The first step on your journey with desire

Your body belongs to you.

Your emotions belong to you.

Your sexuality belongs to you.

And you get to choose who you want to share any (or all, or none) of these aspects of yourself with.

You get to choose to explore and enjoy your sexuality, on your own terms, regardless of what anyone else might expect, demand, or presume of you.

You are allowed to explore, evolve, express, and enjoy your sexual self – if you choose.

The only permission you need is from yourself.

This is a fundamental aspect of being a desire line walker.

We do not need to be a reflection of what – or who – other people expect us to be; we can each radiate who we truly are.

As we begin the Desire Lines Book Club this lunar month (16 October 2020), step 1 is allowing yourself to explore your sexual self.

This is how you begin your journey with desire.

Please follow me on Facebook or Instagram and use #UnboundBookClub to join in!

Are you in the mood?

Think back for a moment to a time when you felt horny…

Maybe you’d been reading or watching something erotic? Maybe someone had touched you (consensually) in a seductive way? Maybe you were going about your day-to-day business and suddenly became aware of a ‘tingle in your pants’ that reminded you that your body wanted some pleasure?

(Or maybe you’re finding it really hard right now to recall a time in recent memory when you felt that way?)

Horny’ might not be the word you would tend to use to describe how you feel (maybe you talk about being ‘in the mood’ or ‘hungry’ or something else) but it is a word that most adults can understand the meaning of. It’s part of our common language. And that’s why those feelings can be (fairly) easy to write about in erotica.

Equally, if I talk about ‘libido’ – although it can sound more formal and clinical than horny – you probably recognise that as relating to the urge or desire to have sex/sexual contact. Horny is playful. But we generally hear about libido in the context of it going missing, or being mismatched with a partner’s. Consequently, it’s often thought of as being unreliable or somehow problematic.

But did you know that feeling horny and having an active libido are only part of the picture when it comes to sexual desire?

They are the obvious, blatant aspects of something that goes way deeper and is way more elaborate and captivating than whether you’re ready to ‘get it on’ or not.

What happens if we talk about ‘sexual energy’ instead?

In some settings the term ‘sexual energy’ is bandied about freely, everyone nods in understanding: they know what it is, how to access it and what to do with it once they’ve tuned in to it.

I’ve been in those settings: usually facilitated groups and workshops where people have come together to explore ‘conscious sexuality’ – literally bringing their sexuality more into their conscious awareness rather than it being something that rumbles along in the background, with occasional spikes and peaks when they are in an actual sexual situation.

I’ve also worked with sexual energy in a one-to-one therapeutic environment. Using my sexual energy as a barometer to help me work intuitively with people who – for whatever reason – find it difficult to relax into and enjoy their sexuality.

But I’m very aware that reading the term ‘sexual energy’ as words on a screen doesn’t really mean anything unless you’ve had an embodied experience of it.

Feeling horny is one way we can feel our sexual energy in our body but there are many other ways too.

How to feel your sexual energy…

Imagine for a moment that you are just a body – just a physical object that can move around, can perform tasks, but doesn’t have any personality.

Now imagine adding into that body the bit that makes you uniquely you. It’s the bit that means you have preferences (chocolate ice cream or vanilla?). It’s the bit that makes you feel emotions (loving the ice cream or hating it?). And it’s the bit that compels you to do things purely for enjoyment, connection, and self-expression.

This is your life force energy. It’s what animates us. It’s what gives us a feeling of vitality and aliveness.

It’s my belief that this life force energy is essentially creative energy: we co-create our lives, with each person’s story having subtle and profound differences to the next.

This creative energy is also sexual energy: not just about creating ‘new life’ in the form of reproduction, but also creating sexual heat, pleasure, intimacy, and connection.

Creative energy and sexual energy co-exist in a virtuous cycle: our creative energy feeds into our sexual energy which feeds into our creative energy…and so on.

Which means: we can use our creative energy to tap into our sexual energy and vice versa.

Which also means: writing (creating) erotic stories is one way to play with our sexual energy.

Dancing (creating movements to music) is another way.

Visualising (creating pictures in our mind’s eye) is another way.

Playing dress-up (creating alter-egos and role play) is another way.

All ways that don’t require physical sexual contact with another person, matching libidos, or even the ‘tingle in your pants’ horny feeling.

And those are only a few examples.

Which is why I talk about sexual energy as being something expansive and accessible to each of us regardless of our relationship situation or where our libido is at.

I don’t know about you but, to me, that feels incredibly freeing and exciting. It gives me a sense of ownership of my sexual energy. It feels empowering. And it feels like something I want to explore and enjoy more.

How about you? 

Stay tuned for more creative sexuality opportunities coming soon!

Please sign up to hear more…(and get a Free Erotic Writing Guidebook!)

Shapeshifting through change

The last time I wrote about Shapeshifting, I was writing about my explorations and experiences of softening the edges of gender in my book Desire Lines:

“I don’t feel like a woman any more.  As a woman, there are constraints and expectations placed upon me: don’t take up too much space; don’t make too much noise; be aware of others around you (for your own safety and also in case you need to be of assistance to them). I can sense movement all around me but it has nothing to do with me. All I need to attend to is myself and the new shape I am becoming.”

This time I’m exploring a different kind of shapeshifting.

The sexual self I was no longer fits me. Like a snake outgrowing its skin, I need to shed the familiar in order to be clothed in the new. I feel more like a crab than a snake though. I feel vulnerable and soft as I step out of my shell. I’ve been wearing it for so many years – what will I find underneath?

My previous, gender-themed, shapeshifting explorations were facilitated by workshop leaders at conscious sexuality events.

The shapeshifting I’m experiencing now has a different catalyst: it’s known as ‘the change’ for a reason.

At 47 years old I’m somewhere in my perimenopausal journey. I don’t know if I’m still at the beginning, if I’ve made it to the middle, or if I’m nearing the end. All I know is that changes are happening that are beyond my control. Physical changes as my once predictable cycle stutters and storms. And emotional changes: I’m more anxious, I cry more readily, and I experience every feeling magnified by at least 10x.

And there are changes to my sexual self too. How could there not be given what’s happening in my body and soul?

I swing dramatically between ravenous hunger – almost to the point of pain – for intimate sexual touch, and thirsting only for gentle affection – to be held, for a space in someone’s arms that I can retreat into.

My desire for kink fluctuates more wildly than I have ever known: I alternately crave it and recoil from it.

It feels like it would be too easy to pack my sexuality away in a box labeled “attic”. If I did, perhaps I’d unpack it again sometime, happy to see it and clothe myself in it once more, like a once-loved party frock. But what if I forgot about it and the box stayed sealed up and dusty, any remnants of my sexual self eventually fraying and perishing over time?

Even in the midst of the perimenopause, even in the midst of a pandemic, I can’t (and won’t) let my sexuality wither.

I’ve been deliberately looking for ways to stay connected to my sexual self and to make space for the new version of it that is emerging.

I’ve started looking at old photos: searching for who I was before I began to shed this skin. They help me to appreciate and understand other changes my sexual self has been through – and survived. Physical changes as my body gained and lost weight, got sick, had surgery. Emotional changes as relationships ended and began. The times when I felt wild and adventurous. And those when circumstances dictated I was solid and stable.

I’ve also started having conversations with others about all different aspects of living as sexual beings. These Intimate Conversations light me up, remind me – again – of who I was, who I am, and who I might be yet to become.

And I’ve given myself permission to write again. Sometimes just for me and my journal, sometimes a heart-exposing letter to a loved one, and sometimes here – offering my softshell skin to others as a way to be witnessed and to share that none of us need to go through this alone.

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