Go slow with me

Inch by inch

Treat me like the life you want to live over again

And over and over

Relishing each moment and each stroke

But go slow

For I have many valleys


On my part,

There is a decision to be conscious

To be awake

It is a big decision

To not check out

To not just “let it happen”

To choose


Go slow

I want to stay awake

I DESIRE the freedom to be vast

Will you show me

How vast I really am?


Memories are stored in our flesh

Sensation evokes emotion

I could pretend

It isn’t happening

But wouldn’t you rather know the truth

Even if it means that I say stop

hang on, i need a minute

Even if it means I sob, curled away from you

After deep, intense, amazing sex

I would understand your cognitive dissonance

with my state of affairs

But there is something to be said for stamina,

and patience


I have no clue

How long this will take

Or when and how my libido will change

As you navigate the entire terrain

That is my body

My history

My vessel for this life

I make no guarantees

I am a grown woman, but there are places you will touch that will make me feel 12 or 7 or 80 years old

Please let me be that conscious

Please let me tell you the secrets I have kept

And watch the light of awareness brighten between us

Can you feel this now?


My ecstatic nature is in your hands

And only I know when I feel safe enough

To give it to you

Only I know how to trust my own knowing

But you

You speak to me in ways

That remind me

And encourage me

And bring me

Into the light of my being


So darling, where would you like to begin?

My folds and curves are many.

Where will you embark upon the journey tonight?

Oh, here?

Yes….good….I like that.

Go slow with me, baby.



Closeness, Connection, Being Held

I spent time with the goats today.  I run in my neighborhood, and at the end of my run I often stop at their corner.  Goats are the “animal vegetation management” for a handful of select water facilities in my town.  There are about ten goats that “work” at this particular facility.  Really, they hang out all day behind a chain link fence on a nice patch of land with trees and water and lots of grass.  They hang out and they eat.

The alpha male (the one with the largest horns) is very friendly and outgoing.  I feed him dandelion greens from my side of the fence, which he loves. Today he sweetly motioned toward the juniper tree next to me, full of berries.  I pulled some and fed it to him – he was in heaven!  He has bone white fur and wide-set milky blue eyes that gaze at me with some kind of recognition.  He licks my hand when I press it against the fence, and he will even slide his big torso along the fence to let me pet him.  I have named him ‘Fountain’ for he gives me a fountain of love energy.

Fountain the goat feeds a desire in me for loving connection.  I wish that chain link fence wasn’t there, because I’d really like to sit with him and hang out for a spell.  Just sit and pet him and look at his beautiful, serene eyes.  Feed him dandelion leaves and juniper berries.  That sounds so completely satisfying.

It sounds more satisfying than sex.

What I am realizing is that through sex, I have really been seeking closeness and connection.  I am realizing (with some frustration) how fundamental this need for connection is, much deeper than the desire for physical pleasure.

I know how to have sex and I enjoy sex.  But when there is a disconnect, when the heart is blocked and we are just going through the motions, chasing an orgasm, trying to play the part — that’s when I feel truly alone.

In sex, we expose ourselves.  Not just our bodies.  We expose our raw energy.  We expose our youngest self.  We expose our hurts and insecurities.  We expose our desire and our lack of desire.  We are vulnerable.

Being vulnerable is beautiful, but it doesn’t look like porn.  In fact, I’m not even sure what it looks like yet – I am just beginning to explore this possibility of being totally authentic EVEN IN THE BEDROOM.

I know how to have porn sex.  Porn sex is hot.  But wow, it can sometimes leave me feeling so, so empty.  (I’m not a porn star; I’m talking about private “porn-style” sex).  It’s so easy to skip over all of the things that create a real heart connection because look: life is short and we’re horny so why not and come on I’m an adult and this is a human need and let’s just get to it.  But I wind up feeling unknown, even to myself.  Even as we lie together with damp skin and tangled limbs.

I was seeking closeness, connection, being held.  Now I am held in a sweaty embrace, but the closeness isn’t there and the connection is absent.  Who is this stranger next to me?  Who is this stranger inside of me?

Instead of post-coital bliss, there is cognitive dissonance.

Something wasn’t right to begin with, we didn’t acknowledge what was really going on.  Getting into bed was so much easier than speaking of the caginess of the energy, the walls that were up even as we undressed and kissed and fucked.

I lay in his arms feeling not at all myself, and disappointed in myself for ignoring my intuition before sex began.  We were both trying to run away tonight.  From ourselves and from each other.  I felt sad about it and we talked.

Talking helped, as unsexy as it was.  It didn’t make the walls of fear disappear, but I came back from my own vanishing.  In my head I was already thinking of how to leave and how to break this off and how I just don’t know what I’m doing in love.  I don’t want to vanish anymore.  I want to be here.  I want to be held.  I want closeness and connection.  I want the light of being real.

Nothing is airbrushed here, and the light is not especially flattering.  It is the light of facing what is.  Some would call it the light of truth.

May this light be the light that leads me into love, of myself and of another.




All of me


My ex-lover sent me a concerned email when I posted about a “sex class” I went to recently.  My children don’t follow my blog, and they probably never will – but I had been using my real name on Medium, and the ex-lover had a point: “Any of your sons’ boneheaded friends could google your name and this story will pop up.”  He went on to say that I was the “hot mom” among their peers, and that my boys most certainly hated knowing that.  Concerns veiled in compliments, but I felt controlled.

I replied: “Good tip, changing my name on Medium now.”  And I gave myself a new pen name.  Problem solved.

But an anger was stewing, and my mouth wanted to breathe fire.

This energy will not be denied.

I’m claiming my freedom in this space, and a large part of that is connected to my sexuality.  I know this is nothing to be ashamed of.  The type of erotic play I am into is extremely vanilla compared to a lot of the things I read about, but even if it wasn’t — no shame!  I am finding that by exploring the sexual experiences and fantasies of other writers and by slowly sharing my own, I am tapping into incredibly rich creative energy.   I am humbled by these brave and sexy writers who are stirring the pot of erotic energy for those of us who are turned on by the written word.  I am relishing in my own desires without needing a physical partner to fulfill my needs.  And I am learning so much!

I feel protective of my freedom of expression, and unwilling to yield to a status quo version of sex, love or partnership.

And although my ex-lover means well, I also know he wants another chance at “us” – he wants to try some things I have revealed in my writing, things he didn’t know I wanted because I didn’t tell him and he didn’t ask.

His next email to me was titled “Sex” and was basically him coming to terms with his own beastly desires.  Would I wear a collar for him?

Again, I wanted to breathe fire.

Not because I don’t like collars.  I actually don’t know.  But because I am feeling raided….

I’m not here to defend my right to be.

I’m not here to train you to be my perfect lover.

I’m just uncovering the truth of my being.

Things that were dormant are being revealed.  Old wounds have healed enough that now they can be spoken of.  I am learning to be alive in my body.  I am waking up.

It makes some uncomfortable, or sad.

It might turn you on.

It might make you wonder.

And as for the ex-lover,

he doesn’t get to put a collar on me,

not even in my writing.

But the advice has been received,

and thank you for your concern.


Side note:

I will always love my ex-lover, he is a beautiful being!

Ending poem:

The heart is in critical condition.

I didn’t tell you,

but I’m breaking all the time.

Little bits of me are falling off – can you see?  That’s my veil cracking.

And if you want to explore this mess with me,

i won’t stop you.