I feel most sexually met in nature. I love being licked and lapped up by the ocean . I love spreading my legs open and riding rays of sunlight. I love when the wind’s force tosses me around like puppet on its string.
When you’ve been taken by the wind, the sun and the ocean, sex with an ordinary human, let alone a male human, can pale in comparison. Maybe not when hormones are high and the oxytocin of new romance is flowing, but
when the veil of familiarity drops and covers all the beauty, how do we return again and again to the garden where we first met?
I can open so easily with nature because of its vast, clear awareness. I can easily offer my fullest presence back to nature because of the mirror it holds for me. But with my man, who I judge to be less vast, less clear, I am not as generous as nature is with me. Instead of offering him the pristine awareness I so desire from him, all I feel is judgment. All I see is the gap between us. As I shared in my last blog, my homework from the sexual intimacy workshop is to give my man what I most want to receive from him.
Sitting across from him on the bed, I have my work cut out for me.
The first thing I notice is his slouched posture, the second thing is that his breath is more shallow than mine, the third thing is the tightness in his face and the protective field around his heart, the fourth is the fear in his eyes of being an inadequate lover and the mistrust in himself to be the perfect lover for me. My judgments are relentless. In the past I’ve left the old lover for a new one. Or I’ve silently held onto my judgments and shrunk to meet my man on the level I perceive him, opening my body and heart only fifty, thirty, twenty percent, building a shrine of judgments to my longing.
How do I offer my man the clear masculine presence I so wildly desire and be in my feminine receptivity simultaneously?
I begin by aligning myself to my own energetic pole or center, feeling my root and crown chakras opening, the currents from above and below flowing through my spine. I deepen my breath and soften the muscles in my face, softening my eyes and lips, smiling at my man. I relax my shoulders and feel the breath spreading across my chest, opening my heart, perking up my nipples.
I offer my sexual adeptness,
showing my man how I want him to touch me, moving my hands slowly across my breasts and down my belly, grabbing handfuls of hips, running finger nails up my inner thighs, holding his gaze, never leaving myself or him. I tell my man that he is my perfect lover and that I trust him to open me beyond where any other man has ever taken me.
Though his eyes squint and his mouth twists, not fully believing me, I believe my Self.
I wouldn’t say any of the above comes naturally. Every step triggers my resistance. But somehow through offering my own masculine presence, my full feminine beauty emerges, and in this moment she melts all of my man’s fears and all of my judgments. I gasp, almost being knocked backwards by the clear, blue beam of light shining through my man’s eyes.
“There you are,” I say.
And he makes my favorite sexy face, where he raises his eye brows and gives me his signature smile, that is a combination of cocky, wise and mischievious, as if he’s known exactly what he’s doing all along. How can a woman resist that?
