{via, with my modifications}

Last night I sat entwined with my lover, watching a 28 minute recording of us having sex. It was amazing. I felt like the gods let me peek through the curtain at things only they get to see.

Recently, the topic turned to the question of whether we would or could find porn to watch together.

I’m not anti-porn, but I find it contrived, awkward, like watching a bad sitcom where you can see what’s going to happen to the protagonist and you just wish you could step in and make it stop. I say that, yet admit that watching two minutes of hot penetration of any sort of body can get me off with a quick slide of my fingers.

What I really want to know, is what real people in their 30s who care about each other look like when they’re having sex. And in a slow, horrifying moment I proposed that the best way to find out, to see something genuine, to figure out what makes me uncomfortable or what turns me on, was to watch us.

We agreed it was vaguely terrifying, in the sort of way that tells us we’re on to something.

One thing led to another and last night I said, “Go ahead, press the record button.”

For half an hour we proceeded to forget that the camera was on. We caressed and kissed and fondled and licked and stroked and sucked and fucked whatever we wanted. He moaned. I screamed. I got a glass of water. We agreed to be kind to each other and to ourselves.

And then we watched.

We witnessed two people in love who adore each other. We watched the writhing of two bodies that were clearly made for pleasure. I noticed that I smile a lot and confirmed that I scream loudly. I saw what he sees when I suck his cock. I watched his finger slide into my cunt, his head nestle between my legs.

It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

– RW, New York

//

Sex in Public is an ongoing storytelling series devoted to uniting people through vulnerable & intimate admissions of sex & sexuality. 

The purpose of this project is community. So with every story, listen, feel, empathize, encourage. The best way to do this is by leaving a comment.

Want to share your story? Click here.

recommended reads:

1. Sex in Public: “I enjoy girl/girl porn.”
2. Sex in Public: “I don’t know if monogamy can work.”
3. Sex in Public: “I did a nude photoshoot.”

And these books were quite helpful.

They told me to step outside of my comfort zones. They told me to no longer deny myself of the pleasure I was worthy of. They taught me about my body, the thousands of nerve endings my genitalia housed, the chemicals my brain released during orgasm.

As soon as I became an active participant in my sexual liberation, I was more connected to my succulence & desires.

And then I hit periods during the month where I simply didn’t want to be sexual. I didn’t have any desire to act out fantasies or sleep naked or have shower sex. Some days, I didn’t even want to be touched, not by myself or by my lover.

These feelings would strike suddenly, sometimes days after a magical night of fervent love making. It didn’t make sense. How could I be so primed for pleasure one moment, & then turned off the next?

Once again, I felt broken, as though my body wasn’t responding the way that it should. Feelings of discouragement coursed throughout my body as the cycle of condemnation whirred in my consciousness.

And I had been doing so well.

There was one thing that those sex-positive & body conscious books never told me. And if I had known it, I could have saved myself from the mental beatings I was given by my inner critic because I wasn’t habitually horny.

Instead, I learned the following truth the hard way, after years of debilitating self-loathing.

This is what I wish someone told me during those years:

Everyone is a sexual creature, but not all the time.

Our bodies are designed for delicious pleasure, yes, but this pleasure isn’t always available every day of every month of every year of our existence. Not for lack of trying, but based on biology & intuition, the potent things that often dictate our desires & arousal.

Where we are in our menstrual cycle is especially a reflection of where we are in our sexual cycle.

I think we sometimes forget that our sexual expression is very much ruled by hormones, not particular states of mind. Because of this, it’s imperative that we take into consideration the inner, biological workings of our bodies. And not solely on a physical level, but on an emotional level.

Sex (& sexuality) is often connected to many other facets of our lives. The air we breathe, the environment that nurtures us, the friendships that uplift our spirits, the food that satiates us, the level of comfort we experience in our love partnerships… it’s all connected to our expression of the sexual.

If those things are in harmony, our sensuality naturally flourishes.
If those things are at all incongruent, our expression suffers.

So take notice of the signals your body is giving you.

Feeling particularly randy? Check what day you’re on in your cycle. Feeling especially weary of anything sexual? Look up at the sky & see which phase the moon is in (we’re more connected to nature than we think).

Know your body. Know your ovulation. Become just as familiar with your lack of urges as you are with the desires you’re already acquainted with.

Don’t push to feel arousal that isn’t innately there. Doing this only causes you to go militantly against your essence.

Instead, be honest with yourself & with your partner. Abstain from sex if your body needs it. Celebrate the lull in your sexual expression; regenerate.

Take as long as you need.

And when you come back from your sexual sabbatical, you will do so with much openness in & awareness of your body.

recommended reads:

1. On Reclaiming My Sexuality
2. The Art of Orgasmic Meditation: pt. i
3. My Personal Collection of Things I Find Erotic

It can be said that such failed unions were doomed from the start. But every relationship – if founded on love – has the ability to withstand any & all forms of adversities.

Every relationship.

Any couplings that falter underneath such hardships were simply not taken to their fullest potential.

Love never fails. It waxes & wanes, of course, due to the maliciousness that monotony can sometimes produce in our lives. But love itself never fails.

Silly infatuation & half-hearted affairs do.

For love to flourish, both persons must be equally (if not overly) in love. Both persons must contain a passion for it so constant that it is almost tangible. Love must be in everything they do: from the love they make, to the arguments they battle.

Love must fuel everything you do in your relationship.

Love should never be a constant battle, but it should always be a consistent effort.

So work at your relationships, hard.

Give unabashed love.
Receive unabashed love.
Repeat.

Do not treat your partner as a possession. Respect their individuality; give them space to grow & transform. Encourage their own self-discovery. Fight fair with your lover.

Love unconditionally.

___________________

From the book, Sex, Love, Liberation: A Manifesto for the Bold at Heart.

recommended reads:

1. Martyrs for Love; or… Losing Your Identity in Relationships
2. Tell Them You Love Them
3. The Sex, Love & Liberation Manifesto; a Sneak Peek

Throughout the passionate act of sex, my mind traveled through hypothetical situations & trivial thoughts.

My half-finished to do list;
The expiration date on the soy milk I drank at breakfast;
How terrible the squeaking of the bed must sound to our neighbors;
The likelihood of one dying from three-day-old soy milk;
A random memory of me in middle school making structures out of toothpicks.

A thrust, lick, flick, or suck always managed to bring me back for a moment.

Why is my mind so overactive during sex?

That question only flooded more thoughts & visions into my head, making it so that I was oblivious to the intimacy happening to my body.

And through all of this, through all of the thinking & agonizing, was it any wonder that I found no enjoyment during sex?

Sex became an act solely for him, my partner, to get off, while I laid there helpless, my isolated body present but my mind elsewhere.

And when it was all over, I would roll over on my side, tears streaming down my cheeks, feeling defective.

My Out of Body, Into Mind tendency was likely spurred by my tumultuous relationship I had with sex, but I knew that it was comprised of something more, something that went deeper than the surface wounds of sexual trauma.

Why can’t I truly enjoy sex? What is wrong with me?

Is it my partner? No, he’s incredibly attentive.
Is it insecurity? No more than it usually is.
Is it the feng shui of the room? Perhaps...

On the surface, there seemed to be nothing needing to be solved, except my ineptitude in sexual intimacy.

So I tried harder.

When in the throes of passion, I moaned & writhed like I hysterical woman. I used dirty words within hollow, cheap commandments. I lit candles, wore lacy bustiers, & smoothed warming, silicone-filled lubricant all over my vulva.

I read every kind of “101 Sex Positions to WOW Him Tonight!” articles in Cosmopolitan. I researched the proper direction one’s bed should face in a bedroom if they wish to have their room more aligned to their sexual energy. I even took up pole dancing was a way to try to “fix” my sexual deficiency by doing.

I did all of these things with careful diligence, & still I found no real satisfaction in sex.

And I didn’t find real, sumptuous, I-don’t-want-to-move-an-inch satisfaction in sex until I went out of my mind.

We have a tendency to approach sex like a science, when it really is an art. Sex is meant to be raw & a little disorganized. Sex is meant to be felt.

Sensations & intimacy make sexual expression what it is, not tantric positions or high-speed vibrating dildos (though those things can aid in the enjoyment of the act itself).

Your systematic brain has no place in an act so unscripted.

Life is kind of like that, too.

When we are wrapped up in the thoughts in our minds — our worries, our fears, our insecurities, our jealousies — we are merely existing.

We hear, but are not listening. We see, but are not beholding. We touch, but are not feeling. We are here, but are not present.

The richness & vastness of life becomes wasted on our restless, logical minds.

If you want to have succulent sex, be present.
If you want to live a succulent life, be present.

In your experiences. In your relationships. In your body.

Resist the impulse to pile on information, products, activities, & ideals to seemingly fix what you think is broken.

You are not broken.

Your body knows exactly what to do innately.

Just be.

//

My challenge to you: Get out of your mind & into your body. Take the pressure of orgasm out of the equation for an evening, & lose yourself in the movements of your hips & the sensations in your genitals. The orgasm is not as important as your ability feel. Breathe.

Treat sex with a lightness; have no expectations, other than some luscious skin-to-skin contact. Be silent, be still. See where the rhythm of your body wants to take you. Trust that, not some cockeyed sex positions in a cheesy $5 magazine.

And when you feel yourself slipping into the trance of a restless mind, remember: You don’t have to listen.

recommended reads:

1. Orgasms Are Good for Your Health (& Practice Makes Perfect)
2. Sexual Healing: A Confession of Trauma
3. I’m a Woman Who Enjoys Watching Porn: A Public Discourse

{via, with my modifications}

I love to honor my body.

Its beautiful, creamy chocolate complexion, slightly round belly, storytelling scars, and story-holding vagina remind me of my greatness.

In the nude, I feel authentic and sexy. I love my naked body.

I always knew that I wanted to do a nude photo shoot. The liberation that comes with baring it all in front of a camera, recording sensual moments of bliss, gave me a rush of pure adrenaline in mere thought.

If exposing my body could empower others to see the beauty in their natural temples, I certainly would not keep the secrets of my physical design to myself.

In the late summer of 2011, I decided to shoot with a photographer for the premiere issue of my magazine, Corset. We’re the “go-to magazine for all things sexuality,” shepherding in a new movement of people looking to learn and attain sex consciousness.

After hours of posing, talking, sharing, and capturing unadulterated flashes of my authentic self, I found myself even more liberated than when I first arrived. Knowing that an international audience would see my nude body only reaffirmed my confidence and freed me to be comfortable in my nakedness at all times.

Now, you’ll find me in my home, on the beach, or wherever I feel comfortable (and it’s legal) enjoying my nude self.

With the help of numerous writers and contributors, I hope that my first nude photo shoot empowers others to rethink our relationships with nudity.

Shame and fear-infested ideologies aside, we are beautiful just the way we are.

– Arielle, Brazil

//

Arielle Loren is the Editor-in-Chief of Corset, the go-to magazine for all things sexuality.

Embracing human curiosity, restoring sensuality, & celebrating sex, CORSET delivers enlightening, empowering, educational, & entertaining content to readers ready to step beyond their comfort zones & uplift a necessary discourse.

Visit corsetmagazine.com to download your copy now.

recommended reads:

1. Sex in Public: “I look best naked.”
2. Sex in Public: “What about the burden on men?”
3. Sex in Public: “I am more than my pussy.”

Below is a series of questions that you can ask yourself in this moment –– right now –– to determine how deep you are in the trance of unworthiness. As you read each question, pause for a moment & consider your answer.

Guided Reflection: Recognizing the Trance of Unworthiness

Do I accept my body as it is?
Do I blame myself when I get sick?
Do I feel I am not attractive enough?
Am I dissatisfied with how my hair looks?
Am I embarrassed about how my face & body are aging?
Do I judge myself for being too heavy? Underweight? Not physically fit?
Do I accept my mind as it is?
Do I judge myself for not being intelligent enough? Humorous? Interesting?
Am I critical of myself for having obsessive thoughts? For having a repetitive, boring mind?
Am I ashamed of myself for having bad thoughts — mean, judgmental or lusty thoughts?
Do I consider myself a bad meditator because my mind is so busy?
Do I accept my emotions & moods as they are?
Is it okay for me to cry? To feel insecure & vulnerable?
Do I condemn myself for getting depressed?
Am I ashamed of feeling jealous?
Am I critical of myself for being impatient? Irritable? Intolerant?
Do I feel that my anger or anxiety is a sign that I am not progressing on the spiritual path?
Do I feel I’m a bad person because of the ways I behave?
Do I hate myself when I act in a self-centered or hurtful way?
Am I ashamed of my outbursts of anger?
Do I feel disgusted with myself when I eat compulsively? When I smoke cigarettes or drink too much alcohol?
Do I feel that because I am selfish & often do not put others first, I am not spiritually evolved?
Do I feel as if I am always falling short in how I relate to my family & friends?
Do I feel something is wrong with my because I am not capable of intimacy?
Am I down on myself for not accomplishing enough — for not standing out or being special in my work?

Tara Brach closes the reflection with this:

If you answered Yes to any of the above questions, don’t fret. Going against ourselves is part of the human condition, & something we’ve become quite good at because we’ve had a lot of practice. Because of this, we’re more apt to being our own worst critic than our own best friend.

The most important thing is to acknowledge our thought patterns of unacceptance; not with any kind of criticism, but just to listen. As we bring awareness to our inner self-hatred, we can decide whether we want to continue on going through life in that way (the answer surely being No).

We can absolutely transcend the trance of unworthiness — that which is the judgmental thoughts we have about ourselves.

We just need practice, heaps of forgiveness, & a steady consciousness of one truth:

There is nothing wrong with me.

Believe that.
Breathe that.
And go easy on yourself.

//

Comments are closed for this post, but you can still use your voice to help spread this message with the world. 

Simply click the buttons below, & give someone the gift of utter acceptance.

recommended reads:

1. Reflections in the Looking Glass
2. Narcissism & the Art of Turning Yourself On
3. A Simple Reminder to Be Kind to Yourself

{via}

(Note: Occasionally, I get a question from a reader that is compelling enough to become an article all its own. This is one of those questions.)

“Hi Ev`Yan,

What is your view on working out to achieve a different body? Is that not having self-love if you don’t like how you look and want to change it?

I see many big women coming to self-love realizations, and although I am happy that they are happy, I can’t do that myself. I feel that even though I should not think negatively about myself, exercise and eating healthy will no doubt bring me to my ideal bodies.

I guess I am confused about self-love.”

– Audrey

Audrey,

I suppose it depends on the reason one is choosing to achieve a different body in the first place.

If you are exercising & striving to lose weight as a way of showing your body devout & loving attentiveness, then I absolutely believe that can be a form of self-love.

But if your wanting a different body stems from societal pressures & is coming from a place of nonacceptance, you’re likely going against your natural self. This “going against yourself*” & wanting to be someone else is a subtle form of self-hatred.

Self-love is self-care, & self-care can mean a plethora of things.

It can mean exercising because you know that you yourself generally feel better when you do so. It can mean eating gluten-free foods because your body responds better without wheat. It can mean indulging in a thick slice of chocolate cake because you value satiating your cravings & honoring yourself.

What matters most is the mood of your thoughts about yourself & the way they influence you to take action (or not).

This applies to everything — even choosing to color your hair or lay out in the sunshine to bronze your skin. It all depends on the underlying motive.

Admittedly, losing weight because you loathe the way you look in the mirror can be a great motivator, but it’s certainly not the kindest way to go about things. Your ego should never be the driving force behind your decisions to better yourself. Your ego (or as it’s most commonly manifested: Your Inner Critic) has its own agenda, one that is usually immersed in judgment & rejection.

When I am in the thick of my own body image issues, I ask myself where my dissatisfaction & desire to “fix” things is coming from:

• Why do I want to take up running? Because I know it’s good for my body, or to suffice the inner critic in me that is constantly telling me to get off of my ass?
• Why am I choosing to have a green smoothie for breakfast? Because it’s something I genuinely want, or am I really being militant & obsessive about what I’m eating?
• Why is it that I want to lose five pounds? To feel better about myself, or fit into the “ideal” type of beauty I’ve been accustomed to seeing?

My answers always surprise me, & bringing awareness to these questions shifts the intentions I have around my body & why I want to change it.

It’s always wonderful to see women (of ALL sizes) come to self-accepting realizations about themselves because it shows that they understand that the standard model of beauty in society is often unrealistic. So they embrace their curvatures of skin, their natural curlicues, their skin color, & they do this because they know that to not do it results in a life of playing catch-up to the tune of Not Good Enough.

Which isn’t to say that if a person of a certain size decides to eat a meatless diet & lose a little weight she is going against herself. She could very well be going with herself by choosing to eat consciously & staying active.

Again, it’s personal. And it’s also about perspective & the manner of which you are deciding to alter your appearance.

the takeaways:

Love what you got (even if it’s a lot).
Be kind to yourself.
Accept your flaws. All of them.

And should you choose to change yourself, carefully explore the Whys.

If your motives are clear & curious, proceed with love.
If your motives are fogged by contempt, proceed with caution.

________________

*There’s a great book called The Four Agreements, by don Miguel Ruiz that speaks beautifully about this this topic & the importance of going with yourself, not against.

recommended reads:

1. Reader Question: Race & Sexuality
2. Reader Question: On Having a Low Sex Drive
3. Reader Question: Pubic Hair & the “Hairlessness Epidemic”

{via, with my modifications}

My body is mine.

I shared it with you, as you shared yours with me. We started out as friends, you and I. And we were good friends. You were dysfunctionally married, I was waiting for my divorce to come through. We shared laughs, friends, camp fires, hopes and ultimately, our bodies.

I, however moved on through the pain of my divorce and we both knew this was just a “fling” and I was going to move on. You knew that. It was open and out there. You even told me I would move on. You were good to have as a friend and an ally, and I had hoped we could still remain friends, as you had promised we would.

But ultimately, you grew angry. It was as if when you knew you would no longer have access to my body, you no longer wanted me.

I am more than my 38DDs and a pussy.

I am a whole, sensitive, human being. A woman.

I am NOT just a fuck toy.

If I choose to share a part of me, intellectually, emotionally or physically, it is mine to give.

It hurt when you left and told me to fuck off and have a nice life.

So I am taking my body, mind and intelligence away from anyone who doesn’t appreciate it. It’s mine.

And I will choose to share it with who ever I want to. When I want to, how much I want to.

On my terms.

– Terri, Oregon

//

Sex in Public is an ongoing storytelling series devoted to uniting people through vulnerable & intimate admissions of sex & sexuality. 

The purpose of this project is community. So with every story, listen, feel, empathize, encourage. The best way to do this is by leaving a comment.

Want to share your story? Click here.

recommended reads:

1. Sex in Public: “I look best naked.”
2. Sex in Public: “I don’t know if monogamy can work.”
3. Sex in Public: “This is what an abusive relationship looks like.”

The first time I OMed, I was hyper aware of the sunlight filtering in through the windows of the bedroom. It seemed to be beaming directly onto the space between my butterflied-open legs: my vulva.

I remember thinking it ironic that Portland is relatively dreary around this time of the year, & on the one day that I needed some forgiving, dismal cloud cover the sky was perpetually bright.

I looked up at the ceiling, feeling as though I was moments away from being given a gynecological exam. I was so exposed, so vulnerable.

“Are you ready to begin?” he asked. His voice was gentle, right above the softest whisper, yet it cut into my thoughts like piece of jagged glass.

I swallowed & took in a deep breath. “I think so,” I replied nervously, & then in the back of my mind I thought, How can one prepare for something they’re not sure they fully understand?

“Okay,” he said, his voice still gentle. “I’m going to stroke you now.”

What orgasmic meditation looks like

Before I found my legs butterflied-open, before I had even begun to venture down the path of even wanting to try orgasmic meditation, I had to know everything about it. Namely, its rituals, mechanics, & semantics.

In Slow Sex, the word “orgasm” takes on a totally different definition. The idea of OM being the practice of a fifteen orgasm is a bit misconstrued. It’s really fifteen moments of honing in on your pleasure senses.

Nicole Daedone explains:

After reading that one small paragraph, I could feel an entire weight of expectation & obligation within my sexuality lift from my shoulders. This version of  orgasm is undeniably more sustainable, & with it I became more prepared to experience OM without baggage or presumption.

In practice, this is what orgasmic meditation looks like:

I don’t quite recall what the frame was for my first session, but I do remember feeling terrified when it came time for Jonathan to describe what he saw when he looked at my vulva before we began.

I almost wanted to tell him that I didn’t want to know what he saw; that he could duly note his impressions in his own mind & keep them to himself.

It’s silly to think about this now, especially knowing how many times (hundreds, likely) he’d seen my lady bits prior to even hearing Nicole Daedone’s name. This wasn’t new territory for either of us, yet the sheer idea of him paying that much careful attention to my vulva made me want to close my legs & flee the room.

What if, when asked to truly see me, he doesn’t like what he sees? What if what he describes about my vulva is so grotesque that it scares us both away from ever wanting to become intimate again?

In the midst of my panicky thoughts, he began to speak with truth & love precisely what his eyes were looking upon. With a tiny smile on his face, he chose honest words to illustrate my sex; words that were so exacting, so beautifully honest that I listened with great awe, as if meeting myself for the first time.

And when he finished, his eyes met mine. I then let go of the breath I was holding & wiped cold tears from my cheeks.

(A few days later, I would be moved enough to put a mirror between my legs & see my vulva for the first time in over ten years.)

It’s apparent to me that OM isn’t simply about the act of stroking. It’s not even solely about pleasure. It’s about connection, mindfulness, & being reminded of your sacred root.

Still, the stroke itself is pretty potent.

Through stroking, we are coaxing out the source of our sexual energy. We become reestablished as turned on, carnal creatures. Our erotic lives transform into spiritual bliss. We become whole, & the entire world feels electrified with pleasure.

There is so much healing power in our ability to touch.

But touch doesn’t have to rest exclusively within the act of orgasmic meditation. We have the ability to touch with intention outside of the pages of a bestselling book. We can stoke our own flames with mindfulness. You just have to make the time (be it fifteen minutes or one hour) & forge a loyal relationship with your sex.

I say all of this as an offering — a challenge, perhaps — for you to create your own orgasmic meditation practice. Especially to those who find themselves in unique circumstances* that don’t quite fit the mould of Nicole Daedone’s OM.

This practice, as she has laid it out, isn’t for everyone (I alluded to this in the beginning of my first post), though Daedone tries to accomodate all people, genders, & orientations.

Even still, if orgasmic meditation appeals to you, I encourage you to read her book — doing your best to overlook the hetero-focused language — & customize your own practice, one that better suits you.

The primary version of OM suits Jonathan & I for now.

In the month that we’ve been practicing orgasmic meditation, I’ve seen a major shift in the way my sexual energy is manifested. Whereas before it was shut away with dam-like resilience, it is now flowing freely with a bit of wild abandon.

I am turned on. There is nothing on this earth that has given me this gift quite like orgasmic meditation.

Regardless of my opinions about Nicole Daedone’s methods of delivering this practice, or how seemingly exclusive OM is to the sexually/genderly “complicated,” I’ll say this:

She’s certainly on to something.

//

If you have any questions about my experience with orgasmic meditation, feel free to ask them below in the comments section.

Nothing is too personal.

_______________

*cismale, intersex, transgender, single or non-committed, non-monogamous, gay, queer, genderqueer, asexual, & so on.

recommended reads:

1. The Art of Orgasmic Meditation: pt. i
2. A Lost & Strange Art for Discovering Yourself
3. 30 Days of Sensuality Prompts

But before that, it was all up-in-the-air curiosity. And doubt. And a gnawing desire for something more.

For all of 2011, I heard Nicole Daedone’s name mentioned in any conversation I had about female sexuality. What I knew about her work was sparse, but I got a decent idea of who she was from a rather popular TED talk.

With big, presumptuous leaps, I jumped to conclusions about her work. While I bowed deeply to her tenacious way of bringing light to the concept of female sexuality (namely, orgasm), I couldn’t understand why so much emphasis was being put on female climax.

It seemed dangerous to exclude other genders & place so much precedence on the heterosexual, cisfemale orgasm.

I couldn’t help but think about the cismales, the transgendered, the intersexed, the queers, the non-monogamists. I suddenly became an impassioned, unsanctioned voice for them:

What about their orgasms? What about their sexuality? They’re just as hungry, just as starved for sensual/sexual absolution as straight, paired-up, monogamous cisfemales are.

Because I couldn’t make sense of the glaring exclusions in Daedone’s work, I left it alone, vowing to either pave my own way to speak to & for all gender & orientations (a lofty feat), or to learn from someone who does so with great care & wisdom.

Even though my fanship for her dwindled, I still celebrated & acknowledged the paths she was creating for [hetero] female sexuality. I couldn’t deny that it was a step in the right direction.

But despite me moving on from her work, Daedone’s name was still heavily present in most conversations I had about sexuality. I started to get emails from readers telling me to check out her work, asking me what I thought about it.

Which made me wonder. And curious.

So instead of continuing on with blind guesses, with big, humbled leaps, I dove into Nicole Daedone’s book Slow Sex with the hopes of understanding her methods & debunking my own assumptions about them.

What I know about Nicole Daedone’s work

At its core, Slow Sex is about stripping sexual intimacy to the bare minimum & becoming more conscious of what sex is really about: connection; connection to body, connection to our partner(s), connection to ourselves, connection to our sex.

So many of us have lost that connection to sex toys (specifically, vibrators), candlelit dinners, pricey lingerie, seduction & wooing tactics, & preconceived ideas of what sexual intimacy should look like. We spend a lot of time in our heads during sex, & we ruminate over the images that we see on newsstands & in films, hoping to live up to that expectation.

We treat sex like a science, rather than an art.

We’ve also lost our sense of truly feeling. Women especially, as we’ve been conditioned to view & practice sex from a male’s perspective; particularly with “the harder & faster mentality” (because speed & movement make for more fascinating images in pornography).

So Daedone poses a new way of doing things: subtract. Subtract until there’s nothing left “but two people, their nerve endings, & a light but precise stroke.”

All of this sounded great — fantastic, even! — but I couldn’t help but have my thoughts return to the groups of individuals who were being seemingly left out. Especially, the men (or, more specifically, my husband).

One of the biggest reasons I picked up Slow Sex was because I was incredibly curious to hear her explanations about why this practice is so wrapped up in female orgasm & not made readily available to ALL humans with sexualities. I scoured the internet to see if she touched on this topic to no avail.

The book gave me exactly what I was looking for: an explanation (albeit, not as long & in depth as I thought).

Daedone writes:

And:

The idea of taking the perceived obligation of reciprocity out of the equation stunned me. It seemed inconceivable (& a bit rude) to expect make intimacy “one-sided” & selfish by having my husband focused on my orgasm.

Yet, it made sense to strip that facet of one-for-one sex away & develop a different kind of experience with intimacy, one that is about feeling sensations, not about requirement.

I also like to think that purposely giving men the reins (& pleasure) of stroking us, we’re establishing trust, safety, & security, something that isn’t always given through traditional “hard & fast” fucking. It seems appropriate to hand the task to our men in order to challenge their own conditioned views of sex & sexuality, & to entrust him with the most vulnerable part of us: our sexuality.

I think women need to be encouraged more by their partners to explore & express their delicate sexualities & desires. So perhaps our partners should be the ones to evoke a sense of obligation in “unthawing our icebergs.”

Perhaps all we need is their blessing, their understanding, their nurturing, & in doing so we can finally let go.

After reading only a few chapters, my curiosity was heightened. I wanted to give orgasmic mediation a go.

When I broached the subject of Slow Sex with Jonathan, I presented it carefully, expecting an apathetic response. But he surprised me by having an excitement to experiment with it.

“All we have to lose is 15 minutes of our day,” he said simply. “I’m down to give it a try.”

And a few days after Christmas, in our bare spare bedroom, we began to practice the art of orgasmic mediation.

//

(Click here to read part two of this installment.)

recommended reads:

1. Jilling Off
2. My Personal Collection of Things I Find Erotic
3. 30 Days of Sensuality Prompts