Sex is my Religion

Over the past several months, I have been developing my relationship with my sweetheart. For the duration of that time, I have constantly been trying to convince myself that it is a low-commitment, low-maintenance, low-expectation, minimal-feelings relationship. However, each time I visit, I hate the leaving part more and more. I still cry at least once per visit because I’m so scared that I care “too much.” How much is too much? I do not want to love him more than he wants me to. Love, yes, we now classify our association to one another as love.

Any time I love someone in this way, I do it with my whole being. It is a kind of spiritual, sanctified self-immolation. This is something I do only for those individuals in whose eyes I see grains of stardust, who show me maps of myself, who touch divinity with their bare hands and speak through shadows. But the flame of my love does not result in a loss of myself, as you might imagine. Rather, this fire helps my true colors burn fearlessly. It gives me a gift of sight – to see the true colors of others.

Two days ago, we had the opportunity to connect in an extremely intimate way. In the morning, we rolled around a little bit before finding ourselves wanting to breathe together. He sat cross-legged while I sat in his lap with my legs around him. We embraced and breathed and brought up the light between us, resting our heads on each other. There’s a reason that posture is part of the kama sutra. It literally aligns your chakras to one another. After that, I was so turned on that I was literally dripping down my own thighs. My sweetheart gave me a super fun, quick & sneaky orgasm right before our time together was cut short. I could hardly wait for more.

We were able to once again have skin-time that evening. For a long time, we simply kissed and intertwined ourselves, talking in between. Eventually I could wait no longer to give of the warmth and softness of my mouth. That really is one of my favorite things, but it’s hard to pick favorites. Next on the agenda, and also on the list of favorite things in no particular order, is getting fucked really hard, kneeling with my face down, fistfuls of blanket, holding me steady, and my beautiful curly hair displayed magnificently. That is a feeling that defies language. I would say that it had potential to be the best ever, but each and every time has felt like that. The best. Ever. Then, I put my mouth back to work until my sweetheart submitted to the pleasure I was providing.

Even if that is all that had happened, it would have been a deeply satisfying interaction. Even when it is just cuddles and kisses and closeness, I am happy.

My sweetheart reclined serenely with his eyes closed, breathing after the big release, and something stirred in me to put my hands on him. I began to stroke his skin from finger tips to toes and back again with firm pressure and gentle pressure, breathing all the while. Focusing on his legs for a few minutes, I brought both my hands down to the bottoms of his feet – which are, on my body, like the drainage valves of stuck emotion. Then, kneeling beside him, I reached out with my left hand to gently touch each of his chakras one by one for maybe about 45 seconds each. I listened as he breathed deeply, intentionally, knowing what I was doing. I breathed with him, envisioning each color and listening for the buzz of spinning heat and light. As I reached his crown chakra, I placed my right hand a little ways above the top of his head and nuzzled myself into the nook of his arm.

The tears always come from places inside me that escape detection. First, the pressure in my throat built up, my lips trembled and a few tears slipped away – the scouts checking to see if the coast is clear. I held him, he held me, and I allowed myself a few more. I talked to him about my fears. I said, “I’m afraid to love you more than you want me to.” His response was and is always just right, exactly what I needed to hear at that moment, “I don’t want you to give up your life.” What I heard in that was, “don’t lose yourself in me.” I haven’t, I don’t, and I won’t. With tears still flowing quietly, I brought myself up to my knees. My sweetheart did the same, moved around behind me and put his hands on my back. My tears were harder to choke back now, cleansing tears, healing tears. His strong breath grounded me while he moved energy around with his hands, jiggling the sticky energetic knots until they moved freely. He touched my long hair and treated me with such reverence.

Turning around to face him, I said, “This is why I say that sex is my religion. [my voice cracking] Because sometimes I touch the god parts.” Sometimes I find the beacons of divinity in other people and the beauty destroys my composure.

Sometimes sexual intimacy lets me reach my hands inside a ball of light and touch the divine water. Sometimes, through the language of sex, I can send and receive messages to the deepest parts of myself and others. I knew I could heal others, but it has only just now become clear that sometimes the healing touch I give can also be reflected back in healing for myself.

I am ever less afraid of loving my sweetheart even the slightest bit too much. I’m trying just to let it happen as organically as possible.

3 thoughts on “Sex is my Religion

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