Women Obsess About Staying Young & Beautiful. Are We Wasting Our Money & Time?

“I usually go for young, hot chicks – no offense meant – but I experience all of this [multiple orgasms] with you. How is that?”

Asked the overweight, not very hot, significantly older man after experiencing the second or third session of incredible orgasmic energy with me.

My answer begins with a question: what is a woman’s role in sex?

Is it (a) to arouse an erection in a man and then be a receptive hole for him to thrust in and out of until he has emptied his ball bag?

Or is it (b) to be a partner in the activation, expansion and movement of sexual energy in and between bodies?

The standard, patriarchal model of sex programmes us all, and especially men, into believing the answer is (a).

Thus, many, many women spend lifetimes – and small fortunes – trying to maintain youthfulness to remain “young, hot chicks” so that they activate male arousal which is everyone’s programmed route into sex.

Being a “young, hot chick” is the goal, and expectation, for women living in a patriarchal society. The mature crone has been erased as a stage of life of value and worth. All eyes fixate on the maiden and the young (fertile) mother who fights deep fatigue and post labour hormones to reclaim the body of a “young, hot chick” so that she can continue to arouse the all-important erection.

In Snow White we meet the evil step mother – an aging beauty but still a Queen at the height of her powers – who so fears the “young, hot chick” in her care that she repeatedly goes to extreme lengths to have her killed.

The murderous jealousy of older women is not the only thing that “young, hot chicks” have to fear.  If a society is programmed into thinking it is a woman’s function to trigger male erection and then provide it with a willing hole, attractiveness is easily equated with sexual availability. Whether this is something the “young, hot chick” intended to advertise or not.

Thus, being a “young, hot chick” is a dangerous stage of life for women.

In order to protect ourselves many women, including myself, have used clothes and the physical presentation of our bodies (including weight gain) to avoid triggering male desire as we go about our daily lives and to convey the very firm message that we are not available holes to be pumped for male pleasure and physical relief.

Much of this is subconscious and needs to be drawn out of us in therapy. For some of us the arts – theatre, cinema, music – helps us to see what we have been doing our whole lives.

I am going to share a story which is very, very, very common amongst women and very shocking for modern men who had assumed and hoped that we were living in better times. I share to illustrate my thoughts around “young hot chicks” and to talk about my subsequent empowerment, not to elicit pity or hand wringing.

In 2022 Husband bought us tickets to see Jodie Comer staring in Prima Facie. He bought the tickets because he is a huge Jodie Comer fan not because he knew or had any opinion about the subject matter.

It’s a one woman show and she was phenomenal in it. It tells the tale of a defence barrister who makes a living from defending, amongst others, male rapists. In Part I she is sexy, sassy, smart, funny and full of confidence. She portrays a “young, hot chick” with a brain – super sexy.

Her colleague thought so too. One night after she had had a few too many drinks (celebrating a win in court) he took her drunkenness for consent, and raped her.

In one hideous scene the defence barrister became the victim.

“Victim” was acted with a different voice, a different pace and a different posture. The shoulders slumped, her voice was less confident, the pace of her life slowed down to an almost standstill. What struck me the most and made me feel physically sick were her clothes.

Gone were the sexy, tight barrister-black trouser suits that showed her slim maiden body. The “victim” wore shapeless, baggy, grey clothes. Turning a siren into a lump of rock.

As I watched Jodie Comer acting “victim” I felt waves of nausea washing over me, I couldn’t feel my body, I felt numb all over. I was watching my teenage self on stage. Decades of repressed pain flooded through me.

I became a “victim” at 12 years old. A mature man saw my “young, hot chick” body, liked what he saw and manipulated me into a situation where I had no choice but to “give” him what he wanted.

Watching how Jodie Comer’s “victim” reacted to her rape by wearing shapeless, baggy, grey clothes made me realise, viscerally, that I had done the same for the whole of my life since I was 12 years old.

From this very young age I had understood that clothes become your armour when you go out into the world in which you don’t know which man is the next rapist.

When someone your family knows and trusts rapes you, you learn that every man is a potential threat and that your best protection is to look the polar opposite to “hot”.

(The message I learned at 12 is reinforced in every court room across the Western world. A Woman’s choice of clothes is routinely examined by defence lawyers to make the case that by making herself look attractive she made herself available for sex. In this way a woman’s choice of clothes, e.g. knickers – worn underneath jeans – becomes her consent to have an erection or finger pushed into her.)

Fulfilling my patriarchal duty and triggering erections by looking “hot” as in model (a) is

  • deeply disempowering and
  • led, in the past, when I was very, very, very, young, to me being raped.

If looking like a “young, hot chick” gets me unwanted and harmful attention then I will disguise my beautiful body under clothes that make me look frumpy and unavailable. That way I will be safe.

If “young, hot chick” is interpreted by men as “available for hire” then frumpy and unattractive, we hope, conveys the very opposite message. It is how I stayed safe after my rape but I did not realise this until I saw Jodie Comer wearing “my” clothes on stage after her rape.

Oooofff.

Other women go further. I have had friends confide in me that the best armour of protection against unwanted male attention is body weight. I do wonder if that’s the – subconscious – answer many women have to what can be deeply tiresome, often intimidating and, tragically too often, life changing male attention.

Male readers you have to understand that we can’t tell which of you is going to rape us.

You don’t wear labels or an identifying item of clothing like a handkerchief in your breast pocket. You are often our friends or colleague (as in Prima Facie). Horrifically often a family member.

Almost always a trusted person in our lives.

I was manipulated into the situation in which I was raped. I knew my assailant and I had reason to trust him. He did not have a handkerchief in his pocket warning me of his intentions. He seemed like a really lovely, safe man.

I want to be very, very clear here. I am not suggesting that all men are rapists. Absolutely not.

What I DO say is that the sexual model (a) – wired into men and women by patriarchal society – makes rape much, much more likely.

If you’re a woman “more likely” is a huge, life changing, problem.

So, my suggestion to women and the men who want to be our lovers is to reject model (a) in favour of model (b).

Is this a rejection of penetration? NO!!!! Absolutely not!

It’s a rejection of the female role in sex being reduced to being an eternal “young, hot chick.” It’s a rejection of the societal programming that makes female appearance the trigger for erection and erection the starting gun for every sexual encounter.

My problem with model (a) isn’t penetration. My problem is that the “young hot chicks” role for women is demeaning. It is time wasting at it’s best and abusive at it’s worst. Look at the amount of time and money women spend on maintaining youthfulness so that they qualify as “young, hot chicks.”

Sickeningly I think it’s largely wasted. The more powerful and protected a man under the patriarchal system becomes, the more he feels entitled to taste younger and younger “young, hot chicks.” And he’s as happy to constantly upgrade his “chicks” as he’d upgrade a car, or any other possession he owns, to demonstrate his status, power and virility.

Sex is far too sacred and beautiful to be misappropriated in this way!

When men, even those you usually prefer “young hot chicks,” experience model (b) they are blown away. I exist to blow them away along with their belief that model (a) is THE way to do sex and the ONLY way to do sex.

Even rich, powerful, men who can usually afford “young hot chicks,” want deep connection. Many (maybe most) are deeply lonely and disconnected. If you have spent your whole life using your money and privilege to manipulate and control people you will end up very isolated and alone.

It’s one of the cruellest ironies of life. We think money is the answer to all of life’s problems so devote a life time to acquiring it only to find out that life is as lonely (if not lonelier) with money as without.

The route to the desired connection is never through model (a). It is through model (b) – the way I do sex, and that is why, despite usually preferring “young hot chicks” my client experienced “all of this” with me.

Model (a) is the sexual model proscribed by patriarchy and reinforced by hundreds of years of enlightenment science which obsessively measured, analysed and categorised the material, physical world. If you could not see it then it did not exist.

In the physical realm sex was reduced to a physical act between two physical bodies primarily for the physical purpose of making babies. That’s why ejaculation is the sought-after prize of model (a) sex.

For ejaculation you need an erection.

In model (a), for an erection, you need “young hot chicks.”

Indigenous cultures around the world have always known there is so much more beyond the physical, material realm that we experience through our remaining senses. Indigenous cultures (and almost certainly earlier, pre-patriarchal human societies) maintain contact with the magical realm. Western science is now catching up. Science can’t call it magic (they have set themselves against magic for centuries) so they came up with a new term – the quantum realm.

Sex in the quantum, or magical, realm uses physical connection with and between bodies to connect with energy within and beyond our bodies. Sex becomes a practice through which you connect to the magic within you and beyond.

In an early training I heard my coach say, “Sexual energy is the energy of creation. It is the most powerful energy on the planet. Think about it, it creates LIFE.”

She went on to say what we have all known since our childhoods – sexual energy makes babies: baby humans, baby cows, baby pigs, baby sheep, via pollinators it makes baby apples, baby blackberries, baby cucumbers, baby rosehips etc.

And this powerful creatrix energy can be used consciously to create the lives we want to lead. To manifest our desires. To re-empower us into choice, agency and sovereignty.

You don’t have to use your sexual energy to manifest your desires. You can “just” enjoy incredible, full-bodied, mind-expanding, deeply connecting, multi-orgasmic experiences. And you can do all of this with women of every age and with men both with and without erections.

And here’s the reason why my I-usually-prefer-“young, hot chicks” client experienced so much more with me. I am a crone who has, amongst many other things, fully rejected model (a) in my life.

I still wear lose, baggy clothes and no makeup when I am out and about in the normal world. I still don’t seek or want male attention. In my work I use carefully crafted images to sell you what you want – an erection – and then give you what you need – an initiation into the magical realm of deeply connected, mind-expanding, full-bodied, multi-orgasmic sex.

The connection every human yearns for is gained through sex and it is often gained through penetration, but never in the model (a) version of sex.

Model (a) sex starts with an erection. These are often fleeting. They have a tendency to be impatient and demanding. Programmed to see a “young, hot chick” as inviting sex and the attractiveness of a woman as her consent for sex, erections dominate and take what they want. Female bodies shut down in response to this behaviour. We turn away from sex. Rejecting the men that we love and we yearn for connection with.

Model (b) starts differently. It is not an urgent, spontaneous erection-centric response to stimuli, it is a conscious, desired choice by both parties. The woman in this model is empowered to sometimes take the lead with her voice, her hands, her mouth, her presence. The man is invited to be soft and receive as well as to give.

In model (b) the woman pulls the man towards her when she wants him to penetrate her. He enters a fully alive, activated, pulsating and strong cunt. They will both often have orgasmed before penetration because in (b) orgasm is an expanded energy experience not the limited physical ejaculation of semen from the penis as it is in (a).

When you allow your sex to move from the limited material realm into the magical quantum realm it completely transforms the experience. Men are amazed by how much more they feel than when they are merely responding to an erection triggered by another “young, hot chick.”

And women are freed. We are freed from both the pressure to be, and the fear of being, a “young, hot chick.”

Empowered, we meet our men for sex as an equal partner in orgasm.

We feel safe because we are not going to experience another smash and grab raid on our bodies.

Instead, we are embarking on a magical journey of deep connection and pleasure with the men that we love.

Thinking is Sexy – And It’s More Important Than Ever To THINK

If rape is patriarchy’s weapon of choice against women, then war has to be the harshest of patriarchy’s weapons against men.

I have written previously about patriarchy’s war against men using the word “war” metaphorically. In this metaphorical war men are shut down and emotionally amputated by a social system that harms them as much as it harms women.

Damaged men then go on to harm women – programmed into being patriarchy’s tools of war in its battle against the feminine.  The system works as it is designed to – separating human beings who are wired for love and connection so that we can all be exploited and controlled.

Real WAR, the type fought with guns and bombs is the most brutal and total way in which patriarchy exploits, abuses and harms men. And we never, ever talk about it. There is almost complete omerta about the damage war does to our men and by extension us, their women.

Very, very, very few people gain from war ever.

This is a just a truth.

So why are millions of young men killed and maimed year after year after year?

Who gains?

What is gained?

Why are these wars fought?

If you have your eyes open and you have retained (or regained) your sovereign right to think for yourself and ask challenging questions (I would say this is more than a right, it is a duty) you have probably realised a long time ago that there is one small group of people who gain from war.

Everyone else loses.

The families in war torn countries obviously lose.

The families in the countries that wage the wars also lose as our taxes are spent on bombs rather than the schools, hospitals, roads, sports’ facilities, art galleries, theatres, pensions, parks, clean beaches etc etc that would enrich our lives and reward us all for our hard slog.

My youngest child turned 18 this year. He was born into the financial crash of 2008. His entire life has been spent in austerity. Meanwhile the money keeps flowing to make wars on the INNOCENT peoples of other countries.

I am impatient with the notion that only women and children are “innocent casualties” of war. Our men are too. Men, women and children are all innocent casualties of war waged across the world for the profit of the few.

By now you will be thinking, I am sure, why is Anabelle going off on one about war? What has war got to do with sensual massage and steamy sex?

My reply is that I am a whore, not a prostitute – I keep telling you this! And whores care, deeply, about humanity. We care deeply about the pain we connect to in the (mainly) men that we work with. We do not want our men to be hurt, maimed or killed.

Whores, like most women, deeply want our men to heal their wounding and stand beside us to create a better, kinder, more loving and compassionate world. The planet needs this and so do the humans living on her.

Whores, unlike most women, devote their lives to helping men heal their wounding. It is what we devote our sensual, steamy sessions to. Yes, we enjoy the pleasure we share with you and we devote it to healing – you, the planet, us, humanity.

Sexual energy is the energy of creation, when it is offered up, with intent for healing, it will heal.

But we are working against a monstrous war machine that is unrelenting in its pursuit of death and destruction in the interests of profits for the very, very few.

I am currently working quietly, in my own corner of the English countryside, connecting one man at a time to his divine power, his magnificence, his beauty, his love, his compassion and yes, his pleasure. As I do this the newspapers, TVs and radios in this country are constantly banging the drums for war, war and more war.

It is so unbelievably disheartening. I am up against an immensely powerful and well-funded war mongering establishment. I feel very tiny and insignificant. But I must use the little voice that I have and implore you to THINK.

Please.

THINK.

Please think for yourself.

Your thoughts are the most powerful weapon we have against the war mongers.  They invest billions in getting you to think their way. You can be a spanner in the works by thinking differently.

Just start by asking the question – to everything they want you to believe – WHO GAINS?

My great grandmother was interned in the first concentration camp – created, not by the Germans in WW2, but by the British in the Boer war in the early 1890s. She was a Boer (Afrikaner) imprisoned for the crime of living on the land the British wanted to control (well more specifically they wanted the diamonds underneath the land that my ancestors lived on). She was interned with her English husband who had committed the crime of marrying into the “enemy”.

He died of typhoid whilst interned. She survived with trauma that the females in my family are still trying to release from our bodies (possibly one of the reasons orgasm is so important to me – it’s a very deep release.)

Who gained?

Who gained from a war that my family still suffers from?

Did any of the families of any of the British (and Empire) soldiers who died or were maimed in that war gain from their death or maiming or did they just suffer like mine?

Did your family gain?

Did the British people gain?

For sure, a few British people gained.

These few are commemorated with countries named after them. Released and grieving, my great grandmother travelled north to escape the people who had imprisoned her family and killed her husband, into the country which, with cruel irony, was named after the man who had instigated the war.

They are commemorated in statues across our cities and with trust funds that ensure their descendants are always a rung higher up the hierarchical ladder than the descendants of the men who fought and died in the wars that they profited from.

Whatever the BBC, or The Times, or LBC tells you, war is not about fighting for your freedom (or your children’s freedoms), it is always, always about taking your freedom (and quite possibly life) and sacrificing it on the altar of their insatiable greed.

They rely on us having poor memories.

I don’t have a cognitive memory of the horrors of the concentration camp my great grandmother endured in the 1890s. I don’t have a cognitive memory of the terror my grandmother went through giving birth on a kitchen table during war time blackout in the 1940s.

But the memories do live on, as trauma, in my body which I have sadly passed down to my daughter.

Even when the damage wreaked by the guns, gases and bombs of war are repaired, the physical and emotional damage remains in our bodies. I doubt there is a single person living in the supposedly civilised western world that is not impacted to some degree or other by the wars fought in the time of our parents, grand-parents, great-grandparents and beyond.

How is this civilised?

How is it civilised to fight each other?

Any parent or primary school teacher can tell you that the earliest lessons we teach our children is to solve disputes without resorting to fighting. Yet our newspapers and TV screens are filled with experts saying over, and over, and over again – i.e. hypnotising us – into believing that we MUST fight – that there is no other way.

I doubt very much that the Boers really cared about the diamonds under their land. I am sure a negotiated settlement could have been reached. But when you want ALL the wealth, and ALL the land you don’t attempt to negotiate a settlement.

The British didn’t want to settle with the Boers in the Transvaal (diamonds), they didn’t want to settle with the Iranians (oil), they don’t want to settle with the Russians (abundant natural resources).

They want it all.

And because they want it, they create a narrative about “just wars” that entitle them to grab it. This has been the way the English have operated since Elizabeth I and her pirate sea dogs. The English power elite have looted and pillaged their way through history. Why would they stop now?

And they use our men to do their dirty work for them. The formula is simple:  you bang the drums for war. You persuade gullible and brainwashed young men, or men who have no other choices, to put on your uniform and sacrifice their lives or their mental and physical health for your desire so that you can own ALL the diamonds (oil or mineral natural resources).

I implore you again, THINK.

Why do you think the BBC, LBC and The Times want you to believe that Russia (like the Boers before them) are the greatest evil to mankind?

WHO GAINS?

Maybe DuckDuckGo the mineral wealth of Russia before rushing to an answer.

That is how you begin to THINK.

Most of my very lovely clients are from the blessed generations of Brits who have not gained first hand experience of the horrors of war. Other countries have not been as fortunate as we have, and shamefully we ignore our good fortune when we seek to deny people in great need refuge in our blessedly peaceful land.

I am deeply troubled that the lucky generations are nodding along with the evil messaging of our billionaire media class telling us that we need to prepare for even more war.

Armchair warriors across the nation, G&T in hand, nod along as the latest BBC nodding dog pronounces the need for conscription.

Unthinking Daily Mail readers consume the same messaging over their morning tea and toast.

The entire media establishment is busy making the “sensible” case for conscripting our young people into a “just war” for Russian resources.

Maybe I’m selfish, as a mum, to not want my beautiful boys sacrificed on the altar of Blackrock’s insatiable greed?

Maybe I’m selfish, as a citizen, to not want my country to be further depleted by a completely pointless war so that a few well positioned individuals can make themselves filthy rich?

Maybe I’m selfish, as a whore, to not want to navigate my way around broken bodies and broken souls?

The armchair warriors, the political pundits and the billionaire owned media do not seem to care about the cost of war. Maybe that is because they never pay it. Churchill led Empire troops into complete disaster at Gallipoli (how many lives were lost because of his incompetency?) and yet he is remembered as our “greatest war leader.”

It is easy to bang the drums of war when you never have to dance to the tune of war.

Surely, we have learnt this by now.

Are we really going to let ourselves be led on this merry little dance again.

You know how it goes – YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOU – bang, bang, bang the drums. Then the fatalities and casualties return year, after blood-soaked year, until finally an end to the slaughter is negotiated (by talk – talking is always the way the slaughter ends). Then comes the hand wringing, the wailing, the parades, the memorials, the poppies, the commitment to NEVER LET THIS HAPPEN AGAIN.

Until our memories fade and we start marching to their war drums, again.

Please.

THINK.

Think of your duty to the young men and women who have whole lives ahead of them.

Think of the intergenerational harm that is about to be inflicted all over again before we have fully healed from the last round of intergenerational harm.

Then challenge the narrative.

Be brave.

Find your voice and ask – everyone – is this actually necessary? Is it actually “just”. What is “just”?

If it is necessary for millions of Brits to follow their Ukrainian, Russian, Gazan, Syrian, Somalian, Libyan, Lebanese, Iranian, Afghan, Iraqi, Vietnamese etc etc brothers and sisters into the slaughter machine.

This Saturday, 10th October 2026, there is a rally in London to say NO to conscription. Read that again. It is not a rally to oppose another far away war in a far-away land. This is a rally to say NO to the conscription of our young people to die in a war that had a negotiated settlement between the two parties as long ago as April 2022 (which Boris Johnson scuppered).

The billionaire owned media will move from calling for conscription to tarring and feathering any of young people who take a principled stance against killing other young people in a different coloured uniform.

And you will nod along with that too unless you stop nodding.

You will also nod along to the imprisonment of young people – who could be building this country – for the crime of seeing the complete waste of war.

You may even nod along as your own children and grandchildren are sacrificed so that Boris and his mates can make another hefty contribution to their Caymen Island accounts.

Please.
THINK.

Please disconnect from their tools of mass hypnosis and regain your ability to think and challenge for yourself.

Thinking is fucking sexy. If you have got this far into this blog post you clearly agree! My regular readers find my writing as sexy as my body. I take that as a compliment rather than a kind way of saying “You’re not one of the hot young chicks I usually go for” (that is currently only a partially written blog post!)

Thinking women find thinking men sexy. Thinking men find thinking women sexy. If you have stayed with me this far then you are one of the sexy ones!

Why is thinking sexy? Well sexy is, as I keep saying, in blog after blog, your power and you cannot have power if you are not thinking. That is why women will have much bigger, deeper orgasms with a thinking man than they will with a hypnotised tool of the establishment – whatever the size of his cock.

And yes, I know I am being manipulative here, but these are desperately desperate times and I will bribe you with my orgasmic pleasure to save my sons or daughter (or any of their friends, or any of your children or grandchildren) from being conscripted to fight in another completely unnecessary war for the gain of already very rich and powerful people.

Humans are not aggressive and combative by nature. We are peace loving, sexy fucks who love to fuck. We have to be massively brainwashed into believing that war is somehow good for us. Just look at the consistency and persistence of their messaging if you doubt me.

And switch off from it.

Return to love.

Return to sex.

Return to orgasmic pleasure.

And read another of my blogs with your cup of tea or G&T instead of mindlessly consuming more of their hate.

Please.

THINK.

For the sake of my children. And yours. And his. And hers.

For the sake of all our children, this whore implores you to THINK.

And she reminds you that thinking is the sexiest thing any human can do.

Hieros Gamos – From Marriage into Divine Union

Regular readers have met my husband – you know him as The Lover. He is still The Lover and he is also Husband.

He was the man I met for a casual sexual encounter who I found I couldn’t see only the once. He was, and is still, the most incredible lover and there was also something more about him. More than I have ever experienced in any other man. It intrigued me, it excited me and it deeply healed me. Meeting him turned my world upside down.

Until I met Husband I was leading a pretty ordinary middle class, middle England life. I turned that life on its head so that I could keep experiencing him. Sitting here now, in our garden, writing this blog post as Anabelle, this all seems so ordinary and normal. Then I view myself through “normal eyes” and laugh. Here I am, a whore writing about the man who fucked me senseless when I was married to one man and deeply in love with another!

I have always had courage, others would say, sometimes too much. To which my reply is my courage is intuitive. Intuition is your body’s guidance system. If you want to truly trust your decisions, follow your intuition, it’s your subconscious making itself conscious and is far more powerful than your narrow and highly programmed conscious mind.

With more courage than I consciously knew I had, I held onto The Lover who in 2022 became Husband. The love we felt on the first day that we met has never waned. It has grown stronger with every challenge and with every passing year until we found ourselves here, in the Autumn of 2026, with him freshly returned from a retreat during which he fully stepped into his King energy.

I write a lot about the damage patriarchy wreaks on men. This is because I am a lover of many men, a wife to one man and the mother to two more. I see the damage. I have written about witnessing it happening. It causes me immense grief. I grieve for men and I grieve for us women who are in turn harmed by the men that patriarchy has damaged.

I know to the depths of my being that men are beautiful beings – my intuition tells me this is true – and yet, I am one of millions upon millions of women who have been deeply wounded by men. Not men as a concept.  Specific men who chose badly and acted badly because they were following their programming and/or acting from their wounding instead of from their Truth.

Husband knew he wounded me. I told him often enough. And he could feel in his bones that he was causing me pain. He saw how the woman who had courageously fought social programming, conditioning, judgement and exile to be with him was wounded by his wounding. He wanted to be better but he’d tried traditional therapy and it sucked for him (one actually kept checking her watch during the session in which he was trying to connect to, and speak of, his pain – can you imagine?!)

His pain at witnessing how his wounding hurt me was matched by a terror that I would grow tired of the cycle of arguments that plagued our otherwise beautiful relationship and simply give up on our magical union and my beautiful, beautiful man.

The arguments followed a similar pattern: first I would express an annoyance, irritation or need (in an admittedly tense voice because I feared what would come next) he would respond with denial and defence (because he’s a pleaser and has a deep need to be perfect for me) which just irritated me more.

My tone of voice would then become harsher which would trigger his childhood wounding so he would withdraw to keep himself safe. I took his withdrawal as abandonment which triggered my childhood wounding, filling me with rage.

In anger my words are chosen to be as cutting and as cruel as I can make them. Unsurprisingly he would withdraw deeper to lick his wounds and hide from the angry woman his beloved had morphed into. I took his further withdrawal as further proof of abandonment, even rejection, and so we would spiral. Sometimes for days.

It was exhausting. And incredibly painful for us both.

Intellectually I knew what we had to do. I could see the pattern. I am fully aware of, and am horrified by, his childhood wounding, as he is of mine. I have done a lot of training and am invited by couples to help them when a similar dynamic affects their sex lives. But it takes two people to commit to and build a beautiful and loving relationship. One person cannot, on their own, nourish a relationship.

It does take two.

Two people have to fully commit, heart, mind, body and soul to the relationship. To do that they have to have the courage to be vulnerable.

It is deeply, deeply vulnerable – and so incredibly brave – to commit 100% to another person. What if they’re faking it and have only committed 99%, or 95% or 90% or less?! If you commit yourself 100% you are super vulnerable to being hurt by the one who has committed less and has maintained an “out” option. So, most of us keep “out” at least a couple of percentage points, as a reserve, just to keep ourselves safe.

I don’t think this retention of a couple of percentage points is conscious. I think, on the contrary, that most people believe they are fully committed to their beloved and are surprised and a bit confused when either, their partners tell them that they are not 100% there or, the argument spiral kicks off and they’re planning their departure within minutes (again).

Fully committed is, as the vow in church says, “In sickness and in health, until death do us part.” How many of us actually commit to those words even as we say them? How many of us commit ourselves 100% to the other so that they feel safe enough to do the same for us? How many of us commit ourselves 100% at the risk that the other hasn’t?

This is the relationship minefield. It takes great courage to walk through it.

As I have told you, I have great courage.

Husband wanted to commit 100% to me. But he always found a bit of wiggle room. Nothing too easily identifiable, but enough of a % for me to feel it and even see it on occasion. I really thought I was committed to him 100%, that I was raw, honest, open and vulnerable with him, but as you will learn if you keep reading, I wasn’t.

In his desire to be the best he could be for me – to break our hideous argument spiral cycle -he announced one day that he was going to bite the bullet and do some “men’s work.” Neither of us were entirely sure what it entailed, but I had heard that it was transformational and we knew someone – a friend of a friend – who offered this work so Husband reached out.

Over an intense weekend he “did the work.” In a nurturing and caring community of men he was supported to express his anger at the people who caused his childhood wounding. He learned about the four masculine archetypes: Lover, Warrior, Magician, King and how patriarchy pushes these beautiful archetypes into the shadows from where they wreak havoc in men’s lives. He learned how the damaged masculine violates and desecrates the feminine and that in order to be Divine Masculine you have to honour and revere the Divine Feminine. Finally, he was initiated into his King energy.

The work is not over. It will be, like my work is, a lifetime of commitment, lapsing, recommitting, re-learning, learning anew – a spiral, rather than a linear, personal evolution.  But he made the commitment and he returned to me a King.

While Husband was on retreat with a group of courageous men walking the same path, I made my way over to Glastonbury for my first ever visit and my first ever yoni massage. Glastonbury is the earth’s heart chakra, I have long wanted to visit, to climb to the top of Glastonbury Tor, drink from the Chalice Wells and generally mooch around a small English town that is a magnet for heart opened souls from across the world.

Whilst wandering around I came across a mural on the side of an ordinary row of cottages that made me cross the road to look closer. It depicted Hieros Gamos – the union of Divine Masculine (Hieros) with Divine Feminine (Gamos) which I have read about but never seen a modern illustration of.

I spent quite a while looking at them. Especially at Hieros. Husband was on retreat connecting with his King energy and when I looked at Hieros I saw King. Not a patriarchal – male monarch on a throne exerting power over others version of King. Instead, a primordial, ancient essence arising from the sun and fire of the natural world version of King. His gaze is direct and strong yet soft, loving and deeply penetrating. He is saying with his eyes, and his outstretched arm, “I am here for you. I’ve got you. Join me. Be my love.”

In contrast to the fiery, action taking heat of Hieros – Gamos is calm, serene, patient, receptive. The moon to his sun, cooling water to his hot fire. Her stance is powerful and strong, this is not a weak woman, but by contrast to Hieros she is not taking action and reaching out for him, instead she is absorbed in the beauty of the water falling through her hands.

(Murals by Jon Minshull)

My eye was drawn to the white water flowing from her sacral chakra. These murals are on the wall of cottages on the road leading up to the sacred wells of Glastonbury – one flowing with iron rich red water, the other with calcium rich white water, but it’s not lost on me that the waters flowing from her strongly resemble amrita.

The more I looked at these two images the more I was drawn to Hieros. He depicts everything I have always found deeply attractive in Husband – the safe, strong, outstretched arms, the intense eyes, the physical power, the raw masculinity, the unapologetic presence.

I was less sure that I felt aligned to the image of Gamos who appears so very passive and patient as she waits for his love – a softly feminine presence which my bold, courageous, fiery Boudica energy doesn’t easily identify with.  But I loved her peaceful watery setting – being immersed in bodies of cold running water is how I reset and recharge – so her space looked like heaven to me.

 

I took photographs and walked on. I climbed up the Tor which was breathtakingly beautiful in the evening light and made sure to go to bed early for my yoni massage the following day.

The tantrika giving me my yoni massage opened her session, as I do, with a short meditation in which she said the words, “I see your beauty. I see your strength. I see your wisdom. I see your power.” The words she spoke were accompanied by the blissful sensation of ostrich feathers stroking my arms, face, neck and breasts. My pleasured body happily received these words from a complete stranger and they floated around in my body/mind throughout the session.

At the end, as I lay on the massage table, my body humming and vibrating with orgasm, the words whirled around installing themselves as part of my identity. It felt a bit like magic. It’s because sexual energy, when used with intent, is magic.

Soon after my massage I left Glastonbury and headed back to Dorset to wait for Husband in a little shepherd’s hut tucked away in the rolling hills of Hardy’s England.

Waiting was an unfamiliar experience for me. For years I have been the action taker. I haven’t waited patiently for a man in eons! It was uncomfortable too. I knew he was going through an intense experience. Retreats are intense. They change you. The carefully selected and managed practices (aka rituals) are designed to bring about change at the primal level.

You can learn facts in a classroom or by reading an article online but facts don’t change your programming. Rituals do. Husband was on retreat. He was going through a rigorous programme of transformational rituals. He would return a changed man.

I had enjoyed my yoni massage. It had been deeply pleasurable but I was unsure it had been transformational in any way. I have a lot of yoni love in my life and although I wanted my massage to have unlocked something in me, I had a feeling that it hadn’t.

In the shepherd’s hut I found it difficult to settle to anything. Usually, I love to walk and swim. Without Husband to accompany me I did neither. I couldn’t read or write – I had days on my own, ample opportunity to do both, but I had the craziest energy and couldn’t settle myself body, mind or spirit. I was worried about Husband. I felt sure that my unsettled energy was my energy body picking up that he was having an intense and emotionally challenging time.

 

By Sunday afternoon I gave up and took to bed. The day outside was beautiful, late September sun warming the hut so I was able to undress and lie on the bed overlooking the valley and pleasure myself to peace.

It worked. My body was super receptive after the yoni massage two days earlier and she missed Husband probably more than I did! Whenever I felt myself about to come, I would quickly stand up, allowing my amrita to flow over the wooden floor (easily cleared up with kitchen roll) to keep the bed dry for Husband.

And so it is that I spend a sunny afternoon waiting for Husband, making myself come over and over again, soaking the wooden flooring of the little shepherd’s hut in the Dorset countryside. Gamos waiting – in pools of sacred water – for my Hieros to return.

Finally, he did. That’s the beautiful thing about time, if you are patient enough it will eventually pass.

My man joined me in my little space and he filled it. He has always been a broad, big-hearted man, you always feel his presence and when he returned to me, hoarse, his voice not much more than a whisper and exhausted from the most intense four days of his life he was undoubtedly a King. He called me his Queen, we made love and went to sleep. He was too tired to share much and I just wanted to receive the invitation of his strong arms.

We had both taken time away from our everyday to integrate his experience together. I have been on retreat and found re-entering normie world very jarring. When you return to the demands and mundanities of everyday life it is hard to hold onto the person the retreat’s rituals have reconnected you with – your true essence, your Truth. We chose to create a bubble for ourselves in which we could first reintegrate with each other.

We needed it. I had taken care to wash my hair with my regular shampoo so that when we were back in each other’s arms I smelt like me. I wanted to send a very strong signal to his nervous system that I was still me.

But it was MY nervous system that needed the managing. First there was his voice – something that is so important to me had gone, replaced by a strange croak – then there were the words he was using which just sounded so strange coming from my man’s mouth.

Then there was a palpable shift in the balance of power. I was no longer the only one to have “done the work” he has too and it was clear he was no longer going to be the push over that I had grown used to.

When we woke on our first morning it didn’t take much from him to reduce me to tears. He shared ways in which our relationship would be different going forwards, I misinterpreted his words (which he admits were a bit blunt and over enthusiastic) and thought he was offering me the dreaded ultimatum. Hieros telling Gamos that she wasn’t good enough for him. Or that’s the way I took it.

My upset kicked off a day of the most appalling stomach cramps. He expressed concern, but what can you really do for someone who’s belly has swollen to three times its usual size and keeps bending over in agony? I endured them for a large part of the day as we talked, him reassuring me of his love for me and sharing details of the retreat as I tried desperately to push out the fart that would end my agony!

Something reminded me to check in with Louise Hay to see what she has to say about abdominal cramps, so I put my question into DuckDuckGo and was served my answer. Oh how incredible, incredible, incredible the body is at communicating if you only have the tools to listen and understand!

According to Louise Hay abdominal cramps are a symptom of fear and a desire to stop the process.

Identifying what the body is communicating to you is the first step. The second is to release the pattern so that you can let go of the symptoms. Her guidance is to say, “I am willing to release the pattern in my consciousness that has created this condition” followed by the affirmation for your particular symptom, which in my case was, “I trust the process of life. I am safe.”

So, I did as Louise Hay prescribed. I said repeatedly throughout the day, sometimes whilst looking into my King’s powerful eyes, “I am willing to release the pattern in my consciousness that has created this condition. I trust the process of life. I am safe.”

The cramps didn’t disappear just like that but they did get better and by the time we went to sleep that night they were more of a memory than a direct, intense feeling. When I woke the next morning everything was different.

My resistance to the changes in him had just gone. I saw my beautiful man, my King, my Hieros and I simply melted.

That night as we sat in the Swedish bath on the balcony of our shepherd’s hut, we had our first test. He had lit the fire for the bath hours earlier, we had eaten and played Uno (I won!) whilst we waited for the bath to warm up and then as the newly waning moon climbed high into the sky we undressed and climbed into the bath. The warmth of the sun was long gone, we had been sitting under thick woollen blankets as we played cards, so the air was fresh and sharp around our shoulders as we sat in the heat of the bath.

It was utterly perfect. Gamos was in water in the arms of her Hieros. I don’t think I have ever felt happier. We laughed and noted it was our first ever bath together – what a way to experience it! We admired the moon, we revelled in the feel of each other’s bodies, we inhaled the fresh air and we chatted easily. Then he threw in a statement that sabotaged the evening.

It was easy for me to see – in hindsight – that it was sabotage. We were getting on too well, we were deeply, deeply intimate, his nervous system became unsettled – vulnerability alerts were fired and click, just like that, the unhelpful statement was uttered. Hieros dropped his Gamos, the King failed to protect his Queen.

The sacred power of the masculine is to hold the feminine safe. This is true of the two energies inside your own body or between two people in a relationship. Husband had spent a weekend healing his wounding so that he could be deeply present and hold his Queen, or Gamos, safe in those beautiful, strong arms of his. Safety includes how we talk to each other and the care with which we broach sensitive topics.

That was how I knew, fairly quickly, that this unhelpful comment had not come from my King but from a shadow in his subconscious. Shadows are the part of our psyche that we don’t see – by virtue of being in the shadows – until we shine a light on them. Shining a light onto the shadows is part of the work he had been doing on retreat it is also, I believe, a beautiful opportunity in relationships – if you are courageous enough to go there.

I knew a shadow of his had shown up to sabotage our evening. For a few hours he didn’t agree and was just angry with me. And it was in those hours that I learned how much my yoni massage had transformed me.

Sitting in water, my safe place, my place of power, I had no need for words or anger, I patiently waited, Gamos personified. And I heard the words used in my yoni massage circling around my body and mind.

I see your beauty.

I see your strength.

I see your wisdom.

I see your power.

The weather turned windy and rainy as we sat in the bath, so whilst our bodies were emersed in hot water our heads and shoulders were whipped by cold wind and rain. It was incredibly elemental, primal and raw. With the rain soaking my hair and running down my face, I felt the power of Boudica radiating through my body but this time joined by the peaceful, serene presence of Gamos.

I see your beauty.

I see your strength.

I see your wisdom.

I see your power.

My King at the other end of the bath was dealing with his shadows. Ordinarily his silence would make me furiously angry and by now I would be expected to unleash a torrent of cruel words on him. But I felt different.

I felt quietly powerful. I felt strength in my calmness. My understanding that his poor words had been an act of sabotage by one of his shadow parts made me feel wise. Under the light of the moon I felt as beautiful and bold and at peace as I have ever felt in my life.

We moved inside, in the warm soft bed of our hut we found each other’s arms and he claimed his Queen. His strength softened me and I yielded to him more deeply than ever before. And then an incredible thing happened. Instead of pulling my body to his so that he could penetrate me deeply with his cock, he pushed my legs wide apart and went down on me.

You will know from reading my other blogs that I love, love, love receiving oral sex. But, perhaps surprisingly, I have always resisted receiving oral sex from Husband. Whenever he positioned himself to gift me this pleasure (he reads my blogs too!) I would manoeuvre my body out of the way and pull him up a bit so that his cock found my cunt instead.

It was too vulnerable for me to receive oral sex from a man who I feared rejection from.

If a client leaves a session thinking to himself, “That was a great session, but oof she was a bit ripe,” I don’t know it and I don’t care. I care about my clients but I have no emotions invested in the sex I share with them. I am giving the experience. It is my job to do so.

With Husband I am receiving him and that is a completely different level of vulnerable.  And thus far in our relationship, I had been unable to receive the oral sex that he knows I would love and which would delight him to give me.

Until this particular night in the shepherd’s hut, I had never laid back and opened my legs wide for Husband. I had never experienced the power with which he eats cunt. I had never tasted my juices from his beard. I had never allowed myself to fully surrender to my man. I had never trusted him enough to be this level of vulnerable with him. I had held back a couple of % points.

At last, held by his newfound strength, I had the courage to. Silently instructed by his powerful eyes, I opened my legs wide for him. He feasted on me. He licked my vulva and bit my clitoris. This wasn’t just gentle honouring, this was a King devouring his Queen. I moaned with pleasure, he grunted with satisfaction and animal desire. Then, when he judged that the time was right – and not before – he pushed into me. My orgasmic muscles contracted around his cock as he fucked me deep and hard

Over 10 years of holding him at arm’s length whilst believing I was 100% committed to him were over. I finally trusted my man enough to be fully vulnerable with him. There is nothing I hold back from him now. He is my King. I am his Queen.

We have shared an incredible journey of healing and connecting. Parts we did away from each other. He did his in the companionship of male love and support. I did mine in the hands (literally) of one woman and then alone in the hut as I waited, like Gamos, for my Hieros to reach out for me. Reunited, we did the final bit together. Eyes locked, commitments made, affirmations repeated, love strengthened and grown.

This is why you do “the work”.  You don’t know how it is going to evolve or where the path will lead, you just have to choose your person and trust the process. Then the miracles happen.

 

 

Recommended Further Reading:

“You Can Heal Your Life” by Louise Hay

“Getting The Love You Want – A Guide For Couples” by Harville Hendrix

“Warrior, Magician, Lover, King – A Guide To The Male Archetypes Updated For The 21st Century” by Rod Boothroyd

 

For those interested in exploring men’s work for healing and growth this is the group that Husband is working with: https://www.theunmaskedman.co.uk/

The Swans pictured are one of many breathtaking sculptures in Sculpture By The Lakes Dorset

Connecting To My Magnificence – I Receive a Yoni Massage

I wasn’t sure what to expect, I had followed my intuition when booking my session and, of course, my mind found endless ways to sow seeds of doubt and make me feel anxious. So, by the time I found myself heading to The Temple of Avalon in Glastonbury for my first ever yoni massage I was genuinely quite nervous.

I am very, very, very used to taking my clothes off with men and women when I am in professional mode, but I wasn’t in professional mode, I was on holiday in the West Country – I was me, the civilian, an ordinary middle-aged woman mooching around the shops and cafes. No-one would look at me and see Anabelle.

That was the point of receiving this massage. To show up as ME. Feeling vulnerable, nervous and unsure, willing to receive, surrender, allow. To do as I coach my clients to do – to drop into the experience to fully experience the experience.

I knew I would be tempted to analyse and even critique the massage I was being given which I also knew would lessen the experience for me. My greatest worry was that I would stay in my head with an inner narration instead of fully dropping into and feeling the sensation of energy building and moving in my body.

Like my clients I had invested substantially in the session. Not just the cost to the wonderful soul who was giving me the massage, but also in the time away from my own work, family and home, the cost of travel and an overnight stay, meals out etc etc. I knew that resisting sensation by staying in my head would be a considerable waste of money.

So it was with great relief that I heard her open the session with similar words to the ones I use in my meditation: “Close your eyes, connect with your breath, allow your body to relax, feel into your relaxing body, relax on the exhale, breathe into your heart, into your belly, down into your yoni.”

She asked me to connect to my intention for the session and I heard my body reply – to surrender and receive.

The space she works in is very different to the space I work in. We started the session with me seated, blindfolded, undressed to my knickers, in a high-backed arm chair and as I connected to my breath and body, she bathed my feet in warm rose infused water.

Her wet hands stroked my legs with a light, delicate touch which I found deeply honouring. As my lower legs and feet began to tingle in response to her, I heard her say, “This water cleanses your body.”

It felt cleansing, it felt purifying. And this, I think, was her tantric ritual – to cleanse a body of shame or anything else that could come between me and my full experience.

Cleansed, she removed my feet from the warm water, patted them gently with a towel and stood up to stroke my upper body. I asked her afterwards what she had used and she showed me a bunch of ostrich feathers which she had arranged as a fan in her hands. It felt incredible, lighting up my torso, arms and neck. I tried to stay connected to my breath but it was hard to remember to breathe.

As she stroked my body, I heard her soft voice saying, “I see your beauty. I see your strength. I see your wisdom. I see your power.” The words whirled around in my mind and my body mixing with the sensations the feathers were activating, welcome now in my cleansed being.

When I had booked the session, I had warned her that I have a tendency to ejaculate which she had said was no problem, but I was still sitting on an unprotected chair in only a pair of thin knickers. I could feel my body’s slight resistance to fall fully into the sensations I was experiencing for worry of letting go – literally.

Fortunately, she asked me to stand up. Still blindfolded she guided me to towards the massage table, stroked my body some more and removed my knickers. Then taking off the blindfold, she asked me to lie face down. I had booked an indulgent two-hour session – I wanted to feel her hands on all of my body for an extended period of time so that I would have an expanded experience.

And it was incredible.

She had asked when I arrived if I preferred a soft or a hard touch. I had replied, maybe unhelpfully, but completely truthfully, both. And that is what she gave me.

At times the firmness of her arms pressing into my buttocks and thighs made me gasp. At other times her touch was light and feathery making my skin tingle and smile – especially when she traced her long nails over me.  My skin was humming and I could feel the energy surging around my body.

She used liberal amounts of very warm oil and it was WONDERFUL. To my long-suffering clients, I apologise! I have robbed you of this sensory delight for too long. The situation has been rectified, by the time this blog is posted I will have bought a baby bottle warmer so that my oil is as deliciously warm as hers was.

It didn’t take long for my body to move from relaxed and pleasured to orgasmic. My first orgasm was triggered by an unusual experience for me – she breathed hot air onto my skin (was she a dragon? It felt like it!) My response was both immediate and dramatic – as if I needed my amrita to flow to quell the flames her breath had ignited (a whole new take on St George killing the dragon!)

I am used to feeling my energy flow early in sessions when I am activating a client but I had always thought I was feeling their energy moving through me (maybe I am?) For some reason I didn’t expect to orgasm before my breasts or cunt were touched. Yet here I was experiencing waves of orgasm in my body as I lay on my front during a leg massage.

The lady giving me the massage has been working in tantra for 16 years. Her body is activated and lit. Her breath was fire. My body responded accordingly. At times I stopped breathing – there was too much to feel to remember to breathe. And she did what I do, she either used words to remind me to exhale and let go or she simply did a long, slow, loud exhale herself. Once when she did this, I nearly laughed with the joy of being with another me.

When she asked me to roll over I almost couldn’t. I was so relaxed I didn’t quite know how to make my muscles respond to her invitation. My breasts, belly and cunt were yearning to feel her touch but my back and legs didn’t want to let go of her hands. My whole body wanted her all at the same time. Is it possible for parts of your body to have sibling rivalry?

The formula of a tantric massage is to first massage your client’s back to relax them. Then the front of their body to begin to activate them and finally the lingam/yoni to further energise them towards eventual orgasm. When I rolled over after the back massage my body was relaxed, activated and energised – proving our entire bodies are sexual.

Our skin is our largest sex organ and receiving a full-bodied yoni massage reminded me that I am highly orgasmic in every cell of my being.

I managed to roll over without falling off the table, my muscles did in the end remember how to move my body safely! Her voice invited me to connect with my heart centre, I felt more warm oil flowing over me and her hands began their magic on the front of my body.

Many years ago, I had a “full body massage” at a local spa. When I lay on my front there was a towel across my buttocks covering the whole area from my lower back to mid-thigh. When I lay on my back the towel went from above my breasts to mid-thigh. And this was sold as a “fully body massage”?! I left that session feeling robbed and deeply frustrated that my body had been partitioned into “touchable” and “untouchable”.

Today my body was gifted a fully integrated experience and she wept with joy. Hands moved around my breasts, flowed across my belly, swirling around her fulness, before sliding down my thighs. My WHOLE body was accepted, appreciated, honoured, seen. The skin on every part of my body was tingling with delight. The feeling, for a woman – whose bodies are policed and judged by everyone our entire lives – was overwhelming.

Yes, I am touched, appreciated and honoured most days by my lovely clients AND this honouring was different in that my stillness and passivity was expected, allowed, even encouraged and my whole body was equally revered, I had no sense ever that my belly was given brief attention before my cunt received the lion’s share of love and attention.

When she did move down to my yoni, my cunt, she did so seamlessly. Working around a massage table rather than on a bed meant that, initially anyway, she didn’t move to sit under my body as I do when I am working with my clients. Her hands continued to swirl around my belly and breasts as she rubbed my clitoris and vulva. The overwhelming feeling was of wholeness and connection. I felt, in the words of my first coach, “A healed, whole magnificent being.”

Having all of your body receiving sensual, sexual touch at the same time is not only honouring, it is also deeply healing and it does reconnect you to your magnificence. Your sexual self is magnificent! Feeling your body lit up with sexual energy, feeling vibrantly alive, activated, pulsating with pleasure is magnificent!

I think she climbed onto the end of the table at this point. I don’t know, my face was turned towards the sunshine coming in through the window on my left – I was dancing in the light, my favourite place to be. But I am sure I felt her hair on my body as she softly asked, “Would you like me to go inside?”

“Please” I replied, I hoped not “too” enthusiastically. My cunt was screaming for her. The long nails I had enjoyed stroking my back and limbs miraculously got tucked away when she allowed her fingers to be pulled inside me. I had trusted that she wouldn’t be careless – she’s a woman after all – but I have had clients whose nails have caused me enough discomfort to be concerned about how she would manage hers. Marvellously as it turned out.

My knees pulled up, my legs opened wider,  my body convulsed, at one point my upper body lifted up towards my knees. I so wanted to be held and kissed but this was a boundaried yoni massage so I lowered myself back onto the table to be held in the arms of the sun coming in through the window.

I was massively in love with this woman at this point. How can you not love the person that connects you to all of this without taking anything for herself? I lay exhausted back on the cotton and paper towels that massage tables are always covered with and just felt it all. She wasn’t finished with me. The fingers of one hand pushed into me deeper and deeper whilst the palm of her other hand rubbed my pubic mound and clitoris. The intensity was incredible.

I completely lost track of time, pleasure had taken me into a timeless, infinite space, I was fully surrendered and just accepting the orgasmic pleasure she was giving me. When the session came to an end, she gently removed her fingers from my cunt and, honouring the place she had taken my body to, briefly placed her hands on my vulva and heart chakra. Then she covered me with a towel so that I could lie and fully integrate the experience.

Unlike many of my clients who seem deeply discomforted by this opportunity and literally bounce off the bed to have a shower the moment they come, I allowed myself to lie in the sunlight, my body dancing – filled with light – in the light, lost in sensation, lost in the energy of orgasm. The affirmations, “I see your beauty, I see your strength, I see your wisdom, I see your power” were swirling around in my body/mind. Her words whirled around with my body’s sensations and orgasmic energy – creating an alchemical mix in my cunty witch’s cauldron.

I spent what felt like ages in this magical post orgasmic space and I needed her voice to pull me back into the room. The first words I said were, “WOW. That was beyond words.” And I laughed because I have been on the receiving end of these words so often.

My body felt so light, vibrating and humming, fizzing with delight and joy, connection, presence, light and love.

As I dressed, we talked a bit about our journeys into the work that we do now and we agreed that we find it completely remarkable that other people hear about this world – this access to energy, pleasure and sensation – and don’t fall headlong into it.

Why would anyone deny themselves this pleasure, this presence, this connection, this magnificence?

 

Photo by Eric Wang on Unsplash

The Joy of Sex with Divine Cocks – Re-framing Premature Ejaculation

As anyone who has worked with me will tell you, I have a lousy memory, so it’s not very surprising that I don’t remember much about my first session with R. Two things have stayed with me. The first is that he arrived highly anxious about security and privacy, needing lots of reassurance that he was safe in my home and with me.  The second is that he absolutely loved my breasts and was slightly overwhelmed that he was allowed to touch them.

 

His love of my boobs was very charming and a bit difficult for him. Starved of boob pleasure in his marriage he used to bury his face in my breasts and shortly afterwards he would come. Sometimes this was within the first 15-20 minutes. The combination of excitement and nerves was too much for his highly sensitive cock and he would go from 0 to an explosive 10 in seconds.

 

He shared with me that his habit of ejaculating “prematurely” irritated his wife, her irritation then fuelled his feelings of shame, failure, disappointment and anxiety around his cock behaving in such a disappointing and non-conformist manner. 

 

I use the term “non-conformist” because I hate the term “sexual dysfunction.” I am frustrated by how many people believe that they are in some way sexually “dysfunctional” simply because their sexuality doesn’t conform to expected norms first laid out by the patriarchs and more recently reinforced by sexologists’ “scientific” studies. 

 

We have obediently followed the patriarchs’ model of sex for about 5,000 years of our 300,000 years of human existence, but that doesn’t change the fundamental fact that it IS only a model, that it’s not the only model and in no way is it “natural.” 

 

I would argue that 20th Century sexologists made sex a lot harder for a lot of people by trying to weave female pleasure into a model that had previously always disregarded female pleasure. (In fact, it was created to shut down female sexual pleasure.)

 

In the patriarchs’ model of sex, men were expected to (i) get an erection in response to sexual stimulus (ii) enter the woman and fuck her until he came, filling her body with seed to breed the next generation. Women were expected to comply – by whatever means necessary. 

 

Sexologists amended this model but that is all it is, an amendment, not a challenge or an alternative to the patriarchal model. 

 

Enlightened modern men are now expected to (i) get an erection in response to sexual stimulus (ii) maintain that erection through “foreplay” required to arouse the woman and make her wet and then (iii) maintain that erection whilst fucking her long enough for her to come before he does, so proving that he is both a proper man and a modern gent. Women are expected to get wet quickly enough for a man to use his erection to penetrate her before he ejaculates or loses his erection. 

 

In the patriarchal model of sex, correct erection function is required to prove your manhood. When your erection fails you in any of the above, patriarchal conditioning tells you that you are less of a man. If your woman fails to arouse step (i) or get wet enough in step (ii) or come before you in step (iii) YOU are also less of a man.

 

That is A LOT of pressure on one man and his sensitive cock. The pressure of this model and the implications it has on masculinity can be summed up thus: 

 

Big, strong erection = masculine. 

 

Hesitant, weak, fleeting erection (for whatever reason) = not masculine. 

 

Sexologists rush in with impressive sounding terms to explain this loss of masculinity. Terms like “erectile dysfunction” and “premature ejaculation” sound like clinical, medical terms but in truth they are another example of a health industry creating labels for so-called “dysfunctions” to make it easier for them to peddle their snake oil.

 

Create a problem, market the hell out of the problem and then sell an expensive solution be it some kind of pill or therapy. 

 

I’m not saying that there are not men who have difficulty sustaining erections or controlling their sexual energy. What I am saying is that both are completely normal responses in a body and that the “dysfunction” approach causes far more harm than it does good.

 

Here’s why – because whatever you give attention to will grow. 

 

As every parent of an upset child knows. 

 

If I have a splinter in my finger and think about it constantly the pain and distress in my finger will grow. If I put a plaster over the finger and kiss it better, not only will the pain decrease, but most often my body will sort out the problem for me.

 

It’s the same with a sexual “dysfunction.” The very worst thing for either ED or PE is to focus on it. If you enter into a sexual situation focussed on what could go wrong, you are pretty much certain to create all the wrong things you are worrying about. 

 

This was R’s sexual experience. He was terrified of irritating his wife further. He was terrified of disappointing her and receiving another eye roll, sigh or ear full. He dreaded the feelings of shame that followed each ejaculation that occurred, according to the rules of patriarchy, “too soon.” 

 

He felt unmanned by his non-conforming cock. I have no doubt that every failed sex session made the problem worse so that by the time he found his way to my door he ejaculated almost immediately.

 

His fears of what could go wrong guaranteed that they did go wrong because whatever you give your attention to will grow. 

 

And this is my issue with the health industry nodding along kindly to your concern that you have either ED or PE, they are feeding your attention and the more you feed a problem with your attention the more the problem will grow (which the health industry, designed to make profit, LOVES).

 

As a trainee teacher I learned that the secret to dealing with challenging behaviour in the classroom is to not give it attention. You ignore what you don’t want and you reward and praise what you DO want. It is a difficult practice and confusing to non-trained observers, but it works and in a classroom of 30 children you do what works, not what pleases untrained observers. 

 

Life as a whore uses the same skillset. I focus on, and reward, what I want (orgasmic pleasure for us both) and ignore any problem that shows up demanding attention and trying to disrupt my sessions. ED and PE are very demanding, they have their own egos. They are used to destroying my clients’ lives. Not with me they don’t. I don’t buy into their nonsense, I ignore them and focus my attention on pleasure and sensation.

 

And you can do more than just ignore the problem. You can regain control of your sex life by re-framing the problem as an opportunity. After all, wherever there is a problem there is always an opportunity (as the health industry who created this problem well knows!) 

 

My reframe takes your power back from the industry that persuaded you that your body is a problem and that in some way by being “deficient” your body proves that you aren’t a man enough man. What BS!!

 

My reframe is offered to anyone who is able to open their minds to an alternative way of understanding their body and of thinking about sex.

 

Ready?!

 

I see both ED and PE as invitations, and the man who has either as a lucky ticket winner – think Charlie’s Golden Ticket in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. 

 

The ticket, or the invitation, is to escape the narrow confines of a model of sex that is all about performance over pleasure, judgement over experience and programming over connection. 

 

I believe that ED or PE show up in a body that is saying “This does not work for me, I want to connect deeply on my terms, not perform someone else’s script.” ED and PE are the body’s way of saying “I want to experience more. More depth, more connection, more sensation, more pleasure…. MORE.”

 

Sadly, most men, highly conditioned by patriarchy into a narrow performative model of sex, misunderstand their bodies. So instead of hearing the invitation and standing holding their golden ticket with glee, they feel like failures, become dejected and think more and more about their “dysfunction” so that, in time, they become their “dysfunction.” 

 

Whatever you give your attention to will grow. 

 

Patriarchy’s version of masculinity is a very narrow version. It is muscular, it is strong, it is non emotional, it is competitive, it is performative. It is full of rules and “shoulds”. It was designed to separate men from women and men from their own inner divine selves. Patriarchal masculinity is a mask, or a costume, that boys are conditioned into from birth.

 

Beneath the mask lies the essence of the man. This is where you find divine masculine. You can absolutely connect to your divine masculine with a correctly functioning erection, but if you are proudly performing sex to prove (to yourself and others) what an awesome version of patriarchal man you are, then you are not going to connect either with your lover, or with your own inner divine masculine.

 

Macho patriarchal man is like the shell of a nut. It’s just a shell. The real nut is inside. My desire, my job and my joy is connecting to the nut, both for my pleasure, and to reconnect my client to his real nut – his divine masculine.

 

And my theory is that men who are already vulnerable and essentially “unmanned” or de-shelled by their “dysfunction” are offered a portal into their divine by the golden ticket of having non-conforming cocks.

 

But as with Charlie, you have to be willing to use the ticket. You have to say yes to the invitation. You have to be willing to let go of all that you have learnt about male sexuality during your life of patriarchal programming. 

 

The first thing you need to let go of is, of course, the hardest to let go of. You need to let go of your belief that you are some kind of failure or less of a man because you have a non-conformist cock. 

 

You need to update the “big, strong cock = masculine” formula with new information, new ideas and new ways of experiencing your body, mind and soul.This is what R and I have been doing together since his first session with me. 

 

When he first showed up at my door he was very nervous, highly anxious and scared of disappointing another woman and suffering her disapproval. His anxiety (and my boobs) meant he ejaculated quickly and almost without warning. He was already caught in a downward spiral of worrying about how his non-conformist cock was going to behave and so guaranteeing that it would explode “too soon”.

 

My first job was to be completely relaxed about when he ejaculated in the session. It wasn’t hard, I am, genuinely, very relaxed about when a client ejaculates. I can honestly say, as a woman, that I have never cared about when a man ejaculates.  Apart from the brief spell in my life when my first husband and I were making babies, I’ve always found male ejaculate to be a bit of a nuisance. 

 

As a whore I care about my clients experiencing orgasm and I have witnessed so many post ejaculation orgasms that I have deep confidence when I say men can experience much better sex after they come and have stopped worrying about when they are going to explode and “ruin things.”

 

My second job was to help him to relax into a sexual situation. Introducing meditation into our sessions really was a game changer. Just 10 minutes of a guided body meditation focussed on relaxation and connection to sensation in his body made the most enormous difference. 

 

Gone was the pressure to perform, he was too relaxed to care. When anxious thoughts bubbled up in his mind he learned how to breathe them out and allow his awareness to return to sensation in his body.

 

Over the months he received the same message from my words – he is a fragment of the Divine and as such is divine. I guided him to connect to his divine energy, his spark, his sexual energy in his whole body. The room was always filled with the scent of frankincense (scent of divine masculine) and the music helped my words to draw him into the physical sensation in his body 

 

So by the time I placed my hands on his back and began the massage he was deeply, deeply relaxed and floating amongst the stars. When you connect with yourself and your power in the quantum realm it is hard to care about whether you are conforming to some old men’s rules.

He loves, loves, loves feeling my breasts moving across his body. But in his highly relaxed state he is able to enjoy the sensation without climaxing. Climax needs tension, relaxed bodies simply don’t comply! I know when I massage his feet with first my hands and then my breasts that he will enter heaven. So I take an extra long time to get to his feet, to tease and build the anticipation in his body. 

 

Sensation, anticipation, frankincense, candlelight, soft music, touch – an erotic alchemy activating divine masculine in R’s body. Over the months he would ejaculate at various points during the session and it mattered less and less to him. 

 

As he became more connected to sensation in his body and his sense of himself as a diving lover grew he used the time and space he had with me to give himself pleasure by giving me pleasure. And because I don’t have an issue about when he comes, I am the lucky bloody woman who gets to experience the divine lover that R has always been. 

 

With permission to enjoy sex in a non-judgemental environment his confidence grew and the nervous man who seemed to always be apologising for being in my space and taking up my time is now a genuinely exciting and rewarding lover. 

 

Something lights up in him when he receives my touch. The shell cracks open and this beautiful, beautiful man emerges who delights in making my body sing. Most often this is after he has ejaculated and his cock has softened, but as you don’t need an erection to make a woman ride wave after wave of orgasm neither of us care. 

 

In our sex “foreplay” is meditation and massage and Anabelle’s orgasms are the “afterplay.” We have never ended our sex when one of us ejaculates, the idea is just ridiculous. We stay in the space we have created, lost in the pleasure of each other’s bodies and energies, normally until well after the end of the session because we genuinely lose track of time. 

 

Today was extra special because as wonderful as our sex is, we haven’t often managed to fuck. Usually as soon as he clocks me reaching for a condom his cock will over-react and that’s it, no chance of fucking. As you surely know by now, we have amazing sex, but I know how much he loves the idea of coming inside me, so I have long wanted to get it right for him.

 

When I asked him to roll over (about 45 minutes into the session) his cock was hard, not about to explode hard, but strongly erect. This is a huge change from the early days when there is no way he could have experienced so much bodily contact with my boobs and not come. I smiled with gratitude at his cock proving my theory – relax and focus on sensation in your body and the problem just goes away.

 

Whatever you give your attention to will grow and R has learned to give his attention to sensation growing in and moving around his body – so this grows. He has learned to move from his head (the source of worry, judgement and shame) into his body where he experiences his pleasure and his magnificence. 

 

Because I know R and his cock well, I tweaked the order of the massage. Instead of massaging the front of his body with the front of mine (which can get very hot and steamy very quickly) I chose to give him a careful lingam massage before an abandoned hot and steamy finale to the session.

 

I positioned myself, cross legged under his legs and took his lingam in my hands. Over the months R’s cock and I have become good friends and I am very fond of this beautiful part of my divine lover. It was deeply pleasurable and satisfying to give him a full 20 minute lingam massage using a range of different strokes, lovingly massaging his inner thighs, balls, perineum, root, shaft, frenulum and glans moving the energy activated around his whole body with my hands.

 

R was deeply relaxed at the other end of the bed. I could tell he was fully immersed in the experience. So when I reached the end of the 20 minute lingam massage, I planned my next move carefully. 

 

I slowly shifted my position to move up his body quietly reaching for a condom as I did so. The rustle of the condom packet alerted him and he began to stir. I really didn’t want his mind to intervene and spoil my finale, so as quickly as I could I tore open the wrapper, rolled the condom onto his erection and took him inside me. 

 

My nipples found their way into his fingers which he tweaked with just the right amount of pressure (oh the joy of connected bodies!) making the muscles of my cunt squeeze in gratitude around him as I gently rode him.  

 

R fulfilled his wish, he came inside me and it felt unbelievably triumphant. 

 

Between us we had managed the session perfectly. He had followed the instructions of my meditation, he’d relaxed and focussed all of his attention on sensation in his body. This enabled me to activate a huge amount of energy in his body and move it around so that it did not build up in his genitals and explode out of him in an uncontrolled manner. 

 

I bent over him and we kissed passionately as his cock softened inside me. I lifted myself off him to remove the condom without pulling away from his mouth and we lay in each other’s arms kissing, smiling and stroking each other. 

 

The energy remained strong and grew within me as he applied increasing pressure to my nipples and started fingering my cunt. He stroked my vulva, played with my clit and fed me one finger at a time until my cunt greedily pulled in his fist. Then he fucked me again as I exploded around him.

 

When R is in this space he is pure divine masculine. He devotes his sexual energy to giving me orgasmic pleasure. In doing this he has taken the pressure off himself to perform which ironically is what enables him to be the most incredible lover. 

 

I would like R to get himself a soapbox and go teach the men of the world how to make love to a woman. He won’t, he’s far too modest. Maybe my blog post will do the work for the both of us?

 

R is one of my many, many clients who come to me with “non-conformist” cocks. He is one story of many that I could tell of the truly incredible sessions I have with men when they accept the invitation of their golden ticket. 

 

Based on my actual experience (not theories written into books by people who don’t have a lot of sex with a wide variety of real people) I am confident in asserting that the patriarchal model of sex doesn’t work for many of us. Very, very few people have erections that function correctly within this rigid model, especially if you are doing more than paying lip service to female pleasure.

 

But when you change the way you experience sex, removing all pressure to perform, it changes everything. 

 

R and I had everything in our session today. We both orgasmed, we both connected to sensation in our own bodies, we both connected to the other’s sexual energy, we fucked, we relaxed, we laughed, we made love. We freed ourselves from a formulaic approach.

 

When you remove any hierarchy from sex, and free “foreplay” from the inconvenient bit you’re obliged to do before fucking, you experience so much more in your sex. THIS is the golden ticket! And this is why I think men with non-conformist cocks are the lucky ones – if they allow themselves the reframe.   

 

Great sex may include penetration but that is a very small part of what really good sex is – especially for most women. When you step away from the narrow script prescribed by the patriarchs and allow yourself to be playful, creative and devote yourself to pleasure over performance, amazing miracles happen.

 

When you experience the joy of sex as a path to experiencing energy moving in your body leading to full bodied orgasm (with or without ejaculation) it no longer matters what your cock is doing in any given moment. 

 

Erections are great fun, they truly are. And so are the “non-conformist” cocks who choose to do things a bit differently.

 

As a final thought, maybe my term “non-conformist” cock can be improved? 

 

What about “divine cocks”?

 

Divine cocks – portals to reconnecting to The Divine within yourself through which you become a divine lover.

 

Yep, that’s a good place to end this one.

 

Here’s to you R and your simply divine cock! 

 

Further Recommended Reading:

 

“Lingam Massage – Awakening Male Sexual Energy” by Jürgen Becker and Michaela Riedl

 

“The Multi-Orgasmic Man: Sexual Secrets Every Man Should Know” by Mantak Chia and Douglas Abrams Arava

Circumcision Through the Eyes of a British Whore **Sensitive Content**

I do not write to upset anyone. I write to offer a different perspective and hopefully bring about change. Circumcision is a barbaric practice, if I can save one penis from this suffering by writing my truth, then that is reason enough for me to be honest and brave. 

 

Deep, heartfelt apologies if I cause any further pain to anyone by doing so. 

_______________

 

When I was a young child I was obsessed with collecting conkers every autumn. My sister and I would wake early and rush out to the local conker trees to gather our hoard before any competition arrived. 

 

My very, very favourite finds were intact but cracked shells with the conker still nestled cosily inside. My eager fingers would prize the crack open until the shell broke in half to reveal the glistening conker within. 

 

We were always so pleased with our early morning collection, gathered up in our skirts to transport home. Old shoe boxes, containers and even drawers filled up with our precious finds. We’d then watch, with great dismay (every year the same dismay) as our precious, glossy conkers dulled, dried out and hardened. 

 

We’d try to varnish them with clear nail varnish to bring back the glorious glossy coat but that didn’t halt the drying out process. Within days the glisten had completely gone, within months our beautiful, moist, plump, glossy conkers were shrunken and withered. 

 

To anyone who knows the joy of finding a fresh conker in its shell but has only ever known circumcised penises, this is what you are missing out on. The emergence of moist, plump, glistening glans pushing out of the foreskin as the cock hardens always reminds me of the thrill of a brand new, glossy conker on a crisp autumn morning.

 

As a British whore I encounter relatively few circumcised cocks, and I grieve with all of them.

 

The men attached to these circumcised penises generally don’t know the horror of what was inflicted on them. They were either too young when it was done to them to have any conscious memory of an intact penis (of course all boys enjoy their intact penises in the womb) and/or are too socialised into how “normal” it is to remove the most sensitive part of the male body in a barbaric and highly profitable blood sacrifice.

 

I don’t share my sadness with my clients. I don’t want to make them angry or upset about something that they cannot change, but I have decided that I need to write about my experiences because the omerta around circumcision is the only way this barbaric practice continues. 

 

Let’s begin with my experiences. I accept that I bring my own feelings about circumcision into my work, so you could argue that the pain, and sometimes anger, that I feel coming from the cock into my hands is a projection, but I don’t think it is. 

 

At the start of every lingam massage I hold the cock in my hands for a few moments. Cocks are so conditioned for performance – to do something, to be hard, to be majestic, to impress – that it’s very healing for them to be gently held, cupped in your hands with no expectations. I sit still for a moment, quietly, lovingly, connecting the heart opening points in my palms with his lingam in whatever state of arousal he is currently in. 

 

Often the cock will soften slightly as I sit and hold it, I can almost hear the sigh of relief as it does so. A few cocks cry when I sit and hold them in this way. I feel their pain and the tears almost start flowing from my eyes. 

 

Every single one of them has been circumcised. Every circumcised cock that I hold at the beginning of my sessions is in pain – deep emotional and spiritual pain. 

 

As an expert in lingam massage I understand why. They have far less sensitivity than their intact brothers. They have been mutilated. Brutalised to stop the man feeling his true sensual pleasure. 

 

Yet here he is, lying before me hoping to experience the pleasure that will always elude him. 

 

However much breathwork he does, however creative his positions, however skilled he or his partner become, he will never recover the sensation that was cut away from him at birth or in early childhood. 

 

The “civilised” West abhors female genital mutilation yet remains in conspiratorial silence about male genital mutilation. 

 

We mutilate and brutalise our baby boys (well I didn’t – thank you NHS) and are then – shock horror – horrified when our boys act in brutal ways when they reach adulthood. 

 

***Not all circumcised men brutalise women*** – I am categorically NOT claiming that. But I have read reports linking a society’s rates of circumcision with its levels of violence against women and even, quite shockingly, unnecessary gynaecological surgery. There is a correlation. Which makes sense – brutalised people brutalise.  

 

I’d come across a few circumcised cocks as a young woman, but to be honest, to the untrained eye one erect penis looks much like the next (and young women tend to avoid looking directly at any penis, erect or not), so my first circumcised cock as a professional, about 10 years ago, was a bit of a surprise and a rather sad challenge. 

 

He was a lovely, lovely man who was going through a divorce and navigating all the emotions and financial disputes that entails. He wanted some TLC and a session that would help him rebuild a bit of sexual confidence. I tend to suggest a Musubi massage in these cases: lots and lots of body to body contact with no pressure at all to perform, he could just lie back, receive and interact as much as he wished to.

 

We met, we chatted, we undressed. I massaged his back then his front, incorporating lots of deeply sensual, oily, body to body gliding and grinding, maximising contact with my breasts, nipples and pelvic mound. Everything was as it always is – stirring energies in both of our bodies, a lovely erotic, sensual massage.

 

I slid down his chest to sit between his legs and begin the lingam massage. His cock softened as I held it in my palms and I noticed, with curiosity more than anything else, that he was circumcised. I honestly didn’t think much more about it. 

 

I naively assumed that he would experience the lingam massage in much the same way as all my intact clients did. By now I had tried and tested strokes that cocks responded to quite predictably. I just assumed that this one would be no different.

 

But oh, how very, very different. 

 

To begin with I didn’t have the joy of watching glistening glans emerging from a foreskin. There was no foreskin. His glans were different to the ones I was used to in my professional experience to date – they were toughened and leathery and the deep glossy purple that I was used to was replaced by a dull skin colour.

 

Worse, where was his frenulum? I searched both sides of his glans to find it (hoping that somehow I had forgotten its location and that if I looked hard enough I would find it!) It was gone. Sliced away with his foreskin at whatever age this had been done to him. 

 

The frenulum is possibly the most important body part in a lingam massage. A bit like the clitoris is possibly the most important body part in a yoni massage. Both are packed with nerve endings. Both are different on every body you encounter, but so far, in my professional work as Anabelle, every lingam had had a frenulum, and a foreskin for that matter.

 

So many of my tried and tested strokes had been removed from me because this lingam in my hands had had the most important parts removed. I obviously knew what had occurred but there wasn’t a chapter in the book I had learned lingam massage from on how to deal with a circumcised lingam. 

 

Sadly circumcision omerta is as alive and well in the positive sex movement as it is across the rest of society. I had to think on my feet and fast.

 

I spent extra time massaging his balls – at least the knife doesn’t touch these (they wouldn’t – too crucial for the precious patriarchal seed) so they thankfully retained the sensitivity they were born with. I massaged the root of his cock and about two thirds of his shaft were unaffected by the “surgery” but I was at a bit of a loss about how to give sensual pleasure to the desensitised glans.

 

I spent a long time honouring his cock, pleasuring him as best as I could but he didn’t come. At the end he told me that he had enjoyed a “relaxing” massage and I knew it had been both sensual and erotic at times, but I also knew that his “failure” to come was the last thing he needed to rebuild confidence. I was relieved when he asked if he could see me again – I would have a second chance to get it right for him.

 

After he left I rushed to Google to find out how you give a lingam massage to a circumcised cock. One suggestion, I kid you not, was to spend more time massaging his ankles as this is apparently super erotic for men. I bagged the tip but I didn’t think an ankle massage was going to get my client from a “relaxing” and erotic 7 or 8 to an explosive 10.

 

I kept searching for what seemed quite an elusive answer – circumcision omerta again – no-one wants to admit that circumcised cocks are a completely different beast to those that are intact. 

 

How can you give a circumcised cock which has lost so much sensitivity a deeply sensual massage?

 

Finally I found an answer that frankly horrified me – it was suggested that I slap or bash the glans to mimic hard fucking. I hated the idea, but committed myself to giving it a go if he visited again.

 

He did and I did use my palm to bash the end of his cock as I moved the other hand up and down his well oiled shaft. It made me wince, but it made him come. Hurrah – but how awful. 

 

I am used to using delicate fingers and the soft palm of my hand sensuously over the glans, bashing this usually highly sensitive body part with my hand seemed the complete opposite to loving, tender, sensual or sexy. He left feeling a lot better and I felt really, really sad. And angry.

 

Why? Why are men routinely circumcised across the world? Why remove such an important part of their bodies for NO MEDICAL REASON WHATSOEVER? If you ask an intact man if he would willingly forgo his foreskin and frenulum, he’ll wince, instinctively cover his cock with his hands and say, “NO WAY!”

 

My understanding of circumcision in the patriarchal world is that it evolved to save men, like Abraham (the uber patriarch) from sacrificing their first born sons to an incredibly blood thirsty God. Where Mother Earth Goddess encouraged her people to self pleasure and fuck each other in worship of her, the new Sky God wanted blood. Not menstrual blood but the blood of young boys, on their father’s knives.

 

I think there is some idea that to “belong” to God’s tribe you must sacrifice that which is most precious to you, if not your whole son, then at least the most sensitive part of his body. 

 

For most of the centuries since the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus, when Christians have felt it important to be distinct from their Jewish cousins, a circumcised penis was otherised – it was a clear sign that the man belonged to the other faith. Christians in Europe had intact penises and this practice was assumed at the creation of the NHS, much to this whore’s deep gratitude. 

 

Something strange and very sad happened to Christian menfolk in North America in the 19th Century. Masturbation, which had always been seen as a seed wasting sin under patriarchy, became the topic for much hand wringing and pulpit pronouncements. 

 

Dr Kellogg, eugenicist and nutritionist (yes, THAT Dr Kellogg), was particularly agitated by the evils of male and female self pleasure. He created cereal based breakfast products to help American youth to grow up healthy in body and mind – apparently cornflakes would stop young people wanking.

 

Sadly, in his fear and disgust of sexual pleasure, his remedies were far more brutal than boring breakfast cereals. For girls he recommended the use of carbolic acid to burn away the clitoris, and circumcision – without anaesthetic – so that “the brief pain….will have a salutary effect on the mind” was the remedy he used for boys. 

 

Fortunately for women the carbolic acid remedy didn’t take off. Unfortunately for men the circumcision remedy did, becoming mainstream, “normal,” and even a symbol of belonging amongst American men.

 

What America did in the 20th Century, the world mimicked. As with nylons, rock and roll, movies and popcorn, so with little boys’ penises. 

 

Now, much of the world removes the most delicate and sensitive part of baby’s penises, robbing these boys and the men they will grow into of a huge amount of their sensitivity and pleasure that they were born to experience.

 

Today in the US, baby foreskins are a multi-billion dollar industry. Hospitals harvest foreskins for their profit. Parental consent is not required. Parents who want to stop this from happening to their babies have to keep round the clock vigil. Exhausted mothers fear falling asleep in case a nurse whips their baby away to be tortured and maimed for life for the profit of the medical industry.

 

And it is torture. I have read many horrific reports from nurses who had to stand by and watch as newborn babies are strapped into a plastic, inverted Y shaped raft forcing their legs open and apart. Held down in this way the baby is unable to raise his knees to protect himself or respond to the hideous pain of having an area rich in nerve endings operated on. 

 

Kellogg’s recommendation that no anaesthesia is used is unbelievably continued to this day. The “surgical” procedure is done without anaesthetic because the baby is too young and vulnerable to cope with such medication. 

 

There is no thought to delay the procedure until the baby is able to withstand anaesthetics. The completely unnecessary procedure is carried out on newborns without any pain killers. 

 

In a supposedly rational and civilised country the very youngest and most vulnerable are mutilated, often against their parents’ expressed wishes, for the profit of the medical industry, to fit in with societal norms and, I would argue, even to this day, in an ancient ritual of blood sacrifice. 

 

Mothers report the hideous pain of having their babies returned to them blank eyed, staring, crying, un-soothable. The happy, nuzzling baby she had met at birth has morphed into a pained, distant, isolated child. Mothers report the guilt of not protecting their boys when they were at their most vulnerable. 

 

Sons report never truly bonding or trusting Mother – or any other woman – ever again. Thus patriarchy succeeds in dividing mothers from their sons at what should be the most beautiful, sacred, precious and protected time. 

 

I cannot tell you how happy I am that my sons were born in England.

 

The little boys grow up to become men and everyone – I mean everyone – pretends everything is alright. A penis is a penis right? Once erect they all look the same and “perform” the same, right?

 

WRONG. Oh how terribly, awfully, badly wrong you all are.

 

A circumcised penis is a traumatised penis. 

 

The delicate and highly sensitive frenulum has been removed along with the foreskin exposing the sensitive glans which naturally harden over time. Further, unlike its intact brothers the circumcised penis cannot self lubricate – that ability was removed with the foreskin. Decades later many still carry the clear scars of the procedure. The scars are not just physical.

 

As I discovered, the toughened glans need rougher treatment to feel any sensation. The gentle spidery strokes that make an intact lingam quiver in my hands are simply not felt by a circumcised cock. 

 

And it gets worse! 

 

Very often the man is unable to feel sensation in his genitals at all. Dr Kellogg was right. The pain of the procedure is so great that the baby chooses to never feel anything in this area ever again. Can you imagine a life devoid of feeling the tingle, pleasure and explosive joy in your penis? 

 

Circumcision is the triumph of patriarchy that wants sex for reproduction without the distraction of pleasure. This is why I don’t have time for anyone who claims that patriarchy exclusively harms women for the benefit of men. Baby girls are not butchered within hours of birth in any country, certainly not in the supposedly “civilised” West. 

 

Circumcision is patriarchy harming men.

 

But male circumcision doesn’t only harm men. It deeply harms women too. Women understand the deep pleasure of slow, sensual, languorous, sacred sex. Sex that is as much about “fore” play or “outer” play as it is about penetration – it’s how we get aroused and we can spend hours there. 

 

Reduce the pleasure that one of the bodies feels during this kind of sex and you are going to reduce the amount of time spent there. Much to the detriment of women who love it so much.

 

Internet porn has made a bad situation worse and it infuriates me that young intact British men are learning how to “do” sex from what they see on their screens. Porn is largely an American industry – thus the circumcised cock dominates both as the star and the consumer. 

 

Porn is made by (directed by, produced by, acted by, edited by, even lit by) circumcised men for circumcised men. No wonder women find most of it repulsive, it’s not made with our pleasure in mind. Worse, I think the hard, repetitive fucking it models often harms women and reduces the pleasure an intact man could have. 

 

I am lucky to have lovers who range from their late 80s down to their early 20s. Generally speaking, the older the lover, the better he will be. Clearly, men, like women, get better with age! But I think it’s more than that. 

 

I was a young woman once and I had sex as a young woman – before internet porn – with young men. And they did not fuck like the jack hammers of today do. I do not like repetitive hard fucking that goes on for the length of a wank. It is tiresome, boring and wears the soft flesh of my cunt. 

 

Intact men who learned how to fuck pre-internet porn are more nuanced, varied and imaginative. They vary the tempo, the position, the speed, the angle all so that they, and I, can feel a little bit more. Porn influenced lovers, even the intact ones, don’t seem interested to feel, they simply want to act the porn star in their own imagined film. It’s shit sex!!

 

The insidious practice of circumcising Christian men across America and much of the West is now robbing intact British men (and their women) of the true joy of sex and it’s a problem that is getting worse. 

 

Women know what orgasm feels like, we bring ourselves to orgasm a lot. Having sex with a jack hammer just doesn’t measure up. It is not orgasmic for us. It may look good in a porn film (does it?!) but it feels at best boring and at worst abusive in real life. 

 

American women are flocking to sex coaches to mend “their” brokenness, and they may well experience shut down and shame in their bodies which can be healed through beautiful, mindful practices. 

 

But those practices alone are not going to mend the non-orgasmic sex they are having with deeply traumatised cocks.

 

Someone has to name the elephant in the room. 

 

Circumcision is a hideously brutal practice inflicted on men and by extension the women in their lives, by a patriarchal system that seeks to suppress and oppress and deny all that is beautiful and powerful within us so that they can continue to oppress, control and exploit us. 

 

If any body part could summarise the exploitation and abuse of patriarchy I would suggest it’s the foreskin. 

 

_______________

 

Further Recommended Reading: 

 

After my first professional encounter with a circumcised cock I fell down a bit of a rabbit hole to try and understand how such an obviously harmful practice is still so mainstream in our modern, supposedly rational world. I have tried to do what I always do in these blog posts and stick to my experiences and thoughts. If you want to explore further, as I did, I highly recommend Intact America as a place to go to for further information and, if you feel motivated, to join the campaign to stop any further genital mutilation of baby boys.

 

Photo by Georg Eiermann on Unsplash

Indulge in my Full Girlfriend Experience

Taking The War Out of Man – A Whore’s Musings

What is this “War”?

 

What is “Man” fighting?

 

For many men the war is deeply personal – grief, loss, loneliness, disappointment, depression – a life lived so out of alignment with his soul’s purpose that he can’t rid himself of the constant sense of dissatisfaction, however much material success he has created in his life.

 

I contend that these (and other) personal experiences are different manifestations of the same war waged on all men. A war waged on all humans by the social structure we have lived under for the last 5,000 years of our 300,000 year existence – patriarchy.

 

Patriarchy does not serve women, we know that, but anyone who thinks patriarchy serves men, or indeed, is designed to serve men any better is deluded and just not seeing the actual evidence right in front of their eyes.

 

It frustrates me how common it is to see men unthinkingly defending a social system that is designed to control them and limit their dreams and desires, just as much as it intends to control, limit and suppress women. 

 

Patriarchy is the system created by an elite FEW (very, very, very few) to own ALL the resources including human time, labour and energy for the benefit of that teeny tiny elite.

 

Patriarchy fully intends to control and exploit men. 

 

It does so by pretending to represent them and by offering them the control of women in exchange for their compliance – a classic, age-old strategy of divide and rule. Patriarchy is a hierarchical social structure which, by offering men power over women, hopes to hoodwink men into not seeing their own loss of personal power and sovereignty. 

 

Based on what I see in the world around me the strategy worked.

 

Obviously this is a tragedy for women who have spent 1,000s of years under the boots of their men-folk. Considered little better than the rest of the family’s livestock, not even granted a soul for 100s of years, women were consigned to live under the “Rule of Thumb” (an English law that stated a husband could use corporal punishment on his wife – his possession – as long as the stick he beat her with was no thicker than his thumb).

 

But it is an equal tragedy for men who suffer immeasurably from the separation and disconnect this patriarchal structure has imposed upon us all. 

 

Men and women are at their very best when they are connected in loving harmony. Harmony, equality, union, co-operation, collaboration are all ideas that are deeply threatening to patriarchy which relies, for its survival, on a hierarchical structure of control.

 

Maybe the most threatening teaching that Jesus offered the world was the joy of union with a woman he considered his equal in all ways. Certainly the efforts of the patriarchal Church to suppress and extinguish anything to do with Mary Magdalena (including her gospel) would suggest this to be the case. Unlike Adam, Jesus was at ease receiving wisdom, guidance, love and deep sexual companionship from his female companion, Mary.

 

As she was highly trained to do, Mary ignited Jesus’ kundalini energy playing with it to strengthen his energy body for the trials he was to endure. It was an integral part of their work together. The union of Mary Magdalena and Jesus had the potential to heal the deep wound of separation inflicted on humanity by the vicious response of a vengeful God for Eve’s innocent curiosity.

 

The patriarchs would not allow it and we know the rest of the story – the crucifixion, the Council of Nicea and the extermination of the Cathars, just for starters.

 

Maybe that is why men have remained so compliant? They look at what the patriarchs did to Jesus for daring to connect in divine sexual union with a woman he considered his equal in all ways, and, from fear, have denied themselves this pleasure ever since? 

 

I am sure very few men find themselves nodding along to my words, they’ll be saying, “Not me…I’m not like that.” But in 100s of different ways you are.

 

Let’s look at the statistics. Something like 95% of women aged between 18 and 24 admitted to having been sexually harassed in some way.  The only way a figure this huge can be explained is that men (and women) just don’t know to interact sexually. 

 

This is no surprise to me. Patriarchy pushed sexual desires and urges deep into society’s shadow from where, unseen, unacknowledged, untrained, unchannelled, unmastered, unrefined –  it simply reeks havoc.

 

Few of the men doing harm to women want to harm them. They want the opposite. They dearly want to connect deeply and passionately but they simply don’t know how.

 

This is 100% the fault of patriarchy! 

 

Divide and rule remember. How better to divide and rule than to divide us by gender and make 50% of the planet fear the other 50%. And yes, I know the fear goes both ways. Whilst women fear physical harm (even death), men fear emotional harm and deep shame from women. 

 

Everyone is meeting for sex filled with fear (and her sister shame) making sexual intimacy an increasingly rare experience. 

 

And patriarchy is delighted by this!

 

The unhappier and more disconnected we are the more we self medicate with their offerings: material possessions, food, alcohol, drugs (peddled both legally from your GP’s surgery and illegally on the streets) – it makes them richer by making us poorer – materially, emotionally and spiritually. 

 

The war I see in all men (and by extension all women) is this tragic disconnect between them and the lie, which began with Adam that there is only one “correct” way of “doing” sex and that everything else is in some way sinful. We have all been duped into believing that the “original sin” was reaching for and tasting knowledge from the Tree of Life.

 

Adam’s self injurious notion that Lilith should submit to the new patriarchal model of sex as the only way to have sex birthed 1,000s of years of myth making around human sexuality denying humans their true sexual nature and the deep connection that flows from it.

 

The worst myth, and it absolutely is a myth, is that men want power over women in the bedroom. It concerns me that every single one of my clients thinks that he is “odd” because my pleasure is more important to him than his own gratification. I am concerned that he finds this “odd” because it is completely normal! 

 

Every man wants his sexual partner to be lost in raptures of orgasmic pleasure – it makes him feel AMAZING. 

 

Yet Adam has convinced us all for 1,000s of years that “real men” are threatened by, even uninterested in female sexual appetite and pleasure. To maintain the patriarchal version of “masculine” men reinforce the notion that it is “normal” for them to disregard (or even shame) female sexual pleasure.  

 

When they confess their true feelings it is to me, a whore, rather than with other men in the locker room or the pub.

 

Imagine a world in which men felt safe to share spell binding sexual experiences and pool ideas on how to please their women with each other. You can’t can you? That’s patriarchy damaging men. 

 

Men are not safe to talk amongst themselves about the sex that they yearn for because to do so would make them appear less masculine. 

 

So they continue to joke about “fishy fannies” whilst secretly adoring the taste of the woman they were lucky enough to go down on. 

 

They continue to publicly slut shame young women for sexual misadventures but never the young men they were misadventuring with.  

 

In this world where good sex happens in secret, but bad sex is practised in broad daylight, is it any wonder that many men simply do not learn how to “sex” a woman?

 

A second damaging myth, related to the first, is that women are not, by their “true nature”, as sexual as men, and worse, that sex harms women. According to patriarchy, men have (and are even encouraged to have) voracious, “animal-like” sexual appetites and it is the duty of women to counter this, fend off the beast in man and civilise him. 

 

Thus women are shamed if we feel anything animal-like within us and then shamed further when we fail to tame our men (who, until recently, could legally beat us with thumb thick sticks when we disobeyed them?!) Under patriarchy men get all the permission and women get a double dose of shame, so how does this myth create a war in man?

 

Because “Nice guys”, men who have grown up under feminism with newly empowered mothers (released from the “Rule of Thumb” at least) believe this myth. They have either been told expressly as young and impressionable boys by their mothers that sex harms women, or they have absorbed this from the culture around them. 

 

Of course as decent human beings many, if not most, men will reject the abusive and exploitative model of sexuality personified by the likes of Andrew Tate but many, very sadly, come to the wrong conclusion that it is sex that harms women not harmful men misappropriating sex that harms women. 

 

With good information (the reason why I write this blog) and with good experiences (the reason I am a whore) men can learn how to give women sexual experiences that nourish and empower both parties. But deprived of good information and/or good experiences, and living in a world flooded by toxic online porn, many, many men are left feeling that in some way their desire for sex with women is harmful and must be suppressed. 

 

Can you see how that harms men and causes an internal war within them?

 

Penetrative sex, the sex that men most yearn for, requires the man to be so deeply present, so loving, so honouring, so respectful, so trauma conscious, so confident, so strong and sure in himself – it’s a big ask! 

 

And it is all possible. 

 

However, if you have grown up believing that sex is harmful to women how can you show up in this way for women sexually? How can you be deeply present for her during sex if you are fighting internal feelings of guilt, shame and self loathing?

 

Any sex you do have will lack connection. The experience will lack real pleasure for either of you. Worst of all, your lack of presence will make her feel unsafe, she won’t be able to abandon herself to you and the rubbish sex that you end up having will have been harmful to her because sex without deep connection, presence, honouring and reverence is harmful.  

 

This is how nice guys inadvertently cause sexual harm to women, ending up not so different to the monsters they distance themselves from.

 

And, for many men, unresolved, this situation gets worse.

 

Lucky women are married to men who have had enough good experiences or have consciously chosen to develop the traits she needs him to have for nourishing, abandoned, orgasmic sexual experiences. These women, your whore included, remain sexual their whole happy lives. 

 

Unlucky women are married to men who haven’t done the self development and growth, so faced with years of weakness and lack of presence in the bedroom they simply stop agreeing to sex with their men.

 

Being married to a woman who does not want sex with you is such an obvious harm to men that I am seriously flummoxed that they can’t see what patriarchy, and its myth making, has robbed them of!

 

Please don’t misunderstand me, I don’t think any of this is the individual man’s fault. I do not blame men for patriarchy. My whole shtick is that patriarchy harms men as much as it harms women and to give you some really good reasons to stop defending it and fighting to keep it! 

 

Patriarchy has done immeasurable harm to human sexuality. We heal it by understanding what has been done to us and then by working together, not by pointing fingers of blame at each other which only hands another win to patriarchy.

 

The war in man is much the same as the war in women – of course it is! We are all humans and we have all been driven apart by an exploitative social system that seeks to control us all.

 

So let’s blow these myths right out of the water shall we? 

 

Women are by nature as sexual as men – we have been shamed since before Eve by patriarchal society way more than men – but we ALL, men and women, want sex!

 

Men and women all yearn for deep loving intimacy in our sex. Men do not want to exert their power over women sexually or in any other way. They never did. It has always harmed them, at a spiritual level, as much as it did women. 

 

Men want partnership. They want to be seen, to be held, to be loved, to be accepted for who they are as much as women want to be seen, to be held, to be loved and to be accepted for who they are.

 

We are not different. We are all the same. Essentially it’s not complicated – we all want the connection, the joy, the orgasmic download of hormones, the experience of transcending our prosaic material existence to dance amongst the stars in the infinite quantum realm. 

 

We all want the deeply intimate connection with another human being that stops us feeling so isolated and alone on this planet.  

 

Whores understand this. We see the war in men and experience the war in our own bodies. We have done our own deep inner healing and committed to enough personal development to show up for others from a place of deep love and compassion. 

 

Whores want to bring the world together in love and harmony but we are up against a very well oiled and very powerful machine which does not want to let go of its creation: disunited and miserable humans living separate, isolated lives. 

 

Challenge these myths in your psyche when they show up. 

 

Be a ripple in the pond that shifts humanity’s consciousness. 

 

“Normal Women” By Philippa Gregory

 

“The Magdalen Manuscript – The Alchemies of Horus and The Sex Magic of Isis” By Tom Kenyon and Judi Sion

 

“No More Mr Nice Guy” By Dr Robert Glover

What is the Point of the Clitoris Anyway? A Whore’s Musings & Fantasy

What if, in the beginning, human sacrifice wasn’t literally about taking the physical life of a human being, but an offering of something from the selected human to please Goddess? 

I have a hunch, in my body, like a soul-level knowing (so not provable, by me at any rate) that early sacrificial ceremonies were sexual not bloody. That any blood involved would have been menstrual blood but quite possibly of secondary importance to amrita – the “nectar of the gods” – the healer of all ills.

What if, pre-patriarchal humans gathered around a sacrificial altar not to draw blood but to draw orgasm and female ejaculate? The death, le petit mort, would have been the spiritual death of ego perhaps? Maybe these ceremonies were initiation ceremonies that apprenticed whores went through to earn their places as temple priestesses?

The position of the clitoris on the human female body is curious and frankly problematic for anyone who claims that the ONLY role for human sexuality is procreation. Why evolve a highly sensitive bundle of nerves out of reach of the penis during the patriarchy-approved-man-on-top model of penetrative sex if the ONLY reason for sex is to make more babies? 

For that matter, why evolve a clitoris at all?

Patriarchy hasn’t cared too much to provide an answer to this conundrum. Men get pleasure from patriarchy approved man-on-top penis into vagina penetration and that’s all that’s needed for his active seed to be planted inside the passive, receptive female who will host it while it grows into a baby. 

The ancient Greeks believed female orgasm was necessary for conception but the enlightenment era disabused us of this ridiculous notion and from that point onwards, for conception anyway, female pleasure has been of no importance.

So why bother giving a woman a clitoris that is not in any direct contact with the male body during the “correct” (man on top) method of conception? 

Dr Kellogg was so bothered by its existence that he suggested the use of carbolic soap to burn it away (plus the invention of bran cereal to bore us all to death). A few highly patriarchal societies still practise its removal so that women aren’t distracted by the temptation of pleasure in any moment of their enslaved lives. 

The presence of the clitoris has bothered a lot of people over the centuries. A lot. And when a lot of people, in a lot of societies, make so much fuss over a small, apparently superfluous, body part it makes me ask, “Why?” And I muse over this “Why” a huge amount.

I’m not a particularly “clitoral woman” but in the UK we don’t tend to circumcise any of our children, so I do still have both my clitoris and labia – inner and outer- complete and untampered with by anyone ever. (If you have a clitoris and labia and are reading this, do yourself a massive favour and keep all kinds of persuasive plastic surgeons away from this very sacred and highly sensitive area. Please.) 

Many of my clients assume that because I am a woman the best way to arouse me is to stimulate my clitoris (it’s not) and because they are my clients and it’s not unpleasant in any way I will happily allow them to lick and stroke my clitoris for often very long periods of time. And, Mr Enlightenment Scientist, it’s never during penetrative sex!

I have one client whose devotion to my clitoris is exemplary and for about a year our 90-minute sessions were almost completely devoted to this one small body part. He is particularly obsessed with watching me come and whilst I would guide his hands to my nipples and vagina, he would return to his favourite spot: my clit. 

There’s only so many times that a modern whore can correct her client, eventually you get to the point where you decide, “This is a lesson for me. It’s time for me to practise what I preach – surrender to sensation and go with the experience.”

It’s incredibly enabling and permissive to reach the point of surrender. As the professional in the room, I figure that’s my client’s treat, but I have many clients who get enormous pleasure from watching my surrender and abandonment and, with a trusted few, I really go there. With my clit client I reach the point in a session when I know my role is to receive whatever he chooses to give me. 

Obviously, that takes enormous trust which we have built together over the years he has been visiting me. I also play with surrender at a whole new level. I have explained to him that for me to receive the amount of sensation that he gives my clitoris I need to be really still. I need to focus on my breathing and the distribution of energy he activates there. 

I play a game with myself of being completely pinned down, spread eagle on the bed, held by four imaginary people who will not allow my limbs to move in response to him at all. It feels sacrificial. And, at times, his touch feels as sharp as a knife.

The game is to take it all. As my clitoris gets increasingly sensitive, I allow myself to receive and feel at deeper and deeper levels within my body. Yesterday, for the first time, a priestess stood next to me, her mouth by my ear whispering, “Surrender Anabelle, surrender.” Every time I felt like raising a knee, twisting a pelvis or moving an arm in response to the penetrating sensation, I felt her presence commanding me to stay still, to surrender, to be the sacrifice.

I don’t know of what. But it thrills me. It thrills me to submit to increasing levels of discomfort that lead to deeper and deeper orgasms. To feel myself transported to an ancient time when our bodies were revered and worshipped and offered in sexual rapture to The Divine. It thrills my client too. He most often lies with one arm under my head, holding my body close to his, keeping it still, sometimes rolling a nipple between his teeth. 

His entire being is fully devoted to my rapture and he doesn’t relent even when he can tell the pleasure has become so intense that I can barely take it.

On many occasions over the years I have whispered, “Keep going” in reassurance that I am ready and willing to be taken over this cliff edge. It is terrifying. And exhilarating. It feels like I am going to break in half, but if in that moment, I remind myself to breathe and relax, letting go of any tension, giving sensation space in my body to move down the legs and through the torso, the intensity is reduced and I’m able to take more. 

My mind travels back thousands and thousands of years to when I sense this was the lived experience of my lineage. 

Imagine the excitement of being dressed “for sacrifice” in pure white, wearing a crown of blossom, perhaps May blossom, on your head. Being led up the aisle to the altar, through a community gathered in wonderment to witness you being offered to Goddess. You sit on the altar, your white robes and flower crown are removed and you lie down on the hard, cold stone, your arms and legs pulled to the four corners of the block and held down. The high priestess stands by your head to lead the “service”.

In my imagination there are two scenarios at this point. In the first a single shaman stimulates my clitoris making my body pulsate in wave after wave of orgasm – my pleasure is the offering to the Goddess. 

In the second, I am there to be pleasured by every man selected to take part in the ceremony. As a sacrificial body I lie in the same position, I do not lift my arms or my legs in any way, I am there to be fucked senseless. Senseless as in beyond feeling – into a deeply, deeply surrendered state.

The fucking goes on for hours. My body gives everything in sacrifice to Goddess, my amrita drenches the altar and the many men who have fucked me. They have drunk from me and got drunk on the energy from me. Goddess is satisfied and I am carried off to be bathed, to eat, drink and sleep.

In the morning I am reborn. Le petit mort that I experienced over and over and over again on the sacrificial altar has been my initiation into the most highly revered position in society: a priestess in the Temple of Horus, a temple whore. I will now join similarly highly trained and initiated whores in daily worship of The Divine, who we know as Goddess.

My client is a very self-effacing professional, he has no idea that he is a shaman involved in human sacrifice!  

What he does know and he does express to me is how much pleasure he gets from watching me come. He feels amazing that he can make me come over and over again and is amazed at my ability to surrender and receive more and more and more sensation on my clitoris.

“Most women push you away after she’s come, they say it’s too sensitive, it’s amazing how you allow me to do it again and again.” 

I explain my “game” and what I’m doing and it delights him. 

So, let me add to the initial conundrum, why are so many men so pleasured by female pleasure if sex is ONLY about procreation?

For many, many sessions we didn’t even fuck and it’s only recently he’s allowed me to give him blow jobs before the clitoral sacrifice. And he’s far from unique in my professional experience. 

The clients who book Kama (my full sex service) do so, less because they get to fuck me, and far more because they get to experience my sexual pleasure. They want to drink my amrita, they want to see me lost in wave after wave of pleasure, they want to feel the joy of my complete abandonment. 

Why are men wired to enjoy female sexual pleasure so much if sex is ONLY about procreation and female pleasure, (according to Messrs Enlightenment Science) is not a requirement for that?

My theory, one that I initially read in “Sex at Dawn”, is that human sexuality is not ONLY for procreation, it is also, as our ancestors knew, a deeply sacred portal to The Divine. 

Orgasmic folk who are reading this know what I am talking about and will nod along in agreement because they will have experienced this in their own bodies. Orgasm is far more than the release of sticky liquid from the end of a cock and a delicious download of chemicals in the body. 

For many of us, orgasm is when we transcend our mundane, earthly existence and are transported into a sacred realm for a period of time that seems to last an eternity. 

Folk like me feel immensely relieved to stumble into the world of tantra because, finally, we hear ancient knowledge and understanding that explains our hitherto deeply sinful desires, re-framing them as something profoundly sacred.

“A miracle is a shift in perception that changes everything” I recently heard the podcaster Dan O’Connor say. Accepting the universe’s invitation to become a whore and reconnecting my sexuality to the sacred has been miraculous. I didn’t need evidence (though I enjoy it when I read it) I only needed to change my perception. To make this happen I simply frequently ask the question, “What if?”

These two words have totally changed my life. They allow for infinite possibilities, they’re playful, creative and deeply rebellious.

Now whenever I am told that I can’t do something I cheekily ask myself, “What if I did?”

When my body screams “I can’t take any more!” I gently ask, “What if you surrendered deeper?”

When society tells me, “Women aren’t by their ‘true nature’ as sexual as men,” I giggle, “What if they are?”

When I’m told that all men are bastards and don’t want to give us any pleasure, I retort, “What if that’s bullshit?”

Can you see how miraculous “What if?” can be? 

You can question and re-frame any rule or belief handed down to you; in fact, I think it is our obligation to do so! Because ultimately the greatest, most threatening question we can collectively ask is, “What if we can sexually pleasure our way back to personal sovereignty and freedom?”

Despite my clitoral sacrifice fantasy and play I don’t believe it is a woman’s duty or role to be a portal to The Divine for the whole community. Much as I would LOVE that job, I actually believe it was shared amongst us all. 

We all have front facing genitalia, perfectly positioned for us to stimulate on our own without the assistance of others. We also all know the great pleasure and transformation we experience in our bodies when we stimulate our genitalia. What if we all have highly sensitive genitalia on the front of our bodies so that we can all partake in group ecstatic dance ceremonies to worship and honour The Divine?

We know that Goddess wanted her people to be highly sexed and that she discouraged monogamy. I am certain that human communities worshipped Goddess and bonded tightly with each other through sexual ceremonies. In churches Christians still drink the blood and eat the body of Jesus Christ – what if the origins of this continued practice are amrita and blow jobs?! 

Sounds so much more fun to me!!

In my very first week of spiritual training in a completely mundane provincial hotel conference room the coach stood us 10 participants in a circle. She talked us through about 10 minutes of “Haa” breathing – deep inhales followed by long, slow, slightly restricted exhales that cause you to make a “haa” sound in the throat. Initially it made me feel a bit light headed, then as I got into the flow, I became aware of tingles throughout my body as it oxygenated. 

As the tingles grew, I became acutely aware of the energy coming from other course participants. The circle we were standing in held the energy in the middle. When we stopped breathing, we were invited to feel the energy we had created between us. It felt as tangible as a large beach ball and we laughed as we moved it around and across the circle.

I had never consciously felt the energy of a group before; I was completely awestruck. And hooked. That was the point of no return for me – my life has been devoted to experiencing energy ever since.

We were only 10 people and we were not accessing our sexual energy; it was not that kind of training. All genitalia were neatly packed away – it would take a few more years for me to experience group practices that incorporated breath work and genital stimulation. And yet, the power of the energy in that room created by a group of newbie breathers who weren’t accessing their sexual energy was incredible.

What if someone learnt how to harness that energy?

What if someone highly skilled and experienced guided groups of people to activate and direct energy through the power of breathing?

What if these same people knew to add in the creatrix power of sexual energy?

What if humans truly believed to the core of their beings that their sexual energy was sacred and rightfully used in group ceremonies under the direction of a shaman for the good of the whole community and the satisfaction of Goddess?

Would the frontal position of our genitalia make a little bit more sense if my “”What ifs” were all true?

Lilith abandoned Adam because he decided he was God’s first (and most important) child rather than one of many children beloved by Goddess. In his absurd arrogance and profound ignorance, he turned his back on millennia of beautiful, playful, devout, sacred sexual practice and in his wake centuries of men have struggled to explain the presence and location of the clitoris.

What if Adam and all his male followers have all been wrong?

What if sex is for all our pleasure?

What if female pleasure is a particularly sacred aspect of sex?

What if procreation is a positive side effect of worship, but a side effect much like whey is from the main product, yogurt?

I don’t wish to diminish or deny the joy that children bring to our lives, I just seek to suggest that maybe, just maybe, sex is about so much more than making sons to fight wars and daughters to pick up socks from the floor.

What if the whores you diminish and despise are actually here to guide you back to The Truth.

 

Recommended further reading:

“Sex at Dawn” by Christopher Ryan and Cacilda Jetha

“She Comes First” by Ian Kerner (A how to guide on the art of giving clitoral pleasure – Note: not all women are aroused by clitoral pleasure – this whore isn’t!)

 

Photo by Margo Evardson on Unsplash (woman on sacrificial block)

Connecting to Tenderness in The Wounded Masculine

“Patriarchy teaches boys that masculinity means control, emotional invulnerability, sexual access, public authority and distance from everything coded female. It teaches them that anger is strength, grief is weakness, care is emasculating and women’s attention is a resource owed to them if they perform masculinity correctly….

 

….This is the crisis. Not ‘men are monsters.’ Not ‘boys are born bad.’ Not ‘women good, men bad, please clap.’ The crisis is that boys are being handed a broken emotional toolkit and then told the hammer is the only instrument a real man should need….

 

….I hate the system that teaches boys to amputate parts of themselves and then calls the wound masculinity…

 

…Need is human, while entitlement is political. A man needing love, care, intimacy, friendship, sex, belonging, respect, purpose and tenderness is not a problem. Those are human needs, Everyone has them. Everyone is shaped by whether they receive them….

 

…..Patriarchy is killing us. It is killing women through violence, control, medical neglect, forced pregnancy, economic inequality….It is killing men too, through isolation, emotional repression, grievance, politics, violence, addiction, despair (war – my addition) and the lie that being loved is less important than being obeyed. Feminism did not create this crisis. Feminism is just one of the few traditions honest enough to name it….

 

….Men and boys are not in crisis because women got too mean, too educated, too independent, too feminist… They are in crisis because patriarchy promised them a throne and gave them a cage. And some of them are so attached to the cage they cannot even see the bars.”

 

 Professor Meredith Bitchy History on Substack

 

I read Professor Meredith’s brilliantly written and sometimes laugh-out-loud funny article while drinking my morning coffee in the garden as the day warmed up. It had been another viciously hot week and being able to sit and enjoy a coffee was a rare treat. The birds were singing and the garden humming with life – so much abundance, so much joy, so much life. 

 

I watched the cats stretch out in the early rays, enjoying the soft breeze before the heat of the day became something to hide from, and I wondered how did we all get so lost? How did we all get so disconnected from how beautiful and magical and abundant life is?

 

The answer is always the same. 

 

A system of hierarchy and control that was created to separate us from the world around us and from each other. Separated and disconnected from the magical abundance of life and our innate creativity, we flap around like fish out of water, desperate to breathe but in completely the wrong environment to do so. 

 

Of course a fish out of water won’t survive long. The GENIUS of patriarchy is to make it survivable but only that – survivable.

 

Let me be clear. Patriarchy is not men. Men are not patriarchy. 

 

Patriarchy is a system of extraction and exploitation. It uses hierarchy as an instrument of control. Of course, if you are slightly up the hierarchical ladder you feel “good” when you look down on those beneath you, but it’s still only survival, just in a slightly nicer suit.

 

To thrive humans need to feel connected. We need intimacy, both platonic and sexual. We need belonging – with an intimate partner (or partners), within a family and within a community of deeply trusted friends. In order to develop and nourish these intimacies we need the emotional skills to ask for what we need/desire and to hear (without defence) what others need/desire from us.

 

We need to reach adulthood skilled in kindness, compassion, love, patience, honesty, courage, open-heartedness, tenderness. We need to be able to feel and safely express the full range of our emotions.

 

But patriarchy does not want us to thrive. A thriving population would learn its collective power and so would strive together, in unison, for independence, self-governance and sovereignty. 

 

You can’t exploit a thriving and empowered population. 

 

You can’t control people who know their own power and see and celebrate the power in the people around them. 

 

You can’t control people who collaborate with one another instead of competing as they have been programmed to do. 

 

But you can control people if you train them from a very young age into roles that will define them, and their relationships with other people, for life. The Jesuits famously proclaimed, “Give me the boy until the age of 7 and I will give you the man.” I watched as my children were conditioned, despite my best efforts, by people and wider society around me.

 

One day particularly stands out in my memory. I had walked the youngest across the fields to meet his school bus at the other end of the village as we did most mornings. We had had a particularly lovely walk, he has always had an incredible, enquiring mind and interesting perspective on the world and I have always deeply valued our chats. 

 

On that morning we were feeling particularly connected and him leaving me to go to school, which would bore his beautiful, inquisitive mind to death, felt like a cruel wrench – for both of us. 

 

The mini-bus drew up as we were swapping red wellies for black school shoes and we both started feeling really emotional – we weren’t ready for the impending separation. Neither of us wanted to be separated (separating children from their families for compulsory education is an essential tool of patriarchy), I was holding back tears and “being brave.” 

 

My little boy was less tightly programmed than me – he was still young, they’d had him for far fewer years than they had had me – and he started crying in great big sobs. It really tugged at my heart, but that was not what was making me want to cry. I wanted to cry because I didn’t want to be parted from my joyous, beautiful boy any more than he wanted to be parted from me.

 

As we stepped onto the bus so that I could settle him into his seat, the old, kindly Santa-look-a-like bus driver said, “Pull it together lad – look you’re making your mother cry – man up!”

 

I was furious. I turned on the sweet old man who was, after all, only repeating the harm done to him, and hissed, “How dare you! Crying is a perfectly acceptable and honest expression of emotion and a sign of a healthy person. DO NOT presume to tell my son how he should behave.”

 

Of course my words were wasted. The damage was done. Patriarchy had won, again. My boy didn’t come home a completely changed being, but it was another brick in the wall. 

 

The kindly Santa-look-a-like bus driver seemingly played a very peripheral role in my son’s life – he only drove the mini bus to and from a school. Yet he was one of the men who raised my son, the men in society beyond my front door, and therefore beyond my control, who taught my boys what it is to be a man. 

 

I am a woman. I cannot raise boys to be men. I am a model for girls, not boys. On that morning the bus driver amputated a part of my young son’s emotional body. My boy carries that wound into adulthood, it was one of the lessons that helped him to define and understand what it is “to be a man.” 

 

It’s such a cliché but in 2016/17 my beautiful boy learned that TO BE A MAN you must:

 

  1. Not cry
  2. Not upset your mother

 

This is a huge wound that needs healing. 

 

Children are NEVER responsible for their parent’s emotional states – that is the job of adults, not children. Yet my young boy had just been told by an older (thus to be respected) MAN (i.e. role model on masculinity for my boy) that he was indeed responsible for my emotional states. 

 

And worse, he learnt this in the year his parents – the people who should keep him safe – were themselves going through a divorce thanks to their own unresolved childhood trauma.

 

I hope that my son, now a young man, will be challenged in relationship to heal this wound. Or maybe he will find a good therapist, a men’s healing group or a shaman skilled in using plant medicine? Sadly the wound is below the level of consciousness and he lives in a society in which carrying this wound is the entry criteria to “masculinity.”

 

So, when after a particularly beautiful and intimate session with a client, lying, limbs entangled on the bed, he mused that feminism had gone too far and made intimacy too difficult for men and women I was honestly lost for words (a rare event for me!)

 

I clearly live in a completely different algorithmic world to him. I am not fed manosphere diatribes against feminism, I am fed Bitchy History diatribes against patriarchy! I am not reading that the feminist fight for bodily self autonomy and the right to choice in our lives is somehow to blame for the crisis in “masculinity.”

 

I think he thought that because I am a sexually active woman who loves cock and offers a professional sex service I am somehow not a feminist? I took a deep breath, reminded myself to be kind and said something like, “How does women having choice harm men?”

 

Flustered, (he obviously realised a bit too late that he had ejaculated all over a real life feminist) he replied, “No….but it’s gone a bit too far hasn’t it?”

 

“In what way?” I asked.

 

When he didn’t reply I offered, “It seems to me that you think feminism is some kind of war against men? It really isn’t. It’s a war against a system of oppression and control that harms men just as much as it harms women. If only men could see how trapped and exploited they are and then either join women in fighting patriarchy as feminists or create a parallel movement to fight with us for freedom for us all?”

 

I had said too much. The cognitive dissonance was writ large on his face and he muttered about not being as well read as me and fled to the shower. 

 

When you’re not enduring a relationship with a man who’s stuck in the algorithmic manosphere it is easy to have compassion for them. They are clearly being manipulated into hating and fearing THEIR PATH TO FREEDOM. 

 

Yes women were the first (of the two genders) to see that patriarchy is shit, we’ve read, written, talked, marched and even self-pleasured our way towards freedom and we love nothing more than when men (with the beautiful cocks we so enjoy sucking and fucking) join us in that fight.

 

But obviously patriarchy is going to fight back. Obviously the machine will pay to boost a few toxic individuals who eagerly tell men, “It’s all women’s fault” to keep men from the warrior women who could work with them towards freedom, power, personal sovereignty and meaningful connected community.

 

The cage that patriarchy works so hard to keep men in is incredibly brutal. From birth boys are conditioned to disconnect from, suppress, judge and shame essentially human traits. Let’s list just a few:

 

Sensitivity – being alert and receptive to the mood in the room, your own and other’s emotions, states of wellbeing and energies. Shut down because a “sensitive man” is a sissy. (Patriarchy doesn’t only seek to shut down sensitivity in men – I was raised in a family that used the label “over-sensitive” not as a compliment, but as an affliction to grow out of.)

 

Collaboration and cooperation – sacrificed on the altar of competition as boys are taught that being Number 1 – A Winner – is more desirable than working collectively within community to reach an outcome that benefits everyone.

 

Kindness – left to women.

 

Compassion – left to women.

 

Empathy – left to women.

 

Tenderness – what even is that? Definitely left to women.

 

Crying – don’t ever do this!! And never, ever allow yourself to feel anything that might make you cry. Crying effectively equals woman. Only women and babies cry. A man who cries is effectively cutting off his own balls. 

 

Which brings me onto: 

 

Circumcision – the single most effective and brutal act inflicted by patriarchy on infant boys. You cannot argue that it’s not both cruel and unnecessary, yet half the planet is still circumcising their infant boys who live with the consequences of trauma and reduced sensitivity for life. 

 

You still think patriarchy is something you want to defend by attacking feminists?!

 

In my session today I was very preoccupied with the concept of tenderness. What would tenderness even look like in a man? What is tenderness? How is a man tender? 

 

I was musing over these questions as I lit my candles and incense, connected my playlist to the speaker, showered, dressed, applied lipstick and mascara. Could I think of a moment when I had witnessed or experienced tenderness in a man?

 

My client arrived – a Musubi/Kama session – I invited him to undress and lie down and guided him through a short body meditation. He relaxed quickly and fell into a deep trance, “excellent” I thought. I asked him to roll over onto his front which he did almost without stirring, again – “excellent” I thought. 

 

His body reacted quickly to the massage and despite the heat in the room I gave him a really sexy, deeply sensual and highly erotic massage. He hadn’t been sure whether he wanted a prostate massage, I had suggested that we follow his body’s desires (or lack of) and go where the energy flowed. His body screamed for a prostate massage – all the classic signs – bum pushing up towards my hands as they glided over it, relaxed buttocks, soft anal rose. 

 

Gingerly and very slowly, I entered him. I applied gentle pressure to his prostate whilst I stroked his shaft, frenulum and balls with my free hand. He was moaning with pleasure, his cock hard, he was pushing back against my finger, but I knew this was the first time for him and I know the released energies are powerful. He had a beautiful cock which I wanted to feel deep down my throat and deep inside in my cunt, I didn’t want to make his energy too powerful for him to ride.

 

So I withdrew my finger and sat astride him, grinding my vulva into his buttocks for a few moments, moving the energy I had just activated between and around our two bodies, while I removed the glove I had worn to penetrate him. Then I leant forward and whispered in his ear, “Roll over.” I raised myself up allowing him to roll over underneath me so that as his face came around he was met with an eyeful of oily breast. 

 

He immediately took hold of them and buried his face deep into their generous flesh, his fingers finding my nipples which you will know, if you have ever spent any time with me, always makes me come. He hadn’t met me before, he felt my juices beginning to flow over his cock and between his legs, “That feels amazing” he sighed. 

 

“Pinch harder” I replied, kissing him full on the mouth knowing that what was about to come would blow his mind as it always does. He pinched and then, as invited, bit down on my nipples. The heavens opened, the longed for rain gushed over him and he was soaked. 

 

 It was too much for him. 

 

“I’m going to come,” he gasped. I could see him desperately fighting the urge to come, tensing his body, tightening his face – tension and tightness accelerate the process and before I could coach him into long gentle exhales to relax and allow, he had come – copious amounts of beautiful sperm all over his sacrum and hip, my thigh and the bed. There is something endlessly magical and miraculous about sperm isn’t there?

 

His exhilaration and intense pleasure was immediately fighting disappointment and shame. 

 

Disappointment that his session – for him – had come to an end and shame that he had failed to control his pleasure and come “too soon.” I could see his inner turmoil and frustration and I did what any self respecting tantric whore would do, I invited him to relax and receive pleasure in a softer, gentler, calmer state.

 

I have brought countless men to orgasm post ejaculation. Many are only too pleased to lie and fully relax, even sleep lightly, as I work my magic with my hands. Post ejaculation men can fall into a deep, deep place of relaxation and in this place it is so much easier to move energy around the body. Very often, whilst almost asleep, they will then feel the unfamiliar experience of orgasmic energy in their chest, arms, hands, legs, feet.

 

Their cock hardens but hasn’t got the same urgency to come because they are so deeply relaxed. It’s beautiful to watch and very empowering. Yes, I was sad not to ride my client’s cock today, but I was equally excited about pleasing him as he dozed off, building his energy until we were both caught up in the dance again.

 

We had plenty of time left on the clock. I wiped away the sperm, picked up my little bottle of coconut oil and settled myself between his legs to give exquisite pleasure.

 

“Thank you, that was amazing. Can I have a shower?” said the voice at the other end of the bed.

 

“Would you not accept my invitation to receive pleasure in a softer, gentler, quieter state?”

 

He lay quietly for a bit, but his legs stayed upright, feet planted on the bed either side of me, knees restricting the movement of my arms, creating a protective barrier around his cock. This was not a body open to receiving or relaxing back into pleasure.

 

I persevered. I stroked, twisted, licked and even sucked his beautiful soft cock. At moments it throbbed its appreciation and I smiled back, “I know it’s lovely to experience tenderness.”

 

TENDERNESS. 

 

That word again. In that moment I was in the wound. And I understood what tenderness is. 

 

Tenderness is softness. 

 

Tenderness is being soft, feeling soft, sharing soft.

 

Pleasure can be so soft – think of a feather stroking across skin. But men are conditioned to expect and require their cocks to be hard. Only a hard cock earns the right to be grasped, stroked, teased, licked, sucked, fucked. 

 

My client today was clearly deeply uncomfortable receiving pleasure in softness. His cock wasn’t. It was throbbing appreciatively in my hands and mouth. But his mind – the seat of patriarchal conditioning – was roaring NO!!! YOU HAVE NOT EARNED THIS!!

 

When he asked again if he could go and have a shower of course I didn’t deny his request. I was sad that he was unable to receive my loving attention post ejaculation, but I wasn’t going to force myself on him. 

 

I smiled, held his cock in one hand, placed the other on his heart chakra, took a few deep heart connected breaths, sent my love through my hands to his heart and his cock and then withdrew my touch and escorted him to the bathroom.

 

And I’m left with a new question to muse over this afternoon – how can a man show tenderness towards others, his partner, children, friends, society, the planet when he can’t allow himself to feel tenderness within himself? 

 

If he’s uncomfortable with being soft, how can he give the people in his life and beyond, the softness that they yearn for, crave and need? 

 

Can you feel the wound?

 

Can you see how patriarchy harms men and the people that they love?

 

Are you beginning to see the bars of the cage?

 

Are you ready to join us in resistance to reclaim your personal sovereignty, or will you carry on blaming women?

 

26.06.2026

 

Photo by Nour Wageh on Unsplash  

Are You Ready to Unleash Your Full Orgasm? Could Your Arse Take a Fist?

“WOW….that was mindblowing…”

 

I am quite used to this response and it always pleases me. I devote my body and my full attention to my clients’ pleasure, to activating, expanding and moving energy around their bodies so it’s always reaffirming to hear that I did a good job! Today was a regular Musubi massage, I didn’t allow it to go “off piste”, I don’t know why, intuitively I sensed that he needed a truly tantric experience. 

 

I say “regular”, it was in terms of how interactive it got. It wasn’t in that he had asked if it might be possible for me to fist him. It most certainly was. The human body never fails to fascinate and amaze me and I am just incredibly lucky to have experienced bodies in ways that relatively few people have. 

 

Over the years I have fisted a fair few anuses and worked with other clients towards receiving a full fist. It’s an unusual area to have a speciality in, but I would now claim that I do – it’s all about relaxation and pleasure, pleasure, pleasure. 

 

I begin all my massages with a short meditation to kick start the relaxation process. I use words to both relax my clients and also to impart some instructions and gentle teaching. I don’t use a script, I have the same key pieces of information I want to convey – I want my clients to connect with their breath, to use their senses to drop into their bodies and to feel sensation within. 

 

I want them to relax really, really, really deeply. With my key points at the back of my mind I just allow the words to flow. I allow the energies of the specific moment – theirs, mine, the  room’s, the day’s to guide me and I just allow the words to intuitively bubble out of me. 

 

Generally I close my eyes. I stand naked next to the bed and I notice that as I move into the meditation, feeling it in my body, my arms will rise so that they’re at a “Jesus angle” from my body, palms facing my client. As I guide my client through the breathing my body begins to tingle, I can feel my energy activating, so that before we even touch our energies connect and are beginning to mingle, merge, flow and dance together. 

 

With us both in a deeply relaxed state, feeling our hands and bodies tingling with life-force, creatrix energy, I will remove the blanket I have thrown over his naked body and ask him to roll over onto his front. My first touch is the most intentional of the entire session. Kneeling beside him, I place my left hand over his sacrum and my right hand over his heart chakra. In deep stillness I will pause for a few breaths for his body to accept my hands and for my hands to connect with both his sexual and heart energies. 

 

Then lifting my hands I will apply oil in a spiral over his heart chakra drizzle it down his spine creating a second spiral over his sacrum. Then guided by the music I begin to massage the back of his body with my hands.

 

As I did this today, my left breast slightly touched his right buttock and he inhaled sharply. I smiled, when someone is this sensitive to the touch of my breast it’s a sign that he will feel his energy well and enjoy the experience of it moving through and around his body. 

 

The body gliding part of the massage was highly pleasurable for him and his feet wrapped around my breasts when I massaged them with a combination of fingers, palm, nipple and breast tissue. His pelvis pushed up towards my body as I slid over him. He gasped repeatedly as my breasts massaged his upper back, neck, shoulders, waist, buttocks, inner thighs, legs. I could feel that he was both highly pleasured and deeply relaxed.

 

It was time for the anus. I started with more boob action – partly because men love boobs and I’ve got great boobs that love to be loved – but also because massaging a man’s buttocks with my breasts flows my heart energy into his root chakra, connecting my loving energy with him and making him feel safe before starting an intensely vulnerable anal massage. 

 

Today he really pushed back against my breasts, lifting his pelvis so that my breasts could reach underneath his buttocks and tease his testicles, perineum and cock. I could feel my heart energy penetrating him and it thrilled me.

 

When you understand that sex is essentially about activating and moving energy it changes everything. Most days I am fully connected to an energy that is beyond me (Universe, Source, Divine Love, Goddess) and I feel it moving through me. I don’t give away my reserves of energy, I flow or channel the infinite energy of Goddess through my physical and energetic body for my clients. I feel sure Mary Magdalene did something similar with Jesus. She was a highly trained temple priestess, I’ve just stumbled into this work and experimented, and I find that utterly thrilling. 

 

Finding my balance, I removed one of the two hands that had been steadying my body for this heart/bum fuck and used it to start tracing my fingers down his arse crack, over his anal rose, flowing over the perineum, ball sack and finishing with the tip of his cock. Lifting my body slightly, I reached for the lube with my other hand. I rubbed it all around his arse and applied enough to ensure that all the fingers of my right hand were properly covered. His anal rose was perfect. 

 

Oh my god, if I could choose one anal rose to teach people the joy of anal play it would be his! Exquisitely soft, delicate, completely hairless – he had prepared well which is always a sign of deep respect. I suspect he had given himself a good clean inside as well, fisting is very filling and could possibly be messy if the anus hadn’t been given a good clean out before the session.

 

His sphincter happily drew in my index finger, squeezing it with pulsating pleasure, inviting more. I slowly fed him my middle finger, then added my ring finger, then easily tucking in my pinky finger behind them. He was full but not filled. 

 

I had started in a low position with my left breast within reach of his left hand, but he was very still and seemed distracted rather than pleasured or reassured by my breast so I raised myself to an easier and more upright position over his body. It was time for the thumb.

 

Adding the thumb is really what creates the fist – as the thumb knuckle seeks to join the rest of the knuckles inside the warm core of the anus the hand is at its widest. Very often the sphincter just cannot, or will not, relax and open enough to allow in the full fist. I’ve reached this point with a few clients but they just are not relaxed enough for the final surrender. 

 

Today as I curled in my thumb to nestle inside the rest of my hand the sphincter just opened, like a door on Star Trek! I’ve experienced this happening before, but only with the aid of poppers. I knew my client didn’t have poppers and yet, here was his arse opening on demand for my full fist – amazing! I went in.

 

I don’t have particularly small or delicate hands so to feel my full fist moving with ease into an arse is an incredibly exhilarating experience. It is just magical to feel the usually tightly closed muscles in the anus drawing you in. Today my client’s anus felt as greedy and demanding as my cunt often does, pulsating and throbbing, hot as it drew me in deeper – if my cunt feels as good as this anus did no wonder men love to fuck me so much! 

 

My fist filled all of him, I moved very little. Contrary to what I imagine you see in porn (I haven’t looked) I don’t move a fist rapidly in and out of an anus – definitely not in the first 5 minutes, definitely not on a first “visit” and probably not ever much at all. Fucking with a fist risks damaging the fragile skin and muscles of the anus and is completely unnecessary for a super deep, fulfilling and energy activating experience. So I didn’t fuck my client with my fist, I held his energy with mine as he pushed back onto my hand. 

 

He ground his body slowly, moving his anus around my hand gently encouraging his anus to open more and receive deeper and deeper in a way that felt totally safe and pleasurable to him. The energy that it activated was incredible. Any kind of prostate massage will activate deep energies, a fist activates on a whole new level! 

 

I felt his energy surging up my right arm. On a few occasions I had to moan to release the pressure of energy in my body – the feedback from receiver to giver is, in his words, mind blowing – again, no wonder men love to fuck a truly alive, activated and orgasmic woman – it feels like nothing else on earth. 

 

The energy was swirling between our bodies, my fist stayed inside him for a fairly long time – a good 5 minutes – just experiencing the warmth, the wetness and the throbbing pulse of his anus. The only movement I made inside him was to turn gentle circles to connect different parts of my fingers with different parts of his internal muscles. As you turn a fist around you also ask the sphincter muscle to relax, open and surrender to you in different ways, which his truly did.

 

When I sensed that he had had enough I removed my hand gently, holding it over his arse with just one finger lying inside the arse crack. Breathing gently, giving him time to integrate the experience and feel the feeling of emptiness and loss without feeling completely abandoned. 

 

Withdrawal is as crucial as entry. No-one wants to be left floundering, rejected and abandoned. The finger, fist or cock may have left the anus or vagina but the person still wants to be held, to feel loved, to maintain that connection as they assimilate to life on their own again. 

 

Only when I felt he was ready for me to do so did I lift my hand away from him and move to sit astride his bum to ride him, grinding my pubic mound into him, connecting the lips of my cunt with his delicious energy as I removed my glove and wiped away all traces of lube from my hand. 

 

In this way I “fucked” him with my energy and he “fucked” me right back. Penetrating each other deeply, moving energy back and forth until I couldn’t absorb any more and I came, squirting all over his arse. He’d have felt it trickling down his arse crack, over his perineum and balls, the shaft and tip of his cock which was getting harder and harder underneath all of this action.

 

My “on piste” massages don’t get derailed between me asking my client to roll over onto his back and his ejaculation at the end of a 20 minute lingam massage. A tantric massage shouldn’t become a full sex session, partly because as a professional it is important that I honour our agreed boundaries at the beginning of the session, and, as, importantly because when a man receives a full 90 minute tantric massage he is relaxing into receiving – into his yin energy – often for the first time in his life. 

 

God’s patriarchal model of sex requires men to perform and “give” to compliant, uncomplaining, often un-pleasured and submissive women. For 1,000s of years men have had to, literally, rise to the occasion, take command and impose themselves on (and in) women. It’s thus a deeply powerful and reconnecting experience for a man to receive the complete opposite. To lie in almost total stillness, do nothing and yet feel so much. It reconnects them to something buried deep in their psyche, way beyond their conscious reach: joy, peace, calm, orgasm, expansion, safety, realignment, contentment, self-love & compassion, belonging, tenderness, ease. 

 

Men are deeply conditioned by society to want to fuck, but when, for whatever reason, they make their way to my door and I give them one of my versions of a tantric massage – highly sensual, erotic, but always focused on expanding the experience of energy within the body – they always have a completely mind blowing experience. 

 

The orgasm they feel with me literally blows away all the bullshit conditioning that our beautiful men’s minds have been programmed with. Proving to me, day after day, that male sexuality is as highly conditioned as female sexuality and that patriarchal sex does not serve them much better than it serves women. Quelle suprise!

 

Remember it was God who limited sex to penis-in-vagina-in-the-missionary-position model of sex. Prior to his edicts, Goddess had only desired humans to enjoy lots and lots of sexual pleasure devoted to Her in worship. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely adore the moment a cock enters my cunt and I feel her wrapping herself around his warmth, but I can’t imagine my sex life being limited to that any more. Not one of my clients has a proper orgasm through fucking me. Some ejaculate this way and we always have a jolly good time, but they don’t experience the immensity of a full bodied, “mind blowing” orgasm by doing lots of frantic fucking. 

 

No, the mind blowing orgasms occur when my client is deeply relaxed, lying on his back, eyes closed, receiving a lingam massage. With legs wide apart wrapped around me –  seated, cross legged, feet underneath his bum – music pulling him deeper and deeper into his body, connecting to sensation within, using breath to maintain this highly relaxed, surrendered state as I massage his lingam for an extended period of time. This is the way to build a full bodied orgasm and the orgasms I have witnessed men experiencing in this way, on my bed, have been absolutely incredible. 

 

An integral part of a traditional lingam massage (as taught by Michaela Riedl in “Lingam Massage”)  is for the practitioner to move energy from the lingam up to the heart chakra using our hands. We do this to reconnect a man’s sexual energy to his heart energy. One of the many disconnects in the patriarchal model of male sexuality is this sexual centre-heart centre disconnect which leaves men disconnected from their true “Lover” energy, sometimes for an entire lifetime. I believe it is one of the ways in which men are at war with themselves. 

 

As humans we ALL have a fundamental need to feel loved. Sex is a powerful means to feel this love – love for self, love for another, love for community, love for the planet, Divine Love – whichever, through sex we can connect with love. Unless you have been told that men have a biological, physical need to fuck and women alone seek love from the experience. ARGH!!! What total and utter rubbish!

 

This woman can tell you that I and many, many, many other women deeply crave carnal, physical pleasure from sex and every single one of my male clients (100s, if not 1,000s now) all desire to feel loved. Yet the patriarchal model literally programmes them into taking love out of sex. 

 

The loving hands of a whore, or any informed partner, can reconnect a man’s sexual energy (located in this root chakra – his prostate and perineum) and move it physically, using our hands, to his heart chakra (located in the centre of the chest), so reconnecting sex with love and integrating the body into a magnificent WHOLE human being.

 

Another of the beautiful gifts that a lingam massage gives a man (and one way in which it differs from a quick wank to conclude a massage with a “happy ending”) is the comfort and ease the practitioner has with his soft cock. Soft cocks is the subject for a blog post of their own, but here I will just mention that when I move my hands from a lingam to dispense energy throughout the rest of his body, the lingam will, unsurprisingly, soften as the energy moves from his lingam up into his torso, down his arms and into his legs and feet. 

 

This is exactly what I want and if I have succeeded in relaxing my client enough so that he is fully in the zone and connected to sensation (energy) in his entire body he’ll barely notice that his cock has softened, and if he does, he no longer cares! 

 

The bonus, as I see it, is that I can afford to use hotter strokes. On the 0-10 scale a soft cock has further to go than a hard one, so I can afford to increase the pleasure more when he is slightly soft. Remember, I don’t want to wank him off and make him come. I want to activate, expand and move his energy giving his lingam as much delicious pleasure as I can until his whole body shakes with orgasm.

 

Today my client orgasmed bang on 20 minutes with a roar of enormous power –  it came from deep within and sounded both incredibly animalistic but also very Divine Masculine. Then he lay in stillness. I always give my clients a good amount of time to integrate the experience, to bathe in the afterglow of orgasm, lying still, being held physically and energetically by me. 

 

I cup the softening cock in my hands, allowing it to rest in my “vagina replica” hands as the energy dissipates. If I’m lucky enough to have received his ejaculate on my breasts I will use one or two of my hands (when he feels ready for me to disconnect) to rub the sperm into the skin of my breasts, smiling at how when I am buried my breasts will still have a magnificent youthful glow! And I wait for my client to open his eyes and re-enter the room.

 

As you already know, today he did so with the exclamation, “WOW!!” followed by the words, “That was mindblowing!” I smiled and said I was pleased and that it was my great pleasure to have been able to give him a “mindblowing” experience. He didn’t seem to want to talk and whilst I was curious to know how he had experienced the anal fisting, I honoured the fact that if he wanted to share he would, that it wasn’t for me to pry. So I offered him a shower and led him down the corridor to the bathroom. 

 

I returned to the bedroom to do what I always do – turn down the music, strip the bed, cover the mattress with a pretty sarong, clean and refill my little oil bottle, clean the lube bottle and tidy it all away. My energy shifts as I do all this, I can feel my cunt returning to closed (probably a gentle simmering 2 or 3 on my scale). When my client comes back from his shower I am more friendly teacher/coach than sexual partner, the boundaries of normal life have been re-erected.

 

And, very often, this is when the talk happens. Maybe it’s because there’s been time to reflect in the shower? Maybe it’s because they still feel different despite the break away from me and the energy of the room? I don’t know why, but very, very often my clients want to talk about what they have just experienced, to try and understand it, to put a lived experience into words before it fades from their memory.

 

Today my client smiled broadly and said with some amazement, “It’s incredible, I don’t feel dirty.” This is my deepest desire as a whore – for my clients to leave feeling amazing, restored, healed, connected, joy-filled, lighter, happier, seen, understood, loved, energised, never, ever “dirty” or regretful in any way (another reason for firm boundaries). Sex is NOT dirty. Our society has made it so by pushing it into the shadows. 

 

If you visit a whore in her temple of course you will feel differently afterwards compared with how you would feel if you spent time rolling around with a prostitute in the gutter! Sex with a proper whore will never, ever feel dirty because she sets the intent for the session to be all about love and reconnection to The Divine, neither of which are “dirty”. Sex can be sacred and it feels so much better when it is.

 

He also reported that he hadn’t crashed, that on the contrary he still felt amazing –  “Normally when I come I have a deep crash straight afterwards.” 

 

That, my dears, is the difference between ejaculation and orgasm. 

 

A full bodied, carefully developed, expanded and managed experience in a relaxed body feels amazing for an extended period of time. Ejaculation, most often forced out of the body using tension, feels exhausting. Tension is exhausting. 

 

Limiting male sexual pleasure to ejaculation and robbing men of their full orgasmic experience is one many crimes committed by patriarchy against men. Yes, my client ejaculated, but only after I had consciously and carefully moved energy around and through his body. I had observed his orgasm building in his body, I had seen him orgasm (shudder with energy) more than once before he actually ejaculated. 

 

Orgasm is an energy experience. Ejaculation is a physical experience. They can be combined, very often they are not, and they should no longer be confused as being the same thing.

 

We finally talked about the fisting and the amazing way in which his body opened so quickly and easily to receive my full fist. “It was as if you were taking poppers but I know you didn’t have any on you” I remarked, adding, “It was an amazing experience to be so deep within you, to feel myself a part of you.”

 

He replied, “I opened easily because I was so much more relaxed than I thought I would be. I felt safe. The meditation, your words telling me that I was safe, worked. I felt completely safe with you.”

 

As I showed him out of the door I smiled deeply, it had been a good session. 

 

I was a very, very satisfied whore. 

Text & Photography © Copyright 2026 - Incall Escort / Outcall Escort - Anabelle - Hampshire & Surrey - Tie & Tease - NURU & Tantric Massage - Made by Samshosting