Pubis touch

Aug 10, 2019

The desire to reach her sex may often be an old, stagnant value since teenagehood. When focused on sensation today, the present desire was centered on the contact between my fingertips and her sweaty chest.

Aug 13, 2019

I noticed I wanted to be seen. Deeply, willingly, longingly. With the effervescence with which I saw others, which also caused many to avoid me. Upon saying this, and pleading for it surrounded by all, my shame surrounding this truth washed away, and allowed light and expression into that longing.

She looked at me with the presence of a mountain river, and we held each other's gaze. She asked me to allow her to place my hand on her chest, and she did. Touch of support, of connection. She asked me to allow her to place my other hand between her legs, and she did. My inner desperate teenager felt a spike of disbelieving excitement and primal fear. She took my hand, with no hesitation, and placed it between her legs, adjusting her own body to fit her pubis to my palm. Her eyes said nothing but presence. She brought my hand to a center of vulnerability in her body, which parts of me feel is "the aim", the "thing to get", the goal to score. And I had done nothing towards it. No wooing, no chatting, no sneaking, no invasion, no hoping. Just a requested touch. And it was clear between us that it carried no connotation. No "maybe sex", no "maybe I like you", nothing. And my inner teenager conceded to the truth. "Ah yes, her sex is not the aim". In this moment of presence, I felt how our contact was but two shapes of skin and cloth, sharing surfaces. The games and secrets and sneaking and fantasies were not there. What, then, do I seek when I seek a woman?

Holding a space for her, of company, listening, and trust, along with some body embraces, were deeply fulfilling. Again my body felt how reaching her sex is not what my being seeks. A shared space, trust, touch, filled my cup of connection.

"Horse spirit", the card said.

I spoke my desire and it was seen and granted. I noticed I wanted company and I allowed myself to request it. A new point of reference. To focus my energy on.

My body spoke as it wanted. We gave it space with my group of witnesses. I asked it to tell me what it wanted. "Give me space", it said. For its voice, for its song, for its dance.

The water point in my fire line was touched by the needle. Perhaps it can cool down the intensity of my being's energy bursts. From sharp to smooth. From insatiable to aware.

Stuck teenager

To a man thirsty for intimate love, as I have been, the world often revolves around a certain other person, and it is divided into two states:

1. She does not allow me in her intimate space (and I want it)
2. She allows me in her intimate space (and I fear its revocation)

Stress plagues the mind in either case, urging me to somehow sneak my way in or to keep and express the traits that brought me there in the first place. "What did you like about me? I'll be that! As long as it keeps you with me!"

Both states spur my will to be something that I am not. If I still want it, I am lacking what helps me get it, (Confidence? Musky smell? Terse muscles?), and I must somehow change, or show it to her, to get there. If I already have it, it's probably because of that thing I was or did or said. Well, I can't be it or do it or say it all the time, but I'll look for ways to express the same. Was it a joke? I'll be funny. Was it attention? I'll listen to you more than I like. In either case, these are static attributes, scabs of a past time that I sneakily keep and reproduce to be "that same person", and keep you with me. They're not the fresh me.

Then one night I was invited in. I had done nothing. I did not feel infatuation. I did not feel an urge from her side. I received a clear, neutral invitation to fully cup her genitals with my hand, and I accepted it with no further hidden hopes. Complete eye contact while she placed my hand between her legs. My body felt relief, and our eye contact continued. No sneaking. No invasion. No shame. I entered her intimate space without earning it. Without maybe-regrets. Without fear of it falling apart. We saw and acknowledged each other with a clear look, that just said "yes, this is what is happening now". And it meant nothing besides itself.

I felt something inside me shift. The desperate teenager stuck in me had been handed over "the treasure", the "goal" of his world into his hand. And there was nothing it meant, and nothing he had to do or even could do to to keep it. His mind calmed down. "What now?", it asked. "Nothing", I replied. He realized he need not strive, understand, sneak, hunt, woo women with whatever worked at the moment. He can just be. And with him, so can I.