Orgasm: The Elephant in the Room
The milestone of orgasm sits between us. The pressure mounts when the sheets come down for Orgasm is its own entity, a third party, a player if you will in bedroom economics. Orgasm as the prize is the get to; the reaching for, the achievement—the thing to conquer and seize—Carpe Orgasma!
I am orgasm’s bitch and she is the Mistress in my bed. Yet for all of her power she is more often than not a third wheel. Mistress O gets in the way with her hidden ways and her looming presence – ethereal yet solid. For Mistress O is reticent, persnickety, and at times downright elusive. Her lack of presence in her presence is damning, creating a space and a widening gulf between my partner and I.
Men may complain that they always have to ‘perform’ – that women don’t know what it’s like to have to always get it up, to have to get their flags to fly, to have it all hanging out there in the wind. No, I don’t know what it is like to be that obvious in visual cue, but can they understand that women too – have to perform and rise to the expectation of orgasm. Men of my past wanted to diddle me for 5 minutes and when I didn’t come on cue, they got frustrated, annoyed, and even angry. The pressure of having to come within a specified timeframe makes Mistress O all the more likely to stay hidden and yet publically and ostentatiously out there in the open as something that didn’t happen.
I’m an incredibly passionate woman and yet my motor requires connection and trust to do more than sit at idle. Sex for sex sake isn’t something that appeals as it lacks intimacy and grace with all its grunting and heaving to and fro where someone is always left unsatisfied.
I want passion to flow between myself and my partner. I want it to be just the two of us exploring with lips, tongues, fingers, skin-on-skin – the warm heat of our bodies intermingling in their entropy. I want to kiss for hours. I want to feel the deep pressure of a man’s weight on top of me – pressing into the core of my being. I want to sit on top with the curtains of my hair affording us privacy as we alternatively embrace lips or stare into each other’s eyes. I want to feel the sweet entanglement of our limbs and admire the picture we make on bright linen sheets. I want to laugh uproariously in the juiciness of our energy. I want to whisper forbidden passion and silly secrets. I want to tease the hair on my partner’s chest into beehives of buzzing desire and with a tweak of nipple, unleash the sting. I want to admire the line of his body and kiss him from his toes to the crown of his head – giving him to God in every part of his being. I want to feel his strong arms holding me close to him while I lay my ear against his heart center so I can breathe in the thumping of his organ piping his life’s blood through his skin and bones in sweet timbre. I want to witness his being, his vitality, his aliveness as his chest rises and falls – knowing the breath he breathes is that of God. I want him to see me as She, the living vessel of Goddess. Her gloriousness manifests in the toss of my hair, the jiggle of my breasts, the curve of my hip, and the words whispered from my full lips. I want him to drink the water streaming down the line of my neck pooling into my clavicle flowing down the hills and valleys of my frame thinning into a line of salty wetness dripping off the tip of my toe. I want to hold his face while we kiss for hours – lips and tongues and nuzzling faces. I want all the time in the world to just be: him and I. . . alone in the presence of the Divine. Hours alone, just him and I in the intimacy we create. Hours alone, just him and I, embracing time for both of us to relax and to trust and to feel safe, treasured, and cherished. Hours alone, just him and I, where our two hearts meet touching each other’s truth.
And if Mistress O appears, by then She will be welcomed as the gorgeous Diva she is. Delicious, delectable, delightful, and center stage with all the spotlights. I want to be so open to Her that I beg for sweet mercy.