NEWS: Air Force’s Head of Anti-Sexual Assault Unit Arrested for Sexual Battery
© 2013 by Trish Causey. All Rights Reserved.
Last night, it was reported that the guy in charge of the Air Force’s anti-sexual assault unit, Lieutenant Colonel Jeffrey Krusinski, was arrested for the sexual battery of a woman, not far from the Pentagon.
According to the charges, he grabbed her breasts and butt in public. She resisted, and judging by his mugshot, she fought back. GOOD FOR HER! But he went after her again. She was able to call the Arlington County Police Department, who provided his arrest photo.
While the Air Force has removed him from his post with the anti-sexual assault unit, he was able to post his $5,000 bond, so he is out on the streets.
If you’ve seen the film The Invisible War, you know how rampant sexual abuse is within the U.S. military. How can change happen within the military when the leaders assigned to address the problems are themselves abusers?
trish
DailyOJ 01-26-13, Part 1: Morning Arousal & Orgasm Diet Regimen
This morning, I awoke knowing that I’d been dreaming, with a vague recollection of the dream, who was there, and that it didn’t seem to be a dream I needed to remember. I started to roll over from my side to my back. As I did, my legs opened up, and I instantly felt the throbbing sensation of arousal, and I knew I was really, really wet. I’ve had some issues with being wet — or lack thereof — fearing that now that I’m 40, it’s all down hill, and thinking back to my younger days when I was so wet, my ex used to complain I’d get too wet during sex.
Using a couple of fingers to feel what was going on, my outer labia were swollen, hot velvet, and my inner labia were thick and hot and wet, just as they are after a series of delicious orgasms… maybe I orgasmed while sleeping (wouldn’t be the first time)… though I don’t know why I would have — the dream was in no way sexy or sexual. Smearing the juices all over my clit and labia felt amazing, and I thought, “What did I do?!”
Last night, I had my nipple-gasms and my stealth clit-gasms but nothing penetrative or even too hands-on. All touch was light, barely brushing-the-skin caresses, gliding my fingers across my skin. And I drifted off to sleep on a cloud of full-body orgasms that left me feeling light and floating, as opposed to feeling tired the way manually “worked for” orgasms can drain energy.
Then I thought about what I had eaten yesterday. I thought, “That must be it!” Just going over in my head what I ate and drank, I could see that I had had more Omega 3-rich foods and remembered this same super-wet phenomenon had happened before when I went “over” what the “experts” say should be consumed in one day.
Supposedly, a person shouldn’t have more than 2,000 mg of Omega 3 in one day. No one really knows what is too much, but someone somewhere decided 2,000 mg was enough.
My food consumption for yesterday was as follows:
- Breakfast – 1 cup almond milk with 1 tablespoon chia seed (which has 1,250 mg Omega 3), a couple small pieces of turkey sausage cooked in organic coconut oil, and 4 scrambled (cage-free) eggs (250 mg Omega 3 each) cooked in butter. ***Note: I woke up late, and made breakfast, but my hormonal teenage daughter walked into the kitchen, smelled the sausage and eggs, and walked out. So I ate her eggs as well as mine for a total of 4 eggs — I can’t afford to throw out food! ***
- Lunch – vegetarian fare at the Hare Krishna restaurant: 1 cup of an amazing dahl (soup), 2 cabbage pakoras, an oatmeal cookie, and tea (brewed with cinnamon, clove, and something floral).
- Dinner – sweet potato candied in butter with a dash of sea salt (OMG delicious!), 3 potstickers cooked in grapeseed oil, and sauteed organic Romaine, with my super awesome dipping sauce.
- Other – I drink about a gallon of water each day, and yes, I had some Diet Coke. While at the computer, I ate some bittersweet Ghiradelli chocolate chips, and throughout the day, I took 4 of my fish oil capsules which have 1,060 mg Omega 3 each. And of course, I went out walking a few times to get my Vitamin D.
So, all totaled — 1 T chia seed, 4 eggs, and 4 fish oils = 6,490 mg just in Omega 3, and that doesn’t include the Omegas of the grapeseed oil, coconut oil, chocolate, and anything else I had. My food was mostly vegetarian. The water I drink is tap water, but I always drink it cold over ice — I’m not a hot-beverage person. (Side note: I recently realized I have an ice fetish… must be an Irish thing…)
Clearly, Omega 3′s, chocolate, and water are the key to being super wet — for me, anyway.
Feeling how super wet I was, I just played in the juices for a while. They felt wonderful. I made a mental note not to allow stress to deter me from paying attention to my health anymore. Some days, I get so annoyed with things I want to pull my hair out, and I forget to take my fish oil or I don’t drink enough water — then I wonder why I’m not as wet as I used to be…. Being 40 doesn’t have to mean being a dried up ol’ prune! My vagina’s hydration level is most definitely related to my hormone levels and my water intake (since vaginal fluid is derived from blood plasma).
Needless to say, I definitely decided to have a morning O session — both hands on and alternately in, and it was spectacular! With the other sessions I’d had this week with the glass toy, my hands were ready for an old fashioned blended-O series of orgasms. It really, truly was amazing. I was breathless and speechless and in awe. The lava flow was incredible.
Afterward, I just lay there, exhausted but exhilarated, no crying (but that was perfectly fine), with my hands on my torso, my arms supporting my breasts. I felt this strong throbbing, as if my heart were beating out of my chest. I looked down to see it was my right breast — she felt as if I had another heart inside the breast herself because I could feel my breast “beating” against my arm. Weird but cool. But weird.
That faded, but it was a long while until the after-O’s calmed down. And I was still so very wet…
I stayed in bed for a while, then heard the crowds setting up for the Mardi Gras parade, so I decided to get up and get my caffeine (Diet Coke) before the parade stared. I went about my day, and it was a great day…
Until…
* Read Part 2 *
trish
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DailyOJ 01-23-13, Part 1: Knees Up, Glass Toy Orgasms
Copyright 2013 by Trish Causey. All Rights Reserved.
Back on my own during the days, I have taken to using my glass toy (which I have not yet named 
), along with trying a slightly different position for my legs, and getting some great results — probably helped with my breast massage regimen and breath+sound work I’ve borrowed from Tantra and Kundalini practices.
For my orgasm sessions, I begin with just laying back and relaxing, breathing normally, letting my mind let go of the thoughts that are still buzzing across my conscious self. After 10 or 15 minutes — I don’t time it, I move on when I feel ready and mind-full (of nothing!). I start the relaxation breaths, adding in the occasional “Aum.” This lasts for maybe 15 minutes.
I add in sensual massage. Usually, I’m careful not to touch my nipples or I’ll start having energy orgasms immediately. I’ve found that if I start the massage on my clit, it lessens the sensitivity on my nipples (slightly, and only temporarily), but gentle, barely-there caresses of my clit and labia are simply luscious.
I may move to my nipples (more often than not, yes, I do) for some amazing stealth orgasms, or I’ll lightly brush my fingertips across my left hip which triggers jolts of energy up my leg to my left nipple, hardening her immediately. My right hip is not as quick to react and the energy is more subtle, but my right nipple still hardens into a pucker, reaching up to a point.
Many times recently, I have stayed there — just doing the lightest touch of my skin, my nipples, clit, and the inner and outer labia. Barely brushing my fingers over my clit shaft starts full-body orgasms that have my legs coming up, my back arched, and my head back facing the pillows, and I’m left breathless. I can keep these going for a while. These kinds of orgasms are different than “traditional” or manual orgasms in that these don’t take ANY work , and they’re like riding clouds of energy, with energy waves hitting my body like water crashing onto the seashore. I’m energized by the orgasms rather than being worn out after my usual blended orgasms (which rock my world but are exhausting).
Pressing my fingertips into my outer labia, I can feel the thick, corded bands of the PC muscles. Barely grazing my outer labia, they feel like velvet, warm and throbbing. My fingertips barely whisper across my inner labia which are still reaching outward at this point — they will lie open soon. This touch can start labia-gasms, and I can feel the texture of the inside of the inner labia change as the bloodflow to the tissue increases.
I’m still new to the direct, purposeful stimulation of my U-spot, the erectile tissue around the urethral opening. This area is usually stimulated without intention during blended/penetrative orgasms, but I am now focusing on the U-spot to help encourage my journey into female ejaculation.
Bringing my knees up to my torso definitely shortens the vagina, and it makes using the glass dildo easier on my wrist due to its curve. This makes for a wonderful stimulation of my prostate. Since the glass toy is narrower and shorter than my purple silicone friend Sparkles, it also feels more like a directional finger than a “toy” or penis substitute. I can definitely feel the tip and side as it rubs across certain spots (yes, the female prostate has more “spots” than just the G-spot/She Spot). Moving the glass toy back and forth, curving up at the side ensures the side of the prostate are stimulated as well — and this feels delicious.
Stimulation of the prostate, and most areas inside the vagina, are not as “pin-point” as stimulating the clit, but the vagus nerve and auxiliary nerves definitely make up for it by creating a feeling of a bubbling, churning cauldron of arousal energy that is ever-building, ever-growing, expanding outward through me and upward into the torso and heart chakra.
I consciously push out when stimulating the prostate directly — contrary to what “popular” opinion says to do with the stupid Kegel exercises (which actually inhibit vaginal orgasm). I LOVE the feelings that overtake me — like I suddenly have to go to the bathroom, like my insides are about to fall out — because I know my prostate is about to hit her stride and bubble over into full-body orgasms. I push out and remind myself to breathe — sometimes I catch myself and realize I’m holding my breath. There is a fetish of choking for some few-second orgasm that is ridiculous and dangerous. Oxygen FEEDS orgasms — breathe, breathe deeply, breathe fully, taking the breath into my belly and down into my pelvis… Breathing is essential to life and to orgasms… though saying “life” followed by “orgasms” seems redundant….
The double layers of muscles that line the vagina begin to rock and roll, and I manipulate them to keep them strong — so I don’t lose my skill of giving “vaginal blowjobs” (moving the vaginal walls in such a way as to give the penis the feeling of being sucked very powerfully).
Read * Part 2 * here.
trish
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AskTrish: Man Asks About the Allure & Sexual Myths of Redheads
Trish, what is it about redheaded women that truly makes them stand out compared to other women? Are they harder to love/please or is that just a myth? Do people get burned easily by such a warm personality and fiery passion? Or is that just a myth. What are things that people need to understand about redheads? What sexual myths do you hear often that are associated to women with Red hair? Do you honestly believe any of them? Does that make men or women more attracted to you or at least curious in some way?
tigertwo1515
Hey, there!
Redheads are quite deserving of such awesome questions, so thank you!
“Redhead” is a ubiquitous term for the fair-skinned, often freckle-faced redheads of Ireland and Scotland. However, natural redheads are found around the world. Redheads have been the source of stereotyping — good and bad — for millennia, and it’s only been in recent times that being a redhead has been something to get excited about.
“Red” hair ranges from reddish “strawberry” blonde, to carrot-top orange, to ginger, auburn, and chestnut shades. In a 1995 study of redheads at Edinburgh University, Dr. Jonathan Rees discovered the reason for red hair is due to a mutation of the melanocortin 1 receptor, a.k.a, the MC1R, on the 16th chromosome, something he called the “Ginger Gene.”
Redheads have a greater risk of bruising and sunburning, but we also have a higher pain threshold. In fact, redheaded people can require up to 20% more anesthesia during surgery than non-reds. Perhaps this is why Irish people are so characterized as pugilistic — Gaels can take a hit and not feel it as readily?
Redheads have been a thorn in the side of world super-powers since at least ancient times. Two of the Roman Empire’s most notorious foes were redheads: the warrior leader Vercingetorix of Gaul and the uppity Iceni warrior queen Boudicca of Britannia were both said to have masses of flowing red hair. Both Mary Magdalene and Judas were also said to have red hair, and poor Eve is also portrayed as a redhead. Between the Roman Empire’s pagan enemies and the Roman Church’s dislike of the Bible’s freethinking dissidents, adverse stereotypes of MC1R mutants were created to slander redheads.
Some of the myths that abound with having red hair also tie in to myths about freckles and even fair skin. In medieval times, women were burned at the stake for having moles or “unexplained” markings on their bodies (supposedly succubi of the Devil).
Other myths that surround the heads o’ red include such gems like redheads don’t have souls, walking by a redhead on the sidewalk means you have to turn around, or that if two redheads have a child together, the child will be evil… the list goes on.
Natural redheads are also associated with having naturally large breasts. Artists exploit this from pin-ups to comic book characters to “Jessica Rabbit,” therefore redheads are rarely portrayed as small-busted. Thanks to the stereotypes of big breasts in porn, men automatically assume a woman with naturally large breasts is more sexual or more easily talked into sex — neither is true. But add that myth to the other fiery temper myths about redheads, you’d think redheads were the sexual scourge of the earth.
Growing up, I hated being ridiculed for my “weird” hair color and “weird” eye color. I even hated my freckles until an Indian dancer told me they were special because they were kisses from the sun. Somehow, him saying that made me feel better about my freckles. As for my hair, I was called “Peppermint Patty” and “Pippy Longstocking” more times than I care to recall, but I didn’t mind being called “Anne of Green Gables” or “Heidi.” Though, thankfully, I have never been called the offensive “Tampon Top,” as some redheads are.
Redheads in Bed
I asked around on Twitter, and I received a plethora of replies from men… so adding that to my personal experience of what men have said they love (and HATE) about me… the overwhelming consensus is that redheaded women are thoroughly uninhibited in bed.
Apparently, the outlandish stories about redheads being wild, sexually insatiable nymphomaniacs are neither a myth nor stereotype, but a delicious reality. Since by “redhead,” I assume you’re talking about the Gaelic fiery Irish redhead — or at least, I hope so — I can attest that redheads are amazing in bed.
The fire isn’t just for the temperament or flaming auburn tresses, though. We Gaelic types also tend to have hot skin. I have had partners who didn’t want to sleep next to me or even hold my hand because my skin is so hot to the touch. This is only one reason my nickname is “Lava.” And I find it interesting that in Ayurvedic medicine, redheads are thought to epitomize the elemental energy pitta, which is a mix of fire & water ( see?… Lava ).
Yes, we’re easy to anger (we’re Irish, duh!), but we’re also easy to laugh. Redheads love adventure, taking risks, and trying new things. We love singing and dancing with pure joy and full heart, and we want everyone around us to feel the same. We love spinning a good yarn and listening to a great story in return. Redheads naturally gravitate toward walking the road less traveled.
According to my non-scientific research, almost every man has a dream of being with a redheaded woman. I, myself, align with the “Women Who Run With the Wolves” type of woman — women who are close to nature and the natural, inherent freedom of woman. But then, I’m also a heathen pagan witch. So who knows?!
Maybe that’s what men see in redheads — we heed the call of wild abandon in life, in love, and in sex, when other women allow themselves and their sexuality to be repressed.
And we don’t take shit off anyone! 
trish
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OpEd: Want Me to Talk Dirty? Bite Me.
For some reason the topic of “talking dirty” has come up several times recently. Apparently, men are under the assumption that women want to talk dirty, that we like to talk dirty, that we live for talking dirty in bed.
What the hell?!
Actually, most women do NOT like the “talk dirty” part of sex that men addicted to porn seem to like, or men who still view women under the Maiden/Whore dichotomy — “bad” girls do what “good” girls won’t stereotype.
“Oooo, baby, yeah, fuck me. Fuck my pussy with your big fat cock, ram it in me hard…”
Really?
What does “talking dirty” do for the man? What purpose is it supposed to serve?
I, personally, would NEVER “talk dirty.” “Talking dirty” is a dumbing-down affectation of porn and perpetuates the compartmentalizing of a woman into labels and categories, separating her into disparate personalities — i.e., the good-hearted, nurturing woman who is a mother couldn’t possibly be associated with the multi-orgasmic cougar in bed. What better way to segregate the various aspects of woman than to ask her to say or do something so contrary from her everyday personality or communicative style?
Besides that, “talking dirty” is an insult to my intelligence and my extensive vocabulary as a professional writer and performer of language.
Yes, I call a penis a penis or lingam, and my vulva is my vulva or yoni. I may call a penis a dick, but that is rare; and I say testicles and balls interchangeably. Other than that, my vagina is my vagina, and my clit is my clit. The anus, ass, and perineum are synonymous for both sexes. And my breasts are breasts — NOT ANY OTHER HORRIBLE, DEGRADING TERM that MEN (and implant Barbies) USE FOR BREASTS. BREASTS!!! That’s what they’re called, and that’s what I call them. Calling various parts of my anatomy by other names — particularly “dirty” slang terms — disassociates me from my body, or places my body into parts ( J. Alfred Prufrock style) as mere “things” for someone else’s use and enjoyment, not mine.
On a side note, I will call ejaculate “cum” but having an orgasm is not “cumming” — since ejaculating and having (lots of) orgasms are two completely different functions. And yes, my vaginal fluids ARE the “nectar of the gods,” thank you very much!
As I wrote in my article “Me, My Breasts, and I,” I hated my breasts most of my life because of how men treated them and treated me because of them. My body image was molded through the perspective of others who did not value me as a person or my body as the physical extension of my self. It took a Tantric breast meditation to integrate my breasts to my body and my sense of self, to love my body. But now, to be considered “hot,” I have to “talk dirty”? Fuck that!
Why would I talk “dirty” when there’s nothing dirty about sex or being sexual? As I say on Twitter ALL THE TIME: “The human body is beautiful. Sex is beautiful.”
I’m beginning to think that the concept of “talking dirty” is for the sole purpose of distancing the partners from an emotional connection — to keep the sex as just physical as opposed to an opportunity to experience beautiful, mind-blowing orgasms. Even fuck-buddies can have a great connection beyond the physical orgasm — without the “complications” of the dreaded “relationship.” Even Tantra partners who are not “in love” would never “talk dirty” — that would be so disrespectful, particularly to the woman. The man is beautiful. The woman is beautiful. The experience is beautiful. No ramming or dirty talk required.
If you’re a woman and you actually like to talk dirty, I would love to hear from you — to hear why you like to talk dirty — and don’t say because your male partner likes it — ’cause then you’re doing it for him, not because the want and desire to “talk dirty” emanates naturally from within you.
I can’t “talk dirty” about the body or being sexual because I find them both to be wonderfully beautiful. And I felt that way long before I began studying Tantra.
So bite me.
trish
DailyOJ 09-29-12: My 40th Birthday & First Ever Nude Photoshoot
Just a year ago, I dreaded the idea of turning 40. Just as a decade ago, I dreaded turning 30. Turning 30 was hard, perhaps because I was still in the crux of a life I didn’t want, trying to make sense of that life, and wanting desperately to get back to being true to myself.
Almost two years, I left that life I didn’t want and started over. I had built up my radio show, was a professional theatre writer, an award-winning composer, and mom to a cranky but wonderful tween. And while I didn’t (and don’t) have a car, a TV, or even a livingroom couch, I had my freedom. That was paramount. I was free. I AM free. And anything else is just crap to get through. But mostly I am happy — so much happier than I have been in the past 16 years, it really is unbelievable.
The purpose of the photoshoot was for a calendar submission. (Don’t know yet, if I made it in.) But just doing it was scary and invigorating. Though my male friends on Twitter constantly tell me my body is fine, I am still coping with this dual personality that exists within my perception of myself. I still feel 19. My body was amazing back then, thanks to years of ballet, theatrical dancing , belly dancing, and performing in Musical Theatre. Now, all these years later, after being overweight for years and having had a child, my body has that “lived in” look. Stretch marks. It’s all I saw when I looked in the mirror for the past 14 years. I saw my flaws and practically counted all the ways a man would never want me because of how I look.
Oddly enough, doing my Tumblr page has been a great source of readjusting my attitude toward myself and my body. For all the sex confidence I have (yes, I AM fabulous in bed! ), the idea of being naked in front of a man again was almost terrifying. Since starting this blog, I’ve openly dealt with issues that I had only previously stuffed down inside me — to my detriment. Now that these wounds have been given the light of day, I feel them healing. Having done the photoshoot, other wounds surfaced, but already they are healing as well.
The day itself was a bit crazy. We had thunderstorms and flash flooding outside. Inside, I was trying to work, then get ready, shaving everything with a new razor that left razor burn in the most inopportune places. With the rain, curling my hair was impossible, so I had to use the curling iron to smooth out the Irish frizzies and tame the wild woman ends. I was worried about Chipmunk the Squirrel who had been more independent lately, but I was afraid the storm might bring back bad memories for him of his fall the day before Hurricane Isaac, when I found him. At one point, I had so many lamps on, I short-circuited the breakers to half the apartment. I asked the Universe to be with me as I flipped the breakers a couple times. Thankfully, there was light. Otherwise, the photoshoot would be a no-go, and I really wanted to do this ON my 40th birthday.
In fact, the whole day seemed to be a test of one kind or another, as if the Universe wanted to make sure I really wanted to do this, and how far would I go to make sure it actually happened. This need to do this on my birthday come hell or flash flooding’s high water was important to me. One thing I haven’t written about here is the slump I have been in for the past 6 months, a slowed down, introspective journey I had asked for to discover my Yin, but I had no idea how bad it would get. I will write about it soon, but it is a tale for another time.
The photoshoot itself was an eye-opener. The photographer was a friend from high school that I hadn’t seen since graduation. I had sent her info ahead of time of colors, set up, and what I wanted the pose to be so she would know ahead of time. Apparently, this was only her second nude/implied nude shoot, and it was very obvious within the first few shots. Also, the fact that she’s a size 0 made me even more self-conscious. At this point, I was thinking I would have preferred a male photographer so I could feed off the male energy.
In reviewing a few of the photos in the camera, she seemed not to know how to talk about my body, since my body is soooooo well-rounded. She even made a comment, “Yes, I can see how we want to do this differently to avoid that.” That was the rounded curviness of my breast and butt. I said, “Actually, I really like that. That’s exactly what I was going for.” “Oh,” she sounded surprised. All the doubt about my body came flooding back and it was difficult to get out of that head-space. I did do some actual nudes, but was so filled with self-doubt at this point, they will never be seen by anyone but me.
By 11:30 p.m., we were wrapping it up, finally getting some implied nudes I can be happy about. I’m not happy that I didn’t get a nude shot I liked, but hey, that gives me a goal for the future… with a male photographer.
All in all, it was a great 40th birthday that began with amazing orgasms in my bed (see picture at the top of this post), and ended with important insights into myself, my self, my body, and why I should never allow media, culture, or other people to affect my perception of my body or anything else about me.
Aroused and shutter-bugging,
trish
For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s DailyOJ.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman
DailyOJ 09-04-12: Prostate Stealth O’s, Weird Energy, & Storms
I had felt a weird buzzy energy all day — all week, actually. The hurricane had not really broken up once it hit land as it was supposed to. Instead, Isaac is heading south, back toward the Gulf. We really don’t need this thing to re-form as a hurricane. But the energy in the air is absolutely electric. And that part, I love. I feed off storm energy — odd since storms are more associated with water, and I am a Fire spirit. But lightning is Nature’s fire, so I am acutely aware of the electricity in the air.
I had just re-started my journey August 8th, gotten some great sessions in, and then Hurricane Isaac forced school closures for a week which tied in with the Labor Day holiday. But, now I’m back to being alone and able to continue this journey… until the next unforeseeable interruption… Grrrr…
With the energy, I truly felt electric. I couldn’t sit still. I just wanted to walk outside, play in the rain, the deluge outside, revel in the energy I had been feeding on for a few weeks. Yet, this constant rain makes me want to sleep. I sleep so amazingly well when it’s raining outside; the steady rhythm calms me regardless of the thunder. This Yin-Yang of energy pulling me toward either extreme at any moment felt like a sexual tension that needed to be rubbed. So I decided to pursue that.
As I began, I had my delicious stealth and spontaneous orgasms (SASO’s). I’ve needed to start with the nipple stim to “tone down” the sensitivity in my breasts, just so I can do some sensual massage with the KSMO and OM touch. I did KSMO for about 4 minutes but my voice started to hurt, so I stopped. I tried some light OM-touch, but that erupted in more SASO’s, so I stopped trying to do anything that was “practice” and just went for some prostate love instead.
My prostate was very receptive to touch, and my vagina was wet from the nipple and OM orgasms. I did some absentminded massage/caresses on my inner thigh and up my torso, wherever my hand wanted to go — I wasn’t really thinking about it. I noted the changes in my prostate as arousal deepened.
I also noticed how much I love the feeling of my breasts. I don’t have anywhere near a “perfect” body, but I honestly love the feel of my body. I especially love the feeling of my breasts, their shape and satiny smooth skin. The underside of the breast has a super concentration of nerve endings, nerves that are connected directly to my clit. The spinning ceiling fan blew drafts of air across my breasts, and the otherwise smooth areolas puckered up like they’d been dipped in ice water as my nipple tips grew dark pink and strained upward. I noticed I didn’t feel a zing of energy to my clit. I figured my prostate was overwhelming the nerve switchboard in my brain, so I just enjoyed the exquisite feel of the sensitive skin of my breasts and my puckered tips.
Feeling all lovey-dovey about my body, I figured I might as well do a hands-on blended set of O’s to get started before moving on to Sparkles for the main attraction. And yet, several minutes in to it, I wasn’t increasing arousal in the clit area. My prostate was getting very aroused and wet, but I felt almost nothing as I did circles with my clit. This went on a few minutes more, and I exclaimed (in my head), “What the hell’s wrong with my clit?!!”
That about put me in an observationist panic. Not only was I not allowing and receiving the arousal process, but for some reason, I had become attached to the outcome. Non-attachment was on coffee-break while the Yang energy was rearing its competitive head. I had worked so hard to become more Yin, to release the go-getter aspect of Yang energy. And I wrote not too long ago that I was worried my sessions were going so swimmingly, they were becoming mechanical. Well, obviously NOT!
I was more frustrated with myself for “blaming” my clit for not doing whatever I preconceived she was supposed to do than I was upset that my prostate was aroused and my clit wasn’t. I let off my clit and moved my right hand to my breast. I was not “going” for a prostate orgasm — those take forever. In the old days, a G-spot/vaginal-only orgasm would take a minimum of an hour and sometimes up to 90 minutes to achieve. Exhausting! I didn’t have that kind of time, and frankly, I wasn’t looking for that much of a cardio endurance workout.
After just a few strokes inside on my prostate and a couple barely-there touches on my nipple tip, I had a SASO/prostate/She Spot orgasm that hit like a Kundalini orgasm with all the full-body waves of a 90 minute prostate pumping marathon. It was shockingly powerful and utterly delicious! My back arched uncontrollably, my legs came up as I would expect with a K-orgasm, but this was deeper and even more full — because of the prostate involvement.
I lay there afterward rather speechless and trying to process all the feelings in my body. It was incredible. I felt the after-O’s, my hips were still moving, my abs still contracting, my breathing took a while to return to normal.
Then I disappointed myself by reaching for Sparkles. The disappointment was that I wasn’t going to use Sparkles in a beautiful moment to see what there was to feel. I knew ahead of time, this was about my clit, and I had to make sure I wasn’t “broken.” I stopped using vibration to induce orgasm almost two years ago due to numbness in my clit — that took over 6 months to begin to feel sensation again. I was terrified something was wrong — that the start, stop, start, stop of my practice was interfering with my progress so dramatically my clit had had enough and wanted no part of it. (NO!!!)
Long story short, Sparkles worked his magick on my prostate while I found a groove with my clit, and the ensuing orgasms were intense and induced the standard emotion. However mechanical my process and the resulting orgasms and emotion had seemed to become, they are gold standards now, and anything other than amazing orgasmic highs now sends me into a panic that something’s wrong with me… clearly, I have cobwebs in my mental attic that need addressing. Could use a can of Mindfuzz-B-Gone… if it existed. No, I’ll have to process this the old-fashioned way. One orgasmic session at a time.
Aroused and regressing (Grrrrrr…),
trish
For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s DailyOJ.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman
DailyOJ 08-17-12, Part 1: Twitter War Triggers Blocked Chakra Energy
I’m writing this a few days after the fact for a couple of reasons:
1 – The events of this day were very powerful to me on an orgasmic and a human level. I needed time to process them.
2 – The GOP had to go all stupid (again), and the entire weekend was dealing with the idiocy of rape culture.
So back at the drawing board here… my headspace has been so filled with the memory of my rape and reading readers comments, telling me about their rapes, that Friday seems blurry… like it was 18 years ago and the rape was last week… or yesterday…
But the events of Friday were important so I will detail them, though perhaps not as elegantly as usual.
Friday morning began with getting my daughter on the school bus, after which I caught the local bus to the grocery store. While shopping in the produce section, a small Twitter war began in which I was being ridiculed for being from Mississippi — as usual, and also as usual, made to be at fault for all of Mississippi’s past ill history. Of course, I stood up for my state — my point being that Mississippi has a flawed past as do most states in this country. (What? New York was a slave state?! Yes. Quelle surprise! ) The New England states just like to think they’re perfect. They’re not.
The perception of Mississippi will never change because the media and American culture like having someone at whom to point the accusatory finger, to blame for all the bad things in the U.S., which conveniently keeps them from looking in the mirror and fixing their own problems. The news never reports the good things that happen here — just the bad… unless that bad thing is Hurricane Katrina — that the media reported hit New Orleans — it didn’t. The northeastern eyewall went over my house in Gulfport, MS, while we were inside, and I’ve got the coordinates to prove it!
As you can see, a lifetime of Post Traumatic Stress came up with that one stupid Twitter altercation, that ironically was with friends, but I was the butt of all the jokes and the lone voice for what is good and nice about Mississippi. This hurt greatly that the ridicule came from friends because the incident triggered deeper hurts that I have held on to since childhood.
Being from Mississippi, I am not good enough. For anything.
In dealing with the Broadway world for my day job and my radio show, I always dreaded being offered press seats that I would have to turn down because I don’t live in New York. Invariably, they would ask me where I live (because how can a person cover Broadway and not be in New York?! (From working very, very, VERY hard!). I dreaded giving the answer, but always said with a smile on my face and a lilt in my voice: “On the beautiful Mississippi Gulf Coast.”
Silence. Shock on the other end… “Well, you don’t sound like you’re from Mississippi!”… “Oh, really? And how do Mississippians sound?” (Like TV and Hollywood stereotypes!)… “Well, um…”… Then I feel obligated to explain my mother was a literature professor and my father was a physics teacher turned physicist for the government, to somehow prove Mississippians aren’t stupid. In fact, when I bought my new smartphone last year, I got a Manhattan number so at least when I ring the press agents, it just saves time not having to explain my area code… except that after three years, they know me now.
Having to defend myself just as an intelligent, well-read, educated, erudite ActivistArtist(TM) on a daily basis just gets old. It’s exhausting. And I realized it’s something I’ve been doing since I was a kid. Trying to prove my worth as a human being regardless of one thing or another — the color of my skin, my freckles, my religious choices as a Pagan/Witch, being bisexual, having a child out of wedlock in a Red State, dealing with being molested as a kid, thinking I was doomed to Hell thanks to Catholic brainwashing, dealing with being raped as an adult and not reporting it for fear of public ridicule, losing my identity as a person and an artist thanks to my asshole marriage, regrouping with my musical work that was stalled because of the destruction of Hurricane Katrina, dealing with the bad economy, the BP Oil Spill, then becoming a single mom in an affluent artists’ hamlet. I’m just tired.
So Friday, after a week of horrendous back pain which began after I started back with KSMO, I got home, sat down at my desk, and had a really good, gut-wrenching cry. Not a pretty, dabbing-the-eyes cry. No, this was full-out, cathartic wailing.
The crying brought me to my source of the pain — the fear that I am not good enough to be loved by anyone. That if someone did love me, I have no idea why he would. The irony is that I know I’m kinda fabulous in many ways. I’ve got the bustline and the music fellowship grants to prove it. But deep down… deeeeeeeeeeep down, I still have issues…. being told I was ugly as a kid, being told I was fat, that I should kill myself, that I’m going to Hell — for numerous reasons, then actually being fat as an adult, losing my sense of self and place in this world, hearing my asshole ex-husband’s ridicule of my singing voice and my original music plus his hurtful words regarding my body if I got breast reduction surgery, complaining that I got too wet during sex, that I shouldn’t do anything during sex because he would get insecure.
At times, it just feels like I’ve spent 39 years of doing nothing right.
Within an hour of this little emotional breakdown, I noticed my back was loosening up. The pain, I then realized, was in a place in my back that I don’t normally get back pain. Usually, the knots are along my bra straps horizontally across my ribs and vertically in both shoulder blade areas. This pain was in the center, at the spine, directly behind my heart. I jokingly thought that maybe the crying had knocked something loose. Then I thought about that again. The excruciating pain I had had for a week was literally almost gone. The pain that was left was not the pain of clenched muscles contracting nerves (anymore), it was more like sore muscles, exhausted from clenching and spasming for the past week. I could move through those vertebrae again — and I had not been able to do that all week! The immobility through my back had prevented most kinds of orgasm — the stealth, Kundalini O’s make my back arch so there was no way to do that as I was accustomed… the few times I had stealth O’d, I literally tucked my pelvis so my back wouldn’t try to arch — not nearly as much fun. The nipple orgasms were completely nonexistent because the nipple’s nerves stem straight off the spinal cord in that exact area of my pain — the area of my physical heart and my esoteric/Tantric heart chakra.
Looking at the time, I figured I’d better get on with my session for the day. With the weekend coming up and the prospect of my period starting Monday-ish, I knew vaginal O’s would be another week away if I didn’t get this sh’O on the road… Now that my back could arch, I wanted orgasms!!!!
* Read Part 2 here! *
Aroused and unblocking,
trish
For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s DailyOJ.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman
DailyOJ 08-11-12 & 08-12-12: The Times in Between, Full-Body Wave-gasms, & Urination Orgasms
“Nude Sitting Up,” by Chagall, 1908
Waking up Saturday morning, I was in severe pain. Pain I had not felt in a while. Sunday morning brought the same, if not worse, pain in my back and neck. How bad was it, you ask? Let’s just say that Saturday and Sunday mornings were the first time in over a year I didn’t start my day by touching my breasts or my genitals. Yeah. That bad.
So not being alone at home, I did not do KSMO or Sparkles. With the pain I was feeling, I didn’t think my back could take the sudden back arches of O’s brought on by OM touch or nipple stimulation. But the weekend was not entirely uneventful. I had known I would not be doing KSMO over the weekend, so I had allowed for these two days to be “see what happens” days, the days in between KSMO sessions when the new energy patterns that were triggered in the session start to make their appearance — hence the reason Jack recommends not KSMO-ing on consecutive days.
Throughout the day, both Saturday and Sunday, I felt familiar zings of energy up my legs every now and then while working at my desk. Because it was localized to my legs, I wouldn’t call it a full deskgasm. And yet, because I know what these energies are, what they feel like, and I have an idea what they will lead to, I am very excited by their activity even though they seem small. When first experiencing these energies, it can be difficult to notice them for what they are or to appreciate them for what they actually mean. This is an encore sojourn through KSMO for me, so I recognize the signals. I’m not worried or wondering if I’m doing it right or feeling disappointed that they weren’t bigger, bolder, or more obvious.
In the shower Saturday night, doing my nightly finger check, my prostate gave another slight “hello.” After a few pulses, I checked the fluid, and again, it smelled sweet but was very thick. I had already made the mental note to drink more water that day, so I was hoping I’d see some improvement by Sunday. However, I had inadvertently eaten an Asian dish with MSG (monosodium glutamate) and was having swelling in my legs and ankles. I drank extra water to help flush it out of my system. Also, I should note, I am making sure to take my fish oil every day as well as chocolate.
Sunday had similar energy swooshes up the leg and a scalpgasm — maybe two. I even had a full-body wave-gasm — the energy starts in my feet, zooms up my left leg, around my torso, up my back, and curves around my head into a scalpgasm and ends at tickling my face, followed by a full-body shudder, a zing in the genitals, and goosebumps on my arms. Oh, and this was at my desk, so this qualifies as a deskgasm (to me).
But what really got my heart racing in a great big “We’re on our way!” thrill was the urination orgasm I had Sunday afternoon. The prostate wraps around the urethra in the female as it does in the male. Rubbing the female prostate during sex, a woman can suddenly have that feeling of needing to go to the bathroom. But if she knows her bladder is empty, she shouldn’t tense up but rather push out and get to know and enjoy(!) those full-body ripples of pleasure that can occur from prostate play. This same effect can be achieved while urinating — if the prostate is aroused or full of fluid, the rush of urine through the urethra — which stimulates the prostate — can trigger delicious O’s… or… U’s. 
Sunday night, in the shower, I let the hot water hit my back for a while to help relax whatever muscles in my back or neck were still so tense. It was 1:30 a.m. I should have been in bed hours before since it was a school night, but I just didn’t want to sleep. My body was tired, but my brain was wide awake. Standing there, I massaged my hips through my glutes since I’d been having some recurring sciatica pain in recent weeks. I couldn’t help but brush a finger along the upper part of my butt cleavage, which months before, I had accidentally discovered to be a very sensitive erogenous zone. Moving my middle finger lower, I hit the K-spot, which is at the tip of the coccyx bone just above the anus. I got zapped with an energy wave straight up my spine to my scalp. So, yeah… I kept doing that for a couple minutes.
On the whole, this is all very encouraging. Starting back with KSMO on Wednesday, I was very happy with the progress I was already experiencing as of Sunday night. With the re-awakening of my prostate and my K-spot, the energy flowing again, the deskgasm and full-body-gasm, I am very optimistic in terms of my orgasmic development. I had a teary moment (furball) that came up Sunday afternoon — another impromptu pity party of my general inadequacy in life, career, and love. So I’m soul-searching into that. Again, I think I know what it is. I’ll write more on that when I have more information to share. I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels similarly.
Aroused and zinging,
trish
For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s Daily O.J.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman
DailyOJ 08-09-12: The Return of the Tingles
In similar fashion to the return of my afternoon delights yesterday, I had yet another KSMO session and a date with Sparkles, my purple silicone boyfriend. This was concurrent to yesterday’s session, which Jack does not recommend for newbies. However, I attained Adept status a couple months ago (apparently), so I kinda get to do what I want. (Neener-neener.)
I had already decided I was going to do back-to-back days about a month ago — the longing to be free again had been so poignant and clear. (“Man, I just need to be fucked already — and SOON!”) I had been feeling the almost overwhelming need — craving — to experience that wild, bed-frolicking, hip-rollicking abandon of insatiable passion and out-of-body orgasms that I had glimpsed in the Fall and Spring. I knew I couldn’t gain it all back overnight, but I figured a few back-to-back sessions wouldn’t do any harm, especially since the weekend is right here, and I’d be back on the wagon. (Sigh.)
Essentially, today’s session was much like yesterday’s. I laid in bed an hour in some stupidly ridiculous bliss of just being okay laying in bed being stupidly ridiculously blissful. My mind wandered. That was okay. I stealth O’d. That was fabulous. When I was ready for KSMO, I did KSMO. I felt some tingles which were a good sign, but I didn’t try to make anything happen. I finished the session, fucked Sparkles, cried, lather, rinse, repeat.
Okay…. Here’s where it got interesting. In the time afterward, I was paying attention to my body — what I was feeling, where, and how; what I felt emotionally, mentally, intellectually about what I was feeling physically, energetically, spiritually.
I noticed the crying afterward had been delayed by a couple minutes. This felt strange not to be immediately emotional. The orgasms felt good. What was the problem? I remembered this happened yesterday, too, and I felt the same conflicted response to the quasi-ambivalent emotion. The crying happened, and when it did, the feelings I felt were not just caused by the stimulation of my A-spot to induce the emotional uterine orgasm (that sounds so mechanical). What I felt were feelings of emotion that were tied to insecurities and uncertainties about finding a partner: why would any man want to be with me, why would a man love me, what did I have to offer? I had no answers, so I cried some more. I was too involved in the unexpected pity party to pay attention to whatever might have been happening physiologically in my genitals. I can only assume my body went through its usual after-O’s. But I don’t know for sure.
As the emotion slowed to a trickle, I noticed energy on my left side, up my leg and into my torso. I then felt energy collect in the ball of my left foot and shoot out from there. I have felt this before, and the image that comes to mind is the end of the animated film, The Beauty and the Beast. During his change from “The Beast” back to a “Man,” a ray of “light” bursts out of his feet and hands. That is what it feels like — a sudden gathering of energy that shoots out in a ray of light energy explosion… (except my feet aren’t hairy like the Beast’s. Just sayin’.)
Another unexpected sensation occurred while I was laying there feeling my feelings — the emotional ones as well as the physical sensations. My eyes were closed, but my attention was drawn to my hands. If my hands aren’t over my head, they are usually resting on my torso at my bottom rib/waistline area. I lay like this so my upper arms can support the weight of my breasts. I thought my hands were in the air, but I didn’t remember telling them to move. I opened my eyes and looked down. My arms were still by my sides, my hands still on my waist. But it felt like my hands were in mid-air, but heavy, like they were trying to pull away from me, or pull me up. I have felt similar “pulling” sensations when I experienced heartgasms — it felt like my inner me was trying desperately to separate from my body when I was wide awake — this happened for almost two weeks!
The rest of the day, I felt the odd tingle here and there, nothing major nor localized for too long in any one spot. (Wow, just got a zap of energy through my right outer labia just remembering that. Cool.) I didn’t have any single tingle strong enough or long enough for it to register as a particular -gasm, i.e., scalpgasm, leg-gasm, deskgasm, etc. I could feel the beginnings of the beginnings of awakening, the stirrings before the actual stirrings begin. So I know the bamboo has been growing under the surface and will burst through soon. Time is the only water it needs…. Dammit.
Aroused and tingling,
trish
For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s Daily O.J.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman
DailyOJ 08-08-12, Part 2: Back on the Path
* Read Part 1 here. *
I originally bought the KSMO seminar back in 2006. Life was too stressful, and I never actually did the practice. Fast forward to August 2011, my life was calmer, happier in many aspects, and I was ready to see what all this multiple orgasm thing was all about. Coming out of a miserable marriage, I was anticipating having sex again… hopefully… at some point… in the future… before I die…. Having never orgasmed during sex, I wanted to teach my body to be multi -orgasmic so I could maybe have one orgasm during sex… at least… hopefully… before I die….
In my KSMO 20-minute sessions, I would caress my breasts for 10 minutes, then my clit for about 5 minutes, then do 5 minutes simultaneous stim of my clit and my prostate. Touching the genitals is not required for KSMO, and in fact, Jack, KSMO’s discoverer, actually recommends not touching the genitals — to caress other parts of the body. But I don’t like doing what I’m told. Quelle surprise, I know.
I also never liked the actual timing of the 20 minutes. Even getting started, I would procrastinate, just enjoying laying in bed and associating the timer with yet another alarm — my life is mostly alarms going off for one thing or another at all times of the day and night, every day of the week. Scheduling in KSMO had begun to feel like another scheduled chore rather than an opportunity for training my bliss genes. And yet, if I had not scheduled KSMO, then I would not have done it — by experience, I knew I had to schedule the sessions or they wouldn’t get done.
During the actual 20-minute session, I would inevitably look at my phone’s stopwatch with disdain, thinking, “Jeez, is it 20 minutes yet? Can I just get on to the jerking off part?” (Another thing Jack doesn’t recommend — KSMO and sex on the same day. I rarely obeyed that rule either.)
Resuming KSMO after more than two months off made me a little nervous. I wasn’t sure what to expect. I had taken a two-month break in the Spring and was almost sorry I did because of my prostate’s subsequent dwindling super-powers. But I want to get back into it — to start on the next climb to the next peak of whatever the next threshold might be. (No, seriously, I’m in non-attachment, I swear!)
I laid in bed for about an hour, enjoying the calm, the CD playing softly in the background, just having some peace to myself. I knew I was going to do KSMO, but I felt no rush, no schedule to do it. I couldn’t help having some stealth O’s — after all, they’re now synonymous with my sexual identity. I can’t prevent the spontaneous O’s anyway. (Like I would try?! ) But I did not overtly go for orgasms. I caressed my body and just happened to enjoy some spontaneous O’s as well. With several rounds of those out of the way, I figured I was ready for KSMO. I felt no rush, and surprisingly, no “need” to do KSMO. I started the KSMO session when I wanted to start it. This is a huge leap in my mindset from where I had been just a few months ago! So I figured I’d do what I had done last Fall since that had worked so well. And so I began…
First Mistake ~ I brought by hands up to my breasts and as soon as my fingertips touched my pert nipples, I suddenly had 3 concurrent back-arching, knee-raising nipple orgasms. Damn…. This was how I always started out my sessions, to warm up my clit indirectly and get the energy flowing. This wasn’t going to work. On to Plan B.
Second Mistake ~ Plan B. I reached down between my legs where I brushed my fingertips lightly along the fringe of my inner labia, and a rush of heat washed up my body. I touched my fingertip to my clit in Om-touch style, and BAM! More full-body orgasms, with breathless gasps, torso twisting and thrashing, and hips off the bed. This really sucked.
How am I supposed to do my KSMO sessions now without being able to touch my favorite spots?
I decided to try what Jack actually recommends, which really annoyed me because I don’t like doing what I’m told to do. I started a gentle touch to the inside of my left thigh and felt tingles throughout the left side of my body. I remembered this from before.
Without being able to touch my breasts, my torso felt neglected. My body actually yearned for touch there. I used my hands to caress up and down the center of my torso, from my sternum — where I could feel the vibrations of the Key Sound in my chest — down to my mons pubis. I had never tried this before, and it felt weird to feel the softness of my breasts contrasted with the hardness of my nipples against the insides of my arms. My arms really liked it.
During the 20 minutes, my mind wandered occasionally, and that was okay. I was never really far from being fully mindful of my body. I mean, if I had know the insides of my arms would get turned on by feeling my nipples, I’d have done that 25 years ago! So I acknowledged the new information, filed it in my head, and moved on.
What I really noticed — and really made me happy — was the lack of negative emotion associated with my mind wandering or my body responding differently that she used to or differently than I expected. There was no expectation or reward to look forward to. The experience simply was what it was, and that was all it needed to be. This is a huge leap for me! To be more Yin, just accepting of the experiences as they happen, not processing them immediately, just experiencing them — experiencing them without the mind fuzz of guilt, regret, disappointment, or schedule-envy. Whatever happened was okay. I listened to my body and let her lead. I paid attention to my body so she could teach me what she wanted, what she needed, explore what she was now able to do, feel where she wants to go next.
At the end of the 20-minutes, I was relaxed and fully sated in the experience of self-exploration, mindfulness, and non-attachment. I did not feel the emotion of being “glad” it was over. Quite simply, the session was complete, and I was moving on to the next phase. So, then the rest is pretty mundane….
Fucked Sparkles, had boisterously loud orgasms, cried, blah, blah, blah…
Aroused and back on the path,
trish
For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s Daily O.J.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman
DailyOJ 05-26-12, Part 1: Spontaneous Full-Body Kundalini Orgasms
So to fill in… As I wrote in the DailyOJ for 05-21-12, that was a KSMO day, and it was grande! Today was also my only KSMO session this week (or since!). My schedule has been totally weird, as you’ll soon read.
After a 2 month break from KSMO, I had returned to the 20-minute protocol about twice per week, trying to get in as many KSMO practices and my usual loud solo sex sessions as I could before I was no longer home by myself during the days. (School would soon be out for summer, but with my daughter on a week-long trip, I had the house to myself 24/7!!)
Since beginning with OM explorations — which is also a “turn it down a notch to turn it ON and WAY UP” practice specifically for women, I have incorporated OM touch into my KSMO practice… To splendiferous effect!
So back to this week’s experiences…
Today, I began the 20-minute KSMO session. A few Key Sounds into it, I decided to use the OM touch for my caress — thinking it’s such a small, barely there touch, it’s okay because it’s not “stimulating” in the usual sense. Man, was I wrong! After 2 OM flicks, I full body orgasmed during my KSMO session. I didn’t mean to, honest! Having an orgasm during the 20-minute KSMO or the 15-minute OM practice is not the intent of these re-wiring methods. (Orgasms are for actual solo/partner sex.) Both OM and KSMO seem to re-wire the body on a much deeper level than the superficial jerking/frigging off the genitals way most people learn to masturbate (and then bring into their partnered sex life).
But without warning or intention, I did orgasm. I had a full-body O right then at the beginning of the session, all head-thrown-back, spine-arched, toes-curled, Kundalini style. I finished the KSMO part (about 18 minutes), and then did my solo thang. (Which was amazing.)
Since then — all week, I have experienced spontaneous O’s at all times of the day, evening, night. I can think, “That was a great orgasm earlier,” and BOOM! A full-body orgasm hits. And often, I don’t even have to think that — it just happens.
The slightest brush of my nipples — I mean, not really touching, the barest of bare caresses with the tips of my fingertips — and I’m in kundalini O’s…. okay… I’m higher griping… but thank the gods I work from home. These deskgasms are too good to pass up.
My body is so re-wired now that she is hyper-sensitive to even the air going across from the ceiling fan. Orgasms spontaneously erupt. I even started having these full-body O’s from the fan’s air current across my breasts. I have been staying in bed till 1 and 2 in the afternoon enjoying this. And I can keep it going for hours. The feelings are indescribable. (But I’ll try.)
The orgasms are like a rush of an energy wave through my body — not exactly starting in my feet or my genitals, it happens so fast and is so thorough, I practically feel it everywhere at once, but the waves keep hitting and expanding outward in all directions. My lower abs have been going crazy during these orgasms — though my only ab work is during sex. The puckering in my areolas is so strong, my nipples feel like they’re pulling my body up off the bed. My body is contorted in all directions — no,this doesn’t hurt. Feels incredible, actually.
As I’ve explained in other blog post(s), it’s not the same as orgasms that are hands-on the genitals — these are different, but O so powerful! And talk about “less” stimulation needed — try practically NONE! I am SO glad I threw my vibrator in the dumpster. I would have never experienced any of this while my body was deadened to the media/porn culture’s lies about needing vibration for “better,” “stronger” orgasms. Bullshit! (I encourage every woman to put the vibe down, and go off the battery band wagon!)
What’s “disturbed” me in yet another “higher gripe” way is that when I enter my vagina to stimulate my prostate — which has all the bells and whistles of arousal going, I don’t stay there. WHAT?! I know! ME?! NOT playing in Prostate Town?
I’ve been going back to the 1 or 2 barely there OM/clit strokes or letting the air on my breasts, and the O’s hit. However many I want in succession. And I feel satisfied. I don’t need to go for an all-hands-on-deck sporting event. (Though, those ARE fun!) Feeling “satisfied” is not a feeling I have much experience with sexually or in life — I have always had yearnings of bigger, better things. Feeling “satisfaction” is new and yet profound of many levels.
In talking with Jack, the discoverer of KSMO, I asked him “Okay, so, what do I do now?”
Essentially, he said I was now an “Adept.” (No, the title does not come with a gold watch.) But I am now completely free to explore the energy and sensations as I choose — which is good because I kind of always did what I wanted to anyway. I know — what a shock.
I was concerned because these O’s I’m having don’t have the hot/explosion that others describe — the Big Bang I experience happens very suddenly and very strong and is “blunt” not “sharp” as I associate the other Adepts’ big orgasms. Mine are powerful, but it feels like I own the power. Even as I am learning about my body’s orgasmic capabilities and even though I’m in the non-attachment mindset, I am in control. It’s not like I’m at its mercy. Which I think was my fear last Fall when my prostate awakened, and it was SO very powerful it kind of freaked me out. Being totally willing to die in orgasm kinda resets your priorities — especially as a parent.
Jack suggested I just breathe and in-joy. (He likes to re-interpret words we use every day so we see them in a new light… It’s pretty cool, actually.) He also mentioned that I might allow more of the inner quiet to resonate — to see what I can learn from it. I am so much better now about not letting the mind noise interfere. I can tell it is making a difference to let my body lead the experience — like when I kept stopping stimulation during a solo session, and I have no idea why, but the results were astounding, so I’ve kept that bit in my “routine.”
* Read Part 2 here. *
Aroused and spontaneously combusting,
trish
For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s Daily O.J.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman
DailyOJ 05-21-12: The Clit Also Rises
I woke up feeling energized. Not energized like I wanted to jump out of bed and bike 10 miles (like I would ever feel like that! ), but I did have to get up to meet the school bus.
However, I laid in bed and felt my genital/pelvic bowl area from the inside — mentally feeling the area, like a genital meditation. I felt heat and throbbing, but more of it — more expansive. And I felt fullness. I didn’t feel “empty” vaginally.
I couldn’t resist feeling with my hand what was going on down there, and I was amazed. Combining the stimulation technique of OM with my previous energy work of KSMO, Tantra, and Kundalini has turned out to be the best orgasm combo ever.
Aside from being fully wet (thanks extra water and fish oil!), my clit was fully aroused like I’ve never experienced before. The clitoris, so very similar to the male penis, has a length of several inches inside the female, with extending parts, nerve endings, and vascular system. When unaroused, the clitoral head and the first part of the shaft hang down. But when aroused, the clit is erect.
I’ve never felt my clit so erect — ever, especially with no stimulation. Usually, once stimulated to this point and near orgasm, the clitoral head actually sinks back into the body — another sign of impending orgasm — when the clit is practically flush to the pubic bone. When erect, I can feel the shaft of my clit between my fingers — but just barely there. This morning, however, she was firmer than I’d ever felt her — higher, too. A true erection (though she couldn’t have been more than a 1/4″ high, if that). She felt… huge… and growing… I had the fleeting thought, “Is this what it’s like to have an erection?!” But she felt amazing — inside and out.
But with alarms going off for the impending hectic morning craziness, I couldn’t pursue anything… Instead, I spent the day writing yet another breast article.
That night, I felt that energy again, the humming/buzzing energy throughout my body. I had several full-body O’s via the lightest nipple stimulation — barely touching my breasts with my fingertips. Weird, but cool. With tomorrow being the last day of school, I decided to let it be… for now… I would have time to explore these awakenings later.
Aroused and erect,
trish
For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s Daily O.J.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman
DailyOJ 05-20-12: OM & Nipple Orgasms
*** The next few of these will be brief, but I think they are important to my development, so I will go ahead and post them. ***
In getting ready for bed, I knew that I was too tired to do much but was still feeling a bit of a buzz from my heartgasm and O’s on Friday. I did some OM technique fingering with my fingertip — maybe 4 or 5, and I orgasmed a full-body, kundalini orgasm. I kept OM-ing and kept orgasming.
The OM technique is very specific, and I was shocked (!!!) when the orgasm hit so soon. It was kind of like… “Okay, now what?”… I didn’t have to wait.
Now that I was in that energy, the O’s kept coming with little stim needed on my nipples alone. I had not done much with my breasts since experiencing painful nipple sensitivity for a couple weeks. Thankfully, that had passed.
I did a few more orgasms via OM clit stim, and felt amazing. These O’s aren’t explosive heat like the usual clit O’s, and I don’t experience any noticeable explosions in my head like true kundalini orgasms. But what I feel throughout my body is a sudden wave of whoosh!, a full-on release of energy in all directions simultaneously, but I also notice the energy racing up my arching spine, and even into my throat area. It’s as if the energy expands through me — a Big Bang rush, rather than “runs” out, the way other orgasms can taper off.
It is nothing short of incredible, and it’s happening more frequently… All in all, loverly.
Aroused and OM-ing,
trish
For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s Daily O.J.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman
NEWS: Woman Fired From Job for Having Large Breasts
In a case of “how stupid can some religious fanatics be” (yes, that is a rhetorical question), a New Jersey woman has filed charges with the Equal Opportunity Employment Commission saying she was fired from a lingerie business because she was too “busty”.
I recently wrote two articles on just this sort of misogyny and cultural brainwashing: “Me, My Breasts, and I” and “American’s Love/Hate Relationship with Breasts, Part 1″. So if anyone thought I was making stuff up about how women are systematically abused and mistreated due to their cup size, here’s a “life imitating art imitating life” Kodak moment.
New Jersey resident Lauren Odes claims she was fired a few days after starting a desk job at Native Intimates, a 5th Avenue Manhattan lingerie distributor, because of her full-figure. At a press conference, Odes presented her three outfits with which her Orthodox Jewish employers took umbrage.Two of the outfits were on hangers, while she was wearing the third one (see image above).
At the press conference, Odes said this:
“When I first started working there, I asked what the dress code was, and I was just told to look around and see what everyone else was wearing. So I did. The dress was very casual athletic wear to business attire. When my supervisors suggested that I tape down my breasts, I asked ‘Are you kidding me?’ The supervisor said, ‘Just cover up a little more.’”
Odes was then made to wear a red robe that the manager personally put on her person. Odes took a picture of herself in the robe (see poster in picture above).
“She told me to sit at my desk and wear it all day. I felt completely humiliated. She put the bathrobe on me and tied the belt, and I returned to my desk wearing it.”
Odes was then told to go out and buy a sweater, but while shopping for something to suit her misogynist employer, Odes received a phone call informing her she was fired.
Not being stupid, Odes recorded the phone call, then got the best of the best on the case, renown feminist lawyer Gloria Allred, who stood beside Odes at the press conference Monday. Odes had this to say:
“I do not feel any employer has the right to impose their religious beliefs on me when I’m working in a business that is not a synagogue, but instead selling thongs with hearts placed in the female genital area and boy shorts for women saying ‘HOT’ in the buttocks’ area.”
Any thoughts on this sort of patriarchal religious and cultural harassment in the #WarOnWomen here in the 21st century? Or do you think the leftist media is making too much out of it? Any comments, peeps?
trish
OpEd: America’s Love/Hate Relationship with Breasts
To say American men are enamored of breasts is an understatement.
The “red-blooded-ness” of the American male’s manhood is quantified by the degree to which he holds breasts in esteem and wants to hold them in his hands… and his mouth… and slide his erection between them. As one former beau put it, “There’s a whole world of breasts out there, and I can’t die till I’ve seen every pair of them.”
Over the last 40 years, breasts have not only become a national obsession, they’ve become big business spurring the porn and plastic surgery industries to gigantic proportions — a different kind of #WarOnWomen. One might think that porn invented breasts — or even the proliferation of showing breasts, but ancient art and fertility sites clearly indicate the female form has been revered for millennia.
The breast is a gland. Anatomically, female breasts are almost identical to the male breast, though we are unaccustomed to referring to the male’s pectoral/nipple area as a “breast.” The underlying structure of the breast is the pectoral muscle, over which the mammary glands and ducts and fat tissue protrude from the body in post-pubescent females and some men. Men can get breast cancer, and some men even lactate and have breastfed their babies. Men who have excess breast tissue may have a hormonal condition known as gynecomastia, treatment of which is usually surgical male breast reduction.
Our perception of breasts — what they should look like, how they should move, what they should feel like, has changed drastically with the mainstreaming of porn and the life-altering rise of the internet. With sex readily available on any device capable of an internet or wi-fi connection, fake breasts and staged sex are literally at your fingertips 24/7. But what has all this accessibility done to the breast? To women’s bodies? To our body image and self-esteem? Do men even know what real breasts look like anymore?
Real breasts come in many shapes, sizes, and colors. Though the exact look and feel of the breasts varies with the woman, for the most part women’s breasts are oval shaped (not spherical), with the majority of the breast tissue being at or below the nipple/areola complex, and the nipples angled slightly outward, away from each other. In larger breasts, the areola may be oval-shaped as well. Because real breasts function at the demand of the law of gravity, they move — sometimes down, sometimes to the sides toward the armpits, or away from each other all together. Real breasts move.
(Photos from Dian Hanson’s book Big Book of Breasts)
Thanks to porn and plastic surgery, the placement and the size of implants has created a distorted view of women’s breasts. At times, it seems as if even the doctors don’t know what breasts are supposed to look like!
With results that can appear as if basketballs were surgically implanted, fake breasts can look completely unnatural: spherical instead of oval, the areolas too small in proportion to the size of the breast, the nipples pointing straight out — or worse, upwards.
Implants are inserted at the areola line, inframammary line, or under the armpit, cutting through the nerve-rich tissue and leaving some implantees with little to no sensation in the nipples. Permanently. Considering the nipples are wired directly to the clitoris, why would a woman sacrifice a lifetime of orgasms for money she might earn in porn or stripping — or worse, because she feels inadequate with her body because of the pressure to have huge, high, perfect breasts?
With fake breasts, the implant is placed under the pectoral muscle. Essentially, the implant is held up by the chest wall muscles, rendering the breast an almost motionless appendage. (How are real breasts supposed to compete with this?!)
I’d like to say I don’t have a problem with implants, but yes, I really do have a problem with implants when the woman is getting them because she feels inferior due to media and socio-cultural conditioning. But I recognize this is my problem, and a woman’s body is hers to do with as she chooses. I certainly have no problem with implants for women who are reconstructing their breast(s) post-breast cancer or are evening out a condition in which one breast is underdeveloped. But these are not the majority of women seeking breast augmentation.
Having worked for a plastic surgeon, I heard many women say that they wanted the implants to give them the look of a push-up bra without having to wear a bra. Many implantees get their breasts done with a “pushed up” curvature in the center. Presto! Permanent cleavage.
The proliferation of the push-up bra phenomenon is a direct result of the breast-obsessed culture. While you can argue that the pushed up nature of brassieres harkens back to the days of corsets, the reality is that for most of the corset’s history, the job of the corset (or “pair of bodies” as it was originally called) was to shape the torso into the desired look of the time, not push the breasts up and in.
The pushing up and in of the breasts is actually the complete opposite of what is natural for the breasts and for innate biological signs of sexual maturity. The dropping of the breast tissue is the last phase of puberty for the breasts, and this may not fully happen until the woman is 21 years old. When plastic surgeons are taking measurements for a patient’s breast reduction, they gauge the new nipple line at the inframammary fold, where the underside of the breast meets the torso. So if cosmetic surgeons can get this right with breast reduction, why do they purposely get it so very wrong for breast augmentation?
The hypersexualization of women’s breasts has surpassed the porn and skin mags industry, with the cups of commerce spilling over into stripping, lingerie, comic books, video games, mainstream film, mass market paperback books, and even kids’ cartoons and national beauty pageants.
This doesn’t begin to cover the topic of how breasts naturally change throughout a women’s life. Breasts change constantly through a woman’s monthly cycle. You could say that once puberty starts, the breasts never stop changing!
Add in to this ever-evolving metamorphosis the life cycles of pregnancy, breastfeeding, post-partum hormone craziness, weight gain, weight loss, menopause, and just getting older. The life of real breasts is tough physically, emotionally, and psychologically.
Could there be a shortage of real breasts in the next few decades? While scientists are looking for a cure for the common cold and AIDS, are they already working on a DNA breast augmentation injection so that future generations of girls won’t have to suffer the indignity of not measuring up to society’s demands for unnaturally shaped breasts?
I certainly hope not!
So then why do men buy porn? And skin mags? And go see strippers? I know men are viscerally oriented and generally lack imagination when it comes to getting off, but this is ridiculous.
And why the hell do men think women want lingerie as a gift?! All of these industries are run by men for men with women not being considered in the equation at all — except to feel like something is wrong if they’re a size A cup instead of FFF or their breasts hang naturally instead of defying the laws of gravity.
Why are men so desirous of seeing breasts bigger and bigger and in completely unnatural formations and perfectly, unnaturally symmetrical? How would men feel if they were expected to have their sensitive parts pushed up and in when these parts are supposed to be down, free, and maybe slightly uneven?
Whether temporary pushing up of the breasts via a bra or permanent cleavage due to manipulated implants, society not only accepts but expects this violation against women’s biology. In fact, when women’s breasts do not meet the porn/skin mag fake implant standard, the real, living, breathing, feeling, natural, un-airbrushed women are made to feel as if something is wrong with them — that their bodies are somehow misshapen or ugly if their breasts do not match society’s porn-induced standard.
Breasts come in many different sizes, shapes, and colors. Before passing judgment on a woman’s body that will make her feel less than human, think of other females you know — your sister or your daughter, even your mother. Would you want someone else to make them feel less than worthy as a human being just because of the way their body is naturally?
Then don’t pass the socio-cultural brainwashing on by passing judgment on your girlfriend or wife. And stop supporting the very industries that propagate the brainwashing. Stop buying porn and skin mags and comic books. Start buying erotica directed by women and starring natural women. Buy books about women written by women, or subscribe to sites that feature natural women being naturally sexy.
Better yet, get off the computer and go hug your woman.
trish
For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s Daily O.J.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman
Me, My Breasts, and I
Copyright 2012 by Trish Causey.
I always hated my breasts.
For most of my life that was all I was good for. Having breasts. And thick hair. Breasts and hair. That was me in a nutshell. Nevermind that I was intelligent, talented in the performing and literary arts, a Girl Scout, an honor student, an activist, a nice person. None of that mattered. I had thick, red hair and large, lust-inducing breasts.
I woke up one morning at the age of 10, and POOF! There they were. Size C practically overnight. I went from being the wallflower nerd in 5th grade to getting weird looks from the boys who glanced at me from lowered eyelids but no longer talked to me.
At age 11, my ballet teacher measured me for my recital costume and announced (in front of my class much to my horror) that my measurements were 37-26-37. She then had the nerve to tell me if I gained an inch in my waist, I’d have perfect measurements. I’d just started my period and was about to get braces. Having perfect measurements was nowhere on my radar. And neither were boyfriends.
I was 13, working backstage at an international ballet competition, when a German photographer wanted to take “pictures” of me. At age 15, I had my first experience with being mauled by a guy — a fellow castmember of a show, who was my ride home after a rehearsal. With no other way to get home, I felt like I had to let him do what he wanted so he wouldn’t leave me there at the deserted library at 10 o’clock at night. (This was well before cell phones were commonplace). Luckily my leotard didn’t have snaps at the crotch.
I graduated high school a D-cup and quickly moved into a DD.
While volunteering with a ballet company at age 18, the ballet master of a troupe visiting from Russia, cornered me in the Green Room after everyone had left. Before I knew what was happening, he’d maneuvered both of my arms behind me and held my wrists in one of his hands while the other went to my blouse, untucking it from my skirt. He grabbed my breasts and squeezed roughly. His knee was between my legs which were trapped in a pencil skirt. The more I fought, the stronger he became. My only recourse when he kissed me was to bite his tongue as hard as I could. He backed off immediately, blood pouring from his mouth. I tucked in my shirt and told him he was never to do that again. Even in this situation, my Southern upbringing would not allow me to be rude.
At 20, I traveled with a theatre company to South Korea for an international theatre competition. I was friendly with the troupe from Tblisi, in the Republic of Georgia. Just friends. Nothing happened. It was brought to my attention on the plane ride home that almost everyone in the competition — people from 16 countries — thought I’d fucked the entire acting company from Tblisi… and some of the Germans and a French guy.
Swell.
At 21, working the ballet competition again, I was more fully aware of my seeming powers over men, and I was ready to be slightly more proactive. An Adonis of a male dancer from Cuba lusted after me, but his partner didn’t make it to Round 2, so I couldn’t take that opportunity to the next step. A ballet master from Spain wanted me. One night while making out with him, he, of course, went for my breasts first. The intensity of the situation was too much, and while he wiped off his fogged up glasses, I made an excuse about needing to do something and left.
I didn’t understand what the big fuss was about. When I was 9, my molestor used to admire the beginnings of my breasts, and she was greatly thrilled when they came in at age 10. This coupled with all the other events made me leery of sex. I was still a virgin at 21 until I was raped. The guy repeatedly ran his fingernails up and down my breasts, commenting that he’d dreamt of the day he’d get his hands on them. I knew him and we were in my bedroom, and at the time, the concept of date-rape was still new and not considered “real” rape. I bled for four days, but I still felt his nails on my skin.
I was so embarrassed that I was still a virgin at 21, I did not report the rape for fear the policemen would laugh at me. Or worse. It was too much to fathom sitting in a courtroom having to explain why I had never had sex, when everyone around me thought I was a slut.
For years, everyone thought I was a “loose girl” because I had large breasts. Everyone just assumed I was a “certain way” because my Irish anatomy was genetically predisposed to being full-figured. Finally, I’d been penetrated. At least now, I wouldn’t have to pretend a reaction when people smirked in my direction. The look of shame was real.
My breasts were never pin-up fabulous — not high or perky or uber firm — but they were large. At theatre orgies, when I was 22 to 24, my breasts were all the rage. And I was proud of them — but only because I knew they gave me power over men. One guy wanted time with them, so I laid back on the bed, purring, until he said — out loud where everyone heard, “They went to the sides.” I responded, “Yes, that’s what they do.” He replied, “Nevermind. They’re just sacks of skin.” I was humiliated. He was used to breasts that didn’t move, defied gravity, and were perfect(ly fake). As large as mine were, my breasts didn’t measure up.
Aged 25 and working as a leasing consultant at an apartment property, I’d forgotten the cardinal rule of being big-busted — never wear form-fitting sweaters. Sure enough, as I sat there, one of the paint contractors walks in — I’d never seen him before. He took one look at me, and exclaimed, “Damn, but don’t you put Dolly Parton to shame!”
Lovely. From a complete stranger, no less.
I hated my breasts, and I wanted them gone. I thoroughly researched breast reduction. I watched every nerd channel show on plastic surgery, scrutinizing the process and the results. I even worked for a plastic surgeon and felt I could practically do a breast redux consult and procedure myself by that point.
Frequently, I would have to ask my husband to massage my back to help release the knots. These massages were never spa- or romance-novel-worthy. They were painful. Horribly, hot, sharp, stabbing, searing pain, painful.
From the nape of my neck to my bottom ribs, from one shoulder across to the other, my back was one, huge knotted mass of contracted muscle and pinched nerves, for years. Constant back pain affected how I walked and how I slept — when I could sleep. Permanent red grooves still scar my shoulders from their weight.
External and environmental projections of cultural myths and stereotypes compelled self-loathing within me I never would have imagined possible. Having large breasts made my body acceptable for repeated sexual abuse, and society assumed I “wanted” it or “deserved” it just because of the way my body developed.
In 2004, I thought my marriage might work out after all. Things had looked up for a while, and I had surprised myself thinking that I might actually grow to love him again. I was in the kitchen, and remarked, quite off the cuff, that I’d decided to go ahead and have the breast reduction surgery. He shook his head, getting angry, and actually pouted.
After inquiring what was wrong, he said, “If you go through with it, I’ll never be able to make love to you again. I would take one look at those hideous purple scars and be too disgusted to be aroused.” That cut me to my soul. And it solidified for me that he’d never truly loved me. No man ever had or would. I was nothing but breasts and hair to men.
I’ve had a child, whom I breastfed. I purposely gained weight so my husband wouldn’t want me, which wrecked my thyroid. Hurricane Katrina in 2005 and the subsequent PTSD didn’t help. In 2010, I escaped my hellhole marriage and began a path of reclaiming my dreams and my identity.
Last fall, a friend suggested I try sensual massage as part of my orgasm awakening regimen. I thought it was hokey, but I tried it anyway. At the same time, I read Tantric Orgasm for Women
The sensual self-massage put me in touch with my body in a gentle, caressing way that I’d not thought possible. I realized then that I’d never been touched gently. Ever. By anyone. Tingles rippled up and down my body. Energy zinged up my spine, across my scalp, and tickled my face.
The breast meditation involved gently holding my breasts from the outside while mentally entering my breasts from the inside. From my center. From my heart. This was the first time I experienced my breasts in relationship to my body and how they come from me. Since I was 9, the attention my breasts received has been from the external world passing judgment, men (and females) groping, clawing, and lusting after them, while society applied the scarlet letter of shame.
My breasts had been the victim, not my enemy. For the first time, I experienced my breasts as a part of me, and I cried uncontrollably. Holding my breasts, I wanted to apologize for ever hating them and sending the negativity to them.
I’m now a single mom, 43 pounds lighter, and infinitely happier. I’m a few months away from turning 40.
While laying in bed one night, I noticed a woman on my laptop’s screen. I thought, “Wow, those breasts look good.” I then realized the screen was dark due to the screen saver, and the breasts I saw were mine. I looked good laying down — with my breasts to the sides as real breasts are wont to do.
It was at that moment that I knew without a doubt that I will never have breast reduction. After years of wanting them gone, I cannot imagine having them cut now. Knowing that the surgeon will cut every nerve around the nipple-areola complex which is wired directly to the clitoris and remove a huge triangle of nerve-rich skin from the underside of the breast, simply hurts my heart — not to mention what it might do to my orgasms. After making peace with my breasts and experiencing such wonderful sensations and orgasms directly because of them, I can’t fathom not having them exactly as they are.
My breasts will never grace a magazine’s centerfold, and they’d never withstand the scrutiny of men accustomed to ogling implants and the perfect breasts of 20-somethings in skin mags or porn. I’ll never look good bra-less, and swimsuits will always be my arch-nemesis. I can live with that. And however society chooses to judge my old, not-perfect breasts is society’s waste of time and energy. I have other things to do than worry about what other people think — which I can’t control anyway.
My breasts will never be perfect. But they will always be mine. And I love my breasts.
trish
For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s Daily O.J.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman
DailyOJ 05-15-12: Nipple Sensitivity & Energy in My Legs
In the past few weeks, I’ve been trying to get back into the KSMO thing. After the debacle (with a couple of morons) on the forum, I didn’t do anything KSMO for 2 months. In the interim, I finally tried Om-ing and was shocked by the fabulous results I had with it as well as went a couple rounds with my new glass prostate wand and have loved playing with that ever since.
Oddly enough, I began to experience painful sensitivity in my nipples. Not the whole breasts, just the nipples. This was horribly sad because I have begun to rely on nipple stim as the appetizer that leads to the entree of arousal and delectable orgasmic desert(s) later on. Also, since beginning a regular-ish practice of sensual massage, I’ve found my hands on my breasts almost constantly whenever I’m naked. (That may seem weird, but since I spent most of my life hating my breasts, I’m actually just getting to know them.)
Nipple stimulation leads to a cervical, Kundalini orgasm in 10 to 30 seconds. If I continue the nipple and breast stimulation (as I’m wont to do), I can even get aroused enough to experience what author Diana Richardson calls the “YES!” of vaginal arousal, where the vaginal opening (the clitoral cuff of the PC muscles) opens and a finger or toy slides right in — no wiggling past the fleshy opening necessary to enter. The first time I felt my vagina open like that, it was as if my vulva was sighing a sweet, “Ahhhhh….” It felt amazing. Since then, I can sense when my vagina is open like that, waiting to be entered by… something. In fact, I’ve found myself awakening in the middle of the night from a sexual-infused dream and without touching my shaved vulva, I can tell I’m fully opened and in “YES!” mode.
With little notice, my nipples became painfully sensitive a few weeks ago. Even the air flow from the ceiling fan was painful. This made me pay attention to the rest of the breast (which, admittedly, is overlooked by men as well). I can only surmise that the pain was related to my hormonal cycles — it began a week after my period, through ovulation (think I caught the egg this month!), and a week after. This past week has been miraculously back to normal in sensation. However, the cervical O’s only came back in the last day or two, and they’re not as strong — but I did notice that the intensity is building back. Will have to work on those.
As for the energy in my legs, I don’t have much to report other than I’ve noticed weird pulsating, energy zaps down the backs of my legs recently. It feels like contractions (but not like a leg cramp). It’s as if it’s building energy, starting in my lower glutes/upper hamstrings and down to my calves. Strong sensations but not unpleasant.
I had full-body O’s during this last session with lots of energy in my legs — which is great because my legs are strong and tend to be very active during the last phase of arousal (shaking profusely) and during orgasms themselves (kicking out, pulling up, kicking out again, etc.). I can even feel my prostate coming back to life, which had also gone dormant in recent months.
As for regular orgasms, I’ve had my orgasms in the past few weeks, but they hadn’t been as satisfying as I’ve become accustomed since last Fall. I don’t know if this is related to the nipple pain or not. The breasts are indeed the gateway to orgasm (for me, anyway), so that may have been the cause for (what I consider) the lackluster orgasms — they were localized to the genitals, and even when they extended upward, they weren’t full-body… more … one-hit of orgasm, but not even an explosion. (Yes, this was with blended O stim.)
On the brighter side, I woke up from some sensual dream at 3:45 a.m. today, and unable to sleep, I laid in bed as I do with my legs spread open and massaged my breasts and labia. It was fabulous. I can’t count the number of cervical O’s I had with the breast stimulation, and even had a couple of energy zings from minor OM clit stimulation.
Will have to see where all this leads next… Being on my period, I won’t be able to play inside until Saturday or Sunday… well, I could, but man, I hate the “Clean up, aisle 12″ scenario. Guess it’s just me and my breasts till then!
trish
For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s Daily O.J.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman
DailyOJ 04-25-12 & REVIEW: OM – Getting OneTaste of an Orgasm Meditation
OM is the clitoris-centric practice brought to the masses by Nicole Daedone, author of Slow Sex: The Art and Craft of the Female Orgasm
Daedone is obviously passionate about getting this revolutionary information out to women, and so am I!
Speaking for myself, I find clit-only stimulation and orgasms to be extremely boring — or I did, before OM. Having discovered my She Spot over a decade ago, I’m rather an aficionado of blended orgasms, stimulating both my She Spot and clit simultaneously to achieve both the full-body waves of the vaginal orgasm and the fireworks’ explosion of heat of the clitoral orgasm. Since becoming acquainted with my prostate last fall and making peace with my breasts, I have been on a path of rediscovering my body now that I see it as truly mine — not a man’s plaything or a child’s source of nourishment.
I hesitated to even try the OM technique, which only lasts 15 minutes, because it is a couple’s practice, and I’m single. I tried it the first time and didn’t get much out of it, but that was completely my fault. After years of blended O’s, stimulating just the clit was weird, made even weirder because the fingering technique is not the hard and fast circles of friggin’ off women are so used to seeing in porn and doing on themselves. The OM touch is a gentle, subtle touch that I didn’t appreciate at first.
Clitoral orgasms are typically localized to the clitoral area, with an explosion that doesn’t leave any lasting orgasmic contractions the way vaginal orgasms do (for me, anyway). The clitoris is itself much more than just the “rosebud” visible from the outside. Also, after years of being on the vibration bandwagon thanks to effective marketing that makes women think “assisted” orgasms are better (they’re not), I had absolutely no feeling in my clit at all, unless I used a vibrator. My clit was dead. Having thrown my Hitachi Wand in the dumpster a year ago, I had to give my clit time to heal from the nerve damage while I began my new life as a Recovering Vibratoraholic. It was then I realized that by using a vibrator on my clit and a g-spot vibe inside to orgasm, I hadn’t actually touched my lady’s loins in a damn long time — this was exacerbated by my new life and new stresses as a single mother. The past year of bodily and orgasmic explorations brought me back in touch with the amazing textures, capabilities, and ever-changing environments of my genitals. I only WISH I’d known about OM-ing a year ago!
My second go with OM-ing was late at night, when I was in bed and generally feeling very Zen — i.e., lazy but not sleepy. I was too tired to drag out a toy and expend the energy that would entail, so it seemed to be the perfect time to try OM again. Thoroughly relaxed — a rarity for me, I allowed myself to have a goalless, non-attachment philosophy toward OM-ing. OM is simple and unpretentious, similar to how I like my sex. After all, OM is a technique to make orgasms better, not necessarily to orgasm at that moment — which was good because the thought of a lackluster clitoral orgasm wasn’t appealing. (I was tired, not crazy.)
I set the timer alarm on my phone for the requisite 15 minutes. As I lay there in the dark, with my nightly meditation CD playing, I began the finger technique on my clit — a very precise technique on an exact part of the clit — and began to have the most amazing sensations. Heat began to rise up from my clit and circulate like spirals of arousal energy snaking up my body and down my limbs. (You don’t have to subscribe to chakras and chi to get the benefits of this mojo either.)
I could have lived in this energy forever, and knowing I wasn’t trying for an orgasm seemed to take some pressure off, and before I knew it, a huge, full-body orgasm hit. My back arched, my legs kicked out, and I made my moans that I love so much. It was incredible. Actually, it was multiple. I kept up the precise fingering, and the wave/explosions kept hitting.
It was like having two separate experiences at once: #1: an in-body experience of the orgasms and feelings themselves, and #2: an out-of-body/observer experience that was shocked that I’d just had a full-body O via clit-only stimulation — and not the frantic circle stim either, but the soft, light, unassuming OM flick of the index finger across my long-unappreciated clitoris.
Then the 15-minute alarm sounded. I have never hated my phone more than at that moment!
The next surprise was the tears. Since finding my true orgasmic potential, my orgasms are always multiples, and the denouement is always emotional. The harder the gut-wrenching sobs, the stronger and more numerous the orgasms were. Crying after a clit-only session was definitely a new one for me!
Since then, my clit has been more responsive to touch and required less stimulation during my other orgasmic pursuits. While I’m still learning about clitoral and vaginal orgasms and how they differ due to the different major nerves that feed feeling to the separate areas, I’m a big believer in OM.
OM-ing is about discovery, and connection, and awakening. It is about emotion and relating, and I can only imagine how powerful OM can be with a partner.
The only downside I can see to OM is that men may view it as yet another practice in which they do all the “work” while the woman gets all the “benefits.” These insecure men probably wouldn’t appreciate the subtle genius of OM anyway. ***NOTE: Since the clit and the head of a man’s penis are synonymous, I would theorize that the OM technique could be quite delicious on the man as well, just re-set the 15-minute timer. ***
Yes, OM recommends a particular set-up or sacred space called “the nest” to create atmosphere as well as comfort. OM requires a specific position for both the woman and her partner. OneStroke Lube. 15 minutes. But once the OM-ing is done, you can both hit the bed (or the diningroom table) and continue with the merry-making. (Any straight man who wouldn’t want to spend 15 minutes’ quality time with his woman spread eagle on his lap needs help.) And for those who are woo-woo-minded, Tantra and other sex practices acknowledge that it takes 15-30 minutes of stimulation to get a women fully aroused and in the multiple orgasm zone. OM is a great way to spend that 15 minutes.
OM is available through OneTaste, which offers classes, videos, and workshops to hone the OM technique as well as improve the communication of the couple. After all, “relationship” is the active relating to another person. How often is sex bad because there is no relating between the people involved? Have a look at OneTaste’s Essentials Package for starters.
Have you tried OM-ing? Let me know by leaving a comment below!
trish
For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s Daily O.J.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman
To watch Nicole’s presentation at TEDxSF, click play:
DailyOJ 12-10-11: Part 2, Female Orgasm Statistics
December 10, 2011
The myths about female orgasm, particularly female multiple orgasms, have been perpetuated in modern culture with the rise of easily accessible porn. Separating the real O’s from the fake is not an easy task. What we need is more honest conversation about orgasm, how we reach it, why we want, and what we want out of it.
I saw the following on the “I Love Female Orgasm” website and just had to share. (Wonder if they’ll let me have a speaking gig? Hmmm…)
Some stats:
- Average length of time it takes a woman to have an
orgasm: 20 minutes. Average length of time it takes a man: 2-5 minutes. - Half of girls have had an orgasm by the time they’re 16 years old.
- 44% of men say their female partners always have orgasms when they have sex. Whereas, 22% of women say they always have orgasms when they have sex. (Note: Can we say “contradiction”?!)
- About 1% of women are able to achieve orgasm solely through breast
stimulation. - 63% of college women say they’ve had multiple orgasms.
I do think younger women have more information about female anatomy and sex positions than their mothers did, so I’m not surprised to see so many college women have had multiple orgasms. And considering most of them grew up post-Clinton sex scandal, they grew up hearing the words “oral sex” on the evening news. But the statistic doesn’t say during partnered sex. Even as late as 2002, studies report 75% of women have never orgasmed during partnered sex — I am one of those.
I also find it interesting to note the disparity between what men report of their partners’ orgasms and what the women report. Either the women are faking orgasms, then lying about having one, or the men are too clueless to tell a real orgasm from a When-Harry-Met-Sally spectacle. If only 44% of men say their partner has orgasmed during sex, then 56% of men either don’t know how to bring their female partner to orgasm or they’ve watched too much porn and don’t know a real orgasm when they see it. But don’t worry, guys. That’s why I’m here.
For the 1% of women who orgasm through breast stimulation alone, YAY! I’m finally in the 1% — in the rest of my life, I’m still in the 99% (yes, that’s an Occupy Wall Street reference).
I just thought this info was apropos to the discussions we’ve been having of late.
Aroused and counting,
trish
For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s Daily O.J.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman
DailyOJ 12-10-11: More Breast Talk & Tantric Orgasm
December 10, 2011
(*In response to men’s take on nipple stimulation and what they like.*)
Got into an interesting debate on the difference between porn & erotica last night. Especially in regard to how the female body is treated for the sake of men’s ogling. Erotica is much more women-friendly than porn, especially with all the rampant crap that is available on the internet. Female-centered erotica with real orgasms is the hallmark of IFeelMyself.com. Every (straight / bisexual) man should watch some of that.
Kissing and sucking a man’s nipples is a true delight for me. I mean, I really love it. I do chest worship on a man — cupping the chest / pectoral muscle with my hands, massaging the skin, muscle, and nerves, while sucking the nipple — the way men like to suck female breasts. LUV LUV LUV doing that! But the guys I’ve tried it on said it felt weird (in a bad way) to them, or that it didn’t do anything for them. Either they weren’t allowing themselves to enjoy it (too “feminine” perhaps?), or I had really lousy technique (which I doubt, but anything’s possible).
The treatment of the breasts is one of my main oppositions to porn. My ex-husband once (and only once) lifted one of my breasts and dropped it like I know he’d seen in porn. I couldn’t believe he did that!! Or that he thought that would feel good?!! But he’d seen it in porn, and those women “liked” it (because they were directed to react that way and they were paid to pretend to like it, moron!). It hurt incredibly, and I felt it was horribly disrespectful to me and to my body. (Later, he would make a comment about my breasts that cut me to my core — the kind of thing that is just not forgivable and will never be forgotten (it is etched in my soul), and I knew then he had never respected me as a woman or my body as something sacred and special. I was a possession to him. Wish I’d realized that a long time before then…)
And back on the topic of breastfeeding a child — Yes, some women experience a closeness to their child, but not all of us. At least, not when you spend 45 minutes every two hours having small gums cutting your flesh as they try to feed. Some women even orgasm while breastfeeding. So it might be comfortable for other women, but it sure wasn’t for me. I still have the scars. So “rock on!” to the women who enjoy breastfeeding — I didn’t, but that was my personal experience.
As for the light flicking of a tongue across my nipples, yes that can send a “zing” down south, but I love feeling a man’s warm, wet mouth full-on sucking my breasts. This can bring practically instant cervical / Kundalini orgasms. Delicious! And don’t forget — the underside of the female breast (below the nipple-areola complex) is rife with nerve endings just waiting to be stimulated by gentle caresses and nibbling and kisses!
That book, Tantric Orgasm for Women
I’ve noticed recently, too, that my navel is very sensitive. In the shower, I ran my hand over my abdomen and felt a kick in my groin area. I fingered my navel (something new for me), and felt a jolt ZAP me in the vulva. This was totally different. It didn’t go to the clit, or any noticeable “spot” but it was obviously directly wired somewhere down there, to the outside left of the opening to the vagina before the fleshy part of the left major labia. I’ve tried it a few more times since then, and it always zings in that same spot to the left of the vaginal opening. This may be another gateway — triggering things I’ve either never felt before or never noticed because I wasn’t open to new sensations. I think this calls for more sensual massage and research.And thanks for the info that men’s nipples seem to be wired to the perineum / anal area. Good tip! I have done perineal massage on myself in the past, but didn’t notice much.
In the past few weeks, I’ve noticed a bit more in the perineum, as well as the nerve endings around my anus. Beyond adding a little pressure to the (external) perineum, I’m not sure what else to do. I am beginning to explore the perineal sponge (inside) a bit more — really loving the initial explorations! And with a couple fingers in my vagina playing with my She Spot, my pinky keeps finding its way to my anus. A slippery slope (quite literally!), but I’m not ready to mix the two (vaginal & anal) yet. I will eventually, but sometimes it already seems like so much “work”.
And I really appreciate men being so willing to talk about all this from your male perspective. You give cynical women like me a reason to hope for the male of the species.
And thank you for putting up with my bouncing around on topics. Writing in “stream of consciousness” is my forte`, and I like to share something new when the thought arises… Now, if one of yous guys can tell me why men grab their own ass during sex, I just might be set for a while…
Aroused and zinging,
trish
For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s Daily O.J.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman
DailyOJ 12-08-11: Breasts & Yoni Massage
December 8, 2011
(*In response to a gentleman’s comment about nipple stimulation.*)
I’d LOVE to hear what nipple stimulation “techniques” are most preferable to men — gentle squeezing of the nipple, stroking of the nipple-areola complex? Something stronger? Pectoral massage? Hmmm?
Unfortunately, I think most young guys get their notion of how to treat breasts from watching porn. Personally, the way men (and women) treat breasts in porn is down right horrible, in my opinion. Clearly porn is for the male voyeur who doesn’t realize that such man-handling HURTS! If you watch the women on IFeelMyself.com, you can see how real women treat their breasts. It’s very loving – even when we’re highly aroused, we are NOT rough, groping, pawing, lifting / dropping the breast(s). OUCH!
It’s weird to talk about breasts because usually (for me) it is in a negative way due to many negative experiences with men (who like to grope things that aren’t theirs). But I am now in a much better place emotionally and mentally with my breasts because of doing sensual massage (and yoni massage down lower has been amazingly rewarding), and generally realizing my breasts aren’t the enemy (and neither are men ).
When you hate one part of your body, it’s difficult to love yourself as a whole — you feel separated from an intrinsic part you. Breastfeeding my daughter actually pushed me further from my breasts emotionally because it was not a good experience for me (though, I would do breastfeeding again because it is the best source of nutrition for a child).
But if other women can re-examine their relationship with their breasts, or their clitoris, their vulva, vagina, female prostate(!!!), et al, then the we can heal individually, and that will help women heal as a community. Just imagine the energy shift and power surges if every woman in the world actually LOVED herself?!
Aroused and massaging,
trish
For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s Daily O.J.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman
DailyOJ 11-19-11: PC Muscles, Periods, and Belly Dancing
November 19, 2011
(* In response to a man who said young women should “exercise their PC muscles even if they are still relatively young there are so many benefits,” to which I disagreed and was asked by another man to provide “some instructive reasons” to support my feelings. *)
I’m a hu(wo)manist, and activist, and a temperamental Irish redhead, so any statement that includes “most women should” just naturally gets my hackles up. Nothing personal.
I think younger women are usually more physically fit and tend to be more sexually active than women who have the pressures and time constraints of work and kids, with added weight post-partum (leading to body image issues, lack of sex drive due to hormonal changes, and just being tired all the damn time). Therefore, younger women would not need to exercise their PC muscles because the muscle tissue is already firm and toned, through athletics, going out dancing, being more open to sexual adventures, et al.
It is the women in their 30′s and 40′s who have had physiological changes to their vaginal area, the widening and contracting of the hip joints and ligaments, and changes to the pelvic floor from carrying a child in utero and then giving birth that changes and possibly stretches the PC muscles to feeling weak. As we get older, the body parts shift, and sitting at a desk all day, in front of the TV at night, with such bad posture, certainly doesn’t help. This lack of general exercise women get once they are on the career path and have had kids tends to be quite sedentary compared to the long-ago traditions of walking for purposes of migration, foraging, and finding water.
Also, most PC muscle exercises (a.k.a. Kegel exercises) focus on squeezing UP. This is because the Kegels were designed to help women who were experiencing urinary incontinence — to encourage the sphincter qualities of the muscles and control “urine” leakage, especially during sex. (Those of us who subscribe to the veracity of Female Ejaculation as a legitimate sexual phenomenon wonder just how many of these women were actually ejaculators but forced into shame by an ignorant male medical system.)
For female ejaculation, the emphasis is pushing OUT, therefore Kegels are NOT the answer to better orgasms, but rather the death of the female orgasm. Squeezing UP cuts off sensation and compresses the tissues restricting blood flow and nerve endings. (NOTE: This purposeful “squeezing UP” is NOT to be confused with the natural reaction of the PC muscles to squeeze IN / vice-grip on their own, called the “clitoral cuff,” toward the entrance of the vagina as the vagina expands at the top during arousal and near orgasm.)
Women have lost our wymyn circles. In wymyn circles, we used to share these kinds of stories and experiences amongst each other. For instance, belly dancing, now a highly sexualized form of stripper / hooker / tease, is actually based in teaching teenage girls how to move their bodies during childbirth (and such movements’ obvious use in sexual / sensual settings with a partner). Hence the reason it’s CALLED Belly Dancing — you have to HAVE a belly to do it properly!
It annoys me to no end to hear women say they “can’t do belly dancing” because they don’t have a 6-pack. I quickly and, in no uncertain terms, explain that no woman with a 6-pack is geared for belly dancing because she doesn’t HAVE a belly. It is the breast-obsessed American perspective that has shifted the emphasis of belly dancing to breast-shaking. Belly dancing is an ART. And that “belly” isn’t just curvy flesh — there is extremely toned muscle underneath that has been trained to operate and shimmy in minute precision.
The “belly” comes from body fat as well as carrying a child. (NOTE to all: Women are SUPPOSED to have body fat!) The hip rolls, arches, hip drops, and other hip isolations are to stretch through the hip joints in preparation for the spreading of the hip joints beginning in the third trimester, as well as exercising the lower abs no one ever talks about. The rib isolations are NOT just to have the breasts go up and down for men’s ogling pleasure — they are to learn how to move your upper torso so you can still breathe when the kid inside is pushing your thoracic diaphragm up into your lung space. Abdominal and back rolls also help the body get used to involuntary movements during childbirth contractions.
If more women had a connection to our traditional women’s circles and sacred women knowledge, we wouldn’t need sex toys OR books. We would have elders to teach us and show us, passing the knowledge from one generation to the other. But until we officially shake off the mortal coil of western patriarchy and institutionalized religion that has made the female body sinful and sex evil, we have to get the knowledge somewhere and learn how to access these innate feelings somehow. So I am grateful for toys, books, CD’s, men who try so hard to understand us, and the women who are on the path of experimenting and experiencing what we are truly capable of sexually.
Aroused and journaling,
trish
For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s Daily O.J.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman
OpEd: FUCKING CHEROKEE MEN (AND OTHER PEOPLE OF COLOR)
OpEd: THE FACE OF ORGASM: IS YOUR WOMAN FAKING ORGASMS OR NOT?
DailyOJ: ALLOWING AND RECEIVING
Chapter 6 of “Confessions of an Aroused Woman” Now Available as .PDF!
Reviews on Amazon.com:
Refreshingly, realistically, erotic May 31, 2012 ~ By B. Lee
An open door…May 31, 2012 ~ By Saloonsinger
One of my Twitter followers wrote on 09-03-12:
Purchase Chapter 6 for only $3.00… to tide you over until the entire book is ready for publication! Be sure to type in your email address, so I can email the .PDF to you.
‘ CONFESSIONS OF AN AROUSED WOMAN’ – CHAPTER 6 ~ $3.00
When you click through to the PayPal side, be sure to type in your email address in the comment area, so I can email you the .PDF. You will receive it within 12 hours of PayPal notifying me of your purchase.
Thank you! And I really hope you enjoy it. MUAH!! xoxo
trish
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September 4, 2012 | Categories: 2012 elections, activism, awakening, bedroom, blended orgasm, breasts, clit, comments, cosmic orgasm, DailyOJ, energy raising, erotica, explosion, female ejaculation, female prostate, fingering, full body waves, multiple orgasms, MyTweets, NEWS, OpEd, penetration, penis, porn, reclaiming sexuality, sacred sex, sacred space, sensual massage, sex positions, she spot, soul, soulgasm, spirit, Tantra, touch, vagina, vulva, women's sexuality, yoni | Leave A Comment »