Awakening Sexuality & Activism for Women's Rights

heart

Mind, Body, Spirit: Breathing ~ the Importance of Being Inspired Repeatedly


phoenix-gold-fire-blaze1I can think of no better place to begin discussing Mind, Body, and Spirit topics than with breathing.  Considering that the act of breathing is something most of us take for granted, the role of breathwork and mindful breathing can be truly transformative to your mind, your body, and your spirit.

The process of breathing is a complex coordinated effort that involves the whole torso, not just the lungs.  If you follow a yogic or body awareness path, then breathing can be a full-body sport.  As a voice teacher, I start all my students on ujjayi breathing, the belly breathing technique from yoga, before we sing any scales or attempt any songs.  The student must begin to incorporate ujjayi breathing into their everyday life and subsequently into their singing.  Phonation (sound production) is based on airflow.  While vocal science research has shown that the vocal folds are responsible for controlling airflow across the vocal folds when we speak or sing, breathing is a coordinated dance of the abdominal muscles, the thoracic and pelvic diaphragms, as well as the internal and external intercostal muscles of the ribcage (to say nothing of the bronchi and alveoli inside the lungs responsible for the gas exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide).

Deep, calm breathing has many relaxing and healthful benefits mentally and somatically.

Mind:

When we are under stress, nervous, or anxious, the body releases stress hormones such as adrenaline and cortisol.  An adrenal response evolved from the human body’s early days, adrenaline is great if you’re chasing a mammoth or running from a saber-tooth tiger.  It’s not so great if you’re about to go on stage to recite your lines or enter a restaurant on a first date.  Adrenaline floods the brain, sort of shutting down the frontal lobes, which are responsible for things like language.  (Another reason being nervous before an audition or a date can leave you stumbling for words like a blithering idiot.)  With the frontal cortex on coffee break, the primal brain takes over and straddles the fence in fight-or-flight mode.  Deep, slow breathing can counter all of this, calming the mind and allowing the stress to be manageable so you can deal with it like a rational human and not a caveman.  Breathwork allows you to focus on the task at hand or ease your pesky thoughts away if you’re trying to meditate.

Try sitting alone, with all noisy electronic devices turned OFF, and just breath deeply for 10 or 15 minutes.

Body:

Breathing is the action by which we replenish that chemical that is pertinent to our existence:  oxygen.  Breathing high in the chest — upper chest breathing — is a style of breathing in early English and French singing, but it is not recommended for any singing, speaking, or breathwork, in my opinion, because upper chest breathing also triggers the release of adrenaline.  Breathe low in the belly, breathing down into the pelvic diaphragm.  In voice, this style of breathing is called appoggio, but it is basically ujjayi breathing.  I’ve been known to have students lie on the floor or sit against the wall in chair pose to feel the expansion of the back while breathing and singing.  While on the floor, I have them place their binder or sheet music on their stomach so they can see when the book rises and falls and learn to associate that feeling with proper, deep abdominal expansion and contraction.  A mirror is crucial to see the ribs moving outward away from the torso.

When we focus on breathing, we tend to focus on our body and our alignment, taking an inventory of how we’re doing physically.  Tantra and Kundalini paths use different breathing exercises like kapala bhati and bhastrika that really, really work the body — these are powerful breath practices that require guidance from a teacher, especially if you’re engaging the body by applying “locks” at certain chakras.  And in case you’re wondering, oxygen feeds orgasms!

A basic Sun Salutation is a great way to combine deep breath and body work to get the blood and oxygen flowing.

Spirit:

The word spirit comes from the Latin spiritus meaning “soul, vigor, breath,” derived from the word spirare which means “to breathe,” the root of both of these being spir.  When we are born, the first thing we do once the umbilical cord is cut is breathe — we take in breath, we are in-spir-ed, or inspired.  The last thing we do before we shake off this mortal coil is to exhale our last breath — ex-spire, or expire.  In between that first inspiration and our final expiration, we take in and release breath repeatedly, or as we call it re-spir-ation, the act of respiration.

It is no coincidence to me that the lungs are located right there at the heart chakra.  Whenever we are touched emotionally — in a good way or unpleasant way, we tend to either gasp, inhale quickly, or exhale in sadness or disbelief.  I feel our emotions and breath are connected.  Mindful breathing helps us stay rooted, grounded to the earth, when circumstances leave our mind — or our heart — reeling.  Deep breathing can also lower blood pressure and slow a racing pulse.

Breathwork is absolutely fundamental to being healthy.  The art of being inspired repeatedly throughout our life is as simple as breathing.  When we’re overwhelmed, overly excited, can’t focus, or can’t think, deep breathing can help keep us centered and better prepared to relax into our task at hand or meditation session.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,

trish

Recommended Products:

Links:


DailyOJ 02-12-13: Sheet Orgasms


nude-woman-redhead-arched-back-in-orgasm-300I’ve found a new way to enjoy my stealth orgasms — the orgasms that are brought on by little or no physical touch.  I wasn’t looking for a new approach to my quieter, yet, oh so fulfilling full-body waves of bliss, and yet I have stumbled upon “sheet orgasms.”

While doing the barest of nipple stim and reveling in delicious nipplegasms, my legs open wide of their own volition.  My hips move in their own dance, and my head is back in breathless euphoria.  With it being colder now, I sleep with my duvet cover on, and I happen to be snuggled under the covers this morning.  I move my hand to my labia, first outer, then inner labia, loving the change in her texture and posture.

My inner labia begin close to my vagina, but as arousal progresses, my inner labia extend upward, outward, as if standing at attention — the frilly edges more taut as they fill with blood in their own erections.  Barely brushing my fingertips across my erect labia, the full-body waves begin, and I feel expansion in my heart chakra.  I’m still amazed that slow, barely-there touch is so fulfilling, and infinitely more tender than hard frigging off.

I’m back on to nipplegasms, having gotten into a pattern of nipplegasms then barely-there gentle-touch clit O’s, and back again.  On the weekends, I do this for hours, not getting out of bed until around 2 p.m. — except on the Saturdays I make a concerted effort to get up by noon to catch the vendors at the farmers’ market.  But this is Fat Tuesday, Mardi Gras, and everything is closed.  I can stay in bed all day.

Back arched and head back, the nipplegasms are on auto-loop at this point.  As my knees part wide, falling open 180-degrees on the bed, the weight of the duvet presses the sheet toward me.  The sheet brushes my erect inner labia, and a jolt of energy surges up my body.  I thought it was a fluke, a wonderful accident, but I try it again, lifting my hips slightly.  Sure enough — ZAP!  There it is again.  I lift my hips the same way, and the full-body waves begin.  My hips circle several times, make figure 8′s in both directions as I learned in belly dancing, circle some more, then lift and lower in a plain ol’ back and forth motion.  I am breathless as the stealth orgasms fill me and energy zings up my legs and arms, with that familiar energy spiral in the ball of my left foot, sending energy outward.  The sheet has just become my new boyfriend.

Trying a few things, I learned that once the sheet is in the correct position under the weight of the duvet but not actually resting on my vulva, manipulating the sheet is not required, and any other touch of my genitals is not recommended.  The barely-there brushing of the sheet across my inner labia is all I need to induce these wonderful, deep feelings that can only be described as orgasmic waves that crash against the shore of my body, sending billions of tiny pinpoints of pleasure up through me and expanding outward.

Sheet orgasms… who knew…

Aroused and pricing 1500 thread-count Egyptian cotton,

trish

Related Reading:

Links:


DailyOJ 01-26-13, Part 1: Morning Arousal & Orgasm Diet Regimen


woman-fingering-clit-mons-pubis-editedThis 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

Recommended Products:


DailyOJ 09-06-12: Same Ol’ Blended O With a Dash of Something New


So… this will be quick… ya know… like sex after you’ve been married a long time.

This session was almost identical to my last session, mainly because the storm energy was still buzzing through the air, and I still felt the effects of that weird buzzy-ness.  Electric.  (I don’t drink alcohol or do drugs, so I know it’s naturally induced.)  Also, my clit was there but still not as enthused as I would have liked.  The hands-on blended O went to orgasm (rather delicious actually), but oddly, I was waiting for my clit to reach orgasm not my prostate.  Usually, the reverse is true.

This blended O felt more vaginal/full-body waves-centric as a result.  The emphasis was on my left hand thrusting in and out of my vagina at rapid speed, rather than my other hand going crazy with clit circles.  Usually during blended orgasms, my left hand actually pauses at the entrance, still “connected” to my prostate, while my right hand circles my clit like a madwoman.  My left hand will then thrust a few times here and there to maintain the orgasms till I can’t do any more.

So this session was very similar with the one addition of a peculiar feeling after the hands-on blended orgasm set.

As soon as the main part of my orgasm(s) had stopped, I laid back on the bed — not crunching forward, not arching back, just laying back catching my breath.  I suddenly felt the want of emotion rising up.  This completely surprised me.  I have never felt emotion (the need or want to cry) except after solo, deep-thrust-triggered A-spot/uterine orgasms.  Not even using a toy to stimulate my prostate for blended O’s brings emotion.  I waited to see if it induced tears, but no, it did not.

After a few minutes as observationist, the emotional feeling faded, or more accurately, was absorbed into my self.  I certainly would have allowed the emotion.  But this was so new, I tried to watch its journey from inside my body, curious to observe why emotion from a blended orgasm, where did the emotion stem from — my core as uterine orgasms do, or from my heart chakra as most of my emotional orgasms do, or somewhere else?

This orgasm session was a completely new experience for me.  Honestly, I was a wee bit disappointed when I did not cry.  But I was so interested in this development, I just laid in bed and let it sink in.

Then, yes, I went for Sparkles… huge, numerous, loud orgasms ensued; cried because they were so awesome, neighbors called the police to complain about the noise, yadda, yadda.

(Just kidding about the police.)

Aroused and rising up,

trish

For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s DailyOJ.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman


DailyOJ 08-17-12, Part 2: Lying Broken in Pieces As I Heal


* Read Part 1 here! *

Glad to have movement and feeling in my back again after the excruciating pain that started a week ago, I was really looking forward to resuming my orgasmic awakening routine.  After all, my big, loud O’s had been on lock-down almost all summer while I gorged on stealth and spontaneous orgasms (now to be known as SASO).  Getting back on the path with KSMO & OM-touch was a milestone for my 1-year multi-orgasmic anniversary.

The back pain had been a curious development.  Since losing almost 70 pounds from my highest weight, I know all about pain — back pain, hip/sciatica pain, lower back, neck, every joint imaginable pain, lower extremities/pedal edema, crazy hormones, all while being miserable inside as a person as well.

Similarly to my session on 08-08-12, I laid in bed for a while… a long while… as the majority of pain had melted away rather miraculously.  I don’t know why I had started this “tradition” of laying in bed, allowing my mind to wander, absentmindedly caressing myself.  In the summer, this was practically the extent of my sexual activities — with little privacy to pursue much fun with Sparkles, the SASO’s were exceedingly, surprisingly satisfying.  Now able to arch my back, the nipple O’s also made a glorious return.

The OM-touch orgasms were not instant as they usually were, but rather needed a few strokes on the upper left (my left) part of my clit to get going.  The right side of my clit is also very receptive to OM-touch, and I gratefully accepted the back-arching orgasms from that side as well.  Apparently, with the nipples unresponsive due to pinched nerves in my back, my clit had been less responsive to touch as well — not surprising since the the nipples are wired directly to the clit.

After an incredible length of time that didn’t feel like any time at all, I looked at the  clock.  I wasn’t even sure I had time to get the 20-minute session in much less the after-session fun.  More than an hour had passed.  I decided to begin the 20-minute KSMO session, starting in my old-school style — with my nipples.  I had worried that starting back with KSMO had diminished my nipple/stealth orgasms in a phase of integration.  This can happen as you sojourn on any energy-based orgasm journey.  A big breakthrough explodes then fades — or integrates — as new experiences rise to the surface.  However, I think the issues this past week with the SASO’s were due to the back pain/heart chakra blockage.

I did the 20 minutes, moving to my clit and prostate for the last 10 minutes.  It all felt wonderful, and I was so glad to be able to move my hips again.  I was cutting it close to time, and with only an hour left of free time, I decided not to go for the full Sparkles treatment and just lay in bed.  I took mental notes of all the energy zings all over my skin, the pulsating inside my vagina, the swelling of my prostate (!), the pulsating throbbing of my PC muscles, my anus, and the continuing circles and figure-8′s of my hips that I was not doing intentionally.

After a half hour of this, the “after-O’s” pulsed more slowly as they began to simmer to the background — notice I didn’t have a “big” O, and yet I still had the after-O’s!  Oddly fulfilled and thankfully not hurting, I got dressed, made up my bed, and walked (slowly) back to my desk.

It occurred to me later that lying in the bed before any stimulation or session caress or sounds had been an important aspect of my orgasmic awakening.  If you remember, I shared this article from another site on the concept of “lying broken.”  That being “broken” is one of those glass half-full situations.  You can see yourself as a shambles of what you were, or you can recognize that the pieces are now truly yours  to put back how you  want to be renewed.

This, then, was another eye-opener for me.  Though this experience happened on Friday, 08-17-12, and the Todd Akin “legitimate rape” debacle occurred over the weekend, remembering the “lying broken” article became a welcome glimpse of hindsight.  My heart chakra probably was triggered by my return to KSMO because it was my return to working on me.  For the past several months, I have been going through what I call the “Dark Side of Yin,” a chronic lethargy as old wounds churn at the core of me.  Not being alone during the summer, I had no real time or space to meditate or focus on myself in a self-healing capacity.  I also think some of the Kundalini awakening contributed to my turning inward so significantly — the coiled serpent that began its rise from slumber at my root chakra is making its way through my energy centers, and it appears my heart chakra was the wheel that needed to be cleansed this past week.

My work is not over for my heart chakra, but I do believe I have made great strides toward reassembling the pieces of my broken self into the newly forming me — as a whole woman.  And how fitting that this is occurring as I am about to turn 40.  I am still putting the bad experiences behind me, but more than ever I know that the pieces are mine to assemble as I see fit.  If I don’t like what I see forming, I will go back to lying broken until I once again have a clear vision of my self as a whole human being.  And unlike my afternoon schedule, I can take my time.  That’s why I’m here on this plane anyway.

Aroused and broken but healing,

trish

For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s DailyOJ.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman


Comments 08-19-12: Support from Friends after ‘Milk Your Rape’ Tweet Attack


I know most of my readers check out my blog for sex tips, so I won’t drag this out.  It is a sad reality, though, that the uncomfortable topic of rape doesn’t come up often enough in our culture’s national dialogue.  If it did, maybe there would be less rape in the world.

Anyhoo…

This Twitter drama was more than I ever wanted or needed in terms of having to defend myself from being blamed for my rape and/or being made the villain because I didn’t report it.  When the verbal assault happened over Twitter, I felt like I’d been blunt-kicked in the heart.  I felt that creepy, dizzy feeling radiating outward from my ribcage, and I started shaking.  I just breathed through it and decided to get angry instead of allowing any PTSD take over.  The anger allowed me to channel my feelings into writing, which is proactive and productive.  See!  Being Irish comes in handy!

I want to genuinely thank all of you  who sent me words of love and support, and I appreciate the sentiment of those who offered to help do that Twitter jerk bodily harm.  Unfortunately, the Law of Karma prevents me from accepting your generous offer. :)

Remember, however, for every rape that is  reported, many, many more go unreported thanks to the insensitivity of our misogynist culture that wants to blame the victim.

I am a survivor.  Thank you, all! MUAH!

trish

(Click to enlarge.)


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 cast member 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.

While working on a local show, I was standing backstage when one of the actors, whose face was covered in heavy character make-up, paused as he was pacing before going on.  He stopped in front of me, looked at my breasts, and said, “If I didn’t have all this make-up on, I’d put my face in there and- He shook his head vigorously back and forth.  I had no idea what to say to that.  He was married with kids.  I was 16.

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, that included a breast meditation, which I also thought was hokey.  But I tried it anyway.

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 had 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 05-16-12: Crying & Emotional Orgasms


My last session — on Monday — was amazing, and I wrote about it here.

After the final big orgasm, as the contractions pulsated in my vagina, cervix, and anus, I burst into tears which made me deliriously happy (inside).  This emotion was centered in the heart chakra.  I felt the wall of my chest vibrating — a heartgasm?, and my hands flew up to my heart and over my eyes.  The crying was guttural and from my core.  It felt like I was finally back on my journey’s path.

This may not sound like a good thing, but I was relieved by the emotional expression that occurred.  The past few weeks, my orgasms had been unemotional — with little to no crying afterward.  I have begun to equate my vocal volume during and my emotional crying afterward with the intensity and number of orgasms.  The louder and boo-hooey-er, the bigger and better.  The lack of emotional response seemed to be synonymous with the lack of true arousal I’d been feeling.

This then brought up other emotional issues…  I realized that I almost dread having sex with a partner again… the more emotional I am means the awesomer my orgasms were.  Men are scared of emotion.  So this is actually beginning to feel like a deal-breaker.  I can’t go back to unemotional sex.  Women who like casual sex — more power to them.  I’ve recently discovered I just don’t want it.  I would need to hide my emotions for a “just fucking” encounter, and that would hurt too much.

I know this separates me from the majority of feminists out there who think that being an empowered female means fucking anything that’s longer than it is wide and being able to walk away unaffected by the encounter.  I never was that way inside, though I did have the occasional orgy one-night stand.  (Another reason to love the theatre :D ).  And I’m a humanist, not a feminist — if “feminist” is defined as thinking women should automatically be placed ahead of men just because we’re female — that’s reverse discrimination FOR the vagina, which is no better than discrimination AGAINST the vagina.

Recognizing that I… need… as well as want  the emotional component of sexual experience must mean I’m getting old… or maybe more integrated with my higher self.  “Needing” anything is not easy for me.  I’ve always been and had to be independent.  Find a way or make a way.  No negotiations.  No excuses.  “Needing” puts me in a position of submissiveness.  Vulnerability.  And frankly, that freaks me out.

Not to get all woo-woo on you, but having experienced the astral plane in dreams and the cosmic orgasm from my prostate awakening, I refuse to settle for anything less.  Don’t get me wrong.  I would still enjoy a good ol’ fashioned hard fuck, as long as the underlying relationship is one of love and trust — then the hard fuck is really just a matter of mutual, wild, animal lust rearing its fabulous head amidst a spirit-connected sexual and sensual experience… but I can cry afterward, knowing I’m safe, that I felt safe to give myself so fully to the experience in the first place… and for me, crying is a good thing.

Aroused and blubbering,

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 12-30-11: Yin-Yang & Deskgasm


December 30, 2011

I think I’m finally getting the hang of this let-the-body-do-its-thang process.  It’s still a process — a yin process, no less.  I have lots to learn and experience, but I am beginning to understand the ebb and flow a little better.

Giving in to my yin self is actually very difficult.  I’m competitive by nature and by nurture, so letting go of some of the ingrained yang tendencies has proven to be a process in itself.

And for those who didn’t hear — I had my first deskgasm! YAY!  Imagine my surprise while I’m working, minding my own business, and BAM!  A spontaneous, deliciously powerful orgasm hits out of nowhere.  I wasn’t even thinking anything sexual!  It just hit me — a blended orgasm, complete with explosion and full body waves that I didn’t have to lift a finger to produce.  Wowzers!

Also, I miss the heartgasms I was experiencing a few weeks ago.  I finally had gotten used to that constant buzzing in my chest wall 24/7 for those 2 weeks — and the feeling like there was a part of me floating about a foot out in front of me — my aura?  my chi? — and my heart constantly wanting to jump out of my ribcage and join whatever that energy field was in front of me.  Now I miss that it’s not there except after orgasms.  But I can’t wait for more!

Aroused and yinning,
trish

For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s Daily O.J.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman


REVIEW: Journey Through the Chakras CD


Journey Through the Chakras is a guided meditation CD by “intuitive counselor” and musician Colette Baron-Reid.

An author and creator of oracle cards, Baron-Reid is billed as having “facilitated hundreds of her popular seminars and workshops on developing intuition.”  She also wrote the books The Map: Finding the Magic and Meaning in the Story of Your Life and Remembering the Future: The Path to Recovering Intuition.

Baron-Reid is firmly entrenched in the 21st century New Age movement, so this CD may not resonate immediately for those who are more logically-minded.  However, without knowing much else about her and by listening to the CD, I can sense Baron-Reid is adept at helping clients attune to their inner selves.  After all, loosening the hold (and reliance) on the logical mind is part of the inner journey we all encounter as we grow spiritually and energetically.

“Chakra” is Sanskrit for “wheel” and refers to the philosophy of seven energy centers that correspond to seven body centers from the tailbone to the crown of the head.  As with Chakra or Kundalini training, Journey Through the Chakras begins with the first chakra and its correspondences, progressing through each energy center.  The vivid guided meditation is narrated by Baron-Reid herself, over original music by Mars Lasar.  The CD concludes with an original song written and sung by Baron-Reid.

Pros:
The CD has its flaws, but overall, I do think it has merit for those wanting an indirect lesson in learning about the chakras.  It is less than an hour long, and yet doesn’t feel that long.

The very aspects of the CD that some listeners find endearing, others will find annoying:  repetition of certain phrases, nature sounds, breathing “ahhhhhh” sounds at various intervals, and New Agey music underscore.  Oddly, the more I listen to the CD, the less some of these elements stand out, and therefore the less they annoy me.

Cons:
Baron-Reid is clearly not a voice over artist.  Her voice has a rasp to it that some find to be sultry, but I do not — I think she needs to be seen by a speech pathologist.  She also breathes in strange places, and her voice gives out at times, which are clear indications of weak breath support.  Her glottal stops on words beginning with vowels were truly annoying to me.

The audio engineer did not edit the voice over track to current industry standards — you can hear Baron-Reid’s mouth clicks, lip smacks, numerous plosives, and weird breathing.  **Note:  I am being extremely picky here. Some people find her voice to be “sultry” and “husky,” lending a sensual feel to the meditation.  But since this is an audio review, I have to lay it all on the table for the potential listener.  Your mileage may vary.**

Overall:
It’s too soon to tell if I will ever really love this CD, but I do think it has some valuable properties.  I have found myself plugging in to listen to it as I lay on my bed, wanting to let my mind wander a bit.  I do not focus on picturing the journey as she describes, but rather what I want to think about, and yet, I occasionally find myself suddenly visualizing the scene she is currently describing.

In the few days I’ve had the CD, I’ve listened to it perhaps 5 to 7 times.  Each night I’ve had a strange dream or series of dreams involving my current life circumstances (which I never dream about), people I know (I almost never dream about people I actually know), situations I know I need to resolve, getting help (from people I never thought would be willing to help me), and other “strange”/never-dreamt-that-before types of dreamscapes.  Interesting, indeed.

How to Use this CD:
Like most “pursuits” that are spiritual or energy based, you cannot actually pursue them.  Your subconscious self has to be open to receiving information which in turn allows you to experience and integrate needed information into your psyche and your subconscious.  Only half listening to this CD brought me dreams I don’t think I would have had otherwise.  I can only wonder “what dreams may come” if I actually did the meditation/visualization.

Perhaps I will revisit this review in a month’s time.  I am not sorry I bought the CD — I generally despise guided meditations and I’ve never bought one before now, so the fact that I actually bought this and keep listening to it must mean something positive for its effect on me.

Aroused and meditating,
trish

For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s Daily O.J.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman


OpEd: How I Like My Sex… Bare…


In The Jungle Book, Rudyard Kipling’s loveable bear, Baloo, doesn’t want much out of life.  He prefers a simple, uncluttered, unfettered existence.  In the Disney film version, Baloo sings a fanciful tune about “The Bare Necessities.”  This prompted me to write about what I like from a sexual union, a night of ecstasy, and the promise of wanton desires fulfilled.  (With all the hooplah about what people are supposed to do to “create” a romantic evening — what we should wear, what we should say, what techniques we should know, what doo-dads, gizmos, and whizbangs should be at the ready — I simply must offer my two cents.)

In “The Bare Necessities,” Terry Gilkyson’s lyrics go like this:

Look for the bare necessities
The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities
Old mother nature’s recipes
That bring the bare necessities of life.

I want the bare necessities when it comes to sex.  No pretense.  No acting out a scene from a movie.  No bullshit.  Just being a real person with another real person enjoying a real moment together.

What does this mean?

I hate lingerie.  I don’t want rose petals on the bed.  No candles.  I don’t want a steak dinner beforehand.  I don’t drink.  I can’t stand perfume or cologne.  I despise “romantic” music.  I refuse to “talk dirty.”  I won’t play “dress-up.”  I don’t do S&M (or bondage or dominatrix/submissive crap).  I don’t like kink.

Why?

I’m fat. Why kill perfectly innocent flowers?  Can you say “fire hazard?”  Who wants to fuck on a full stomach?  Alcohol tastes gross.  Allergies.  Cheezy city!  Don’t bring your porn fantasies to me.  I do theatre for a living.  Solve your “mommy issues” on your own time.  It’s weird.

Now that that’s all clear… here’s the reason.  I don’t want  my partner focused on all the peripheral “stuff” when he or she should be focused on me.  And likewise, I don’t want to be in a panic trying to get everything ready.  Again, dealing with “set dressing,” lighting, and sound is what we theatre pros call a “tech rehearsal” or a “hang and focus” in the theatre biz. I certainly don’t want to do that when I’m supposed to be getting aroused, anticipating the events to come.

Mainly, I don’t want to feel like I’m putting on an act, pretending to be something I’m not (more theatre).  I want to walk into the room naked, body flaws and all, and that be okay because my partner sees me, the person I am, my heart, my soul, my being, instead of all the ways I don’t meet the American standard of beauty.  My mind should be filled with a million thoughts of how I can touch him — not wishing I could afford lipo.

So here’s the recipe for having sex with me:

  1. Don’t be a moron.  (I’m afraid I must insist on this.)
  2. Be prepared to be naked immediately.  I don’t do bullshit / tease / “foreplay” on the couch.  We’re heading to the bedroom post haste.
  3. The lights will be low and minimal, but definitely enough light to see everything.  And I mean, everything.
  4. Speaking of seeing everything, make sure you shave your balls — and wash your ass crack.
  5. The music will be a meditation CD of my choosing.  Get over it.
  6. The sex starts with talking for an hour or longer…

(Okay, I know I just lost the male audience, but “bare” with me.)… If I haven’t been with you before, how can I know what you like?  Should I assume what you like based on what my last partner liked?  Or the guy before him?  Do you really want me remembering them while I’m with you?  Didn’t think so.  So start gabbing.  Of course, we can touch, silly.  Did you think we would only talk?  If that’s the case, then let’s braid our hair and do our nails!

Why spend so much time on talking and experimental touching?  If you’re familiar with the concept of positive and negative poles of the body, then you’d know a woman’s breasts (in line with her heart chakra) are the positive pole and the true entryway to the vagina (her sex chakra).  For a man, his positive pole is the penis (no pun intended) which is his sex chakra that leads to his awakening in his chest (his heart chakra).  It seems the old adage really is true, the way to a man’s heart is through his penis, and the way to a woman’s vagina is through her heart.

Do I have favorite positions?  Of course.  The Kama Sutra, Tantra, the Tao, and Kundalini teachings are filled with ideas for sexual awakening, soul connection, and heart chakra fulfillment. That doesn’t mean they’ll work with you.  Or vice versa.

A shorter penis works well for women on top, a longer penis is great for side-behind.  A curved penis is great for She Spot stimulation like having one leg over his shoulder (Splitting the Bamboo) position.  Breast worship is a prerequisite to yoni massage or any genital yoga.  Lingam massage and oral ecstasy are two of my specialties.  Then there’s one I named the Reverse Rockingchair.  (Don’t ask what it is.  There’s only one way you’ll ever know what it entails.)

Seriously, though, communication is vital to the partnership, whether it’s for one night or a lifetime.  If all you want is the quick screw, then you’ve definitely come to the wrong place.  I expect this to go for hours, and while I suspect there will be orgasms a-plenty, I’d rather have a connection with another human being than a race to the finish. After all, I don’t need a man for orgasms — I do that amazingly well on my own, thank you very much.

Therein lies the problem.  I don’t need a man.  I want a man.  I don’t need sex.  I want sex.  There is a difference.  I don’t need a man in my life to take out the trash, mow the lawn, change the brakes, or fix the leaky sink.  I can hire tradesmen to handle repairs around the house or on the car.  As a 21st century post-feminism empowered woman, I don’t look to a man to fill “necessary” roles the way 19th century women needed men to be able to accomplish certain tasks for the upkeep of the farm or homestead.

I don’t “perform” in bed (more theatre intrusion).  I don’t want you to have “performance anxiety” either.  I want to sit together, and touch, and kiss, and experiment.  I want to caress, and nibble, and coax, and cherish you.  And I want you to want the same of me, for me, and with me.

I realize that by asking for something so simple and “deconstructed” I’m asking for quite a lot.  I’m asking you to leave your ego at the door, along with your preconceived notions about what I want or how I want it.  I’m asking you to give up your innate goal-oriented competitiveness, the ingrained score-keeper, and the death-grip on your self-worth and masculine identity.  I’m asking you to give up the enculturation of patriarchal propaganda. I’m asking you to just… be.

I know exactly what I want and how I want it.  I can tell you, and I can show you.  All you have to do is pay attention.  Ask questions.  But to do that, you have to focus on me, the real me, and not keep a running tally in your head, comparing me to the other women you’ve been with.  Be here.  Now.  Be in the moment.  Be egoless.  Nothingness.  Non-attachment.  Just feel.  Be.

I like my sex simple — bare — stripped of the illusions put forth by Cosmo sex quizzes and Victoria’s Secret catalogues and the myths perpetuated by porn and skin mags.  Sex should be a spirit connection not just mutual masturbation.  Otherwise the orgasms will only be physical.  And I’m not interested in that.  Make me fly — fly upward above the earth, across the universe, through the veil, and let’s bask in the energy of cosmic orgasm and our union with the cosmos.

That’s not asking too much…

Aroused and baring all,
trish

For more of my personal orgasm journey, read Trish’s Daily O.J.
Visit the AW site: Aroused Woman


Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 3,158 other followers