I want to talk about the less-than-glamourous side of the sex. The side that perplexes, thwarts, and strains hope from us as sexual beings.
Let me set the scene. . .
Your heart has sent out a special intention to the universe for some sexual play to take place. You’ve trimmed your pubic hair, lit earthy-smelling incense, and anointed your body with oil. You’re wearing your best lacy things, or your best coy smile, or perhaps nothing at all. A record that coaxes out your most saucy carnal kitten plays softly in the background.
You lay your head against a soft pillow (or the crook of the rim on your bathtub), your hands strategically placed onto, over, within your most secret pleasure centers. You breathe in deeply, relaxing every part of your body. You’re ready and rearing to go.
And so you begin the voyage towards sexual release, dancing with the rise of energy building in the room and between your legs (and perhaps with your partner, if they’ve decided to take this trip with you). Waves of desire travel throughout your body, making every cell within you radiate with pleasure and longing.
Suddenly, your breath quickens, your vision blurs, your body fuzzy and slowly melting into the surface below you. The epic release is near; you can feel it, and you’re anticipating it, the grand finale of your erotic play.
But. . . nothing comes.