i want

i want to devour you
i want every part of you to vibrate within 
all the spaces inside of me
that have been waiting 
for you

i want to scream out my joy
at being here with you
and how easy
and alive
i feel

i want to touch every moment of you
make you feel encompassed
by my love

i want to burrow inside you
into the spaces
no one else 
to go

lexi (part i)

she went by lexi at the temptress temple, and her booth was the last one in the hallway lined with black-doored booths. by the time clients’ eyes fell upon her silky wheat colored hair they found themselves ensnared in the depths of her gaze, steady and piercing. they were stripped bare in front of her, and they stepped forward in fascination, closing the door to the outside world and giving themselves to lexi’s even gaze and captivating, graceful movements.

the day marco walked into her line of view was the first time lexi’s gaze faltered. it was a bitterly cold night, and she blinked a few times at the bundled up gentleman before her, before breaking into a slow, seductively familiar smile. he smiled back, slowly walking toward her, and stepped into her booth, shutting the door behind him without breaking their eye contact. he sat down in the leather chair that stood in front of the plexiglass window lexi sat behind. her legs were crossed and she was slowly playing with her long hair. he picked up the phone receiver as the same time she did, bringing it to his ear with a sly grin on his face that belied the guardedness in his eyes.

“fancy meeting you here… if you feel so inclined, I’d like to have your most exquisite show” he said, with a knowing smile.

(to be continued)

loving ourselves with small gentle steps

every weekday i put on my passably-corporate garb, run (usually literally) to catch my bus (so as to avoid the glares and cold shoulders my late arrival consistently elicits), and play my role in this corporate giant living and (arguably) thriving another day. on so-called breaks, i walk the skyways, encountering an ocean of corporately-garbed “professionals” who would convince the casual observer they were the picture of the normalcy after which they so strive. they alternately avoid eye contact with me or attempt inconspicuous stares/glances that range from jealousy to lust to surprise and intrigue. i let my freak flag fly as much as i am able within the confines of repressed midwest office dress code policy, hoping it will function as a beacon for other half-hidden freaks. when i spot them we give each other knowing, sweetly supportive smiles and my morale is boosted knowing i am not alone. 

i wonder at so many striving for this concept of normalcy that is a failed venture at best, and at worst destroys you from the inside, via numbing and shame-induced paralysis. the drive towards normalcy in this culture is perplexing to me. i have been othered for so long i have forgotten what it feels like to desire anything resembling “normalcy”. recently a coworker looked at me in concern after i had cleared my throat a couple of times, handing me a bag of lozenges and asking me what on earth was going on that i had so much throat-clearing. i didn’t know how to respond to this throat-clearing shame, it seemed like satire but was real as far as i could tell. i tried going back to my work, feeling my throat and tiniest body-noises were now under close scrutiny and surveillance. 

as marty klein says in his book “sexual intelligence”, “for millions of men and women, ‘i didn’t mess that up too badly’ is as good as sex gets.” with this culturally-mandated approach to pleasure, it is no wonder we (the united states) are the most medicated, numbed-out adult contingent in history (brené brown). with a level of shame and self-consciousness that is sending us running for pills, surgeries, diets, shopping, and anything else we perceive might give us temporary reprieve from the pain of a constant self-and-society-induced sense of isolation, what does it take to even begin to approach loving ourselves? and if we can’t love ourselves even a little bit, there is little hope for us loving our sexuality, which can feel outright dangerous to one who has such an incapacitating (and often unconscious) terror of their own shadow-self.

my ayurveda training taught me that until you can hold darkness, you cannot hold light either; but how many of us can fully acknowledge this? we want to take ourselves the way we take our coffee- with three pumps of hazlenut syrup, 180 degrees, half-caf, and no knowledge of the more complicated aspects, such as the lives affected by those beans as they were grown, harvested, roasted, and transported to our local starbucks. but not understanding and appreciating the long and often less-than-palatable way those beans arrive in our cups also robs us of a full appreciation of the small miracle(s) of modern human ingenuity that brought us coffee, the dignity and integrity we feel when we are fully and intelligently informed, and the gratitude i suspect would necessarily arise from this full knowledge. and few things taste quite so delicious as gratitude and integrity.

so this is my challenge to you, world: take a small, gentle step each day to work towards loving yourself, and maybe someday we will be ready to have an adult dialogue about our sexualit(ies).

when you touch me

you swaddle me
with your love
carefully laying me out
arranging me just so
then gently
but firmly
weaving a rhythm that
sinks into my bones
settles and nestles into my heart
makes my body weep
with joy
with heartache
with the melancholy of a thousand lonely nights

in the midst of this crude, angsty life
you are my warm summer rain


just home from a day and night spent with a dear lover, and pondering again the immense privilege of intimacy with another human… the beauty and healing power of this encounter for me is soul-deep. it will sustain me through my week.


darling you break my heart
each time you make love to me
looking into my eyes
and slowly moving inside of me…
i can feel our hearts expanding and
opening as wide
and lovingly
as saying the words
as your arms wrapping me closer than i thought we could be
as my desire-soaked body pulling you to me
as the impossible spaces we have created for each other

who needs words
when this loving vibrant energy
is wrapping us in feelings so much clearer
than language could articulate?

fragments of connection: a response

philip. i get on my bus after a long day at a job i am grateful for, but don’t love. an older man shuffles aboard and sits next to me, despite plenty of other empty seats. i am slightly annoyed when he starts talking to me, wanting to indulge in self-pity in the form of melancholy songs played in my earbuds, and resent the intrusion. he has a soft, only at times detectable accent, and a sweet voice, and asks about my photography and tells me about his leica, asking if they still make them? i smile and laugh, thawing in the presence of his soft openness and friendly demeanor. he asks nothing of me, has no expectations, and i am suddenly overwhelmed by the godliness in him, and overcome with gratitude for karma sending him to me at just the moment i needed it. he tells me he paints. the thought passes through my head that when i imagined having a moment with god, i didn’t expect they would choose to manifest as a white man. when we arrive at my stop i give him my card and he tells me his name is philip.

dire straits. a lover texts me asking if i like dire straits? i think immediately of late nights in dive bars, watching my ex play dire straits covers in the band he played with when we met in college. i respond yes, i love dire straits, smiling in the sweet softness of those dive bar memories. my lover says he often listens to them in the morning, and that romeo & juliet made him think of me. i play the song on my iphone and feel my eyes fill with tears as i hear the lines ‘juliet when we made love you used to cry / you said i love you like the stars above i’ll love you till i die’ and remember the night i cried while he was making love to me…

baptism. i am dissolving into sobs that feel like a baptism in past traumas and sorrows washing through my body. i wonder what he is thinking, but can’t stop myself. he holds me and asks what i need, stroking my back and head while i release trauma i hadn’t known was there. after i am calm, i kiss him in gratitude for holding space for me, overwhelmed by the intimacy of being held emotionally by a lover.

touch. my little sister is having a crisis. after a night of drinking tea and talking through her options, i give her a head massage before she goes home. i hold her head against my chest, and use both hands to massage her neck and head. i feel instantly nine years old, holding her as a baby and comforting her until she fell asleep against me. i can feel her tangible release, and am struck by the beauty and intimacy of our relationship, and how grateful i am for her. i feel a literal outpouring of my love flowing into her, and i think of the very real healing power of touch. i think sadly that i am not able to have this intimacy with my brothers, because of societal norms, as i consider how little my family touched each other in healing ways. it feels sad how much we have lost touch with this. i want to tell everyone how accessible this intuitive healing is to all of us, to give ourselves and others.

a dharma statement

i have been wanting to talk about sex for a long time. i’ve been wanting to start conversations. i’ve been wanting to share my thoughts and observations and experiences in a safe, intentional space. a space that is healing and aimed at self-growth and honest and open sharing. committed to compassionate and thoughtful conversations about all things sexual. committed to playing a role in transforming societally-ingrained shame into vulnerability, openness and tolerance. committed to daring greatly (~brené brown’s talk on vulnerability) in this life.

today i am an artist, a seeker, sex enthusiast, sister, daughter, friend, yogi, healer, student, lover… among other things. i feel a deep gratitude for the wonder of being alive in this world and experiencing the infinitely mysterious highs and lows of life.