Laughing Black Wolf

Personal Journal 5 September 04

Jesse is starting Viagra

Sexplay yesterday was boring. Part of the problem was that when he was in back of me, I couldn’t see his face or feel any stimulation on the G spot. Sure, it relieved the pinching between his cock and my pelvic bone…but so what?

He initiated returning to face-to-face, saying he didn’t feel so connected to me in back. Hooray! But Viagra definitely makes more of a problem with pinching.

Still it’s wonderful to see him relax, not so anxious about keeping his cock hard. And it’s not like it’s super hard, thank goodness, it’s really quite manageable. It’s just that I had grown accustomed to the mostly pain-free experience.

I’d bought a CD of a trainng program by Jack Johnston called “Male Multiple Orgasm” which said it would teach tantric techniques to enable men to have multiple orgasms by separating orgasm from ejaculation. [1]

My hopes:

  • these techniques would enable Jesse to have a fully satifying experience with a soft cock. But the training proved more difficult than I anticipated. (Well, what did I expect?! It’s so different from what we’re socialized into.)
  • great tantric energy — but instead I got business as usual.

Boring sex: I think this is the first time I have ever felt quite this way. I’m scared to admit it to myself, even. I’m ashamed, this should be a great day, to be able to relieve his anxieties, to enable him to enjoy sex as he hasn’t been able to for months.

It’s just that I was hoping for something different. To go beyond, not back.

Well, part of the problem was also that I had no head of steam built up; it’s pretty clear I don’t need sexual release — don’t even have sexual energy — this often (having had a nice time last week). Or is that true? When he put some energy into my body, into brushing his soft hair all over me, — that was very nice, and I didn’t even ask for it — I enjoyed that, could he inspire me more if he did more?…

Why do I feel queasy as I write this, uneasy in the pit of my stomach, like guilt or as though I’m forgetting something? As though sex were a black wolf that is sitting on her haunches, hm, is it his or her? I think it switches back and forth…

On ter hauches, tongue lolling, yellow eyes burning bright, laughing at me, laughing at me. Predatory creature not nice, going to trick me, going to trap me, I’m too naive. I’m forgeting something. There was a word of binding grandmother taught me for this beast, and I have forgotten it. If I could remember it, the beast would serve me, not mock me. A word of connection, of family, of nurturing.

How did I lose it, how have I forgotten it? I have forgotten so much of that world I used to live in, the trainings I was brought up in, the dreaming, the undermind. It’s still there but I don’t go down anymore, don’t listen to the underground streams, their music, don’t dance to those uncivilized drums, it’s too threatening when I come back up: the rest of the world, the ordinary world is too boring. But I have to live here, can’t live in the undermind alone, have to integrate it I guess but instead I have been avoiding it.

O wolf, I know what you want : you want to take me down that slippery path, to the fiery caves where the lava flows and we must leap carefully across those red streams to follow the path back to the heart. I am afraid, I am not so surefooted as when I was young, I want to stay here, I will give up passion, I will renounce tantra, it’s just a young woman’s dream anyway, I’m too old for it, I need equanimity now, not risk.

But you keep laughing at me, you know I lie, you know my heart is wild to follow you, to cast off these gray clothes, to roll naked in the dust wrestling with you and your kin, to howl together at the moon, to lose this rationality, this curse of modern civilization, to dive under it, to swim in the deep current, to stay there, to never come back, to live in the other world, the world of deep nourishment, there’s no nutrition here in the dead gray food I eat, I need the raw meat of real experience.

You will take me eventually, I will follow you or ride you or run with you, I am trying to come to terms, to prepare myself, to learn how to do it right. I know I have to come back, and I know I have to go down. Knowing I have to come back is the hardest part of going down. I don’t know how to come back. I don’t know what to do with that blood and glory, that howl, back in samsara, back in civilization, back in the overworld. Join clubs that talk about it, play hard rock, paint red pictures, f—k madly, hungrily… ah, that’s what I can’t do anymore. I can’t even remember the me who did. I’m hungry still, yes the same old hungry ghost, but the body has revolted. She’s fixing to die, I think.

Or maybe not, maybe just tired of business as usual. Tired of repetition. Tired of games, and distress patterns interlocking, of feeding each other’s crazy places. Dingy tired gray hopeless locked-in games, going through the paces, same old buttons pushed: he feels rejected, criticizes; I feel stepped-on, hide. Anger, fear, aversion. Want to move on, want a better land, another chance, a fresh start, a Pure Land, tired of these games, bored. Sex should be more than this. I want something else, I want to jump outside this mess and arrive at the Other Thing without slogging through so much mud to get there. I feel lost in the mud so often, hopeless to win out.

May Jesse and I together be free.

[1] Here’s what I bought: Johnston, Male Multiple Orgasm: Step-by-Step (Ashland, OR: Jack Johnston Seminars, 2007).
Now Johnston presents his training program in an expanded format, and calls it The Multiple Orgasm Trigger.

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