Confession: I Am a Cock Crazy Woman

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// photo : Tumblr

As part of my willingness to experiment with embracing more of the vulgar side of sex & sexual energy, I’d like to make a bold declaration.

This is something I’ve never admitted publicly, but am dying to express because it’s a special part of my erotic nature & it continues to influence my sexual expression.

Here it goes.

I am a cock crazy woman.

Yes, it’s true. I am a cock worshipper. I love the D, the wang (& not just the ones attached-to-the-skin). I think penises are one of the most beautiful, most interesting parts of the human body (vulvas are #1, but I’m biased, of course). I get such a thrill & excitement at the sight of them.

Especially my husband’s.

It could be considered a kind of sickness how infatuated I am with his cock, how much I admire his girth, his length. Whenever I can, I find ways to commune with it—to touch it, to grasp it, to come up with new ways to arouse him. I’ve even taken photographs of it.

(I’d say that his penis & I are kindred spirits, but I think that would sound weird.)

Admittedly, I have a hard time keeping my hands to myself, & he’s jokingly said that I must have some kind of honing device that can, almost instantaneously, locate his penis—no matter what he’s wearing or how he’s sitting.

Have you ever seen a second-by-second play-by-play of a flaccid cock becoming hard? I find this the most fascinating. I can watch this miracle unfold over & over, & each time it is novel to me, exotic. That I can sometimes just glance at his penis & it begins to lengthen & harden is extraordinary to me.

I saw an article once that went in-depth about why it is women can’t orgasm just off of giving oral sex alone, & reading this I remember feeling flabbergasted. Certainly, some women can’t—one woman’s turn on is not all women’s—but the idea that this article was conveying that all women cannot climax from giving head enraged me.

I love giving head, love watching my man writhe & pump with pleasure when I take him into my mouth.

I feel my most powerful when I have an erect penis in my hands, as though I am the Queen of Penis, a well-skilled maestro of his erection.

I sometimes get off on just that one notion—that I am the Duchess of Dick & he is simply putty in my hands.

Perhaps you’re reading this & wondering why it’s important (or relevant) for me to boldly proclaim my captivation with cocks. And I will tell you.

It’s important because my old story was one of sexual shame, where just the sheer idea of a woman proudly exclaiming she enjoyed sex was radical, never mind the fact that she takes pleasure in the look & feel of penises.

It’s important to me because it’s often misconceived that being a feminist means the disintegration of cock appreciation.

It’s important to me because it’s a significant part of my sexuality, & not only is it vital for me to put words to my turn-on, it deserves to be celebrated—even if it is perverted & unlady-like.

And I realize that this admission might make you lose respect for me, or that it might make you judge my decision to essentially come out in this way.

But I also realize (& am holding onto hope) that my admission will help other cock crazy women come forward in their cock craziness. That they will find a sense of solace in my confession because they’ll finally know they aren’t the only one; that their turn-ons are valid & worthy of being celebrated.

Sexual liberation doesn’t happen in isolation. It happens when we openly witness the sexual agency, ownership, & empowerment of others.

So, if you’re a cock crazy woman, confess it to your penis-having partner. Tell them why you adore it. Tell them how much you enjoy pleasuring it. Tell them how grateful you are that they have chosen you to access & explore this very private & intriguing part of theirs.

Maybe tell your besties, too, that you’re cock crazy, & be OK with the strange looks or remarks they give you, because they’re warranted in their wide eyes. But also tell them of the importance of owning your own sexual tastes. Tell them of the importance of embracing your inner perversions, & encourage them to embrace their own.

Tell them you’re on a path of sexual awakening, & that as part of this journey it’s vital that you create dialogues & release shame around what turns you on.

Or. . . even better: Share this post & proudly proclaim your cock-craziness.

There’s power in admitting, in honoring. And even if it means it’s between you & your secret diary, your sexual liberation depends on bringing light to your innermost desires.

/ / /

Hey! Let’s talk about masturbation!

I do it. You do it. Let’s talk about it.

Next month, I’m going to be creating & facilitating a project that publicly highlights stories & discussions about masturbation & the intimate, intricate relationships we have with our sexual selves solo.

I’m looking to feature your personal story to witness, celebrate, & hold space for your radiant sexuality—all in the hopes of provoking sex positivity & others’ sexual liberation.

Win-win!

If you’d like to submit your story or hear more about the month-long project, click here.

*Deadline to submit is April 28th. Anonymity is an option!

Why I’m Tired of Spiritual, Sacred, Woo-Woo Sex

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// photo : Tumblr

There is a time & place for spiritual sex, for taking part in the soft, sacred energy that comes along with the erotic—tantra, cosmic orgasm, the ritualistic melding of the masculine & the feminine.

And then there’s the carnal, vulgar side of sex—the unabashed, unfiltered expressions of the erotic.

Fucking. Getting a nut. Not-doing-it-for-any-reason-than-to-get-off. Getting freaky & nasty.

I’ve designated a lot of time toward exploring sacred sex in my work & personal life, using language about the erotic that is gentle on the ears & spirit. But I’ve not given much space to the obscene, to words & expressions that denote a different, unrefined kind of sexual energy, an energy that I contain.

I think it’s because sub-consciously I’ve seen that kind of sex as inappropriate, as not as close to godliness. So I’ve shied away from writing & honoring my carnal desires, keeping from using language to adequately describe the hard-to-cuddle-up-to rawness behind the sensual because I fear the obscene. I fear what the obscene will do to me, what it will make me. I fear losing my self-respect.

Flowery words & pretty euphemisms & soft spiritual sexuality are much easier to digest.

I’ve been a notoriously sexually coy woman. I’ve consistently played down my desires in my erotic relationships to not be loud about it, to not be overbearing about it. And I’ve relied on this modest way of being for as long as I can remember—& not just in my sexual relationships, either.

It’s always felt really noble for me to be able to maintain a sense of purity & innocence in sex.

And yet.

When I want to get off, I’m not seeking porn with spiritual overtones or gentle elegance. I look for porn that is naughty & perverted. I want to get off & I want to come hard.

I don’t know why I’ve seen this as wrong or unholy.

I want to see what would happen if I get that modest, clean sexual energy I’ve been so accustomed to to fall a way a bit & embrace, glorify, express, the erotically obscene. To open myself fully to my own inner perversions & the not-proper ways I experience sexual energy. To take up space as an amorous, & sometimes-explicit sexual woman.

Because maybe the obscene is actually spiritual. Maybe vulgarity can be a form of prayer. Maybe expressing the perverse can spur liberation.

Who knows, maybe I can find God while I’m busting a nut, too.

Exploring My Wild Cave: What Happened When I Saw My Cervix For the First Time

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// photo : Tumblr

It’s crazy to me that after 27+ years of living in this body—& even with the work that I do now in the realm of sexual liberation—how much of an estranged relationship I have with my sexual organs.

I mentioned this to Jonathan recently & he gave a very fair reply: “Well, don’t be too hard on yourself. Most of your sexual organs are internal, so. . .”

Yes, that’s true. But I don’t think that’s a good enough excuse.

I think as women, especially those of us who are seeking sexual sovereignty, it is imperative for us to know our bodies, to familiarize ourselves with our anatomy & the intricate systems that are at work within it. Even if most of it’s internal. Especially if most of it’s internal.

I’ve written about this before, about the importance of knowing our bodies intimately, of making an effort to forge a consistent & healthy relationship with our genitals & sexual network by way of self-discovery. And while I am much more cognizant about my anatomy these days, I admit I could go deeper with it.

And recently I did. Literally.

I began this exploration of my cavernous anatomy at my good friend (& full-spectrum doula) Samantha Zipporah‘s workshop, Spelunking With Spekulums. This was a pretty big step for me, because one of the reasons for this gathering was so that we, the workshop goers, had a safe, collective space to see our cervixes right there if we wanted to.

I should mention that I’d never seen my cervix before. I’ve never had a real desire to. I’ve been curious about it sometimes, but mostly felt that it was tucked up in there for a reason: to be left alone, to be a silent force in my life—unless of course there was something wrong with it, & then I’d leave it in the hands of my ob/gyn.

So the relationship I’ve had with my cervix—if I could even call it a relationship—was really only experienced through the hands of my doctors, never through my own curiosity or sense of nurturing.

I was actually quite embarrassed when, in the workshop, as we were going briefly through all the bits & bobs of the female anatomy, I realized that I had been thinking that my cervix was my actual uterus the whole time. It was in that moment of inner humiliation that I had had enough of the willful ignorance.

I was ready to be enlightened.

So after some tea & a much-needed group schmooze about our ladybits & the relationship we’ve had with them, we came to the pièce de résistance of the workshop: It was time to meet our cervixes.

But first, we had to find them.

At that point, I believe Sam asked the room something like, “OK, are we all familiar with how to find our cervixes?” There were mostly nods around the room (which was comprised totally of midwives & birth doulas), none of them coming from me. I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that my cervix was not actually my entire uterus.

So I spoke up. “Yeah, I have no idea where my cervix is.” I laughed to help expel my nervousness, & Sam smiled & offered to help me find it. “I can help you myself or I can walk you through the steps to find it on your own.” I picked the latter.

I headed into a tiny room on the outset of the workshop space & cracked the door. On the other side of it, Sam stood & guided me (doula’d, more like it) to finding my cervix.

“OK,” she said through the door. “Go ahead & take off your pants & underwear.”
“OK,” I said, pulling my undergarments off.
“And lube yourself up a little with coconut oil.”
“. . .OK.”
“And whenever you’re ready, get into kind of a squat position.”
“. . . Alright.”
“Now, reach a finger into your vagina & bear down like you’re taking a poo.”

Thankfully, I knew what “bear down” means, thanks to consistent use of my Diva Cup (bearing down is one of the ways to remove it).

“Alright. . .” I said, assuming the position.

“And you should feel like you’re touching something firm & smooth,” said Sam, “Almost like the tip of your nose.”

I paused, waiting to feel an undeniable wet something at the tip of my fingertip that felt unlike my vagina, but I didn’t feel anything. I complained a little to Sam.

“Well, you might need to use your middle finger since it’s a little longer, &—”

“—Found it!” I interrupted, squealing joyously.

She was right, it felt like the warm, damp, firm tip of my nose, & touching it felt like hitting the bullseye target in a game of darts. I felt victorious, tickled.

I remember walking back into the workshop space with this big goofy grin on my face, looking as if I’d discovered a rainbow leading to a pot of gold in the next room. I might’ve even given a hearty fist-pump to the sky as I rejoined the group. A few of the other gals were kind enough to match my girlish excitement with a few squees of their own, but I could sense that it was no big whoop for them. Being midwives, the cervix & all its wild wonders seemed to be a bit normalized for them.

Actually, I’m glad that I was surrounded by non-squeamish midwives when I eventually sat down & put a speculum in my vagina. It made the experience—which was already ripe with awkward feelings & nervousness—a lot less strange.

So much so that I eventually invited all of them to take a look at my cervix, too.

Of course, that wasn’t a necessary part of the workshop. No one had to share their cervixes with the group. But I don’t know what it was—maybe the open, non-judgmental atmosphere of the workshop or if I was still riding on waves of elation at finding my cervix—I felt inspired to show & tell.

And there I was. . . my pants off & legs butterflied open, a flashlight in one hand, a mirror in the other with a speculum prying me open. I couldn’t believe I was actually doing this, in front of women I had only met an hour before. But I was, & it felt incredibly liberating.

So. I saw my cervix. She was bright red & pink in some parts, & slightly engorged with blood. I saw my os, a tiny O-shaped entrance to my uterus, which I could’ve swore winked at me. I saw the innermost part of my body that I bleed from, that I would birth from, that I create from.

And even though I had been mostly blissfully unaware of its existence, I felt an immediate connection with this part of my body, like I was reuniting with a dear friend after years of needless estrangement.

Seeing my cervix was like coming home. 

I want to meet her again, to get to know her better & to show her off to Jonathan (who, let’s be real, has had way more of a consistent relationship with my inner anatomy than I have), so I took the plastic speculum home to do more solo self-exam in the future.

Here’s a few fun things I learned about my cervix:

1. Pound for pound, the cervix is the strongest muscle in my body.
2. My cervix is slightly tilted, which might be the cause of my painful periods.
3. My cervix is a part of my uterus, making my initial thought that it’s my uterus half correct.

Know thy body, know thy self!

/ / /

Want to explore your own cavernous anatomy?

If you want to meet & learn more about your own beautiful wild cave (& see your os wink at you), here’s an awesome resource:

// Beautiful Cervix Project

> Your Anatomy & Your Cycle
> Photo gallery of others’ cervixes*
Buy a self-exam kit (includes a plastic speculum)

You can also buy a speculum at Babeland if you want the full kit.

And check out my friend Sam’s work. She just recently had another spelunking workshop here in Portland, & might do another in the future.

* NSFW, or for the squeamish.

Sensual Spring! + A Mixtape To Help You Blossom

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There’s just something about Spring that makes me feel so feminine.

And by feminine, I don’t just mean it in the womanly-femme sense, but in the spiritually divine sense. I think it’s because Spring as a season is a time when the Divine Feminine comes out of hiding & into a full expression of being.

I feel a deep, deep resonance to Spring.

After having a rough inner Winter, Spring feels like amazing grace; like a chance to step into the lightness of liberating truths; like a celebration of my own vitality & capability & creativity; like joyful luminous sunshine on my shoulders.

I’m feeling it.
And myself.

Here are some things that are inspiring me to blossom into the feminine:

1. Wearing waistbeads which were gifted to me by a sweet friend.
2. Coming Home to Myself, by Marion Woodman.
3. Adornment: bright colors on my nails & lips, & pretty updos.
4. Coming onto & flirting with my man.
5. Journaling outside on my make-shift terrace.
6. Getting witchy*: studying tarot & astrology, & partaking in moon magic.
7. Sun-chasing.
8. Flower-collecting.
9. Soaking & sauna’ing at our local spa.
10. Beyoncé, FKA Twigs, SZA, Björk, Nicki Minaj, & Erykah Badu—on repeat.
11. And pretty much everything on this list.

*Did you know that the original meaning of the word witch is wise woman?

Also: I made something for you!

Big Time Sensuality! A sensual mixtape to inspire your blossoming

I made this mixtape in celebration of Spring; of not just the flowers that are blossoming, but of your own beautiful blossoming.

These are songs that sound like the luminosity, energy, & ecstatic joy that emanates through Springtime. I can’t help but dance whenever any one of these songs come on my iTunes.

One of my favorite songs on this mixtape is Finally Woken by Jem. Whenever I’m unsure, whenever I lose sight of my own purpose or the beauty of this world, I just hum. . .

Child don’t worry, it’s OK
The sun is out for another day
And I say it’ll be alright

As for you. . . I hope you listen to this & imagine yourself surrounded by blossoms & buzzing bees & radiant sun-rays.

That’s what these tunes sound like to me.

Enjoy!

(Player not showing? Click here.)

Tracklist:
1. Opening // Shudder to Think
2. Gobbledigook // Sigur Rós
3. 7/4 Shoreline // Broken Social Scene
4. Finally Woken // Jem
5. Big Time Sensuality // Björk
6. Micronomic // Lali Puna
7. Cherry Blossom Girl // Air
8. Rose Quartz // Toro y Moi
9. Constant Surprises // Little Dragon
10. I Walked // Sufjan Stevens
11. Shh // Frou Frou
12. Know The Way // Grimes

And now I can feel / Life is flowing through me.
I’ve got a big smile / I feel good.

A Call to Arms to Slow the Fuck Down

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// photo : Kwesi Abbensetts

One of the key components to sensuality is mindfulness. And mindfulness, essentially, is about being completely awake to this, the present moment.

But it is very hard to be in this present moment—which is quite glorious, by the way—when we are in a hurried, rushed state (& my goodness, are we often in this state).

Have you ever caught yourself rushing around like a tornado without a real reason for it? Perhaps you’re driving from work & you’re speeding through intersections to get home. Or maybe you’re washing the dishes, clanking pots & almost breaking plates just to hurry up & finish.

And there’s no purpose for it, no need for it, but you find yourself doing it anyway.

Hurry, hurry! Faster, faster! There’s not a moment to lose! Gotta get there!

Rushing around helter-skelter seems to be an intrinsic part of our culture. We’re always in such a hurry, to get there, to finish, to arrive at Destination B so that we can hurry up & get to Destination C.

Is it any wonder why many of us feel disconnected from our bodies, from our experiences, from our senses?

Rushing around kills mindfulness. And lack of mindfulness thwarts sensual living.

But it doesn’t have to be this way!—& thank goodness, because all of this hurriedness leaves me, personally, feeling gloomy, incoherent, & very much not myself.

If we’re here to live life fully through our senses, we need to—& pardon my language—slow the fuck down. We have to. Sensuality does not thrive in a hurried, rushed, go-go-go! state.

So, today. . . I want you to challenge you. . . to go. . . slowly.

Walk slowly. Eat slowly. Speak slowly. Breathe slowly. Take your sweet, precious time.

Be patient—with yourself, with others. Devour each moment inch by inch, second by second. Savor.

One of the easiest ways to be reminded of going slowly throughout the day is to be conscious of your breath. Your breath is a powerful thing because it can act as a metronome for you, one that tunes you in & times you beautifully to the present moment.

So whenever you feel yourself getting carried away & into hurriedness today, take a moment to stop, take in a deep breath, & let it out slowly. This one simple act will ground you back in to your body, slow your heart rate, & bring you back to the present moment, making it much easier for you to go back to slowness.

I should say here that going slowly doesn’t always translate to cool, calm, & collected living. Things will still be hectic, & the world around you won’t cease its hurrying just because you’re trying it on for size.

I also don’t expect for you to live this entire day in languid slowness. There will be many moments today where hurrying might be necessary—say, you’re running to catch the bus or your project deadline is closing in on you.

The trick for you, then, will be to try to find slowness & stillness even in those fast moments. Is it possible? (I think so.)

And of course, it’s going to take many days of practice & patience to continue this kind of slow living—much more than this prompt can allow. But you can take the first step to unhurried living today. All it takes is that one step.

Go slowly.
Take your time.
Savor.

“Feel the pleasure of your own existence.” —David Deida

/ / /

This is post is a sampling from Day 15 of my sensual e-course, 30 Days of Sensuality.*

If you’re curious about going deeper in exploring slow, sensual living & if you desire to live more in your body & not so much in your head, this course is perfect for you.

30DOS-ENROLL

*Enrollment closes Saturday.