Moving forward using all my breath

Making love to you was never second best

I saw the world thrashing all around your face

Never really knowing it was always mesh and lace

I’ll stop the world and melt with you

You’ve seen the difference and

It’s getting better all the time

There’s nothing you and I won’t do

I’ll stop the world and melt with you

(Modern English)

Touch is the essence of bonding between lovers. The deepest and most profoundly erotic moments might be the ones we may not realize as such. It might be the way our skin feels against each other’s during sleep, or a kiss along the back of the neck. Their finger hooked into the crook of yours during a walk together. The scent of their skin remaining on the neck of a shirt. It might be more erotic to discover how much your mate loves his or her feet rubbed during a loving foot massage, when you can allow them to fully let go without expectations. Kissing and licking their toes can be highly erotic in such cases, and chances are good that kissing the arch of their foot expands the horizon on foreplay.

Bonding and intimacy are enhanced by caressing, touching and being together. Touch itself  doesn’t need to involve anything more than just the touch of skin together. Eroticism can be found in the familiarity of our lover’s scent, the tone of their voice or their heartbeat to our chest. Eroticism is discovered when we are being present. Being aware of our senses allows us to open to any state of pleasure. Stopping the world to melt together is pure joy. The pleasure of the discovery of each other can be unlimited.

I’ve been reading a few articles on pair bonding— neurobiology has it that we bond through affectionate gestures like any other pair bonding sort of mammals. Caressing, grooming, cooing, sighing, and eye contact keep us together but not the act of sex itself. So in other words, penetration isn’t the main course of sex and bonding, but touch is. Oxytocin, the “love” hormone, is part of this magical state of being.

When oxytocin is released in our brains and bodies, we feel like we are softly melting. We are high on oxytocin. Oxytocin makes us feel contentment, reduces anxiety and increases good feelings around our mate. Studies have shown that oxytocin levels increase after orgasm and are part of sexual arousal. This does not surprise me at all. Each time I was pregnant and ready for birth, nipple stimulation during active childbirth helped the delivery along. Nipple stimulation produces more oxytocin, which is necessary for increasing uterine contractions. Sex is enhanced by oxytocin and so is childbirth. And so is love.

Oxytocin helps us orgasm too.

Brain chemistry alone isn’t enough. We have that mysterious aspect of us that we call the soul. Our souls must feel safe, secure, cared for and, in the words of Thomas Moore from his book The Soul of Sex, “Like everything human, sensation cannot be separated from the imagination.” Our lover’s body, face, scent and touch inspire us to let go and we succumb to the pleasure of love and loving, of being loved and giving love.

Our minds are also  full of all that buzzing and bubbling chemistry and electric neurological magic. Erotic love is a shape-shifter. It comes alive in the imagination. We can imagine anything we want to during sex, about sex. Erotic fantasies are the playground for our deepest desires and lightest whims. If we want to imagine an orgy in which we are the central focus, perhaps that fantasy satisfies something in us that we need or attentions that we require. But fantasy doesn’t have to mean something psychologically deep either. It can just be a fascination with orgies and a curiosity that we wouldn’t play out in our reality. It can stay in fantasy. The fluidity of erotic fantasy is like dreaming.

Being present with our lover enhances our bond with them. There have been a few times that the idea of only kissing together was discussed with my lover. We tried it a few times. Just caressing and kissing — even in the car. Well, I have to admit, we gave in to having sex in the car. But, it worked. Kissing was powerful foreplay for us.

Kissing is actually highest on the charts for both men and women as the main thing that turns them on the most and brings them together. Men, according to Your Tango Tokii survey, put kissing at the top of the list for foreplay, and 57% of men say “yes” to kissing. So, pucker up and smooch away. Men love it more than you think. They love it even more than women do, supposedly.

 “The big question is whether you are going to be able to say a hearty ‘yes’ to your adventure.” 
~ Joseph Campbell

Sex and love. It’s an adventure. Be present. When we are solely focused upon reaching orgasm we can lose sight of being present. We seek that climb toward ecstasy rather than simply losing ourselves in our lover’s eyes and dissolving into the other. We are preoccupied with orgasm as the goal— for some men trying to hold back from orgasm is the distraction. For some women, trying to have an orgasm is the elusive goal. And when we are yearning too strongly for that marvelous feeling, it becomes the antithesis of letting go. We can try too hard or focus too much on that one moment. Thus, we aren’t being present. We strive for that feeling that will lead us to a better sensation, and then even better: orgasm. If it happens effortlessly, then the beauty of sex is breathing through us naturally. The flow of erotic touch inspires us. There are many women who cannot achieve orgasm at all. Psychological blocks, physical problems, and difficulty staying erect and/or achieving orgasm due to age, along with hormone changes, can all affect a man’s ability to orgasm. Anorgasmic men exist as well.

There are some men that fear that they won’t remain as virile or as hard, and if they can’t then women (their wife, their girlfriend), may not be satisfied. A myriad of worries can run through their minds. What if I can’t stay hard? And, what if? Then what? Will she want another man? What if I can’t please her? Well, women are very forgiving, generally. There are other ways to stay connected and give pleasure. Kissing, touching, oral pleasure (for both— even if he can’t stay hard or orgasm— go for it anyway), caressing and fingers work wonders. Giving each other a massage, pillow talk, and laughter can be satisfying ways to bond and stay bonded.  Believe me, just kissing while naked in bed is really fun. And so is watching your lover’s favorite sitcom while snuggled together in the nude. Do it once, and you’ll feel like teenagers in love again.

The psychological and emotional satisfaction levels increase when we are touching each other with affection. The pornographic internet-generated depictions of sex and its one-dimensional façade is junk food compared to the poetry and art of intimacy: the richness of a lover’s kiss, the soulful expression of their eyes, the sigh of their chest when love fills them with emotion, the tight embrace and the feeling that you just cannot get close enough. The meaningful experience of sex can be discovered before and beyond penetration. In fact, penetration, although satisfying in its own right, isn’t really necessary when all the ingredients for soulful sex are present. It becomes superfluous. Yes, that’s right, I said it. Penetration isn’t everything. Don’t read that as if I don’t enjoy it. Oh, I love it. What I’m saying is, penetration is part of, but not the whole of, sex.

Intimacy is delicate; a vulnerable spot in the heart of our erotic selves. We want and crave the closeness. For women (and I say most of this without any scholarly study, just my experiential references), could it be that the weight of their lover upon them echoes an instinctual craving to be taken, to surrender, to be mated with? Male lions grasp the nape of the female’s neck with their teeth while they mount and mate with them. I found this intriguing and it sounded pretty nice too, the whole act. I love my neck bitten, don’t you? The female instinct to surrender is part of the mating dance.

 Then, the Eastern wisdom of tantric sex and all its mystery lifts its veil. The pleasure of receiving expands our awareness, the height of erotic transcendence.

Ancient Chinese Taoists believed ejaculating depleted a man’s vital life energy, or “chi,” so men were taught to preserve their sexual fluid in order to build their vitality.

In Taoist sexual practices, women are encouraged to have frequent and multiple orgasms. This gives the man even more vitality so he can also stay within the woman for as long as possible in order to absorb the woman’s vital life juices and powerful energy, or “yin essence” (“yin essence” is also a euphemism for “sexual fluid”). Well, it makes me want to be a Taoist.

When I am making love with my man I often, and sometimes with mixed emotion, wish that he would just suddenly come inside of me. (Remember, I’m the one that said “penetration isn’t everything?”) I want him to come because I love him so much; it’s instinctual and in that moment I want him to make me pregnant. I want it down to my bones. Love is made of such dreams. I want to melt with him.

So, yes, I’ve been dreaming about it as well. One dream made me smile during sleep. He was awake and watching my face. He asked what I was dreaming of. In the dream, it was so vivid: I was in a hospital recovery room and I had just given birth. Next to me, my lover’s mother cradling our newborn child. She, his mother and the new grandma, hummed a song and rocked the baby softly. The warmth of the dream, the sweet feeling it gave me inside, radiated through my face while I slept. As my darling caressed my face and asked softly what I was dreaming I just smiled a sweet, happy smile. It was a soul deep happiness and a feeling of wholeness in my relationship. I felt belonging. I felt like everything was right.

Not just for my own pleasure do I want to melt and belong to him, but I want to satisfy his desire, his instinct. We make sex complex when sometimes the instincts are just so true to our human nature. I long to feel his slick come inside of me, hot and milky, smelling like springtime and freshly cut grass. That beautiful tenderness overwhelms me when he gives me so much pleasure. I want to feel him fill me with the pulse of his orgasm, the flood of his ejaculation and that dripping tickle when it runs out from me. When I stand up I want to feel his come trickle down my thigh. Sometimes what brings me to orgasm is the notion that he is going to make me pregnant. When he gazes at me when we are making love, I wonder where he is taking me or how far into me his eyes are going. What does he see in me when he gives me one orgasm after another? It’s an adventure, this tantric kind of sex. In a way, we have transcended to another level of sexual pleasure together.

One day we spent the entire day making love. This sounds exaggerated, but really, the entire day just making love. Parts of “making love” involved him making an omelette for me, some tea for us to share, but still we had sex numerous times and the resting moments in between were still “making love” as far as I’m concerned. Because my body was so attuned to his and I had multiple orgasms each round of lovemaking, the last time we made love I came so intensely I felt an energetic flood of orgasm begin in my sex, radiate through my body going upwards through my belly, through my breasts, nipples, and up further out the top of my head, simultaneously—- I felt this orgasm move through my hips, my legs and down through my toes. I was tingling and shaking. That, my dear readers, was a veritable “full body orgasm” without question. That is what tantric sex is all about. Gosh, everyone should experience that in life. I was so high from that orgasm, I felt it tingle through me for hours. Hours. I was giddy, giggly and completely goofy.

“Love is touching souls.” ~ Joni Mitchell

I already have children and I am a mother; happy with my three children, not wanting anymore. Besides, I’m not young anymore or young enough to handle more pregnancies. I know the dream of becoming pregnant again is just a dream. But something else penetrates me when we make love. I become one with him. It sounds corny, but I feel like we are together when we are apart. I believe in soul mates, and I believe we are part of each other when we love deeply.

“Love is an attempt at penetrating another being, but it can only succeed if the surrender is mutual.” ~Octavio Paz

Surrendering to another person is an exquisite feeling. It is also terrifying. It’s been a part of my psyche and played its role in my soul’s growth. Being a submissive type of woman— only when I’m in control of that, mind you— I take pleasure in relinquishing all. In most cases, romantically speaking, I’ve been the one that’s sought after, desired, and taken. In the moment of the taking, I delight in the feeling of giving myself over to the passionate experience of love, lust or whatever you have in mind. Only once did I ever pursue and aggressively ‘take’ a man (to bed), and it was not exactly the kind of experience that suited my needs. You see, I love to surrender. (I do have a funny story about that moment, but that I will save for another time.) There is a deliciousness that builds from sexual tension. The surrender, then, is blissful, yielding, opening.

“This hunger of the eyes, skin, of the whole body and spirit, which made others criminals, robbers, rapers, barbarians, which caused wars, invasions, plundering and murder, in Djuna, at the age of puberty, alchemized into love. Whatever was missing she became: she became mother, father, cousin, brother, friend, confidant, guide, companion to all. This power of absorption, this sponge of receptivity which might have fed itself forever to fill the early want, she used to receive all communication of the need of others. The need and hunger became nourishment. Her breasts, which no poverty had been able to wither, were heavy with the milk of lucidity, the milk of devotion.

This hunger. . . became love.

While wearing the costume of utter femininity, the veils and the combs, the gloves and the perfumes, the muffs and the heels of femininity, she nevertheless disguised in herself an active lover of the world, the one was was actively roused by the object of his love, the one who was made strong as man is made strong in the center of his being by the softness of his love.

Loving in men and women, not their strength but their softness, not their fullness but their hunger, not their plenitude but their needs.”  ~ Ladders to Fire, Anais Nin

Surrender is ecstasy when you allow it. The loss of control, letting go of everything, and giving over to something or someone is a kind of freedom. When I gave birth the second time, I had to learn how to let go. Birthing is the biggest letting go one can do. My first childbirth experience was not like that at all. I refused to let go, and I suffered. So, the second time I gave birth I practiced the art of letting go. It was a psychedelic experience. My body knew what to do. The body itself has an innate and supremely ancient wisdom. Letting go is all about trust. Tension causes pain. I learned this the hard way the first time. The second and third time I gave birth, pure joy. By completely letting go and surrendering to the experience of childbirth, I saw everything sparkle. Colors were vivid, and I had a big “a-ha” moment. As I was about to give birth, I looked at my birthing doula and laughed quizzically, “I don’t know.” She smiled, seemed amused, and said, “What don’t you know?”

I laughed, “I don’t know.”

This was the funniest thing in the world, at the very moment of birth, I had no idea about anything. It was a riddle, and it was an answer. It was everything and nothing. It was complete surrender. Joy, of course, came after.

Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips. 
~Percy Bysshe Shelley

Kissing is surrendering to another. In the first moment of giving in to a passionate feeling, the kiss opens us. We are tender, full of emotion. There is an eroticism in being vulnerable. Surrendering to passion is giving in to the moment of desire, letting it sweep you away. Being taken by emotion, the yielding is what happens, opening ourselves— mind, body, and soul. Being psychologically penetrated is a kind of surrender. Opening one’s mind to another’s—sharing experiences, telling tales and stories about one’s life— is a form of surrender. Letting another into our metaphorical hearts, there is actual physical pain in the center of one’s chest. It’s not pleasant; it feels like standing on the edge of a balcony looking downward— falling in love— and just may be equal to the sensation of jumping out of a plane. For some. For me, at least.

The feeling of opening one’s self, whether it be all at once or over a period of years, is surrendering to love. And what if the parachute is broken? Then what?

“Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love.” ~Albert Einstein 

Ah, the mysteries of sex. Like a labyrinth, the mystery of erotic love is an adventure that takes me deep within my soul. There’s no reasoning, no logic. Life takes on a mythical and magical quality. I discover and decipher. I feel fine-tuned for creative energy. I see things clearly; I feel intensely. Alive, full of fire, music and the elemental and invisible wonders of life. During a passionate moment, I have seen the most beautiful things within my lover’s eyes. The invisible becomes visible within the heart. Sweat from his body smells good. I can’t kiss his mouth enough, and I want him like nothing else in the world. I want him, desire him. I feel it deep in my bones. There are no words. Everything that comes out of my mouth sounds cliché. The only thing I can do is express this feeling with active affection and passion. Grasping his hair during sex, squeezing his body against mine, biting his shoulder, kissing his mouth— hunger, fire. I write poetry, I paint, I write. I am in the moment, and I feel alive. Inspiration comes from the darkness. From the invisible threads woven through my chemistry, the power of sex is the seed of creativity. Sex becomes a spiritual opening, a doorway to the mystery. A passage through the labyrinth with a thread of red fleece. The pleasure of yes is surrendering to love, surrendering to passion and desire.

“I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he
 asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first
 I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so 
he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was
 going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.”
 ~James Joyce

James Joyce wrote this letter to his beloved Nora:

My dear Nora,

It has just struck me. I came in at half past eleven. Since then I have been sitting in an easy chair like a fool. I could do nothing. I hear nothing but your voice. I am like a fool hearing you call me ‘Dear.’ I offended two men today by leaving them coolly. I wanted to hear your voice, not theirs.


When I am with you I leave aside my contemptuous, suspicious nature. I wish I felt your head on my shoulder. I think I will go to bed.


I have been a half-hour writing this thing. Will you write something to me? I hope you will. How am I to sign myself? I won’t sign anything at all, because I don’t know what to sign myself.

(James Joyce)

Passionate love overwhelms the senses. The lover is on fire. When in love, I can’t think. I can’t do anything but crave my lover’s touch, hear their voice, and, even in the daily routines of life, I am consumed by the flame of desire.

Love is like a friendship caught on fire. 
In the beginning a flame, very pretty, 
Often hot and fierce, 
But still only light and flickering. 
As love grows older, 
Our hearts mature 
and our love becomes as coals, 
Deep-burning and unquenchable. 
~ Bruce Lee 

Fire is a common thread among lovers past and present. When experiencing the feeling of falling in love, I have also felt the fire of passion wildly burning inside of me. Erotic love and all the colors of passion are full of fire and symbols of transformative yearning.

A letter by Napoleon Bonaparte to his lover Josephine:

I wake filled with thoughts of you. Your portrait and the intoxicating evening which we spent yesterday have left my senses in turmoil. Sweet, incomparable Josephine, what a strange effect you have on my heart!

Are you angry? Do I see you looking sad? Are you worried?… My soul aches with sorrow, and there can be no rest for your lover; but is there still more in store for me when, yielding to the profound feelings which overwhelm me, I draw from your lips, from your heart, a love which consumes me with fire? Ah! it was last night that I fully realized how false an image of you your portrait gives!

 You are leaving at noon; I shall see you in three hours.

 Until then, mio dolce amor, a thousand kisses; but give me none in return, for they set my blood on fire.
 (Napoleon Bonaparte)

Napoleon mentions that “a love which consumes (him) with fire” and that Josephine’s kisses “set (his) blood on fire” so he asks her not to give any kisses in return. He is already burning.

Another love letter by Victor Hugo to his amor:

My dearest,

When two souls, which have sought each other for, however long in the throng, have finally found each other …a union, fiery and pure as they themselves are… begins on earth and continues forever in heaven.

This union is love, true love, … a religion, which deifies the loved one, whose life comes from devotion and passion, and for which the greatest sacrifices are the sweetest delights.

This is the love which you inspire in me… Your soul is made to love with the purity and passion of angels; but perhaps it can only love another angel, in which case I must tremble with apprehension.

Yours forever,

Victor Hugo 

The transcendent aspect of passionate love is an erotic exhilaration for the soul. The eyes, the voice, the smell, the taste, and every bit of the beloved sends the lover into a rapturous moment. Delicious passionate sex, open-hearted and orgasmic, bring two people closer to the gods and goddesses of myth and legend, to angels, to transform them into fire and blaze into ether, where they return into the stars and the universe.

“At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.” ~Plato

The Lovers

by Dorianne Laux (b. 1952)

She is about to come.

This time, they are sitting up, joined below the belly,

feet cupped like sleek hands praying

at the base of each other’s spines.

And when something lifts within her

toward a light she’s sure, once again,

she can’t bear, she opens her eyes

and sees his face turned away,

one arm behind him, hand splayed

palm down on the mattress, to brace himself

so he can lever his hips, touch

with the bright tip the innermost spot.

And she finds she can’t bear it—

not his beautiful neck, stretched and corded,

not his hair fallen to one side like beach grass,

not the curved wing of his ear, washed thin

with daylight, deep pink of the inner body—

What she can’t bear is that she can’t see his face,

not that she thinks this exactly— she is rocking

and breathing— it’s more her body’s thought,

opening, as it is, into its own sheer truth.

So that when her hand lifts of its own volition

and slaps him, twice on the chest,

on that pad of muscled flesh just above the nipple,

slaps him twice, fast, like a nursing child

trying to get a mother’s attention,

she’s startled by the sound,

though when he turns his face to hers—

which is what her body wants, his eyes

pulled open, as if she had bitten—

she does reach out and bite him, on the shoulder,

not hard, but with the power infants have

over those who have borne them, tied as they are

to the body, and so, tied to the pleasure,

the exquisite pain of this world.

And when she lifts her face he sees

where she’s gone, knows she can’t speak,

is traveling toward something essential,

toward the core of her need, so he simply

watches, steadily, with an animal calm

as she arches and screams, watches the face that,

if she could see it, she would never let him see.

*

Se Praj (17th century)

Your breasts will not fall.

Why clothe them with flowers?

Your folded arms are a wall,

love inviting me over.

*

Excerpts from The Song of Songs (ca. 3rd century BCE)

(She)

Give me all the kisses of your mouth.

Your love is better than wine.

Your body oils are fragrant,

your name pours from my tongue.

That is why I adore you.

Call me and I will follow,

and enter the chambers of a king.

Together we celebrate love,

a love more fragrant than wine.

Oh, how I adore you!

(He)

Your lips are milk and honey for my tongue…

(She)

You are, my love, a bag of myrrh between my breasts, a cluster of henna in the vineyards of Engedi…

I am the Rose of Sharon,

a lily of the valley,

a lily among thorns,

as is my love among others.

My beloved is a flowering apple

blooming in the forest.

I delight in his shadow,

his sweet fruits nourish me.

He brought me to the banquet of his house

with his banner above me;

he stayed me with flagons and apples

for I am starved for his love.

His left hand lifts my head

while his right hand embraces.

O daughters of Jerusalem,

do not disturb him,

leave him to dream of gazelles in the field,

do not disturb his dreaming.

*

I am my love’s; my beloved is mine.

We lie among lilies until daybreak

drives away the shadows.

Turn to me, my love,

like the gazelle of your dreams,

leaping through mountains of spices.

*

My soul sought him out at night in my bed,

sought him, but could not find him.

And I rose to search through the city—

through alleyways and avenues,

I searched for the love of my life.

I searched, I sought, but could not find him.

When the city watchmen passed, I begged,

“Have you seen him who is my soul’s delight?”

And then I found him and held him fast

and clutched him to my heart and clung

until he came into my mother’s house

into the boudoir where I was conceived…

O daughters of Zion, by all the gazelles of the field, I warn you, do not stir love until its time has come…

 (He)

You are a pomegranate forest with exotic fruits, with henna and spikenard, calamus and cinnamon and saffron,

a forest of frankincense, myrrh and aloe;

you are a fountain of gardens,

you are the waters of my very soul,

the sacred living, flowing stream of Lebanon.

*

(She)

I am a wall and my breasts are its towers

What peace I know, I find only in your eyes.

voluptuous night

ripe with our sweat and pleasure

summer has begun

his skin like honey

dewdrops, tears, nectar, semen

delicious pleasure

Legs trembling,

he asks

why desire is like

the summer heat.

The moon tonight

is the color of wine,

making me drunk

with his question.

this night, lovemaking

street lights blossom with desire

July fireworks

what else can we do

but ignite like stars

into the heavens?