Articles
on sexuality, empowerment, and self-growth
Many women (and men, I'm sure) who identify as highly sexual have a bit of a problem.
I'm just going to call it as I see it, as I used to be this way as well.
Those of us who identify as highly sexual tend to leak our sexual energy all over everyone we see. We walk into a room, we survey for potential lovers, and we hone in on making them ours, no matter the cost, no matter who might be waiting for them at home.
Originally published July 2017.
Yoni Massage is a conscious exploration of your yoni (the Sanskrit word for the vulva, vagina, and genital area). In yoni massage, we don't go in with the explicit objective of pleasure (although you may feel pleasure!). Instead, we are exploring what is present in the moment. Yoni massage is a powerful crucible for self-healing, where you can release memories and energies that are held in the tissue.
"Girl, you're so tight."
Words that used to thrill me during sex. To me, this was the epitome of pleasure. My man was basically saying, "Mmm, you feel so amazing. I can tell you've done a lot of hard work to give me the utmost pleasure, and I approve of it. You are not only good enough, you're better than anything you're competing against—other women, porn, my memories. Your vagina is the best vagina and I'll never leave you, because no matter what happens to us, there is no way I'll ever find sex this good, anywhere, ever again."
Usually I post blogs after I have the answer, but right now I don't. I have exhaustion, reactionary tendencies, and deep fears. All the human shit. All the fertilizer for the next beautiful upswing, which I will welcome with open arms. But for now, struggle. For now, a bath and cuddles with the dog. For now, I sit still, looking to the silence and the mystery for answers unspoken.
Originally published June 2017.
Much of time, my partner and I have such strong sexual energy that all I can feel is shivers and zaps and opening. My inner dialogue becomes something like, “let go, surrender, open, let go, omg, yes, yes, omg …” until there is no inner dialogue, just feeling and shuddering. We ride a warm energy spiral over and over, through my heart, into his, down through his cock, into my pussy, and back to my heart again.
Am I enough?
Intellectually I know I’m enough, but seriously, what a bore intellect is sometimes. Tell it to the little girl inside me. The one who turns from me, shrinking and playing dead, as I quit the job I hate, and begin surrendering the process to god, growing my little atrophied trust muscle.
I want a glamorous trust muscle, I want it jacked and tan and vein-ridden. Goddess, hear my prayer.
