Why Feminine Eroticism Matters to EVERYONE

Because we live in society still locked in shame around our sex, genuine sexuality never gets taught. Because of that porn and mass media are our primary source of sex education. We're being told what is sexy, rather than discovering it for ourselves, and because of that, sex becomes a product. 

69 Vlogs. 69 Days #37: Sneak Peek from the Book aka Erotic Poetry of my experience with a woman

A little erotic sneak peek from the book--if you like what you hear, let me know in the comments section and I will share more in upcoming vlogs!

SLC Radio: Female to Female Attraction, the Un-Talk About Subject

I had such a fun time on the Sex, Lies and Consciousness Google Hangout sharing my perspective on female-to-female attraction. Thanks Mai, Lori and Steven!

“Being a Woman Today” Launches 5-Year Study on Female Orgasm

In a world of Cosmo BJ tips, porn sex ed and pre-pubescent pin-up girls, I often lament the dearth of quality articles, research and erotica from an empowered, mature feminine perspective.

It seems like everywhere I turn, I’m hit with another piece on how my sex ‘just isn’t good enough’ and if I am going to ‘snag Mr. Right,’ I had better learn how ‘handle his manhood,’ ‘cum so hard that he’ll never want to leave’ and ‘sculpt a sex-perfect body (lest I be outcast from the League of Highly Successful Woman Who Make Six Figure Incomes, Take the Kids to Soccer Practice and Still Have the Energy to Ride Their Husbands Like Jenna Jameson).

Not only is our culture ill informed on the vastness and complexity of female sexuality—so is the medical field. Yes, most doctors know the difference between the clitoris and the labia, but the psychology and more subtle and nuanced characteristics of a woman’s sex are not well documented. Most studies on sexuality either predominantly use males as test subjects, use small numbers of women from a limited cultural or social stratum or are based on opinions and observations from studies done decades ago.

Also, as seen in Liz Canner's highly successful documentary 'Orgasm Inc.,' pharmaceutical companies are pouring billions of dollars into creating the new 'female Viagra' as a cure for the so-called 'Female Sexual Arousal Disorder' (FSD). The notion that a woman has to orgasm a certain way and within a certain time frame is ludicrous, and the fact that there are companies profiting off of women's frustration, desperation and heartbreak not only angers me; it also highlights the pervasive misogyny that underlines much of our consumerist culture.

Please. We don’t need pills. We need foreplay and a safe space.

However, Being A Woman Today—a new, 5-year project sponsored by Human Innovations, LLC and the Institute for Advanced Study for Human Sexuality—is hoping to tip the scales in our favor. Their plan is to use large-scale, international surveys (approximately 50), online communities and interactive talk shows, as well as bring together some of the world’s leading clinical sexologists and related researchers, to conduct the largest research project in history.

Their goal in launching such a global endeavor (35 countries!) is to educate and empower women and improving the understanding, acceptance and importance of a woman’s sexual well-being.

To help raise capital for the project, The Exodus Trust has donated over $600K worth of erotic art, much of it previously available only to wealthy collectors, to be used as ‘Perks’ for BAWT’s Indiegogo campaign.

My personal desire for every woman is to know the power of her own hunger and depth of her own orgasm. For me, Being A Woman Today is a much-needed guiding light in a world shrouded in violence, insecurity, misinformation and shame.

To Love a Woman (written 9/2009)

Venice Beach, CA

To Love a Woman

Her liquescent cries

Inundate the hollow night

And it is here

In the palm if my hand

That the earth’s story

Is born.

The lotus

The lily

The magnolia

Unfolding flowers

Whose nectars

Form the seas

My fingers

Tickle Her petals

My thumb

Discovers Her pearl

My mouth

Alights on Hers

And as the sloop slips under,

Descending the

Ocean of our Love,

Sweet, salty waves

Rock us

To death

Who knew that

Unexplored reefs

(With the potent power

Of floral coral)

Could produce

Such radiant life?

Want Orgasm? Let the Love in.

View this article on Straight Up Love

I get a lot of emails from men and women wanting the elusive answer to the never-ending question: How can I (or how can I get her to) have an orgasm?

First piece of advice: Stop Trying. No. Really. Take the pressure off of yourself or your partner to ‘make something happen.’ The more we clamp down and ‘effort’ ourselves into an experience that we think we should be having, the more we distance ourselves from the rich world of sensation that exists right here in the present.

Second: Redefine ‘Orgasm.’ Many people have a very limited view of what we consider to be orgasm, thanks to a lack of sound erotic education and the prevalence of porn and soap operas as our dubious teachers on sex and relating. Most of us believe that orgasm is this fleeting, 30-second event where you buildup a lot of energy until you can’t hold it anymore, go over a sharp edge and have some sort of crashing release.

While this experience (which I call ‘climax’) may be a part of orgasm, it is only a tiny hiccup on the spectrum of possibility. To me, orgasm is the pulsing breath of life that births every moment. Orgasm is the chilly tickle on the edge of my skin as my lover draws his tongue from the edge of my ear to the tip of my nipple. It’s the warm flush in my face and genitals when I reveal a taboo desire.  It is the fire of my hunger and the blazing force that opens me to pleasure.

Which takes me to my third piece of advice: Receive. Let the love in. Our ability to experience orgasm is directly proportionate to our ability to receive pleasure. Very often, we have a lot of ideas that sit on top of and stifle our pleasure:

I don’t deserve to feel this good.

If I let this in, what do I have to give up in return?

I don’t want to tell him what I want because it will hurt his feelings.

If I ask for what I want, I will look like a bitch.

Everyone can have this except me.

I can’t do this with someone unless I know we are getting married.

I should just go along with this because I don’t want to look like I’m frigid.

I don’t want him to think I’m a kinky nympho.

However, when you admit the truth about your desire, love yourself enough to ask for it and stay connected to the sensation along the way, a world of orgasmic pleasure opens up to you—and rather than orgasm being this nebulous pinball that sometimes pings in the jackpot every once in a while, it becomes an infinite banquet that fills the hungry void that we often stuff with sugar, shopping or junk-food sex.

So what exactly does ‘let the love in’ mean? Well, first, it means slowing down enough to be present with what is. It also means being humble and gracious enough to honor the miracle of your very existence right now. It means acknowledging your own desire. Perhaps you are having sex with someone with whom you don’t really want to be having sex. Can you love yourself (and the other person) enough to tell the truth? Or perhaps your partner is offering exquisite attention on your navel and your brain is freaking out about how you have to reciprocate? Can you love yourself and your partner enough, to breathe, relax and feel (and maybe even whisper the words ‘Thank You”).

Orgasm has very little to do with technique and LOT to do with state of mind. First of all, orgasm is our own responsibility. No one can ‘do it’ for us or ‘give it to us.’ Yes, other people may facilitate the opening (and we dearly, dearly thank them for it), but our orgasm depends on our own ability to stay relaxed, receptive and present with what is. Also, if a woman doesn’t feel safe in any way, she will not enter a state of orgasm. This is why conscious explorations of erotic pleasure and practices of surrender (like Orgasmic Mediation) are powerful tools on your sexual journey.

For example, the other day I was having sex and while he was inside me, I could hear a cacophony of voices wondering if he was having a good time and if I was ‘doing it right.’ Instead of staying caught in my mind, I chose to breathe, slow down and simply feel the sensation of our sex. I noticed the tiny sparks on the lower walls of my pussy. I noticed the pulsation around my lips. I noticed how deeply he was feeling me and riding our edge. I noticed the variety of strokes he made—from long and languorous to soft and still to powerful and rough.

I surrendered to the pleasure of our experience and allowed the orgasm to overflow.  I thought to myself, “I feel so fully loved right now, by my self, by life, by this man, by my body, that I am going to pour love onto this man through his cock.” And from there, I simply let orgasm take the reins.

When you answer the questions “What is my desire?” and “Am I staying connected to the sensation?” you invite an honest inquiry into the inner landscape of your sex. You begin to see orgasm as a curious friend, rather than an ephemeral foe. Orgasm becomes a lifelong journey, a state of being and a passage to grace. It’s often a fiery and clunky ride, but if you can remember to let the love in (and to share in your abundance), you’ll find yourself deepening your intimacy, feeling so much more in your body and having a hell of a lot of fun.

The Nobility of Sex, a.k.a. 7 Non-Sexual Tips (Plus 1 Video!) to Spice Up Your Sex Life

Photo by Lianne Viau

READ THIS ARTICLE ON ELEPHANTJOURNAL.COM

“The erotic has often been misnamed by men and used against women. It has been made into the confused, the trivial, the psychotic, and plasticized sensation. For this reason, we have turned away from the exploration and consideration of the erotic as a source of power and information, confusing it with the pornographic. But pornography is a direct denial of the power of the erotic, for it represents the suppression of true feeling. Pornography emphasizes sensation without feeling.” ~ Audre Lorde

Yup. You asked for it (even if you won’t admit it). Another article on everyone’s favorite topic: SEX!

(End of snarky intro)

I’ve noticed a trend on elephantjournal.com these past few months of authors and readers decrying the popularity of more ‘salacious’ and‘fluffy’ content and ruing the fact that ‘deeper’ and ‘more meaningful’ pieces often get overlooked. I have also seen a number of people complain that all this talkof sex is empty if you don’t also mention love.

The argument goes that all you have to do is put up a picture of a scantily-clad woman, have a title promoting the ‘3 Easy Steps to Being a Mega Sex-Machine’ and bandy about the words cock and pussy and BAM! Instant ele hit.

Now look: as a sexuality writer, I will be the first one to roll my eyes at some of the schlock that gets published. All the tips and tricks to snag a husband, make her come like a volcano or lose weight so you aren’t a flabby troll who can’t even get laid by a blind man can actually be damaging, prey upon our cultural insecurity and push our sex back into the shadowy recesses of shame.

However, when my work (and the work of my very talented ele peers) are linked to these complaints, I have to speak up. To question the journalistic validity of an article simply because there’s a ‘helpful’ list or it focuses on sex or there’s only a video and little writing is not only blatantly arrogant—it’s downright insulting.

I’m truly sorry that every single piece on elephantjournal doesn’t get the kind of attention it deserves. I have read and re-posted some gorgeous pieces that unfortunately got lost in the electronic fray. However, that is the nature of being an artist. We may create many, many pieces, but only one becomes a Guernica or a Mona Lisa.

In my opinion, I don’t think people are tired of hearing or talking about sex. In fact, I think we are actually starving for frank, in-depth conversations about sex. I think what people are tired of is SEX-SATIONALISM—that is to say, the titillating ‘tee hee hee’ that sits on top of our own sexual shame, hunger and insecurity. We get a ‘hit’ when we Youtube search for various ‘wardrobe malfunctions’ and pop-star lesbian makeouts (and no thank you, I do not need to see a busty woman when purchasing an automobile or deodorant). We become sex-crack junkies, opting for the quick fix in the syringe rather than making the more vulnerable choice of asking directly for the sex we want.

Also, many people tired of SEX-SEXSATIONALISM are erroneously suggesting that sex is meaningless unless there is love attached. The assumption is that love is greater than sex and that sex simply for the pleasure of sex is somehow vacant.

Are you kidding me?

First, sex without love simply doesn’t exist. Love is everything. It’s in everything we do. We are love. It is impossible to escape it, whether you are fucking, eating, pooping, walking, crying or writing. Our capacity to allow ourselves to feel it may fluctuate, but the truth of the matter is that love is the ineludible breath of orgasm. Even when we feel dead and disconnected from the world, love is there—we are often too proud to accept it, but it waits gracefully and patiently for us to acknowledge it.

Second, it is my belief that we are confusing romance with love and sex. We have this belief that sex is only OK as long as we do it ‘tantrically’ with someone with whom we are ‘in love’ and to whom we plan on making a lifelong, monogamous commitment. Balderdash. Some of my deepest and most transformative life experiences were one-night stands, bathroom sex and sex with people who were already in committed relationships—all of which were saturated in love. 

I actually think romance and other ‘rule-based’ excuses for sex are poisoning our ability to fully open. They sit on top of our pleasure, like an angry schoolmarm, punishing us for enjoying anything that deviates from a prescribed code of social respectability. To connect to our sexual authenticity, we need to strip sex down to its barest essentials: you, your partner and the sensation at the point of connection. That’s it. I am not tossing off sex with a committed partner. I give thanks every day for the gift of my Beloved. But I had to peel off the layers of what I thought my sex and love should look like in order to recognize and receive him.

Third, having sex simply because it feels good is not only OK—it’s the most noble reason of all. We have somehow adopted the myth that pleasure equals "lack of self-control" and that denial equals "being a good person." Perhaps this is a throwback to the "martyrdom makes you a saint" dogma espoused by many popular religions. However, in my mind, nothing is more noble, innocent and pure than surrendering to the pleasure of our bodies. The pleasure we feel of a soft cat's fur under our fingertips. The pleasure we feel of a ripe fig bursting between our teeth. The pleasure we feel of warm sun against cool skin.

And yes, the pleasure of sex. The sparks of electricity that ripple across the small of my back when my lover licks my ear. The glow in my heart when I connect intimately with another person. The curious bliss of deepening relationship. The playful thrill of adventure. The stirring of the soul in creating new life.

I neither trust nor enjoy sex if I or my partners have other agendas—romantic or otherwise. If you are having sex to impress someone, make your ego feel good, negotiate a transaction (i.e. I will eat you out if you suck my cock), disassociate from life, snag a relationship or anything other than surrendering to the pleasure found in our exquisite and miraculous bodies, then it’s not an act of love, but manipulation.

Now, I cannot help but notice that a great majority of our sex writers at elephantjournal are female and that most (if not all) of those who are ‘sick of sex’ and wanting more ‘spiritually enlightening articles’ are male. This, to me, is an indicator of the taboo surrounding female sexuality and the continuous sexism that blankets the more feminine spiritual paths.

 Audre Lorde says:

“The erotic is a resource within each of us that lies in a deeply female and spiritual plane, firmly rooted in the power of our unexpressed or unrecognized feeling. In order to perpetuate itself, every oppression must corrupt or distort those various sources of power within the culture of the oppressed that can provide energy for change. For women, this has meant a suppression of the erotic as a considered source of power and information within our lives.”

The world of sex is feminine: dark, uncertain, combustible, frightening. It is a spiritual path that pulls us down into the mud of humanity before we can push off the ground into the more celestial (and masculine) realms of consciousness. So when I see my fellow sister-authors (and brothers as well) gather the courage to share their erotic opening with the world (yes, that includes E.L. James, regardless of your opinion of 50 Shades), I want to scream from the rooftops “Write on! Your expression is my inspiration! Your voice is my healing!”

We each have our niche—that thing that calls forth from us our greatest power. Yours may be vipassana. Someone else’s may be crocheting. Mine is sex and orgasm. Perhaps if I wrote about cookie baking or child rearing, you might be able to categorize me in a socially acceptable binder full of women.

I genuinely pay tribute to the vibrant community elephantjournal fosters and the myriad of voices that come out to play. Questioning and challenging are important and encouraged—it spurs personal and social creativity. But writing off other people’s work as cheap or ‘simply trying to make a name for themselves’ is simply disrespectful.

So. For those of you who are tired of reading about sex (but not really) and need a list and a video to satiate your ele appetite, I humbly offer you 7 Non-Sexual Tips (Plus 1 Video!) to Spice Up Your Sex Life:

1. Chew your food slowly. Savor the experience. Use all five senses and allow the flavor to slide over your body.

      2. Express gratitude. When you come from fullness and approval, it expands your capacity to receive.

      3. Do something loving for yourself every day. If you know how to love yourself, you will take nothing less from anyone else. 

      4. Practice service. When you recognize your abundance and allow it to spill over, your joy transforms you into the most attractive person in the room. 

      5. Break the rules. Violate the ‘No’s’ and ‘Can’ts’ in your life and you will be bold enough to do it in the bedroom. 

      6. Surround yourself with beauty. When you know what gives you pleasure, you can recognize it and ask for it.  

      7. Laugh. It takes the pressure off to perform and connects you to the crooked perfection of life.

PLUS! Obligatory humorous sex video!

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.

The Biggest Secret for Great Sex

View this article on elephantjournal.com

(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.

Womanhood and the Reawakening of My Erotic Innocence

Also view this article on elephantjournal.com

I have been a very dirty girl. And I’m OK with that.

Well, sort of. It’s more like I am learning to love this part of myself. She’s been in hiding for some time now, afraid that if she speaks to loudly or chews with her mouth open or runs naked through the streets, people will get angry. Or they will laugh at her. Or they will watch her with a starving madness and she will feel their shame burning through her skin (which will then light the fire of her own shame and her ‘good girl’ cover may get blown).

But this ‘dirty girl’ is not what you might be thinking. She’s no ‘been-there-done-that’ kinda chick, nor does she spend her nights trolling around town looking for the next hot lay. She’s actually quite naïve—she comes from a place before her sex got tied in the knots of social conditioning.

We’ve only been recently reacquainted.

I’m face down on the bed. My legs are spread. My lover pushing himself inside me. My right fingertips are on my clit. His hands are tangled in my hair as he shoves my face into the pillow. I am bellowing from a place deep within the basement of my soul. It’s uncontrollable, as if a fury has taken over my voice. I vacillate between crying and laughing. Grieving the release of past trauma and marveling at the humorous absurdity of it all.  I am a 31-year-old woman possessed by the banshee spirit of a 4-year-old while in the throes of some pretty brutal fucking.

And within it all, the anger, the terror, the hilarity and the tears, is a tremendous amount of turn-on. My whole body is alive. I have expanded to a point just a hair’s breadth beyond the limits of my safety, for the moment. I feel a twinge of guilt in not pushing further, as if my sex were some sort of product to deliver (and the business of my sex demands utmost customer service), but we fall asleep, sweetly drenched in the hair and sweat of our electric togetherness.

But what expands, must equally and oppositely contract. A few hours later, he reaches for me in the vulnerable darkness, hands on my ass, cock pressing against me. All at once a rage snaps my body tightly together, a violent ‘No’ escaping my throat and I clutch the sheets in a feeble attempt to scurry away. I am angry and terrified, as a childhood ghost flies through me. My lover holds me tightly, letting me know that I am safe. After a few tense seconds, my body slackens, but what was once alive has now gone numb.

And this frightens me. I know this place. I took up residence for a number of years. Starving myself in the addiction of anorexia in the attempt to quell the voices of a ravenous (and dangerous) sexuality. Maintaining a pre-pubescent state of being so I didn’t have to face the terror that comes with stepping into womanhood.

After a few minutes I fall asleep. I leave his place the next morning, quiet and unfeeling. I don’t know how to make sense of what I am experiencing. Is it resentment? Violation? Pain? Anger? Shame? All I can tell is that my emotional body has shut down and is on some sort of autopilot. A big block of cement sits right on my belly. If I let the old Candice take over, a passive aggressive brew of sexual withholding and the silent treatment isn’t far away.

A few hours go by and the pain starts to thaw. Vulnerability wins. I can feel again. I break down and call him, crying. I am a confused mess of a woman. On the one hand, I am angry at all men who rape women and for every man who has ever only wanted me for my sex. On the other, I ashamed at my compulsive need to have every man I meet want me sexually. Who am I if I don’t have my sex to offer as collateral for my right to exist in this world? My insecurity breeds a way of being in the world that invites the very reaction I most fear and therefore, it also invites a reaction that comes with a large amount of desire. Desire to confront and know myself as a woman of sexual maturity.

We end the conversation. I feel a bit more relieved, but there is still a bubble of unexpressed desire sitting in me. A few hours later, I meet with a friend for an OM (Orgasmic Meditation). The moment his finger slides onto my clit, the bubble wells up into my eyes and I am silently crying. In this moment, as he is stroking me with tenderness and care. I connect with the sexual innocence of a child. It is sweet, soft and nurturing. I feel emotionally safe and free from shame—something for which my body has hungered for a long time.

As kids, we are naturally curious about our bodies and express pleasure without concern for what others think. Children aren’t born with shame; they experience it once they learn from adults—who are themselves wrestling with their own unhealed wounds around shame and fear of abandonment—that some part of who they are is ‘dirty’ or ‘wrong.’

Our erotic journeys begin at conception, which is itself a sexual act. You see little babies touch themselves in utero. We are birthed through our mother’s genitals. We are nourished at our mother’s breasts. Our fathers hold us in their laps and tickle us to tears. The entire experience of young childhood is both sensual and innocent.

Then shame enters the picture. This can look like adults condemning erotic expression and setting up walls between themselves and children; or, as in my case, adults will be so erotically starving and are unable to share that with their adult partner (if they even have a partner) that they will use their children for energetic support, which opens the door to emotional or physical incest.

Here are a few highlights in the tapestry of my childhood sexual shame:

I can remember being 6-years-old and the neighbor boy pulling down his pants and showing me his ‘wee wee’ and me thinking “Oh my God, I hope my mother doesn’t walk in on this.”

I can remember being 9-years-old and having family members tell me not to dance or lick my lips like Madonna, lest I get the ‘wrong’ kind of attention.

I can remember being 10-years-old and having play acting sessions with my girlfriends in which I would pretend to be the ‘guy’ and we would kiss and rub up against each other. I was both frightened that they would tell their parents and mortified by how much I desired to kiss them again.

I can remember being 11-years-old and teasing one of the girls in after-school care about being sexual. She went and told one of the leaders, who then accused me of child abuse.

I can remember being 12-years-old and thinking I was the only female in the world who masturbated. I had heard all the jokes about boys doing it, but not girls. I thought I was some sort of pervert.

Shame is an arena where most of us can relate, but are too afraid to share with each other because of the repercussions society dishes out for deviating from the sexual ‘norm.’ We women are supposed to hold on to our ‘precious’ virginity as long as possible and only give it up for guys that are ‘marriage material.’ Then once you finally pick one guy, only fuck him for the rest of your life. Be a whore on-demand with him at night, but totally asexual during the day. Without the freedom to explore our desire and communicate it to our partners, we often live our lives with our orgasm locked in resentment and rotting inside our bodies.

Men don’t have it much easier. They are expected to walk around with perpetual hard-ons and their worth as a man rests on their ability to please a woman all night long (a farcical notion frequently expressed in many love songs). If his only experience is from watching porn and talking to his buddies, he may lie to cover up the fact that he doesn’t know how to handle a woman’s pussy and is too ashamed to admit it. This shame, which is vacuum-sealed like Saran Wrap around our fear of sex, is why both men and women continue to hide within the ‘safety’ of societal conditioning; thus, unfortunately, widening the chasm between ourselves and our authentic erotic expression.

Many of us in more ‘liberal’ cities may think we have moved past this kind of archaic relationship with sexuality, but I contest that it is very present. The war on abortion and women’s reproductive rights is a direct attack on female desire. The recent ban on gay marriage in North Carolina (as well as the ban on civil unions for both gay and straight couples) reinforces the belief that unless you are in a monogamous, long-term, heterosexual relationship, you are an unlawful deviant of society. Abstinence-only sex education is getting more of a push from right-wing leaders and now, young girls are attending events known as ‘Purity Balls,’ in which female teenagers pledge their virginity to God and elect their fathers as guardians—a role which then passes only to her future husband.

As you can see, there are many people and institutions more than willing to take the load of sexual responsibility off our hands. And the longer we continue to play this charade, the harder it gets to separate our personal truth from the social lie.  To stand up and say, “No, it is my life, my body and my sex. I will decide what is right for me,” is nothing short of revolutionary.

In the past, I thought this meant doing all the kinky things I had avoided during my young adult years (my focus on school and my marriage were great places for my sex to hide). This ‘saying yes’ to every sexual opportunity that came my way was ‘proof’ that I was sexually expressed. I see now that the more powerful (and vulnerable) choice lies in reclaiming my own erotic innocence, i.e. that part of myself that is simple, pure, unfiltered in her desires and lives with the ethos of ‘pleasure for the sake of pleasure’ and enjoys something simply because it feels good (rather than looks good), without the fear of ‘not deserving it’ or ‘what do I have to give up in return.’ She doesn’t have to show off or prove her worth. For her, ‘No’ is a valid response—it gives her ‘Yes’ that much more power.

And my erotic innocent is a little dirty at times. Because it’s fun to break the rules. To be a little bad. It turns her on. Rebellion is exciting because it paves the way for some new discovery—shakes up the status quo and creates the opportunity for messiness, play and growth. In confronting my childhood trauma, shame and hidden desires, I am now creating the space for all facets of my erotic being to emerge. Within this sexual self-compassion comes the ability to empathize with each person and accept their erotic self. The newborn, the homeless guy, my father, the elderly lady on life support, the nun—everyone is a sexual being. We are all perfectly built for sensuality. And it is through personal acceptance that the doors of inspiration, abundance and living the life of your dreams open. It’s not a silly, utopian fantasy or a special place reserved only for those lucky enough to find it; it is your birthright.

The journey is not easy. But if it were easy, it wouldn’t be as much fun. The pain, the shame, the falling apart, the voices of doubt—they are not my enemies. They are the raw material for my creativity and serve to remind me just how exquisitely human I am—all I have to do is to surrender to them. What a gift that is. To recognize the gift, accept it with humility and pour out gratitude in service to the Divine is nothing short of grace. And it is within the grace of surrender that an erotic innocent is ushered into Womanhood.

Take Responsibility for Your Orgasm (for Women Who are “Too Much”)

…and really, what woman isn’t too much? Even the mousy, little librarian types at some point in their lives got the message that they were “too much” and to manage that, they squashed their orgasmic energy down into this tiny little thimble that they try to tuck away in the back folds of their skirts.

Ladies, the cat’s out of the bag. I see you. You have a volcano of raw, potent power just aching to be expressed, no matter how many times you try to sweetly deny it, act out in anger or run for the box doughnuts. Not only do I know you are powerful, it is in fact your sacred RESPONSIBILITY to cultivate that power and use it in service of evolving the planet.

So, go ahead, do us all a favor and add ‘orgasm’ to the top of your very busy to-do list (no, not after picking Billy up from soccer and making dinner…to the top).

Because when you don’t come from nourishing fullness, deep desire and pleasure, you are running on empty. Dry. Drained. Irritated. And it’s painful to watch. And because you are trying to hide the mountain of orgasm that you do possess, your energy leaks out in some very unhealthy (and often addictive) ways. Some more socially acceptable than others, but none in the best interest of your creative potential.

Maybe you constantly seek out relationships in order to quiet that nagging hunger you feel when you are alone and use seduction as a tool for the attention you crave. Maybe you try to stuff it down with binge eating or numb it out with the latest reality TV show. Maybe you use self-deprecating humor to deflect from the pain of your void. Maybe you lash out and blame everyone around you who you perceive as trying to ‘hold you back’ or ‘violate your rights’. Maybe your passive aggressiveness seeps out the sides like a sticky tar that keeps you frozen in fear and fury. Maybe you starve your orgasm to get the ultimate prize—weighing under 100 pounds (yeah, that one almost cost me my life).

The list goes on. Ladies, the time is now to recognize our power and take responsibility for it. It’s as if we women are the size of the Atlantic Ocean and we’ve been trying all our lives to fit into Lake Michigan. We dam up our waters, keeping them tightly reined in, but eventually we spill over and all the people we love get washed away. So we feel guilty and try to suck it in even more. Or we tell off those motherfuckers who just couldn’t handle us.

But now (thankfully) you know the truth. You are an ecosystem, teeming with vitality! Expand your container. Create the space to hold your bigness. Flow out to the edges of your known world so you can discover the life that is meant for you. And from your vast fullness, you can now carry sailors to new shores. Be part of the cycle that will nourish life on the planet. Provide a home for the myriad of sea-dwelling creatures. Your feminine energy is the planet’s greatest untapped natural resource.

You might be going “But HOW do I do this???” Great question. Start with slowing down and making a gentle inquiry as to where you are in life. Are you living a life of pleasure or just hoping to make it through the day? Where are you out of your integrity? What are the little ways you cheat yourself of the fullness of your life? Where do you cast blame on others for your problems? Do you wake up in the mornings excited about your life, or dreading it? Is your sex life fulfilling or empty (or non-existent!). Stay curious and compassionate as you ask yourself these questions, as they can bring up a lot of feelings of anger, shame, fear and guilt.

Other tools you can use are creating gratitude lists, practice speaking your truth (I recommend responsibly enrolling people you trust in that game), closing open cycles, doing anonymous acts of service, taking time for self-care and letting go of toxic relationships. But the biggest piece of advice I can give any woman is to OM. Setting aside 15 minutes per day to surrender in a safe container that is created purely for the exploration of orgasm is nothing short of miraculous. You will alchemize your energy into pure gold.

It may seem selfish and weird and awkward and you may fumble on your journey towards grace and power. And that too is part of your beauty. The hiccups. The slips, trips, falls and imperfections are what make you so unique and devastatingly irresistible to all who come into your sphere.

So laugh. A lot. And have courage. Trust in who you are and what you know. The world awaits you…

Photo copyright Candice Holdorf. Red Sea, Eilat, Israel