How I made my life as compelling as having sex in bed

by OneTaste New York  Feb 13, 2015
How I made my life as compelling as having sex in bed

How many years did I have to suffer through the agony of wanting to be in love and be in purpose? Because to be human means you are always divided. You are always needed in two worlds. You will always want to be in love because in love is where you touch your soul, the deepest core of surrender that you can, it’s where you get fucked the way you want, it’s where he and I meet and know God together. It’s where everything aches fervently and deeply and it’s ok. Yearning as breathing, as eating, as sleeping. A yearning like a howling wind of loneliness yet with another person, with him, a yearning that hurts it wants so much, and curling up into his arms at the end of the night I could finally just feel all of it. Feel possessed by something much stronger than me, much bigger than me, could finally let go and slip into a realm where everything is flavor and fluid, lights and sounds, emotions and sensations. Formless love-making, sinuous and quaking, involuntary shivers, skin rippling like a cats fur at the tip of a finger of each touch. Hungry and unapologetic, every other element of life forsaken, This Is My Purpose. This man is my whole reason for being, he is my feast, my object of complete adoration, he is my drug, he is the only thing that is real and everything else was always an illusion. Complete presence, complete immersion into my senses, complete oblivion and saturation in sensation. 100% used up, used, taken, no-separation, Union. Nothing else ever existed, only the fire of our bed and the sweat of our bodies and the scent of your skin and the texture of my lips.

Reintegration into reality the next day was always so hard. The seam between regular life and sex and love was so thick and disorderly and torn and re-torn and re-sewn. Jagged like a doll with her stuffing pulled out again and again. Exiting the bed was like tearing out my soul and leaving it tucked under the covers with him while I went out as an empty cup, unable to be filled by anything but him. It was like drug withdrawal. And oh god when he left, oh dear god in heaven when he left me. Meetings, books on ending relationships and letting go, late night crying and consoling talks with loved ones…nothing helped. Nothing but time. And even time could only create yet another seam, a false rendering of reconnection, more of a reminder of separation than a solution to it.

And so on. For years. In between, in the pauses, another yearning formed. A yearning for my daily life to be as gorgeous and soul-compelling as my bed. I had to have it that every day was as good or I would die, my heart would die, and I would become just like all the unfulfilled zombies walking around the earth working to not work for a few hours, working to catch some fleeting moments of bliss here and there, working to drink at the end of the day, working to be able to afford the numbing agents so freely and vehemently advertised and offered by every god damn store on every god damn corner. Clothes, coffee, alcohol, entertainment, distractions, smoke and mirrors, feel better for an hour and let’s not talk about what happens after that. After that you feel worse and then go to work to make some more money to buy some more numbing. No. It couldn’t be like that, I couldn’t stomach it, I couldn’t take that little. I couldn’t believe that was all that was available. I couldn’t believe that’s all that this life was meant to offer. I would rather die.

These were defining moments for me in my head. I would corner myself into these spots and find a hard NO somewhere at the end of the line. And that spot would begin to make everything shift, like sixteen tons of water hitting a wall made of Absolutely Not and coursing elsewhere, into a new direction. This is how I move the deepest parts of myself. So I set out to find Purpose. My day to day life simply had to be as freeing, extraordinary, mind-blowing and electrified as my bed was. I refused to take less when some part of knew there was more.

And I found that. I found it and I called it in and I essentially fucked it and licked it and took it and begged it into being. That’s where I live now: my life is as good on a daily basis as sex. My life IS sex; the way I talk to people, it’s called Stroking. I verbally stroke people. The way I love the best out of people, it’s like fucking. It’s as though I slip over to you, my love conducted through my gaze, and slink all over you, gushing orgasm and sex into you, calling your name, singing your praises into your ear ever so softly. Like a lover. That was the key in the end: give myself over to the moment all the way, all the way to the same degree I would in sex. Be who I am in bed, in the world, in my conversations, in my job, in my loving. (Don’t worry, I calibrate for propriety.)