My Love

Feo and I have been together for five years now. we just had sex for three and a half hours and it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. I am still breathing hard and high on the euphoria. For the first time ever I dared to play with my submissive side of eroticism. I have played only a little with dominance and submission, and until tonight, only with the dominant side of the equation. I was always told that I was a natural. That I was good at it. Now I know why, and next time I'll be a thousand times better at it.

There is a freedom in giving over control to someone else that is so liberating, so completely, unabashedly selfish, so... pleasurable, that I have no words for it. I wanted to cry with pleasure so many times. I felt so good, so relaxed, so able to experience my own pleasure. Normally, during sex, during any interaction really, there is a complex system of deception and second guessing that's going on all the time. I kiss her and she moans, and I wonder if that means she's enjoying it, or only that she wants me to think that she's enjoying it. So I look for other clues. Her pulse, the wetness of her sex, her willingness to make eye contact. Even during the most intimate of times I am trying desperately to understand what is going on for her. She kisses me and I moan, and I don't know myself whether it's out of enjoyment or eagerness to communicate enjoyment. I am always trying to manipulate her into pleasure and happiness. I do well in romantic relationships because I am a master manipulator. I am a pleasure engineer.

This was different. For once, I just let her have her own pursuit of happiness and pleasure. I let myself be completely in my own experience, and I found that there was more physical and emotional pleasure available than I had ever known. I was emotionally abused as a child. My fathers anger was huge and frightening and unpredictable. I learned to keep sophisticated emotional tabs on him, and everyone else around me so that I could keep myself safe. So that i could predict and disarm the explosion before most people knew one was coming. Always fearing an attack, I have never really trusted anyone, during sex or otherwise, enough to let my tabs slip. To NOT BOTHER keeping up with what anybody else was feeling.

Tonight I trusted Feo enough to just let her have all the responsibility for both of our pleasure. The resultant stores of attention that were freed in the process were mindbogglingly extensive. I used them all on myself. I used all my attention to find out what I liked. Then I just let her have it. I have never loved and trusted anyone enough to do this before. Feonix, you are amazing. I trust you to enjoy me. I trust you to find me attractive. I trust you to care about my pleasure. You have opened doors for me that are changing my life. Thank you.

What now?

The first step toward happiness is acceptance. The fist step toward acceptance is to know who you are. Not who you will be, not who you're working toward. Not who you someday might be, but who you are. If you can't see your own self clearly, bad teeth, pot belly, bald spot and all, well then, brother, your lost.

This doesn't mean you have to give up where you're going; what your striving for, who you hope to be. No, all of that is necessary. Without it, well, brother, your lost. What it does mean is that you can't hide behind where you're going anymore. The first step of acceptance is knowing yourself as you are. Knowing yourself as you are is the first step to taking a goddamn step down the path of who you want to be. These days when it's hard to find the courage to dream anymore, you have to find the courage to go past dreaming and take a goddamn step. If you smoke too much, if you drink too much, if you're too lazy: don't refuse to look there just because you're afraid you might make peace with it. Those who make peace with it rarely regret having done so. If you can make peace with it, fuck the road to happiness, just dwell in it.

If you can't make peace with it. Dwell in the discomfort of that lack of peace. Burn in it. If you don't move from there, something will burn up, I promise you. The something will be your resistance. You're resistance to what, I don't know. If it's your resistance to making peace, well then fuck yeah, just read the preceding paragraph again, huh? If it's your resistance to the effort well then, fuck yeah, it's about time isn't it? Want to be a professor? Get the fuck back in school. Want to design websites? Write books? Dreams don't write themselves. Too much work? Then go back to the question of peace with who you are. Those are the only two answers. Stop avoiding the question.

How Sex Became My Spirituality

I am not a sex addict. I am a sex master. My ego tells me that I must not say this; that this is bragging and shouldn't be allowed. My rational mind tells me that this is the simple truth. Ha! But I know better. That voice too is my ego, posing as my rational mind. Whatever; my ego (posing as my rational mind) tells me that this is simple fact: I have had more sex, and better sex than I have been led to believe I should have by my experience of others and my culture. Its' all ego. I know that. Because every voice I can hear within myself is ego. That's what ego is: the voice. That I can assign it a voice, proves that it is ego. I am the assigner, not the assigned. Whatever; in any case, I am a master of sex. What makes me a master of sex is not knowing how to please a woman. (Of course not: It's knowing how to listen to a woman: to learn what pleases her). No, it's not that either. What makes me a sex master is that sex is something you learn by doing it and I have put in many, many, hours learning. What inspired me to write this was a three and a half hour masturbation session I just had. I was in ecstasy the whole time.

Now my ego tells a different story: "You can't say that! When you say you're a sex master, people expect you to be talking about sex with women! You can't say you masturbate! That's what people who can't get sex do!" But I've had lots of sex with women. Lots, and lots of amazing sex with women. I've had sex that's made my partner's cry with pleasure and happiness and love. I've had sex that has made me sob with it's intensity and sex that has made me laugh with surprise that my body can give me so much pleasure. I've put in many hours, as I said. And what I've learned is this: The better I can learn my own body; the better I know my own pathways to pleasure, know what I like, what I love, and how much I can stand; the better I can communicate that to my partner; the better I am at sex.

That's all ego too, of course. Better at sex? According to who? What are the criteria? What does better mean anyway? Who says? Which is what my ego says when it want's me to shut up and not reveal information that might prove embarrassing or make me look bad. A really good argument about why I'm better at sex than anybody else will make me look good, so, of course I'm going to make myself look as good as I can. My criteria? What makes sense. What seems to be really true. What I believe myself when I'm identified with a self who does believing. What's funny, is that I know that what matters to me is different from what convinces most other people. My ego tells me so. It says that telling the truth is more than most people can hear and still like you. Obviously, the most important thing is to make people like you. You can't make people like you; you can only be yourself and accept whether they like you or not. Except that that's ridiculous because how you behave, and what you say, and how you present yourself all clearly have an impact on whether or not others like you. Well, fuck you, because this is for me. Except it's not really for me or I wouldn't bother writing it down. It's for you if you're reading this and you get me. It's because I'd rather communicate with someone who gets me that refrain from alienating everyone who doesn't. (What bullshit. Who wouldn't be with you now? The act of reading places one in a position to feel extreme empathy for the voice of the author?) Like you've never been irritated by an author. (Ok, I have. But it's still harder.) Whatever; I'm a sex master because I've spent so much time masturbating that I know my own sexual pathways better than most people ever learn them.

I know what I like; for me that's not much of a problem- I like alot. (You don't like animal noises) I never said I like everything. Anyway, more importantly, I also know when I'm getting close to my limit of pleasure. I know when I'm going to ejaculate. I can tell before it happens and I know how to pay attention to it, so whether or not to ejaculate is always a choice. It's not something that happens to me. It's something I decide I'm ready for. If I'm not ready for it I back off, or I tell my partner to back off, so that I don't ejaculate too soon.

Now, I like to ride pleasure fast and hard, so for me the first point of ejaculation avoidance is embarrassingly soon after things first become sexual. Within a minute or three of receiving genital stimulation of any kind, I'm usually at my first ejaculation possibility. Very rarely, I don't notice it coming and I ejaculate right then. If I'm masturbating or having sex with a partner that I love and trust completely: this is a funny occurrence...like banging your head on something or tripping, or hitting your elbow. It's not without a certain discomfort, but it's kind of funny that you messed up at something you're usually so automatically competent at (like walking); yes, like walking.

It's very rare that I don't notice an ejaculation point coming though, especially the first one. When masturbating, this is the first point at which I have to back off from touching myself in a way that gives me the most physical pleasure. With a partner, this is the first point at which I have to indicate (by squeezing or grunting or breathing with an experienced lover, by saying "slow down" or "hold still" with a new or unintuitive one) that i need less genital stimulation. It used to be that with a lover I' was still trying to impress, I'd be too embarrassed to communicate that I got close so soon and I'd miss my chance to back off. Since then I've leaned that it's more embarrassing and less fun for everyone if ejaculate right then than if I just bite the bullet and tell the truth. Most women seem to love that. I've witnessed impatience once or twice, but almost every woman I've ever been with has been excited by finding out that I was feeling so good so soon. The best lovers know that my ability and willingness to communicate means we're going to have a really good time.

more to follow...

Pacing

Life has been whirring by at dizzying speed for months now. San Francisco with Roz, reuniting with John, meditation time at Harbin, then back to LA for separating spaces with Hany and splittng time with Keli, then off to visit Roz again in Connecticut. One sweet week of lovemaking then on to Rosie in Philadelphia, excitement, surprising depths of oceanic love, mind-blowig sex, old friends and connections wriggling out of the woodwork, plans to move to New Orleans with Keli and Hany, feeling closer as we work out the details, then the email from Keli with the expected limit of one night a week with me (you're making too much out of it, no I'm not, yes you are, shut up, leave it alone already) and the contraction of fear, what is this? what do I want? Mark and Michelline come to visit for ten days, but then three days in the dread phone call from Keli, "My mom had a heart attack and died this morning". Driving straight back to Downsville through the night without even the radio for company, my thoughts so loud they drown out everything else. Two and a half weeks of trying to let go and say goodbye, resentful that my departure is felt as a whimper and not a bang. Pouring out my love, only to find it chnged into some other love, not what I expected at all, something sticky and yellow and unrecognizable. Who are these people? Who have I become? Then back to Philadelphia, floating through life, unsure whats next, emotional roller coaster rides with Rosie over Howard, Pax, Mattick, god knows who else, then I', leading TBS- come learn Intimacy Skills from me! Ha! Ha! But it goes well mostly, and everyone is in love with everyone and I am healed, except that I'm starting to feel sick by the time I leave I have a cough that sounds like death. Drive home and sleep a little then two days of carrying heavy things through the rain feeling sicker and sicker all the while, and now I live at Aron's house where the walls are falling in and there is tension in the air along with the sweetness, and no one is helping me with these heavy boxes as I cough my way up the stairs and sleep in an unfamiliar bed in hopes that drywall will soon be put up in my sooon to be shared bedroom with Rosie but then Rosie is waking up at 2am to leave for her court date in Virginia and her 10 day visit to Davi and she's kissing me goodbye, and I'm back to sleep, only to wake now, in the late Wednesday morning to...nothing. The whirr has stopped. I'm suddenly still. Positively dizzy with stillness. What now? I don't know.

I'm in the studio with Rosie again. People would think I was a student here if it wasn't an all girls school. It supports Rosie when I hang out here with her, and it gives me access to a high speed internet connection, but it also fills up my days and makes me feel busy all the time. Not that I'm sure what I ought to be filling my day up with.

So, I've got $70 in my pocket, another $150 in my bank account, and about $11,000 in debt. I quit smoking today. I'm leading TBS in two days and I feel underprepared.

My life has come unmoored and I feel adrift. Sometimes this is exciting, a grand adventure, other times peaceful, a lazy float down the river. Now I am confused and impatient. Where am I going? What am I doing?

Yesterday Rosie and I went to Aron's house to discuss moving in, fixing up the house, and to meet Bill, a friend of Aron's who has taken on the reconstruction project. Bill was great, centered and honest and immediately smitten with Rosie. After he left Aron and I sat together on the roof talking about plans for the house, for little business ventures, for how to live together. I mentioned my credit card debt and my intention to get a job to start paying it off and Aron tried to offer to pay it for me but I couldn't get clear about what he wanted in return and I closed down, fearful. He sensed my closure and got triggered himself, replaying old conversations about saving the Earth and environmental activism. It was all very disconnecting.

On the way back to Rosie's house Paxus called and told me he had a four hour layover in the Philadelphia airport. Rosie bought us both tickets for the R1 and we went out to spend some time with him. On the way Rosie got a call from a boy that she'd met at the legalize marijuana march. This prompted me to share my fears about Rosie dropping me whenever a pretty boy was in sight. I told her that I wanted her to flirt and meet whoever she wanted to but that I also wanted to be acknowledged. That I sometimes felt dropped and taken for granted whenever a shiny new opportunity came along. Almost as soon as we got to the airport we found Pax and took a cab back into the city, giving up our round trip tickets on the R1.

Jason came over too and the four of us went out to Tangiers for drinks. After a while Rosie's friend Kelsie joined us too and we were having a great time drinking and laughing. Kelsie is amazing. Almost crazy in her strange mix of frank openness and inexperienced naivety. With only a third of a gin and juice for encouragement she was loudly proclaiming her dismay at her suspicion that she's bad at sex. So loudly in fact that the bartender started to comment and make her uncomfortable. I felt oddly charmed.

Pax caught a cab back to the airport and the rest of us made our way back to Rosie's apartment. We were having a wonderful time up in the bedroom, talking, cuddling, even reading poetry to each other. Then Rosie got another call on her cell phone. Her friends Tom and Howard were in the area and wanted to hang out. Rosie invited them over and hung up, but Kelsie, Jason and I weren't too keen on adding new members to our little party and said we wished we'd been included in the decision. So Rosie offered to call them back and tell them not to come. She called, but what came out of her mouth was that the friends she was with didn't want anymore company but sure, she'd come down and hang out with them for a little while. Just five minutes, a walk around the block. So Rosie got up and left Jason and Kelsie and me to go see her other friends. Five minutes became forty and Rosie brought them into the house, downstairs to keep them apart from us, but that just made it more awkward for me. I started to feel trapped. I wanted a smoke but didn't want to walk past them, these strangers who knew only that I was one of the folks who hadn't wanted them to come. I was pissed off and unable or unwilling to share that I was pissed off.

Even so, I was able to put those feelings aside pretty easily and enjoy the time with Kelsie and Jason. That all changed once Rosie came back and those two went home though. Rosie fell right asleep into a drunken Coma and I lay still in the dark, breathing hard. Rosie tried to cuddle me and I shrugged her off. I went downstairs to smoke. I tried to read but I couldn't concentrate. After about 45 minutes of trying unsuccessfully to process my emotions I went back upstairs and woke Rosie up. "Talk to me," I said.

I told her how I was feeling, and she started to cry. She tried to leave and I grabbed her. She tried to push me off, but I wouldn't let her go. "Stay, talk to me.," I kept saying. And she did. But then she got defensive and we fought. She started crying again and I reached out to hold her, but she pushed me away. This made me mad and I went back downstairs for another smoke and a sulk. When I went back up we made peace and snuggled up together. I'm always saying that jealousy is my favorite emotion, but I'm getting sick of myself. I don't want to be such a drama queen.

I am sitting in the Monroe Airport, letting the changes in my life sweep over me. Keli and Hany just waved me goodbye. The biggest goodbye in a long long time, because as of right now I don't live with them anymore. I'm on my way to Rosie and home, in Philadelphia again. It feels unreal. My tears are tears of bewilderment.

Now I've boarded the little puddle jumper that will take me to Dallas on my way to Philadelphia, on my way away from Downsville. We left for the airport in a rush, and somehow I didn't get to say any goodbyes to anyone except Shelby. I'll miss Bill and Shelby, Jeff and Trish and Joseph and Jared. Even Tempest I think. I remember feeling good and excited about moving out. I remember the strength of my conviction that this was what I needed to do. Right now though, I only feel sad and heartbroken.

I can't wait to hold Rosie in my arms and feel some love amidst this devastation. Reuniting with her is the bright spark in this. Her presence is what gave me the courage to make a hard but needed change. I'm so grateful to her for letting me back into her heart after I left her even though she wanted me to stay.