(Hint: Forget the Flowers, Toys & Eye-Gazing)
I was OMing (Orgasmic Meditation) a few days ago. During the
OM , it felt as if there were an inch of waxy
paraffin between his finger and my clit. An irritating voice arose:
Why the hell can’t he
find me?
Why does my spot keep
moving?
Why don’t my OMs feel
like they used to?
Am I being annoying
asking for all these adjustments?
What do I want?
What do I WANT?!
WHAT DO I WANT?!?!?!
The OM ended, I over-politely shared a frame (lest my angry,
ravenous beast come out and bite off this poor guy’s head) and I asked for
another OM. It started off the same way: we
felt incredibly far away from each other. I couldn’t quite name it, but I knew
there was something I wasn’t quite admitting to myself—like there was some
pulsing, hungry truth locked up in a ballerina music box with pink ribbons and
smiley faces.
Then I asked for him to move his finger a little lower and
to tuck into the lower pocket of my clit. And that’s when it hit me: Fucking. I
wanted fucking. But not just any kind of fucking. I wanted seedy, sleazy,
$20-whore-in-a-cheap-motel-who-gets-used-then-left-in-a-pile-by-a-Wall-Street-creep-who-cums-with-his-tie-on
kind of fucking.
Oh. Well that’s a little confronting.
I mean, I’ve had some hard sex in my life, but this was a little
difficult to admit. Aren’t I a free-thinking woman who believes in equality of
the sexes? Aren’t I soooooo advanced
in my OM practice by now that I should be
beyond the hunger for quick climax and heavy pressure? Shouldn’t I be working
towards feeing the expanded subtlety of the lightest strokes?
But the evidence was clear. I couldn’t feel a thing until I acknowledged
my desire: I wanted some nasty sex. In that moment, my pussy swelled with wet
heat and I sucked him deeper into me, little electric hooks gripping onto each
ridge of his finger.
We as a culture are so shamefully hungry to the point of secretly obsessing about sex. We surreptitiously Google search for the sexual
holy grail: the perfect pill or the perfect position or the perfect toy to make
her curl her toes or have him beg for more. But none of that will make a
difference if you don’t have the courage to do the one thing that will light
you up like nothing else:
Tell The Truth.
You know the feeling. Let’s say someone you have a crush on
is sitting right next to you. Connect with your body in that moment. Can you
feel your heart beat faster and your palms sweat? Does the thought of telling
this person that you want to kiss him/her make you feel like you are going to
fly out of your body?
Or perhaps you’re in a relationship and you’ve had some
fantasies of bringing home the secretary. Imagine sharing that desire with your
partner. Can you feel the nervous, carbonated tickle of the hairs on your neck?
Or imagine that you are angry at someone and you are finally letting out all your unfiltered
rage. Can you feel the heat in your face, the hammering in your chest and the
swelling in your throat?
All of that heightened sensation is orgasm that can be used in
any turned-on way you choose. Every time you admit the truth to yourself, you
peel away another layer that is blocking intimacy.
Conversely, every time you withhold your desires or
feelings, you are piling another layer of crap on top of your orgasm. Over
time, each caked-on layer gets thicker and thicker and you have to work harder
and harder to maintain the lie that the mask of crap is your truth. Eventually,
you may even start to blame the people in your life for all that shit weighing
you down.
This is at the heart of why relationships fail. It’s not
that the sex gets bad and then the relationship goes down the tubes. It’s
actually the other way around. The relationship starts failing when we stop
telling the truth, either out of laziness or fear of losing the person. When
that happens, the first thing we run from is the exposed and highly volatile
arena of sex. We make up excuses about why we can’t have it: too tired, too
busy, not in the mood, it’s not that important, we have different schedules,
the kids exhaust us—we’ve heard them all (and have probably even used a few at
some point).
It’s not until the years go by and we find ourselves on the
brink of a desperate starvation that we then grasp on to anything to save the relationship. You can pile on as many romantic
getaways, kinky toys and love-making classes you want. But unless you have the
courage to speak your truth, you’ll just end up in a candle-lit beach bungalow,
handcuffed to the bed and gazing into the eyes of someone you’ve been loathing
for the past ten years. Nothing fundamental will actually change.
We have to learn to strip sex down to its barest essentials:
me, the sensation in my body and my desire. That’s it. Once you’ve tapped into that,
share it with someone. If that person doesn’t want to meet you there, let them
go. They are not for you. If they are willing to play, treat them well—and
continue to stay honest about your desire.
This is why whenever I am feeling disconnected sexually, I
don’t rush to fix a ‘problem’ or assign blame for why someone else is a crappy
lover. I slow down and ask myself the questions: What am I running from? Where
am I lying? What am I not admitting? As in the case with my OM ,
I wasn’t admitting the part of me that likes being a tacky, climax-driven,
trashy whore. The moment I gave her permission to exist, my body flushed with
orgasm.
The turn-on lies in the admission itself—in the moment of
expressing desire. What happens afterwards is simply choice. I could go out and pay some douchebag for a
lay (perhaps not the wisest option). I could enroll a willing partner to play
out the scene with me (fun!). Or I could let the acknowledged desire sit in my
body and carry it around as my happy little secret to brighten the day.
Once you admit your truth, sex becomes about abundance and
exploration, rather than fear and hiding. Maybe you want to experiment with
wielding a flogger—or perhaps you want to take a sexual breathwork class—or
maybe you’ve been dying to have sex
with that one Michael Bolton song playing on the stereo. Either way, you have chosen to express yourself from a place
of erotic authenticity.
So go on. Admit it. Remember, the truth will not only set
you free—it also makes for great sex.
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