Over the weekend, I facilitated another version of the Sexiest Self Jumpstart for Women. The weekend was full of prompting, processing, and praising our pussies!
These women could have been anywhere else that weekend — brunch, Netflix, the garden, with kids. But they weren’t. These women were with me in the Desire Studio getting real and naked and courageous.
You see, the Sexiest Self Jumpstart is all about turning ourselves on, exploring our bodies, enhancing our pleasure, and claiming our right to take our orgasm. It is a very special opportunity to go out on a limb, get uncomfortable, and stretch into the edges of what we crave: feeling free in our bodies and sexualities.
We revealed our flesh bare and confronted the ways we have hidden our fantasies, shut down our agency in the midst of another, and avoided standing in our own erotic spotlight. And for many of us, feeling free means getting through the stories of being violated, mistreated, used, and surviving.
The real edge-play in this immersive experience wasn’t the verbal recognition of our fears or hurts. It was the stretch of time I invited this group of women to become a circle of turned on, curious, masturbating mavens.
Yes. I did write that. Masturbating Mavens.
Let me tell you what I noticed.
I began by offering suggestions of movement and self touch to loosen up, relax, get centered, allow for the nervousness to dissipate and the excitement to build. I encouraged breathing, dancing, ass wiggling, cultivating curiosity, and paying attention to what feels good. Touching breasts and labia, hair and lips. Coming into contact with skin and senses and focus.
Throughout this dropping in and warming up, I could feel the nervous anxiety in the room. I could feel the brains turning and the thoughts reeling. I had already heard it throughout the weekend, and now I could feel the wide girth of the self-doubting questions take up residence in the center of the circle.
“What am I supposed to do? How am I being seen? Am I too much? What if I don’t do it right?”
It wasn’t one specific question. It was the amalgamation of all these questions smashed together and running fast like a rat on a wheel. Spinning and spinning. Running and searching for certainty. Craving freedom and confidence and ok-ness. And running on spin.
At the point of “Erotic Freestyle,” where I end my active facilitation and open the space for us all to play how we want, I felt the sharpness of my own “get it right” spin soften inside me and ease into a personal curiosity. I was entering into a journey with myself. I could finally breathe fully and deeply and sense my own erotic rhythm.
My body was hot and musky, skin alive and reaching out to play, sex turning on and recognizing the familiarity of arousal. Standing, I shook my hips, let the fat on my ass shake and wiggle and vibrate into my sex. I looked at the other women, and I looked away. I looked toward and away. Staying in the circle and also in myself.
I looked out in curiosity, and I even hid in self-doubt. I saw these phenomenal women experiment with toys, giggle with playfulness, and taste the solidarity in each other’s bravery.
My internal dialogue was as familiar as the arousal in my flesh. I was feeling the doubt they had voiced earlier.
“Am I being too much? Can I facilitate the class and have an orgasm, too? What will happen if I cum and they don’t? What if I open my mouth and make noise like when I’m at home?”
And there it was. The “What if..?” questions and doubts that prop up the stress and shame and demand we be quiet, tuned out, turned off, and living just a little smaller and less alive than we really, really want.
Even as a leader of this very special circle, like one I’ve led many times before, I got scared and felt the tug from inside to quiet down, to not “make a scene,” to not be “too much,” to not “take up too much space.”
That second guessing was a soft nervous murmur during the first 45 minutes of warm up and turn on. But when I got into the realm of actually, actively fucking myself, that doubting voice took hold the microphone in my mind. It was loud and booming.
“Whaaaat are you dooooing?”
Choosing. I am choosing.
In the next breath, I chose to open wide and let go. I chose to give effort to my voice. That effort moved the energy of doubt and frustration out of my body so I could concentrate on building the energy in my clit and cunt while staying present in this moment inside my body.
I’m not really a moaner or a whiner. I more like a yeller. I open my mouth, push the air from my belly and send out a tone across the horizon. Its deep, full, and sustained, very much like how I fuck.
My voice rocks my body in waves of orgasm, clenching and releasing, rolling and pulsing. My voice elongates my climax, stretches my senses, and claims my space.
I choose. I chose.
Like all these other amazingly courageous women, I chose to be here.
You see, I know we’re all scared. We all get nervous or afraid or damn near terrified to open our mouths let out a scream or moan in the direction of our own pleasure and power. And most all of us have been trained to look out for another person. To modulate our behavior by the responses or perceived emotional experiences of others.
But when, then, if not in the middle of fucking ourselves, will we choose to raise our voice for our own magnificence?
Its not like I banished my fear to other side of the world. I chose to move in the midst of it.
I choose to follow the path of pleasure and delight and power.
I’m not sure if the voice of self-doubt will ever truly disappear. But what I do know is that making a choice in face of this fear is a way to experience the climax that flushes the skin and tingles the body. Not just the orgasm, but being alive, turned on, and tuned in. Free from shame and stress and all those self-doubting distractions.
And, I want that for you. I want you, too, to make a choice now in the direction of your own freedom. Forward into delight and into your pleasure.
I want you to choose.
It actually doesn’t matter what thing you choose. It just matters that you do. It doesn’t matter whether or not I was the only woman in that circle to fill the room with her voice or to ejaculate in a puddle. It doesn’t matter if every one of the other women were just perched and watching.
What matters is that we choose to move in the midst of fear, even if only a fraction of an inch. Into the discomfort. Into the sweetness. Into the moments of mystery.
It is the choosing that takes us into our freedom.