After a full moon sexual intimacy workshop this weekend, during which I also had my moon, this morning I am feeling particularly ravenous. I hunger to be penetrated. I hunger for cock. Not just my man’s, but all of the men’s cocks in the workshop.
When I tell my man this, he is both triggered and turned on. Unfortunately, it’s only over the phone because he has gone out of town early this morning on business. But the cock crazed maenad in me won’t wait for his return. She needs what she needs right now. She is driven by the composting scent, the metallic, after-kill taste of blood on her lips, remembering the last time she danced naked with her wild woodland sisters, as they devoured the sensual man-god Dionysous in a mad orgy frenzy.
Although I’m not as sexually sensitive when I bleed, the messiness and chaos of blood and sex satisfies my pleasure grrrrl in a way that even doggie style can’t. If she had her way, there would be blood all over the carpet and walls, as well as the sheets. I once fingered myself and made a painting with my blood. But this morning I am finger painting my body, leaving bright red streaks on my inner thighs and belly that look like claw marks. Marking myself red, I writhe on the floor, spreading my desire to devour and be devoured wide open on each inhale, and giving into it fully on each exhale. My hands and fingers, animal, my flesh their prey, my hips the undulations of some primordial force within me, my vagina its jaws swallowing everything in its path.
What I love most about pleasure is its pure unabashed selfishness. And its complete disregard of good and evil. My pleasure reminds me that I have the capacity to be this true to myself in all of my relationships-that it’s possible to love generously and selfishly simultaneously. Because just like pleasure’s playing field, in love there isn’t any good or evil-there is only the holy truth of the moment, that is either received or denied.