Dick on Tap: the Sudden End

The end sharply arrived upon me without notice. Only the rumbles of my intuition to warn me -which I trusted more than his words all along. But still how it befuddled me that someone could be either so callous to their own desires or so inconsiderate of mine. When I ask for sex men seem to see it as using them. Like devotees use prayer I am. Using them to reach the highest planes of my existence. To feel used after aiding someone in touching god and hearing them cry out feverishly, that seems delusional. Unless for you, sex is something that is more than physical. Well sex cannot be divided into compartments I suppose. Much like nothing else can. Where does the body end and where do emotions begin? The pang in my stomach that struck me as soon as I saw part of his text, “you told me to tell you…”. A familiar pang of betrayal. I felt that same pang in my gut when I got Devla’s text and when I saw megan’s comment on my Facebook. I don’t remember that pang before these instances. But I immediately felt that pang and I knew what he was gonna say next. (Don’t speak.) And then a knot in my stomach. A physical pang of doom. Hurt. When I expressed that I was upset to hear his words, he said “really? It was just sex lol”. I felt so many things reading these words. Misunderstood. Vulnerable. Invisible. Like he just didn’t get it. Must’ve not been in the room. Cuz sex, it's not just sex. And it is. Just and sex next to each other though… it didn’t look right in a text coming from him. Because for me it was satiation. Recognition. Appreciation. Satisfaction. But it confused me because for me it is also just sex. Not love. Not romance. And yet, sex means the world to me. Not in a precious, porcelain way. In a convertible down a desert road in a music video kind of way. In a Pocahantas leaping off a cliff into the river kinda way. In a peak crescendo of a techno crash of sonic waves on a sweaty dancefloor at 1 am. In other words, orgasmic. And orgasms are not “just” orgasms. They are cosmic collisions- explosions of euphoria. The essence of life force and life force energy. Just Sex? Most people would consider that “just sex” juxtaposes emotion, romance, love. But for me “just sex” juxtaposes death, emptyness, hopelessness. Saying “just sex” is like saying “just life” . When you tell someone that there has been a loss and they express their upset and then you say “really, but it was just life”. That's what I felt when he said that. Like he was mocking the whole damn field of existence. Mocking me. If I am a sex goddess who touches the divine and invites others into the divine and then it is “just sex” that I am the queen of, does the kingdom get reduced to just an empire?  Or do I realize that the narrator is more hollow than I thought. That he is not connected to anything beyond a shallow way of seeing the world and a narrow view of what life is. Go. Be happy with a love who you can cuddle and cry with. I can’t and won’t be that for you. And if that's what you want, I won’t hold you back. But with a divine gift of longevity and length that you possess, what a waste on someone who has no desire to be a sex god. Who would rather renounce his crown and go be a peasant. Playing a game of monogamy and goal oriented behavior. Circumventing sexual ecstasy. It was just sex we were having. Comparing it to the depths of my relationship with Erik would make no sense. And yet, it was a force in my life that fueled me. Gave me hope. Served me. So sure, it was “just” life force energy. And I am “just” a sex goddess. And he “just” had a gorgeous cock and could use it for hours on end enthusiastically. And he was “just” a lover I had for a couple months. And it “just” wasn’t meant to be. And I’ll “just” find someone else to check all the same boxes and more. And he’ll " just" reduce me in his memory to “just” the best sex he’s ever had. And “just” fantasize about me when his girlfriend rolls over in bed and says she's too tired. And he’ll "just" remember my “perfect body”, his words. And I’ll "just" keep building my empire. And I’ll "just" have to start back at one in building my harem. And I’ll "just" keep living life on my own damn terms. And it’ll "just" be an epic saga that I’ll tell fondly instead of a story that starts like “once upon a time” and ends with “and they lived happily ever after” with a wildly predictable center part. And I’ll "just" keep being a badass, world changing bitch. And I’ll "just" keep lighting the world on fire with my wet pussy. And I’ll "just" surrender to the wisdom the universe has and the instructions it has received to get my needs met one way or another- my way even as it surprises and delights me. Are you gonna go my way? 

I say with a resounding voice in a temple where my vocal chords reverbarate across the gilded walls like an organ. Many of the men look down at their feet and scuffle away with their tails between their legs. They don’t make eye contact for fear I will recognize the cowardice in them. A few stand tall, erect and smiling. Ready to meet me in my needs, or at least up for the challenge of trying. Their muscles glisten with sweat. They lick their lips knowingly. Aware of their talents. Confidence in the experience they’re about to deliver. We retire to my chambers where one by one I decide who will stay and who will be excommunicated. And with every rolling sensation of pleasure I think to myself, I deserve this. 

I surrender.

Making Out.

Something about the way he kissed me. The way I was kissed by him. First in front of everyone as cars and canams passed by on Calle Loíza. Then alone on the rooftop. A seductive humid breeze tossing my hair around. My torso arching involuntarily. Our tongues meeting with fever. An innocent fervor. An honest interaction between mouths. Puñeta que rico, he recited like a meditation. Hypnotized by me. I was uncharacteristically content. Even with the gorgeous upper cut of his rock hard cock in my hands, it felt so good just making out with my back against the wall like the high school loving I never had. 

He wasn't my type. At least not what met my eye at first. But I loved the way he took interest in me. The way he kept asking me questions. Thoughtful ones, not just the shallow layers. I didn't expect to go there with him but I knew I was liking... something about him. There on the rooftop I wasn't myself. Normally I would shove it to the back of my throat and beg for it as deep inside as it could go. But... I just wanted to kiss him. It was so decadent. I never remember kissing so long and deep in all my life. I was relishing in it. Could've gone forever. To this moment, my pussy turns into the glow of a firefly when I think about it.

I came back for more. This time it was me who initiated: "Fuck. Tengo unas ganas de verte". I already made up my mind. I was gonna fuck him. I brought condoms but not lube. I guess I was on the fence afterall. One foot on the gas and one on the breaks. Turned off by his lack of recent std results. Totally enamored of his kiss and the way his cock looked so fun to ride. Again we kissed on the roof. We kissed our way back down to his apartment. Against the wall. He pulled my clothes off. I told him I was gonna bleed everywhere. No te importa? I asked as I climbed on top of him. I don't quite remember what happened next. My hesitation clouded my memory as thoroughly as my desire canceled out my hesitation. I do know that it started to hurt pretty immediately because the combination of period and condom caused a fair amount of friction. Without allowing his lips on my pussy, the wetness was not sustainable. Even though I was soaking to the touch. He was so muscular- his dick was so hard. It hurt. good. And I even crashed and came on his cock although apparently he didn't even realize it. He waited 'til after he came to say "you didn't cum" with a resolve that made me want to smack him. If I didn't cum, why did you? I wanted to as. Afterall, I made him agree to make sure I came first. I started to feel more and more detached from the moment- disinterested. "Voy", I told him. And as we kissed our way towards the door he got so hard again. Solid rock and I didn't even want more. How weird. 

I awoke with anxiety. A boundary crossed again. The same one. Still I felt a tenderness in my heart. Did he want more? Did I perform so poorly and prudishly? Was I so disinterested? Is my libido still slightly mia after the yeast infection and the slight dosage of heartbreak? Did I even want to see him again or did I just want him to want to see me again? Blocks away , on his last night, I don't even bother to reach out. All I want is more kisses any way... Is that enough to call a spontaneous rendezvous? Only time will tell.

Update: it wasn't

How it Started: Stripper Diaries

There are mysteries that call us. Far deeper than we dare to complicate. At the expense of ourselves we stay inside of the lines. 

When I jumped out of a plane, I was petrified. I saw death as I drove to the sky diving center. Everything in me shook with terror. My soul had always called me to do it. But on this day I laid on the green grass and breathed deeply into it. I begged it to return me to the ground safely. I was bleeding that day. Close to my soul. Close to my shadow. I imagined everything in my life going on without me. I knew that if I dared to jump I had to be prepared for the worst. There’s plenty of things we do in this life that are dangerous. But the things we do when we know we are putting ourselves in danger and do them anyway are those that, if fatal, others shrug their shoulders at and say “she put herself in that position”.

I put myself in that position. And when I reflected on my life I thought- is there anything I would regret about this lifetime? One thing was glaring at me. I never stripped. And I will forever regret it if I never do. 

When I landed safely and kissed the ground with gratitude, I swiftly dismissed this one glaring thing. I must’ve been crazy for a moment I thought. But 8 months later, as I was preparing for a performance, I landed right on my tailbone. I was out of all work for nearly a month - first in agony and devastated wondering what was wrong. I had no health insurance. The one x-ray I got showed nothing was wrong. But I could barely walk. And as a professional dancer, I was TERRIFIED. Especially since this was my only source of income and funds were very low. 

Once again as I lay there and reflected about my life and career, I thought- I never stripped. And I must. 

This wasn’t very outlandish thinking for me. I've always loved nothing more than to embody my sexuality and provocation is one of my favorite words. 

But I came from a middle class background. I went to 14 years of Catholic School. While I felt entirely sure about my path of rebellion, stripping sounded dangerous. It sounded like a last resort. An environment of misogyny and a fall from grace. Was I really ready to face the shadows? 

I was 26 when I auditioned at the club. It was Easter Sunday. Something I am very proud of. Because it was on that day that I returned to my holyness. Wholeness. That day that I had put all that I had been practicing: the art of seduction, the power of pleasure, a turned on life, and years and years of dance training - to good use. I was broke. Not broken but financially broke. The 4 gigs I was working at the time all had a consistent issue: they NEVER paid on time. Nor did they even establish a time frame within which payment could be expected. It was frustrating. Devastating. And it was toying with my self respect and self worth. 

I was filled with butterflies- equal parts excited and terrified. How could I dare to stand in front of a room full of strange, leering men and take my top off confidently? Well I’d imagined this scenario many times before. Each time wondering: could I really do this? 

It was time to audition. I wore sheer black tights with the ass cut out and a deep red sheer and lace one piece. Conservative for stripper life, I would later find out. I offered the DJ my music selection (How’s That by FKA Twigs), took a deep breath and asked the Divine Feminine to live through me. I strutted to the center of the stage. What happened there was a shrill excitement that I was very familiar with. The excitement of performance. Of seduction. Of brazenness. There were less than 5 men in the red velvet covered room. But when I made eye contact with them they were enamored. I could feel their eyes heat my every inch as I writhed decadently. I arched my back, ever so slowly. As if moving in slow motion, I made love to the air around me. I basked in the warmth of the stage lights and allowed my hands to caress my breasts, my bare ass cheeks, I flipped my hair.  When it came time to peel off my top it came naturally. I felt no hesitation. In fact I only felt liberation. Stare at my beauty. I invited each pair of eyes to shower me. A few men came to the front and poured money onto the stage. 

When time was up, I collected my dollars and strutted back to the dressing room. I felt so alive. I felt so naughty. My cheeks were flushed and I was turned all the way on by my power.  

That night I made over $400 that I walked away with in my pocket. Cash. At the time, that was nearly my rent. I felt that the gates had opened at last. I was about to make MONEY. Quickly and eagerly. Relief and ecstatic joy rushed through my body. It was just the beginning. Just the beginning of financial stability. And I was SO READY FOR IT. 

That summer I had too many travel plans. Too many to make it work with the way I was barely making ends meet. Each was important to me. So very important. Firstly, my 5 year college reunion. Secondly, my high school best friend's wedding to a man she had been dating since our high school days, thirdly a major project I had been planning with my partner for over a year. How was I going to make this happen? 

Dancing. Erotically.

That summer and every year after, I did every damn thing I wanted to do.

On the Word “Sacred”

People think sex work is dirty and dangerous because they have been taught to believe that sex is dirty and dangerous.

AND often its because they believe capitalism should never be mixed with sex because sex is “sacred”.

I’ve stopped using this word because of the way it is often weaponized against the carnal. Those who use the word sacred often indicate that certain interactions of sexuality are more elevated than others. Which implies that spirit is more “holy” than body. Thus making body lesser than or subservient to spirit. 

I’ve begun referring to this as “spiritual slut shaming” (Instagram straight up removed my viral video on this topic without notice). Spiritual slut shaming happens when spirituality is used to indicate that sex is bad outside of monogamous, spiritual, and/or deep bonds. Aka casual, non-monogamous, or pleasure-centric sex is wrong or lesser than. 

After 14 years of Catholic school, i am severely allergic to  dogma. Dogma, meaning institutionalized opinions of morality that are considered definitive truths by those doing the considering.

I used to refer to my performances as Sacred Erotic. But I began to steer away from that term when it stopped resonating. In a video from this time last year I explain that when I say sacred I do not mean as opposed to profane, or pornographic. But all too often what is considered profane is equated with issues of discrimination that exist when it comes to class, race, gender, and sexual orientation.

Lately I’ve though that the word sacred is at this point, too bound up in othering to redeem on a wide scale. The word sacred has been used to justify and distinguish “good” from “bad” but it has also been paired with words that have been underappreciated, under served, underestimated as a means of elevation ie: Sacred sexuality, sacred sensuality, sacred feminine. 

But is this modifier necessary? Does it really liberate sexuality, sensuality, femininity or does it open a whole new realm of qualifiers and restrictions to fit into? I have seen many leaders in the embodiment and spirituality realms that use these terms also wander dangerously close to or full on immersed in the preaching of dogma that is actually quite similar if not identical to patriarchal religions that keep us in the same paradigm we started in. It is not liberatory to be told how to engage with your sexuality -that on way is more “right” than another way. And by claiming that monogamous, deeply intimate, prolonged partnered, eye gazing sex is the “right” way, we are still existing in the same framework the puritanical, racist patriarchy has decided is good for us.

People think sex work is dangerous because they think female sexuality is dangerous.

It is dangerous. To the status quo. And thats what I aim for.

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More thoughts:

Is handing the word ‘sacred’ over and saying that its too far gone the right move? Well the word itself is harmless as most conglomerations of vowels and synonyms are at their core. But the indications attached to this word in our current society make me think twice before using it. Yet, sometimes it does feel like the word I want to use. And it is even a word that was baked into my framework: Arouse the Sacred Erotic. I may return to it at some point and fight for its cleansing. I may let it go. For now I mostly refrain.

How bout you? Comment your thoughts and reflections below and lets discuss!

Further Resources/Reading:

Listen: Pussy Empowered Podcast: Arouse the Sacred Erotic

Read: Excluding Sex Work for Sexual Empowerment as published Girl Talk HQ

Watch: Performance: Sacred Sin live at Pussy Empowered Party