I ask of you equally both to and to not. To yes, but not until it is irresistible. With me, if you can run, if you can go, if you can escape, you must. It’s not that I am stubborn, it is something that is in my body that will not unlock if you are without your own locks and gates and escape routes. Nor will it unlock if you magnetize to me because your own is too weak to pull me to you. On the other hand, if you do not go when it is time, if you resist only because you have covered that which would be pulled, well that will not work either. [...]
And then there are the women who say to me, “oh no, I can’t put attention on my orgasm because I am a mother.” and the litany of reasons that follow from I don’t have time to I want to protect them from that.
Until, frankly, I just want to scream. I want to scream, “how dare you use your child in that way, as an excuse for less?”
How dare you do that not just to you, but to your child and to everyone around you? How dare you be a carrier of the contagious idea that “good woman” means self sacrificing- that kind of “no no no, you sit, I’ll stand.” kind of identity that we have saddled ourselves [...]
Earlier in the day at Intelligensia and grey haired still handsome writer producer guy is looking over my shoulder checking out my computer searching for something- anything to break in with and choosing a non sequiter, starts telling me about homing pigeons.
“They can only return to one ‘mentally marked’ point they’ve identified as home. Hence the name. ”You know ‘pigeon mail”? It can only work when the sender is actually holding the receiver’s pigeons. And they have an uncanny ability to remember hands”.
I undo from him and fall in love with those damned birds- something so touching- their simplicity and vulnerability. No hands and they are entirely lost in the world.
Some fourteen years ago, I had been OM’ing for a while and I hit a new level. I had an OM with a Very Dangerous Man.
My first session with the man was crazy. Absolute insanity. We were at the dinner table, he looked over, said “Now”.
Minutes later we were in the session room. It just didn’t seem right. I had been drinking wine. He had been drinking. There was no set up. The whole experience lacked the deep, rich methodical consecration that I had come to know.
All of the markers that had made this into a “practice” something presentable to the mother of my mind had vanished. It was not slow, nor was it deliberate. It was a violation of [...]
There was a contraption that Amelia Erhardt’s people strapped her into, a kind of flight simulator. It had no windows and it spun three hundred and sixty degrees. After whirling around for minutes, the machine stopped. There, in the dark, perhaps hanging upside down, men with clipboards yelled into her and asked, “Okay, what’s your direction now?” And she shouted back an answer, maybe northwest. She did this for months, until she was right almost every time.
She needed an internal compass that wasn’t nailed down, a compass that she could rely on irrespective of weather or the accuracy of flight control. She needed something that functioned perfectly in all conditions.
My compass was pointing due Trader Joes. Nipples skimming my linen [...]
I have a rule, I can do anything from turn on. Wild, sweeping reckless things and, whether intelligent or not, I somehow feel under the purview of some great benevolent force when I do. Of course I have my limits, but those “indulgences” are permissible when I’ve got that little jig in my step, when my heart is buoyant and bright. There’s a kind of automatic discipline checker in this place. Too much of anything kills the high, so I get little sips of all of life’s elixirs, give ol’ deprivation some time off and the whole gang is happy.
I think people feel quite comfortable asking me personal questions because I am “out” about being a sexual being. I need to be honest and say that for the most part I am shocked, uncomfortable, taken aback, and at the same time, willing to answer. I think there is a fundamental misunderstanding that accompanies the word sex, and that is that anyone who is sexual and admits it – like all things scandalous and sensationalistic – that we are indiscriminate. Now I am not sure about others, but I can say that I learned the art and craft of my orgasm precisely because I am so incredibly particular. I can’t stand the feeling of salt on someone’s finger from a [...]
A brilliant friend of mine, an actual rocket scientist – having recently taken on the practice of oming and approaching it with the thoroughness someone who is responsible for launching objects into space would – was having reservations. He liked the excitement he felt when he looked at his woman’s pussy, that flood and rush he felt at the sight, so deeply associated with the possibility of entry. He had a very reasonable fear that the excitement would wane, that the once titillating sight of her pillowy lips, with this meditative aspect leading the charge, would come to have about the same charge as a monk’s cushion.
He asked my thoughts.
I am walking down the long corridor, the gazebo hall and I spot him from way back. I’m wearing a long paper thin gathered dress, a beautiful warm rust color, my Dolce and Gabanna leopard heels and the long gold chain I wear everyday that moves like a compass needle aiming always at my pussy. My stride is fast until, getting closer I am blasted with a wave of sex and slowness. His gaze so potent it stops me. My will is hijacked. My hips lock down.
Now, slowly, my long legs moving towards him, he smiles quietly. A moment in his eye that says, “that’s better” and I hate him and crave him both in the
It struck me that there are certain beliefs that are normative that I simply don’t hold. And others that are not, that are primary in my life. I found myself trying to contort myself into all of these very uncomfortable positions, trying to look like I was operating by the standard rules of play – while all the while, in back rooms, I was playing an altogether different game.
I felt like Valjean in Les Miserables who, realizing that he could not feed his family, made the conscious choice to steal a loaf of bread. In the moment the act had clean intent, but doubt and second-guessing seep in in hindsight, nibbling at his belief in his own rightness.
In other words, [...]