I roll around in my soft comfy bed and see the daylight shine through with a big ol grin on my face. I just had two hot and steamy dreams. A teacher I had in school pulled up his pant leg and showed me something that got me totally hot for teacher, to give you a hint it was thick and throbbing. In this dream state there was no such thing as hesitation, I dived in and went to town enjoying every inch, I mean moment, of school. I woke up and fell back asleep in another dream with my husband, couldn’t get enough of him in my mouth. Peeling my eyes open I was happy and my body was more awake than usual, the thought crossed my mind to take an orgasm before getting out of bed, but just as quickly I remembered well I’m on my period and I need to dump my menstrual cup before I could do all that. Here my body is meeting me before the world can, showing me what it’s interested in and instead of leaning in, I shy away. Spoiler I didn’t hop back into bed after dumping the cup.

A couple hours later, standing beside my bed, on a mission to grab the water bottle I left on my bedside table, I notice my vibrator peeking out at me from the opened drawer. My body sways slightly, a whisper of interest.  “Probably should make some time for an orgasm today,” says one voice. Instantly, another replies, “Do I really need one?”. My mind races: dishes, grocery list, art with the kids, some house project that can wait. The effort alone feels heavy, wet hands, set aside time, wash the toys, clean up afterward. Fear is next in line: “what if I don’t find anything hot or exciting, what if it doesn’t feel as good as I hope it will, what if one orgasm isn’t enough, what if I spend an hour or two on this?”.

Orgasm is not just pleasure. Orgasm is a practice in risking uncertainty, letting intensity live and staying with ourselves through it all. The resistance is a survival instinct: “maybe this will destabilize me, maybe I can’t handle the intensity of sensations, maybe the emotions that come alongside pleasure will be too much”. This resistance is doing its best to keep me safe and I’m grateful. But sometimes, staying safe means not really experiencing life fully. 

I almost talked myself out of it. “Maybe later with my husband” I told myself, maybe it would be hotter because we could act out the dream I’d had, as if I had only so much sexual capacity to use in one day. Instantly I could feel my body disagree, a heavy, sunken sensation at the idea that someone else’s appetite would decide my pleasure. I came upstairs and wrote this blog post because I was in it, I sat with and verbalized what was happening in real time. I sat here with you all and faced the intensity of what happens when I ignore my body’s wants and sexuality. 

I put on a movie for the kids, and head downstairs where this all started. I pull the covers back. This act alone feels like a tiny protest a tiny act of reclaiming my body’s wants. The ache that had been heavy in my chest begins to lighten and possibility starts creeping in. A smile spreads across my face. How do I want this to unfold? I’m excited by the options I have: starting with my hand and some erotica (I highly recommend redquill.com), moving to the vibe and the barbell.

My breath catches, my chest lifts and for a moment I am fully aware of every nerve ending, every pulse, heartbeat, insisting I am here alive, and capable of holding this intensity. The fear doesn’t disappear, it lingers like a shadow at the edge, but it’s been softened by hope and excitement. I’m practicing staying present with myself, testing the boundaries of what I can tolerate, what I can allow, and what pleasure feels like when its mine, unborrowed and unshared. 

Each movement, each small wave of warmth surging through my body to my vulva is a calibration. My body is remembering, my nervous system learning. Intensity is not inherently dangerous, it is simply felt. Resistance exists to protect me, but leaning in teaches truth. I can survive feeling deeply. I can hold myself. I can savor amazing sensations without loosing myself. Every time I edge closer to orgasm, I feel a tiny reclaiming of wildness that the world too often tells me to silence. 

“Get back to life, keep moving” I hear a few breaths after climax. Resistance showing up again but this time at the end. Every time that I’ve rushed up and back to life it has deflated the entire experience I just had. So I lean into the wildness, I snuggle a little further down in the blankets. I close my eyes and breathe deeply into how my body feels in this exact moment. The energy feels liquid, flowing and easy.

I hold my palm to my forehead and stroke it gently with my thumb. I sigh gently and whisper thank you. 

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