens to our physical attractions, erotic engagement and sexual behavior when we enter a completely dark space. What happens if we have an hour and a half to do anything we want, as long as we obtain consent from our partners?  In the numerous conversations and emails that have occurred in the days following, I have learned that setting down our sexual baggage both is and is not an easy thing to do. 

When I first made the decision to become sexual, it was about a year after I had visited Planned Parenthood for the first time.  At 14, my friend and I made appointments, without telling our parents, to have pelvic exams and to start on birth control pills.  I remember being so terrified of pregnancy, and so terrified of my own sexuality, that going on the pill preemptively seemed like a wise, mature choice.  Even in light of my current concerns about the effects of hormones on developing sexualities, I stand by that choice and have great respect for PP to this day.  I remember taking my first peach colored pill, and realizing that I was taking my sexual power into my own hands.

Friday night, when I entered into the black velvet darkness, I had a similar sense.  This was about my sexual power, my way.  I had no fear about being in that space, as I trust my own boundaries, and even more, I trust in my ability to recover from breaches to my boundaries.  No matter what could have happened, I felt secure in knowing that I could eventually handle it.

When I met Terry, first real intimate love of my life, we decided that we would have sex together, and share the loss of our virginity.  We set a date, wrote a contract, talked about how it would be, and what we wanted.  I don’t know where the consciousness came from, because certainly no one in either of our families had helped to guide us, but there it was.  We both wanted a connected, playful, supportive and joyous experience.  We both wanted a space free of gender obligations.  We both wanted creativity and exploration.  We both wanted something meaningful. And that is what we created for ourselves.

It strikes me that in crafting the Black Velvet space, how strongly these principles from my earliest sexual encounters continue to shape my values around sexuality.  Conscious exploration and experimentation are the premises on which Black Velvet rested. Freedom from gender assumptions was a dearly-held desire. Play, connection, joy and support were all ingredients we stirred into that cauldron.

The experiment that was Black Velvet was so many things, to so many people.

I’ll only speak here from my own experience, although I’ve been collecting data from others.  What I am able to say is a common thread I’ve heard in reflections: how difficult it was to leave assumptions at the door.  Whether it was feeling excluded from a dyad already in progress, or concern about violating someone’s boundaries, or an unease about not knowing someone’s gender or queerness factor, our fears, assumptions, beliefs and stories make it very difficult for us to have a pure experience. 

I think back to October 28, 1986, and to the purity of the encounter I had with Terry.  Joy and connection.  The utterly astonishing feel of someone’s naked chest against mine.  The pain at the most gentle of penetration. The exhilaration of finally opening my body to someone I loved. The pride that I had done it in the way I wanted, with the person I wanted, and not drunk at some party. The sadness, knowing something was forever altered inside… not having grown into something yet that clearly had a vast and limitless potential.  The not knowing how to operate the parts, the bits, and yet feeling at the same time the exact knowing of how it all worked.  The vulnerability of showing my arousal, my desire, my pleasure.  The rawness of naked skin, exposed genitals, and bared heart. 

Contrasting these feelings to Black Velvet, I see the effects of 27 years of sexual exploration with myself and others. I know how to operate the bits. I know how to touch, and listen with my being.  I now know a lot about pleasure, connection, and sex.

My encounters in the dark were both fulfilling and unsatiating.  I loved being able to touch people, without knowing who they were, or what they wanted, and having to trust my own desire as a barometer, as well as trust that they would uphold any boundaries.  Loved it, and found it completely challenging.  Hearing fucking and slurping noises, moans and what sounded like orgasmic moments made me feel surprisingly tender, and not erotic. I loved being playfully grabbed and roughly pulled, and being slowly seduced into a full body encounter.

That evening, after Terry and I made love for the first time, I felt full of meaning.  I felt like I had the most beautiful secret in the world.  Feeling the rawness between my legs was like a prize… the deep ache inside made me feel grown up, in love, and powerful.  It was less about my connection with Terry, and more about validating a deep unseen source of power, almost completely unexplored.  It’s like when you venture into something just enough to realize the magnitude of what could potentially be possible. 

Black Velvet was also like that.  Having had it once, I want it more and more.  I want to push more into that womb-like chamber, penetrate more deeply into the folds of its mysteries.  I want to know my assumptions, my filters, my lenses.  I want to know the way trauma informs my judgmental self.  I burn to understand sex that is purely about physical connection.  I am intrigued to comprehend how two people can be in an experience and have completely different realities.

Terry is still so dear to me to this day. Our sweet, queer explorations set a course of supportive experimentation which clearly I hold as a deep value.  How completely beautiful it is to me that on some level, my 15-year-old self recognized what my 42-year-old self would want and need. 

Black Velvet opens consciousnessThe most important revelation from the Black Velvet space is about time magick.  The potent knowing that this self, right now, is setting the stage for what my sexual self will want and need, far into the future.  Possibly 27 years in the future.  I am so grateful for the journey, the road, the hurts and harms and healings.  I am so grateful for the pleasure, the breathe, the community.  Our sexual healing begins the moment we step into it, no matter how trepidatious or cautious we are.  Thank you Terry. Thank you Black Velvet.  And Thank you Pavini.  

As the soundtrack ended, and the sounds around me in that black velvet space gentled and slowed, one of my fellow organizers spoke a benediction.  They blessed our work, and our play. They reminded us that sexual exploration is our birthright. That while it may be up to us and us alone, it is indeed possible for us to create these spaces for ourselves to deepen our experience as erotic beings.  And sometimes it requires stepping into our own darkness, our own black velvet, to reach deeply for healing, truth, and liberation.

One of our feedback questions from the experience was about erotic experiments, and what ideas participants have for events they would like to see happen.  If you have an idea, please drop a comment below or email me.  Happy Samhain!

Bringing It until I Fucking Die

Emancipating Sexuality brings it.
Janis Joplin

Someone I deeply respect, and who has had an enormous impact on the art and craft of my teaching unsubscribed from my blog this week.  It was after a particularly graphic post that I wrote, about practicing to be fucked in an alley.

While I understand on an intellectual level that the edge I walk in my work as a teacher of sexual liberation is not for everyone, inside my heart, I felt pain, and another surprising feeling: shame.

The voices of self-doubt rose strongly: am I doing anything that has meaning?   Am I not going to be liked, respected, accepted, loved because I insist on pushing the boundaries of sexual freedom in such a public way?  Should I tone it down, practice and explore privately? Am I too going too far, beyond that radical edge, to where my work loses relevancy?  The level of doubt was staggering.

Maybe, I thought, I should step away from this work, and go back to working with kids with dyslexia.  No one ever unsubscribed from that blog.  (Okay, I didn’t really have a dyslexia blog, but in my oh-so-fun shame story, they wouldn’t have if I did have one!)

I am not sure if self-doubt and feeling unworthy are the same exactly, but they are pretty darned close. Who am I to do this? Why would anyone want to work with me? These are the unworthy voices.

There is something so scary in doubting what I’m doing.  What if I’m lying to myself? What if I am delusional? I don’t want to be dependant on external validation by others, but in these moments, I find I am.

I know it’s not sexy. I know successful people often hide these kinds of thoughts behind a veneer of confidence.  Which is exactly why I want to speak them.  I get so tired when I try to hide insecurity, judgement, doubt.  Actually, hiding them seems to empower them, make them stronger.  I have found that if I just name these shadow feelings aloud, radical and scary as it is, they seem to dissipate. 

So, dear readers, today’s post isn’t for your benefit, per se.  It is for my own… to publicly own all of those unlovable parts. To claim transformational process as a state of being, replete with doubt and shame.  To be honest about how it actually is today, inside this skin sack I’m wearing.

And I do want the kind of world where we can all be honest about the shadow places, the fear places, the small places, and find love and acceptance out there. I spoke with my partner, who is often wise in the ways of transformative process.  What he said is that self-doubt is just part of the process.  It’s to be expected, planned for even.

And so, wallowing within the void of self-doubt, I prayed.  I asked Spirit for a sign.  “Please, please show me and let me know that you want me to keep doing this., that I am meant to do this.”  

I mean, I’ve trusted this process thus far.  I just keep putting one foot in front of the other, trusting deeply that I am being led in good ways through my life.  I’ve made so many scary, risk-taking-you-could-really-regret-this-later kinds of decisions, and they have always worked out. I have trusted that a higher intelligence guides my work, and that there is a benevolence that is holding me as I move through my days. I have said, and continue to say, “Yes” to what is.

Well, I did get my sign, my coincidence, my synchronicity.  Yesterday, I came across and read a beautiful blog post, one which made me cry.  After reading, I was checking out more of the blog, an lo and behold, the author (someone I have never met) had written to me a couple of weeks ago, telling me how deeply they appreciate my work, how they are coming to San Francisco soon, how they would like to meet me.  In that moment of connectedness, I felt my heart open.  While I continue to feel  fear and sadness and the loss of the kind of passability that comes with being an educational therapist and not with being a sex coach, I know I am going to keep bringing it. In spite of self-doubt, I continue on, as evidenced by the writing of this blog post.

Because I think that  this TRULY what successful people do.  They keep bringing it, and bringing it, in spite of objection, persecution, obstacles, self-doubt, and loss.  They keep bringing it because they have to, because it gives their life deep fucking meaning, and they really believe in their work that much.  They truly cannot do anything else. They keep fucking bringing it, until they fucking die. I am of that ilk.  So, though I know the cost of admission is painful, and that the road will be fraught with self-doubt, I am going to fucking bring it, until I fucking die. I can’t really do anything else.

Fucking Science: Erotic Experiments in the Dark

sex_scienceQuestion: What happens erotically, between a group of people in a completely dark, anonymous, anything-goes-but-consent-is-required space?

Hypothesis: Participants will explore their own erotic desires, curiosities, hang ups, and boundaries, and will move beyond who they know themselves to be as erotic beings.

Before HIV, in the 1960’s and 1970’s, gay male bars often had something called a “darkroom” or “blackroom.”  This was a space, in the back of the establishment, that was unlighted and could be used for anonymous sex.  You know, stop in for happy hour on a Friday, order a Bud, go in the back and get a blow job, come back and finish your beer.  Does that sound good to you?  I have always wondered why gay males get a different kind of sexuality than everyone else. Why do they get glory holes, bathhouses, anonymous sex? That’s always felt unfair, and I’ve decided to do something to change that.  It involves my living room.

Today, as I’m writing, I keep glancing in there, wickedly imagining.  Come Friday evening, it will be magically transformed into an erotic pleasure laboratory. Four sexual “scientists,” together with an invited group of people, will participate in an experiment called “Black Velvet.”    

Consider this imaginary scenario, culled from the invitation:

In this Black Velvet space, although there is no light, you will begin to notice the presence of other bodies.   Slowly, as you crawl through the space, you bump gently into a soft, warm presence.  You reach out a hand to touch, and jump slightly as your own erotic energy becomes merged with that of another.  You don’t know who.  You don’t know what that person looks like, their name, where they work, or what bits they have.  All you know is whether you enjoy the energy between you or not.  

If you do, and if they do, you stay and explore being in bodies in the dark together.  If one of you doesn’t enjoy the shared energy, you move away, move their hand away, or whisper “busy.” There is no shame. There is no expectation or obligation.  There is no commitment, other than to the truth of the moment.  

 Consent is always necessary… and it is given by your potential partner choosing to engage with you.  Your boundaries are not negotiable, and indeed the entire group is responsible for creating safer, supported space that welcomes all bodies, genders, sexual identities, and desires.  This group holds as its most profound value that the decision not to engage with someone is a decision to trust our deepest knowing, and is therefore a gift to everyone.

What will happen in this Black Velvet Space?  That’s completely up to you.  You may leave after being deliciously fucked by a hot stranger.  Or, you may explore what it is to be in a space like this and hold your boundaries and not engage at all. Or a thousand other outcomes.  The only requirements for how you explore a space like this is your desire to know yourself better as an erotic being.  

Are you still breathing?  Does this sound intimidating as hell to you?  I know it does to me.  I am really pretty scared about Friday night.  My intention is to open my body in new ways, and I don’t really know what that means or how it will manifest.  What if I go too far beyond my boundary? What if I fuck someone I don’t want to fuck, but they smell and feel so right?  My control issues/needs make it really, really hard to imagine being in a space like Black Velvet, and just surrendering. 

However, I am on fire with conducting erotic experiments.  I am deeply committed to using my body as a pleasure laboratory.  I am ‘all in,’ for maybe the first time in my life, in my ongoing explorations of body, sex, spirit and intimacy.

I’m really quite tired of my erotic limits.  I’m tired of only seeking the kind of sex that connects, builds intimacy, and endures the test of time.  I’m tired of sensation and pleasure being limited by my own narrow capacity. I’m ready to push past the boundaries I think I hold, and find what lies beyond them.Erotic Experiments

How do I know what I am erotically capable of, unless I conduct experiments?  How do I know what I might like unless I try it out? What else is possible for my genitals to feel?  For my hands to learn?  What else can I do with my erotic energy? How can I use the power of my orgasm to make electricity that lights my house? What happens if I turn my bits inside out and stimulate them?  To what edge of beyond trust can I push myself, while still staying connected and compassionate with my heart?

Oh there’s that trust word again.  I will say it is pretty intense, to be on this erotic journey in such a public way. It’s crazy hard sometimes, to claim radical sexuality and pleasure in this queer, fat body.   I am deeply trusting my own process as alchemical. I hope it stands for something that is meaningful to you.  Learning to trust diving into the void of not knowing, and learning to trust that I will emerge, intact feels like my great work.

So what will be the conclusions of the Black Velvet erotic experiment?  Will participants explore their desires, curiosities, hang-ups and boundaries? Will we emerge from the darkness, with deeper and fuller knowledge of our erotic capacities?  And will we be able to make it stick, make it count, make pushing our erotic edges translate into more space in our whole lives?  Or will it just be a cool, I-live-in-the-Bay-Area-and-we-do-weird-sex-shit-like-this-cuz-we-are-so-hip kinda deal?

I do not know.  Participants have agreed to send me their reflections within 48 hours of the event, so there’s my data collection. I will write to you next Monday (are you noticing that posts come out every Monday?  You could *subscribe* if you never want to miss one again!) Next Monday, I will describe the event and my experiences, should you be so interested.  (I’m also teaching an Intimacy Technology class next Monday on trust: please consider attending.)

If you like this post, it would make me deliriously happy if you would consider conducting your own erotic experiment in the next week or so. Post a comment below telling me what will be, or drop me an email and tell me what happened.  I know I’m not the only erotic revolutionary here! 

What might happen on our planet if we build

a critical mass of erotic consciousness? 

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.  

Paying Eros: Fuck your Creativity

Erotic Liberation and Emancipating Sexuality

Do you truly know your own will, when it is free, unbound and without regard for loss?  Do you bow to the will of Eros, or do you seek to bind your creative nature to the will of your logic? How far can you go, how far are you willing to go, to serve your own creative muse? What will do you choose, during your Earth time, so you may bring the one true, exquisite work with which your heart smolders? Will you set ablaze your life, foolishly and courageously risking being reduced to ashes? Will you hope to light the world with your outrageous claim to radiance?

Are you willing to feed your work, your true work, the thing your very soul requires for food, with the pleasure that arises hotly from between your legs?  From the moist delight that graces your yearning lips or from the relish of your sticky fingers?  Will you caress your project with the hungry touch of a lover? Trace the edge of your story with one slow, wet, finger tip? Let your gaze hover over your canvas, ripe with the slick yearning of your want?

How much raw lust do you bring, will you bring, to that which you must do before you are killed by desire?

Will you lay on your couch, your lover’s tongue lapping up your slime, as you type outlandish poetry furiously, moaning, onto a computer screen that your half-open eyes don’t even see? Will you stir your passion into the bubbling pot on the stove as your crazy crush rubs and humps against your backside, leans into your neck, whispers naked wanting into your soft ear? Will you let flamboyant dreams overtake you, draw you to the far edge of the universe of your imagination and make mad plans, as the fingers of your darling probe the holiness of your body?  Will you tear off your bandages, rip off the scars and scabs of your heart, so that Eros is reinstated as your top, your Dom, your Sir?

Will you let your fingers bleed the words onto the pure page, great smears of red, writing the words your mouth does not even know how to speak? Will you drop your hands to your sex and use the smut you find there to fuel your collaborations? Will you use your own salty sweet cum to trace the brutal and beautiful designs of power and lust over the flushed-skin trembling one  at your side? Designs made of desire like wire brands searing the flesh in subtle patterns that speak truth louder than clothing can hide? Will you dip your pen, your wand, your brush into the feral sweat in the creases at your lover’s hips, and wet the virgin page with your unfulfilled, unsatiated passion?

Will you endure or inflict the agony of blows, strikes that carve out the heart leaving unfamiliar and unexplored chambers for love to fill? Will you marry your violence, your pain and terror to the starlit night and full moon perfection of joy and beauty? Will you join all of your selves, your broken child, your mighty wise one, and your fierce healer, in service of the Art of your life? Will you bleed? Will you cum? Will you give the cherry of your erotic self in service to the Eros of the Earth?

Will you Fuck with merciful abandon?

Will you Fuck with freedom and with the innocence of violets and ferns unfurling next to streams? Streams that flow like the waters between your very legs,  streams that carve away the flesh of the Earth as your fingers tear at the pathways to arousal of your beloved self? Streams that dissolve rock as your flesh and bone dissolve resistance, break boundaries, abolish thought and control?  Will you know God through your fucking, through your fucking, bleeding, pissing, cumming body?

Will you?  Because that, muthafuckas, is Erotic Liberation.  And whether you believe it or not, you exist right now only because of Eros, brilliant and deliberate or misguided and pathologized as the case may be. Eros is owed the tremendous debt of remembrance.  We each of us are completely and utterly responsible for restoring innate and right relationship with our deepest creative source.  Let us pay homage through feeling. 

Bring back right relationship with Eros and Emancipating Sexuality

  

Sacred Sexuality for Teens

I have been asked by several in community to put together a class series for teens pertaining to sexuality.  The intention of this post is to gather feedback and information, so that I can create curriculum that serves the needs of teens and their families.

I want to offer a four-week series held within a magickal container, that holds sexuality as sacred, and helps teens explore feelings and skills around relating.  I’m hoping to do this in April.  I see this as sacred sexuality education, which complements sex ed as it is taught in schools.
I ask that this email be shared with families, parents and teens to get as much feedback as possible.  If there are lists this could be forwarded to, please feel free.
Initially, the content that I am considering centers around Self, Other, and Relationship.
Beginning with examining the sexual self: what are my desires? What do I like? What do I feel ready to explore? What am I not ready to explore? What are my questions about sex? Some basic anatomy: How does my body work? And finally, communication skills for communicating boundaries, desire, and negotiation.
The second focus is Other: Whom am I attracted to? How do I uphold someone’s boundaries? How do I honor someone’s desire, especially if it conflicts with my own? How do I navigate the emotions of me and someone else, and hold everyone’s needs and feelings as valid?
The last focus is Relations: How do I navigate sexuality with another? How do I advocate for my needs and desires, as well as uphold my own boundaries?  How do I say or hear “no?”  What is my process around saying yes? How do I communicate with my family around sexuality? How do I find the information I need to answer my questions?
I know that as a parent, I would need to have a lot of trust in a sex educator talking with my kids.  I really want to honor the needs of everyone: families and teens, and create a curriculum that feels good to everyone.  So my questions for families are:
What would you need as a parent to feel good about your child’s participation in this class?
What content would you like to see covered?
What would you like to not have included?
What are your needs in regards to your child’s sexuality education?
What concerns do you have?
What suggestions do you have?
And questions for teens:
What kind of sexuality education do you want and need?
What content would you like to see included?
What would you need to feel safe attending a class like this?
What concerns do you have?
What suggestions do you have?
I am open to receiving written feedback, or to have phone or in-person conversations, as needed.  I would love if you’d take a few minutes to respond, if any of this strikes a chord.  Also, if you could forward this post to other families with teens you know who may be interested, I’d be grateful.