Why I Avoid Sex: A Love Letter

Silence by Odilon Redon

To all my lovers, from this life and the many previous…

Dear Lover,

Thank you for taking the time to read this message. I understand it’s been difficult between us. I know you are wanting more of me and believe me, there is nothing more I’d love than to be able to offer you (and me!) the incredible sex you want anytime you want.

But I simply can’t.

Believe me, I try. Every time you reach for me, all I can hear is:

“Why you can’t a be a goddamned normal human being who fucks when she wants, cums when she wants and goes about her merry way?”

This I lament as you watch me collapse into a puddle of tears and snot once again—our sex hijacked by the alien demon baby that lives in my vagina.

OK. Maybe I’m being a little overdramatic.

That could be part of the problem.

I know the answers lie wrapped up, charred up, scarred up beneath the calcified strata of my orgasm; but as I listen closer, each layer has its own story to tell…

LAYER ONE: CONFUSION

If you asked me what I wanted from sex, I wouldn’t know where to begin. My people-pleasing reflex leaves me disconnected from the hunger in my heart.

Because really, who am I if I’m not making you happy? I don’t even exist. Cosmo says so.

Clinging to an identity wrapped in the dogma of “good little girls who only eat one scoop of ice cream,” I suffer in silence as I yield my voice, again and again, until silence becomes the norm.

Lost in a barrage of choices, I abdicate my power to another in the hopes of escaping the freedom-binding fear of making a decision.

What is sex? What is desire? How does my body work? Is it OK to feel these things? To want so much?

Maybe porn can teach me something? I remember the magazines hidden under the sink when I was 12. Later came fervent moans through green and red squiggles on late night TV. Now I can’t even check my email without getting spammed by a site promising me “lonely, horny girls who are looking just for me.” The porn world has left me feeling incompetent in every way. I will never be a) novel, b) a fantasy and c) ready to be fucked at the drop of a hat.

Which brings me to…

LAYER TWO: ANGER

Fuck you.

Fuck you for not wanting ME, but some trumped up, dolled up, cummed up, fucked up version of an automated sexbot.

Stop trying to prove your worth by conquering my pussy.

When did sex become finding the “10 Ways to Light Him On Fire” or the “15 Moves That Will Turn Her Pussy Into Jizz Pudding”? (Gross)

I avoid sex because penetration is so goddammed boring. I need more. So much more. More than I could possibly understand and yet I need you to figure it out and take me there. To more. To the heights of my mind. Fuck my mind and we could fuck forever.

I have discovered (to my polite, feminine chagrin) that I’m angry. Fucking angry. At the way the erotic has been reduced to this two-minute, frictioned frenzy factory.

But because of my confusion (see Layer One), it’s easier to just stay angry at you for not remembering to do that thing that I asked you to do two weeks ago (you remember the one—I shouldn’t have to remind you).

So no. I won’t fuck you. I won’t give you the satisfaction of my pleasure.

If I give an inch, you take my pride.

You’ll see me crumble and break, my vanity at stake, as each thrust, twang, tickle and tuck strips me of my beautiful hide and renders me defenseless to the

weight

of

my

own

desire.

And in that vulnerability I find myself deepening into…

LAYER THREE: TERROR

I have a not-so-secret fear: I am afraid of being thought of as frigid.

Ironic for a woman who spends her days writing, thinking and exploring the edges of her sexuality.

Or not. After all, the best disguise for insecurity is to dress it up in the robes of expertise.

But I have an even greater terror—that of not being frigid.

Who is this fierce feminine beast?

A woman so ravenous for life that she knows not how to hold all the conflicting and socially unacceptable pieces that are her. The whore tearing through her master’s flesh while wearing the virgin’s smile.

So grab the noose and tie it to the rafters: I would rather be dead inside than unleash the potency of my orgasm—I dare not face this uncaged warrior.

Avoiding sex is the same as avoiding life. It’s why I avoid going onstage. It’s why I pack my feelings into a dark corner. It's why I starved myself for seven years. It’s why it took me three fucking months to write these 1000 words.

Sex requires that we are vulnerable. We cannot hide from ourselves anymore and we cannot shirk our responsibility to this life in a comfortable wash of feigned ignorance.

As I resensestize my pussy, all my receptors come online and to feel everything, the beauty and the pain, is enough to make you want to die.

And yet, here I am again. Terrified. Of death. Of life. Of who I am. Of never knowing who I am.

So it isn’t that the magic is gone, my love—it’s that the potency of our combined forces is too frightening to imagine. So we hide. We play pretend. We get tired. We fall asleep until we forget that we were even hungry in the first place.

And I feel your resistance as much as I feel mine. In fact, I welcome it. It gives me an excuse to stay sleepy under the covers.

But please, dear lover, for the sake of your life and mine, don’t ever stop trying. Fight for our surrender. Know that under my creeping and crawling and cat-cat-caterwauling there is a woman who so painfully wants to escape—who is scratching, layer after layer, for her freedom—

 

And for the chance to re-remember that she is…

LAYER FOUR: LOVE

Love,

c

PS: I think we're on the right track.

If you nourished your sexual life with all the excitements and adventures which love injects into sensuality, you would be the most potent human being in the world. The source of sexual power is curiosity, passion. You are watching its little flame die of asphyxiation. Sex does not thrive on monotony. Sex must be mixed with tears, laughter, words, promises, scenes, jealousy, envy, all of the spices of fear, foreign travel, new faces, novels, stories, dreams, fantasies, music, dancing, opium, wine. ~ Anaïs Nin

Interview with Mai Vu on "Hot Life Hot Love"

I had a fabulous time with Mai Vu on her show "Hot Life Hot Love." We talked about feminine eroticism and shared some very personal and heartfelt stories about learning to grow up as sexual beings. Have a look below and leave a comment with your questions!

And be sure to visit the crowdfunding campaign for my book and pre-order your copy!

NEW VIDEO! Porn and Romance

PRE-ORDER YOUR COPY OF THE BOOK HERE---> https://dana.io/from-6-to-9
"From 6 to 9 and Beyond: Widening the Lens of Feminine Eroticism"
A New Book by Candice Holdorf
http://www.from6to9andbeyond.com

Filmed by Find Your Edge Media
http://www.findyouredgemedia.com

NEW VIDEO! What is "From 6 to 9 and Beyond: Widening the Lens of Feminine Eroticism"?

"From 6 to 9 and Beyond: Widening the Lens of Feminine Eroticism"
A New Book by Candice Holdorf
http://www.from6to9andbeyond.com

Filmed by Find Your Edge Media
http://www.findyouredgemedia.com

69 Vlogs. 69 Days #39: It's Not the Sex. It's the Secrecy.

It's not the sex. It's the secrecy we have around it that keeps us in shame and out of integrity ‪#‎69vlogs69days‬

Porn vs. Erotic Voyeurism: Interview with Laurie Handlers on Sex & Happiness Radio Show

What an honor and a thrill to be interviewed by incredible Tantra teacher Laurie Handlers. Her work has influenced mine over the years and it was a privilege to talk about porn, erotic voyeurism and my book project, From 6 to 9 and Beyond. Listen and download here.

Interview on Better Love and Sex Radio Show

Tantra teacher and radio host, Devi Ward, leads the conversation on her show, Better Love and Sex. In this episode, writers Lori Ann Lothian, Greta Garbo and I discuss the prevailing FB climate of censorship of sex positive speech.

https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/rebelle-sex-and-free-speech!/id657572211?i=162502602&mt=2

Pornography vs. Erotic Voyeurism

Image Credit: BaronBrian/Flickr

“Suspense is like a woman. The more left to the imagination, the more the excitement.” ~ Alfred Hitchcock

Let’s be honest: like it or hate it, pornography is not going away any time soon.

It is estimated that the porn industry brings in $13 billion in the US alone and nearly $100 billion worldwide.

With accessibility going up (thanks to the internet) along with demand (thanks to a growing population and the sharp increase in women and couples who download porn), those numbers are expected to rise.

For those who have had porn addiction or who have been lovers with someone who was addicted, this can seem devastating. Men who regularly masturbate alone with porn are more likely to have problems connecting with a partner, either through premature ejaculation, impotence or an inability to feel emotionally connected with him/her.

Of course to completely demonize porn or attempt to ban it is not the answer either. This “sexual prohibition” will only amplify the cultural embarrassment we already feel around sex, and relegate the production of porn to an even seedier caste of society (is it any coincidence that I can download “Hot Chicks, Small Tits 4” on the same website where I can search for my mail-order Russian bride?). The fact that adult film stars are being denied bank accounts does not represent that porn stars are wrong for doing what they do, but highlights the social stigma around sexual pleasure and our collective fear that someone will “discover” our dirty fantasies.

I think it’s vital that we have a candid discussion around pornography, if nothing else than to get everyone out of the shame closet and admit that we all watch it!

Porn has affected many people’s lives positively. For some, it was the first place they saw people enjoying sex. That can be especially liberating for women, who may have grown up with the notion that sex is something they were obligated to do for men’s pleasure.

Porn can also be educational and shine an approving light on taboos. A man who previously felt that anal sex was not for him, may discover a hidden turn-on when he sees another man taking it from behind (and liking it!).

Finally porn can just be fun and provide the much needed playfulness and variety many couples need in longer-term relationships.

♦◊♦

I feel that porn limits us when we view it as the ultimate authority on sexuality. For those whose only sex education is pornography, sex must equal a penis entering a vagina, a big-busted women screaming as if she’s in the midst of an apoplectic attack, an impossibly endowed men pounding her like a jackhammer and both of them cumming (hard) at the same time, preferably with jiz everywhere (especially on her face).

Porn can also hinder the sexual maturity of men, as they become trained (á la Pavlov’s dogs) to lump orgasm, climax and ejaculation into one act. In reality, all three are separate physical phenomena and can be experienced independently.

Where our relationship to porn becomes especially devastating is when we confuse the business of pornography with authentic sexuality. Porn is built on filling people for the moment, but for the most part is nutritionally deficient. Sort of like the McDonald’s version of sex. Yet, even though we feel a little bloated from it all, we still have an innate hunger (addiction) to consume more. And that’s how most businesses work: in creating a product that people need over and over again.

Therefore sex becomes a commodity. A thing to be possessed. A trophy to be won. And many people who make porn don’t even care if you watch it, as long as you pay for the privilege of possessing it. Fast forward to the end. Grab it, spank it and go on to the next one.

◊♦◊

The antidote to sexual consumerism is something I like to call “Erotic Voyeurism.” In Platonic philosophy, “eros” (the root word for “erotic”) is defined as a kind of love that is a fundamental creative impulse with a sensual element.

I am especially fond of this definition because I believe it provides the extra sexual nutrition that is often lacking in pornography: a way of interacting with visual stimulation and orgasm that is about building energy and utilizing it towards creativity (as opposed to the “jerk it out as fast as possible” approach to which porn often caters).

I recently discovered a brilliant example of erotic voyeurism in Clayton Cubitt’s video art series, Hysterical Literature. In each video, a woman reads an erotic passage from literature while she is genitally stimulated with a vibrator under a table. The results are hilarious, sexy, intriguing, intelligent and, yes, super fucking hot.

We see each woman as a human, rather than a thing. We are invited into her world, rather than trying to stuff her into ours. We ride the wave of her authentic turn-on, which can go from nonchalance to surprise to slight embarrassment to delicious agony to ecstasy to joy to relief. We feel what she is feeling, which fosters empathy and compassion.

We also don’t see any nudity in Hysterical Literature. Because so much is left to the imagination the mind is invited to play and create. Oftentimes, in conventional pornography, we can feel desensitized to what is happening and crave bigger “hits” off the climax crack pipe because of porn’s intensely graphic nature. While this SEX-sationalism, may make for rousing entertainment once in a while, overuse can deaden the subtlety of our sexual palates.

Another site I found that exemplifies erotic voyeurism is called “Gentlemen Handling.” Here, men share with the viewer their own personal style and taste of self-pleasure. The site aims to share the “human-ness” of each of its contributors in a way that is “honest, attentive and reverent.” And although this site still focuses on climax, I appreciate the vulnerability, inspiration and diversity of masculine expression.

This is not to say that we can’t approach conventional porn with an erotic eye. I saw a recent interview on Sex, Lies and Consciousness where a young man said that when he watches porn he likes to see what emotions arise and feel them. Shame, inadequacy, connection, curiosity, horniness — all of it is valuable inquiry to him. I though this was a marvelous and mature way to explore one’s relationship with sex.

Below are ten comparisons of porn versus erotic voyeurism. Of course, not all porn is the same (as evidenced by the rise in feminist porn), and ultimately, it’s never about what’s on the screen, but about our mindset and the level of consciousness with which we engage it.

However, like food, some sexual “meals” offer more nutrition than others. And while a “Big Mac” fuck can be fun every once in a while, it’s important to balance that with a sexuality that is nourishing and fulfilling.

1. Porn tends to tell us what is sexy. Erotic voyeurism asks us “What is sexy?”
2. Porn tends to numb ourselves from the present. Erotic voyeurism brings us right into the center of the moment.
3. Porn often disconnects us from seeing the humanity of the people. Erotic voyeurism is a breeding ground for sensual compassion.
4. Porn thrives on consumption. Erotic voyeurism demands participation.
5. Porn relies on scripts and formulas. Erotic voyeurism is spontaneous and unpredictable.
6. In porn, it’s usually about the money shot. In erotic voyeurism, it’s about the connection.
7. Porn is fictionalized entertainment. Erotic voyeurism invites out our personal truth.
8. Porn often feels like one big clanging note. Erotic voyeurism is a multi-textured symphony of surprises.
9. Porn tends to focus on stimulating the genitals. Erotic voyeurism stimulates our entire being: mind, heart, soul and genitals.
10. 10.  Porn rushes towards climax. Erotic voyeurism savors lingering in the uncomfortable tension between wanting and having.

Article adapted from its original appearance on The Good Men Project

Can Pornography be a Catalyst for Spiritual Growth?

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The Hazards of Being an Orgasmic Woman

Read this article on elephantjournal.com

There is a beast inside of me right now. She’s been neglected for a very, very long time. She’s pissed, starving and demands to be fucked.

If she’s like most women, she’s a sexual anorexic. This is NOT to be confused with a sexually hungry person. A sexually hungry person knows what they want and will do what they need to feed themselves (even if it’s living off Ramen Noodles for a while). A sexual anorexic, on the other hand, has too much pride to admit she’s hungry and gets off on having superior control. She looks down on all those creepy guys in the Tenderloin who stare at you as if you were a dripping, succulent steak. She’s fresh, pure and hops straight off the cover of Cosmo in her size 2 Prada dress.

All that changes when you open your orgasm.

Many guys joke when they hear about it. “Geez, I wish my wife/girlfriend had that problem of wanting to be fucked all the time.” Really? Most men don’t know how to handle a woman when she’s in the throes of indecision of what to order for dinner. You want to throw a 20+ year backlog of unexpressed desire, anger, resentment and trauma into the mix? Good luck.

The current perception of igniting a woman’s sex comes attached with pink feather boas, blossoming flowers and rainbows shooting from vaginas. There also seems to be the annoyingly ubiquitous use of the word ‘juicy.’

Let me set the record straight: forget Barbie and her Sex and the City entourage. Say hello to your dirty, skanky heroin addict.

The other day I woke up in the grips of this otherworldly thing that demanded climax and would stop at nothing to get it. I had just enough consciousness to acknowledge the beast and created the space for her to emerge—and then I plunged pussy-first into the darkness.

I did something I haven’t done in years—I watched porn. Now that may not sound like anything shocking, but what was powerful for me to observe was how utterly helpless I felt in the moment. I needed the drug so bad that I wasn’t going to step out of my room until I had it. I grabbed my phone (which was closer to me than my computer) and searched for ‘free porn.’ I found a video, but when it took too long to download, I gave up and ran for my laptop like it was sexual crack. With shaking hands I flipped up the monitor, typed in my password and found what I needed. The Visitor 3. “I don’t give a shit about parts 1 & 2,” I said to myself. “I just want to get straight to the cock-in-pussy pounding.”

Three minutes later, after I had climaxed, a little bit of reality started to settle back into me. My belly felt swollen, like I’d just wolfed down three Big Macs. I was watching this video of two people clearly not connected to each other. And it was set to some of the worst music I’ve ever heard in my life. I started laughing at myself.

“Have I really become that kind of person?” I thought. “I feel more like a scared, pre-teen boy than a 31-year old woman.”

Then it hit me: this was who was rising to the surface—my hyper-sexual teenager—and she was pissed at being chained in the basement for so long.

There was a period in my life, from ages 11-13, when I would masturbate almost every day. Yet in the midst of that sexual exploration, I also felt profound levels of shame. I saw members of my family struggle with sexual addiction and unhealed sexual abuse. I grew up in the South where young, Christian ladies didn’t do things like that. I had heard boys joke about masturbation all the time, but girls never talked about it. I thought I was a pervert—and yet I couldn’t stop.

Until I was 13 years old and got suspended from school for drug possession. I will never forget the look of abject fear on my mother’s face when she got the news. I felt like this horrible, out-of-control animal that had brought shame upon her. A straight-A student fallen from grace. I made a vow that day to suppress anything that was ‘wrong’ or ‘immoral’—which included my sexual appetite.

Fast forward eight years. I’m 21 years old and I’ve just started dating the man I would eventually marry (who was, incidentally, also the first man with whom I’d had intercourse). I’m away for the summer and I meet someone else—someone who rouses that slumbering beast within me. And I fuck him. And again, I feel like this out-of-control animal. And again, I make a decision to tamp down that wretched appetite. I can’t bear to see the look of pain on my soon-to-be husband’s face.

So for the six-year duration of my marriage, I buried that secret along with my shame and my sex. It’s also no surprise that for those six years, I lived as a food anorexic. If history had taught me anything, it was this:

Appetite = People Getting Hurt

But in the back of my mind, I knew that starving it wouldn’t help. In fact, the harder I pushed it down, the harder it smacked me in the face the moment my attention drifted elsewhere. I had to confront it head on. So I left the marriage and decided I would do whatever it took to recover from anorexia.

The months following the separation from my husband were some of the most humiliating of my life. I felt so insecure sexually that I seduced men just to prove to myself that I could, even though I was clueless about my own desires and hadn’t menstruated in over two-and-a-half years. I cried for five months straight. I found myself, on many occasions, standing in my kitchen pantry at 3am gobbling three or four bowls of cereal in a row, not even tasting what I was shoving into my face.

Yet through it all, I knew I was giving my body exactly what it needed. When you hold a pendulum all the way to the left, it has to swing all the way to the right and back again, multiple times, before it finally finds its center.

And this is how it feels right now in my sex. In spite of the junk-food orgasm and the predator-woman who is ready to jump on anything in her path, I simply have to trust how the path is unfolding before me. It feels like I am going down again, only this time the well is deeper. I have fear of losing everything: my money to the credit card company; my credibility to people who know what they hell they are doing; my fiancé to a younger, skinnier, more sexually-embodied tantric goddess.

And here’s kicker: even with all this sexual appetite, I’m bumping right up against my ineptitude. It’s still so difficult for me to ask for what I want. It’s painful to admit to my lover when I’m faking my own turn-on. It’s agonizing to watch as I lie and withhold my love and gratitude again and again and again.

I recently had someone tell me that fucking me was boring. BORING!?

Dear God. Tell me I’m crazy. Tell me I’m out-of-control. Tell me I’m too much to handle. But boring?!?! With my ego thoroughly eviscerated, I had reached a new low.

So this is orgasm in its rawest form. No sparkly glitter parades or rose-scented sheets. Just a searing burn and unbearable pressure as I sit in the crucible of my sex.

But as I sit here, the words of Anais Nin rise to the surface:

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

And I am reminded of why I chose this path and how lucky I am to feel alive. Those lonely, numb nights of starving madness are a place I can never return. Now that I have had a taste of what’s possible—electric connection, deep love and surrendered pleasure—I have no choice but to burn on.

This is what it takes to move from the chains of bondage to orgasmic freedom. The real sexual revolution doesn’t happen by burning bras or holding on to anger against men; it happens in our own minds, hearts and pussies. And it’s waiting for us, whenever we’re ready.

Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.

"You teach...WHAT!?"

I was at an audition the other day and they were asking me questions about who I was: my volunteer work, yoga teaching, what types of theatre/film I enjoy doing, etc. Eventually we got around to the question, “Do you do anything other than acting?” So, I took a deep breath and with a slight smile said, “Well, yes. I am also a Slow Sex coach and Orgasmic Meditation teacher.” It was like a thickness came into the room. No one dared to breathe. The auditors (3 women and one guy) stared at me as if I were this fascinating and terrifying mutant that about to unleash its power. I relaxed into the moment. Finally the guy said, “Ok, and, um, do you plan to continue teaching yoga?” In that moment, the thickness exploded into effervescent bubbles, like champagne uncorking, and the three women went, “Wait, wait, wait!!! What is that??!!” I just had to laugh and say, “Wow, that’s interesting how he just slid right over that one, didn’t he?!”

Later, I was outside the audition room and the woman monitoring the audition saw me with Nicole Daedone’s book, Slow Sex. She had this little hesitation, then asked, “Um, is that fiction or non-fiction?” When I told her that the author was my teacher, she was so eager to hear what I had to say. A few moments later, the audition door re-opened and one of the female auditors looked at me and said, “Oh good, you’re still here! We have more questions,” and pulled me back into the room.

The bottom line? People are HUNGRY for a deep, intimate, pleasurable experience. They want MORE, they just don’t know what “more” means or have been taught that sex is wrong, bad, only to be shared with “the one”, has to come with romance, expectations, blah, blah, blah. It’s like we’ve got this exquisite set of sterling silver flatware chucked in a box in the corner of our locked, flooded, roach-infested basements and we are scared to death to go down and get it.

In Slow Sex, Nicole talks about she’s at dinner parties and at the table, she will mention that she is a sex teacher. People will drop their spoons, politely wave it off, or say, “Oh that sounds nice for my friend, but me? Everything’s great!” But afterwards, on her way to the bathroom, people will flag her down and tell her their innermost secrets, hoping for some sort of answer. And that’s where we’ve relegated the topic of sex—the hurried whispers near the bathroom rather than in the frank openness of intelligent discourse.

I mean, we can’t deny that we have a cultural obsession with sex. Every song the radio is about trying to sleep with someone, getting angry at someone who slept with someone else, feeling sad because aren’t sleeping with the person we used to sleep with. Commercials and billboards display scantily-clad, pre-pubescent women (and men). And porn is a whopping $14 billion industry in the US alone. But when I ask someone to speak a simple desire, everything from deflecting, shame and giggling to feigned nonchalance and anger arises. It is one of the biggest shadows we have as a society. Only when we can cultivate a deep relationship and reclaim our OWN sexuality can we begin a healing process to integrate all of ourselves and live the life we so desperately desire.

So really, let’s bust down the basement door and start cleaning. Get out the Raid, grab a water bucket and some silver polish and reclaim our birthright to pleasure. A magnificent feast awaits, if we only dare to re-discover the tools to enjoy it.

Then maybe in the future, my auditor can freely and openly say, “Wow, a Slow Sex coach and Orgasmic Meditation teacher? Fascinating. Tell me more…”