We are Seen, We are Known, We are Heard, We are Accepted. We are Sisters.
I spent last night drinking wine, laughing and sharing stories about vulnerability, pleasure, and heartache with my friend who had flown in from Norway. It was just over a year ago that she sat across from me in my first Bodysex circle, saying that she would come to Canada when I led my own. She seemed serious then but I knew that Norway is far away and, having spent only two days together, I didn’t really expect her to come. Yet here she is.
Sharing with her last night I was as free and as naked as I was then, knowing that she has seen me – inside and out – and that she accepts what she sees. In the Bodysex circle we share stories as our honest “I’s” and decide which ones we want to hold onto and which ones we can leave in the circle. There is no need to pretend we were greater or lesser than we are. We just are.
I have so many sisters that have supported me to get here today – three days away from leading my first Bodysex workshop. Some have sat with me in the circle, some share my blood, and some share my daily life. The thing that bonds us together, is that we share our gifts and our vulnerabilities. We trade photography costs for childcare, we share food, we listen to each other plan and scheme great and insane ideas. We ugly cry, we encourage, we orgasm, we treat each others children like our own. We get naked, we support, we drop things and come without hesitation. We hold space, we express shame, we empathize, and we never ask each other to be anything more or less than who we are.
No matter what we share – whether it is our greatest accomplishment or our greatest shame – we are met with eyes of understanding, a hand on the shoulder, a hug and absolute acceptance of everything that is seen and heard. We are seen, we are known, we are heard, we are accepted. We are sisters.
This weekend I will once again sit in the Bodysex circle of sisters – some of whom are new to me and some who aren’t. I am grateful already for the stories that we will share, for what I will learn about them and about myself, for the celebration of our bodies, for the celebration of our pleasure and for the power of sisterhood.
Bodysex® Q&A’s
I will greet you at the door of the workshop naked and you will come in and take off your clothes first thing. Once undressed you will take a place in the circle and we will begin the workshop portion of the weekend without any physical barrier to hide behind. The workshop itself runs 5 hours each day of the retreat. During non workshop hours you are welcome to put your clothes on or remain naked. Whichever you prefer.
2. How is my privacy protected?
All participants will sign a confidentiality agreement stating that information about others in the workshop is kept confidential – including who is registered and what they do for a living etc. You are able to write or share your personal experience with others but not the experience of the other participants or any information about them.
3. Do you take photos?
I would like to take a photo of some part of the workshop where participants identities are hidden but I wouldn’t do this without permission from everyone as per the confidentiality agreement.
4. Will it be only women?
Yes the workshop is for women of all sexual orientations who have vulvas.
5. What should I bring?
Once you register for the retreat I will send you a list of things to bring.
6. What if I have my period?
Almost every workshop has at least 1 woman menstruating. This is totally okay. You can use a tampon, menstrual cup, or a piece of natural sea sponge during genital show and tell and erotic recess. Some women even choose to free bleed onto a towel. Bleeding is a natural part of being a woman and there is no shame in it.
7. Do I need to groom my pubic hair for the retreat?
The decision to shave or not shave is completely up to you and at each workshop there are women with full bush and others who are shaved. However you feel the most comfortable is the best.
8. What happens in the first 15 minutes?
Once you have undressed you will take your place in the circle. I will lead the introductions and then we will begin by talking about how we feel about our bodies and how we feel about our orgasms. All sharing will be done in first person. This is about our experiences and feelings – not our husbands or mothers or partners etc.
9. Will doing this workshop enhance my sex life with my partner?
I honestly can’t answer this question. You will get from the workshop what you put in but the reason for participating should be your own. This is about your body and feelings about it, as well as your orgasms or lack of and ways to improve them. This experience may enhance your relationship with others in your life but most importantly it will enhance your relationship with yourself – which IMO is the key to the enhancement of relationships with others.
10. What if I start crying?
It’s normal to cry when opening up to others and sharing vulnerabilities or to cry during intense orgasms. All of this is okay and many of us will do so – including myself.
11. Is everyone as scared as me?
While I can’t speak for all I do know that most/many of the women who register are scared and excited including myself! Many of the women email me back and forth in the weeks leading up to the retreat sharing their concerns and fears. This is normal and I welcome you to do so.
12. Will I be expected to masturbate?
Yes. In the second half of day two we will all masturbate using our hands and/or mystic wand vibrators as well.
13. What if I can’t orgasm?
If you orgasm, great. If you don’t that is okay too. Orgasm is NOT the goal. We are here to heal body shame, explore intimacy with ourselves, overcome sexual guilt and experience true sisterhood. There is no agenda and no expectations. No one will know either way unless you share it.
14. Can I keep the mystic want vibrator and vaginal barbell that I use during the workshop?
The mystic wand vibrator is yours to take home after the workshop as the cost is included in the fee. The vaginal barbel is not included in the fee and isn’t to be taken home.
15. Will I be touched? Will I touch?
At the end of the second day there is a group massage exercise where you will get the chance to touch and be touched (non sexually) by the other women in the workshop. This is one of the most powerful parts of the workshop and really cements our bond as sisters. Many women consider this the best part of the workshop.
16. Can I bring something to eat?
Yes you can if you would like, but I will provide plenty of healthy snacks and meals for the entire retreat. If you have any emotional issues with food that cause you to feel stress if you don’t have food with you at all times, then I recommend you bring some of your own snacks in case. However there will be more than enough available to eat.
17. Am I the right age to do the workshop?
There is no “right” age for this workshop as long as you are an adult. The Bodysex workshops that I participated in had women ranging in age from 20 – 85. The most common age seems to be between 30 and 50. The diversity in age adds greatly to the experience as each person brings different energy and knowledge to the circle.
18. Do I have to participate in all activities?
Yes you do. It is unfair for some of us to be vulnerable while others don’t. Again what you put into the workshop will affect what you get out of it. When the actual workshop hours are done you have free time to do what you like and be with others or be alone.
19. What if I really want to come but can’t afford to pay the whole fee at once?
Payment plans are an option that many women choose. I want this weekend to be accessible to as many women as possible so please let me know how I could support you in being able to attend.
I Have Found the Power of Myself, For Myself
Many people ask me how and why I got to the place that I am at right now – running Bodysex workshops and doing private Orgasm coaching for women. Some suggest that it’s hedonistic, or that it’s anti-men – while others say that there are more important things to focus energy on. I believe that there is no better place than inside myself to find the gifts that I can bring to the world. The best way that I have found to access these gifts -as well as my inner power, my pleasure, my strengths and myself – is through my own touch.
There are so many stories that led me here, and today I will share one about- and in honour of – all of the girls who have had their right to sexual pleasure taken from them.
I went to Kenya at the age of 19, in the hopes of living and learning from other cultures. Through several twists of fate I was invited to live with the Maasai tribe, in southern Kenya, and learn from the women in the village.
Particularly interested in their mothering practices, I immediately noticed that the children seemed happy, secure, confident and capable. I marvelled at the fact that they rarely cried, babies were always in someone’s arms, they breast fed for years, and no one slept alone. I began to see a correlation between these things – the mothering practices and the child’s feeling of rightness. This way of parenting provided a secure foundation for children to grow from. The intimacy with their mother and other female caregivers, was firmly established early on, so that the children felt right and therefore acted right.
As I got to know the women better I heard them talking about a cultural practice called female circumcision. At puberty, using no anaesthetic, they would remove a girls clitoris and inner labia. As I sat in my tent thinking about this, it dawned on me that what they were removing was a woman’s right to pleasure. The clitoris is the only organ in the body that has no other purpose except for pleasure. So by removing it they are essentially removing a woman’s power.
Living so far from home, and amongst a completely different culture, I felt it wrong to judge this practice. Who was I to say what was right or wrong for someone else? Also it sounded like the ceremony was done by the women and that the women themselves wanted it. I decided to remain open minded but initiated several discussions with Maasai men and women on the topic.
One of the reasons for circumcising women I was told, was hygiene. This I just could not understand. How could a clitoris be considered dirty? Most of the people however knew of no reason at all except that a girl couldn’t be a woman, and therefore get married, until she is circumcised.
The day came where I was invited to the circumcision of a sweet, shy girl named Mary. Circumcision ceremonies signify a rite of passage in Maasai culture and I knew that it was a privilege to be invited. With mixed feelings I agreed to go.
In Maasai homes, there is one main room for the beds and kitchen fire, and then a smaller room for the sheep and goats. When a girl is circumcised it is done in the smaller room, and I struggled to find space in there amongst the many women and young girls. A portion of the mud and stick roof had been removed to let light in and Mary sat, under this opening, on a sheep skin spread out on the floor. She was newly shaved with not a visible hair remaining on her head or body – not even eyebrows. She wore a beaded sheepskin, that hung down the centre of her body covering her vulva, and I could see her budding breasts on either side of the skin. Her face held a look that was a mix of determination and fear and I felt a deep sadness at the reality of what was about to happen. Mary was just becoming a woman.
Women took places on either side of her – ready to hold her legs open – while another sat behind to hold her arms back and cover her eyes. One of these women was her mother and I wondered if this was a day that she had dreaded since Mary was born – or if it was a fact of life that she just accepted. Women and children surrounded this scene watching and waiting- some with hands ready to cover their eyes – until an old grandma came in with a razor and knelt between Mary’s legs. Pouring some sort of liquid on Mary’s vulva, as a way of blessing her, the other women took hold of her limbs and covered her eyes. Then the grandma began to cut.
She began by first removing Mary’s clitoris, cutting off all that was exposed, and then removing her inner lips that were beginning to grow as she was entering womanhood. I saw Mary struggle and scream trying to break free, but the women held tight. Some women around me were looking away, or biting the cloth that hung around their faces, while the little girls watched intendedly. I wondered how they felt knowing that they would be in Mary’s place someday?
Mary managed to struggle enough that the hands came off of her eyes for a brief moment, and the look on her face is one that I will remember forever. I saw fear, pain, torture and panic as she searched the room for an escape. Bursting into tears I was told to leave so that I wouldn’t upset any one else.
Walking back to my tent I felt horrible shame for being a part of something so horrific. Crying and crying I replayed the brutal images in my mind. There was no way that I could accept this as a cultural practice. Mary was a human being and what I had witnessed was wrong any way that I looked at it.
Later that day I went back to Mary’s village to see how she was doing. She was sitting on a bed of soft and beautifully smelling leaves that her mother had made her, looking proud and almost happy. Relieved that it was over I wondered? I shivered imagining how painful it would be to urinate with an open wound on her vulva and then thought how traumatizing it would be to open those legs for her husband when she got married.
Mary smiled at me as I gave her a gift and we held hands while watching the other women prepare food for the party that follows a circumcision. I knew in that moment that there was nothing that I could have done to stop her circumcision, or that I could do for her now to make it better. Yet something inside of me was profoundly changed as I shamefully realized that even with my clitoris intact, I wasn’t embracing my own sexual pleasure or power.
I am just beginning to understand the affect that this experience and the subsequent circumcisions of my nieces and other girls, that I watched grow up, has had on me. I feel a constant aching and painful sadness at the loss of pleasure, creativity, and power in their lives.
By learning to accept and explore my own body with the intent to build intimacy with myself and learn to be my own lover, I have found the power of myself, for myself. It didn’t come from anyone else and once I discovered it, it was impossible to ignore. I cannot imagine my life without this right and this pleasure and I truly hope that the practice of female genital mutilation stops completely. For those of us who have our clitoris intact I hope that we can find a way to embrace our pleasure – as our basic human birthright.
In Touching Myself, My Own Hand Was Giving My Body These Memories.
“I took this excerpt, from my Bodysex certification thesis, to use as a response to women asking me where and how to begin their own self loving practices. I am realizing how many women have never ever touched themselves with their own hands. While everyone is different, I am sharing my own story to show understanding of where they are at in their journey, as well as an example of a possible beginning.”
At the beginning of my journey, towards understanding my sexuality and the changes that I was experiencing in my body, I read a book by Naomi Wolf called Vagina. There was a chapter in it on self love, touching and taking the time to really enjoy your body. I had never masturbated using my bare hands before, so the idea of touching myself in this way seemed completely foreign.
I had begun masturbating as a young girl with always something separating my fingers from my pussy – a teddy bear, rolled up socks or the seam of my jeans. To orgasm I would lay on my stomach with my legs straight, hold my breath, and rub against something soft until I came. As a married woman I believed that masturbating was a form of cheating and, while I sometimes did it, it was always in secret and carried with it a great deal of shame.
Something about the way the author of this book took the time to love herself, regardless of whether she orgasmed or not, really intrigued me. Wanting to see if I could feel this for myself, I decided to give it a try.
Putting oil on my fingers I began to explore my body, touching my pussy like I would touch a most treasured lover. I noticed how soft and nice I felt to touch, and my hand quickly seemed at home in the warmth between my legs. Unsure about what else I was supposed to feel, I focused my attention on the spot where my fingertips met my skin and carefully and tentatively explored my inner and outer lips. Never having touched myself this way before, my body slowly responded to the skin to skin contact.
I continued this daily self loving practice, enjoying it, but often considering giving it up in frustration over my lack of an orgasm. Realizing that I was putting pressure on myself to “perform” and that I had expectation on my touch – to be more than just a nice feeling – I decided to change my attitude and my practice.
I knew that I wanted to learn to orgasm through touch but, in order to do so, I needed to let go of the expectation and time restraints that I was putting on myself. My old method of masturbation was quick and easy – albeit not at all satisfying – and I was expecting this to be the same.
With this in mind I set a timer and give myself an hour to just touch. This seemed long but I wanted the focus to be completely off of the orgasm and onto the feeling of my fingers. I needed to eliminate the pressure of “performance anxiety” and by giving myself an adequate amount of time to relax, this seemed like the best answer.
As I touched and allowed myself to be present in the sensations – rather than looking ahead towards the goal – an amazing thing happened. Long before my hour was up I realized that I was on the edge of an orgasm – from my own hands – for the very first time! After that first orgasm, the pressure and anxiety was gone, making it simple to do again and again and again.
When we receive touch from our own hand or the hand of another, and we pay attention to all of the sensations that we feel from that touch, our body is actually becoming “touch imprinted”. Touching any part of ourselves, wakes that part of our body up and it will remember how that touch felt the next time it happens. This memory increases the amount of sensation that we will be able to feel in the future – essentially meaning that the more we touch, the more pleasure will be available to us. So in touching myself, my own hand was giving my body these memories.
Sometimes wanting instant gratification, I was tempted to go back to my old, quick orgasm pattern. But with the touch of my hands, I discovered new and better ways to pleasure myself. My orgasms became more intense – pulsating through my entire body, causing me to let go of inhibitions and the control that I held onto so tightly the rest of the time.
I discovered that by giving my body sufficient time and space to touch, I could orgasm in any position I chose to try. On my back, stomach, knees, sitting on my feet, on all fours leaning on the couch, in the bath, and standing up. I had never had an orgasm during sex before and with the help of my hand, I was able to do so over and over again. This discovery was wonderful to share and with it came the desire to let go even farther. I stopped hiding my face when I orgasmed during partner sex. I turned on the lights. I sought out eye contact when I came, and all the while I continued to touch myself.
Wanting to further this self loving practice even more, I extended it to other parts of my body and, in doing so, discovered eroticism in places that I didn’t know could be sexual at all. My left hand became my lover – softly touching my ears, hair, mouth, the space between my fingers, the stretch marks on my stomach, my cesarean scar. Every inch of my body was capable of feeling erotic when it felt the touch of a lover. I became that lover.
Thank You Betty, For Being My Teacher
I’m in Betty Dodson’s apartment listening to her explain what is involved in Orgasm coaching. I have come to New York to defend my Bodysex certification thesis – which ended up not needing to be defended – and for Orgasm Coach training. Aside from running my own Bodysex workshops, I want to be able to provide one on one help for women who are unable to orgasm or who are struggling with their orgasms. Betty explains that the only way to learn to teach something is by doing, so she is about to coach me through my own orgasms. We share stories and laughter and for the first time with her I feel like a peer. This surprises me considering how much I look up to her. But in her stories I see and hear that she’s human, that she doesn’t always have the answers, she’s always learning and that sometimes she fucks up. I feel her vulnerability at times, as well as her pride, joy and fear. My stomach already aches from laughing at her never-ending dirty jokes – dirtier than anyone my age could get away with. Hearing the voice of my grandma mimic a guy masturbating is enough to put me in tears of laughter. At the age of 85 Betty speaks alternatively like a trucker, a mother, a guide, and a lover. She doesn’t hold back, or try to be perfect and never stops making me laugh.
In the space with her I know that I can be me. Exactly as I am – the good and the bad – and I’m not sure that there is a person in the world that I am more honest with. She has seen me naked, lovingly held me while I opened my vulva to the women in the workshops, held space for me while I cry and has heard my stories. Some I am proud of and some I’m not. Through it all she accepts my honest “I’s” and loves me as I am. In my sharing with her today she looks lovingly at me and says “You’re human Natasha.”
As part of my training Betty leads me through the genital show and tell. I have done this three times before and I don’t feel nervous at all. Close enough so that her arm is over my open leg, and we both can see the same image in the mirror in front of me, she begins by telling me how beautiful I am. These words never lose their power and I feel instant pride in my vulva. Guided through the exploration I discover parts that I hadn’t before and, surprised by this, I am reminded that how we see things is constantly changing. My eyes aren’t the same eyes as they were when I did this back in November and I am grateful for these new eyes to see.
With the genital show and tell complete she leads me to a massage table and asks me to lay down. The room we are in is like a womb and the smell instantly takes me back to all that I experienced before in this space with other women. I feel safe and held as Betty explains the process while constantly finding ways to place her hands on me. She checks my jaw to make sure I’m relaxed, touches my heart, my face, my stomach. She asks me to touch myself and watches with pride in my technique. In my thesis I explained how healing it was for me to learn to touch myself with my own hands and this was one thing that she said she hadn’t really considered. She explained that she grew up touching herself with her hands and almost took it for granted as normal – not realizing how difficult it can be for some. My story reminded her how much this touch needs to be encouraged as a way of connection with self – regardless of whether it ends in orgasm or not.
So with Betty’s constant encouragement and guidance she held space for me to bring myself to orgasm not once – but three times. She was ever so careful to support and encourage when she saw me arch – which cuts off my sexual energy- and yet always stepped back before I came. She stressed that it is important to “Never let your client give you credit for their orgasm. This defeats the purpose of what we are teaching.” So in tune with a woman’s body and how they respond to pleasure she knew exactly when to step in and when to just observe. She marvelled at the pre orgasmic jolts going through my body and explained that they are my sexual energy. I knew exactly what jolts she meant but hearing this explanation was fascinating to me.
On and on she watched me build and pull back, torturing myself with what she called “the best kind of torture.” As my sexual tension built Betty encouraged me to make noise. Normally I would do this already but something about being watched was holding me back. I followed her advice, moaned and instantly orgasmed. Anything that we hold back is holding a part, or all of our orgasm back and this is true for sound, breath and movement as well. As she led me towards my second orgasm she encouraged me to bring the sound out from my stomach or power centre as she called it. To do this she guided me with sounds of her own – very deep, guttural almost ape like sounds – and I instantly came again. I could not believe the difference and intensity in feeling I got from bringing this sound out of my stomach rather than my throat.
After my final orgasm Betty used the vibrator to carry my sexual energy from my vulva, through my belly, heart, throat, forehead and out the top of my head. She held it for a long time on my head and asked me to say my name. “Natasha” I replied. “Say I love you Natasha” she said. “I love you Natasha” I said. Then with tears in my eyes she carried my sexual energy back down through my chakras to my vulva again.
My favourite part of the day was at the end sitting with her and again sharing stories, going over details of the training, asking questions and drinking champagne. I think of all of the women she has helped through the years and I feel so proud to have her blessing to carry on this special work. I will show up naked and hold space for other women with humility and vulnerability, showing my weaknesses as well as my strengths not pretending that I have it all worked out or that I am perfect. I am learning too.
Thank you Betty for being my teacher.
All my love,
Natasha
I Used To Live Inside A Box
I used to live inside a box. It was comfortable and warm inside this box. In it were all the things that I needed, things that made me feel safe and somewhat happy. Life was pretty good in that box. Yet I couldn’t shake the subtle but constant hum of discontent I felt. Life in the box seemed just a bit too tight, too limiting and too dull. I felt desire for something that had no name, no known address and no label. Something that was just more. Finding this more seemed like a far off and unattainable dream, while stuck in this box, so I started searching for ways out. I read books about boxes and about people who found ways to live outside of their own boxes. I travelled to new places, looked on maps and searched on street corners for old men with long beards who must know how to get me out of my box. While searching I grew, learned new things and to my amazement, began discovering holes in the box – little cracks where bursts of light would shine through. These lights and the colours and warmth that they produced enamoured me so much that I quickly became obsessed with finding their source.
Initial excitement over the discovery of the cracks faded when – despite searching nearly every day – I was unable to find a way out of my box. The hum of discontentment inside me built, soon taking over my entire body, and I became even more determined to find the source of light which I felt certain was the more that I was looking for. Then one day while searching the roof of the box, I was astonished to find that the cracks had multiplied. Excited, I spent days and nights reaching towards the stream of lights coming through my box, hoping that just one of them could lead me out – towards the more on the other side.
Finally, exhausted and weak from days of reaching upwards and from the sound of the constant hum, I collapsed on the floor resigned to never finding my way out. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that one of the cracks was getting bigger. Turning towards it I could see that the light coming through was shining down on me – landing on my body on the floor. Too tired to reach up to the warmth of the light, I instead touched the place where the light was touching me. The instant burn on my fingers shocked me and at once I realized that the light wasn’t coming from outside of the box, but rather from inside of me.
Scared but drawn inwards, by the now deafening hum, I decided to enter into the light. In doing so I discovered a magical, brilliant place, full of bright colours, unimagined depths and also dark corners. Using the humming as my guide I travelled deeper, enjoying pleasures that I had never experienced, seeing colours that I didn’t know existed and exploring rooms that I hadn’t wanted to enter. As doors opened and new rooms formed, I thought back to how hard I had worked to reach outwards for the light – for the more that was sure to be there – only to find that it was within me all along just waiting to be discovered.
Four years ago I began digging my way out of my box and into my light. This journey has brought me to today – on my way to NYC to defend my thesis on “What I believe are the main issues with female sexuality, and how I am going to change them.” In doing so, I hope to be given Betty Dodson’s blessing to carry on her life’s work as a Bodysex Facilitator in Canada. Many days, in fear, I wonder why I climbed out of that box and I ponder how easy it would be to just slip back in. But the hum and the light keeps bringing me back to myself and I simply cannot ignore it. I hope that with Betty’s blessing, I will be able to inspire and encourage other women to find their way in to their more, their light, and themselves.
My Touch Brings Me Home To Myself
Sitting here naked on the edge of my bed, feeling defeated after a hard day. Glancing around I look for someone or something to grab onto, to fix this feeling. But it’s only me in the room. Unconsciously I reach up to trace the lines along my forehead with one finger – all the way across and back.
These lines are etched into my skin from years spent under the Kenyan sun, and with the touch of a finger I am instantly there again. A young wife and mother, excited by all that was new – yet struggling to make sense of the struggle. I take a deep breath, and sit in that story, going back and forth over the lines that I notice every time I look in the mirror. They are a part of me now, just as much as my Kenyan stories are.
My fingers slide down over my eyes travelling the contours of my face. I end up resting on the softness of my lips and my mouth opens slightly in response. I know this touch. I’ve felt it before from someone else’s hands. I touch my lips harder – almost tugging at them, thinking of frantic kisses and soft, yet hard bites. Another deep breath, sound escaping from my lips at the memories of those stories.
Sliding farther down, past my neck, I take time to enjoy my shoulders. They are strong and the hard curves feel good against the softness of my fingers. I am reminded of my strength even when I feel defeated. Taking a few breaths I relish stories of pushing physical limits, carrying babies, and picking myself up off the floor. With several deep breaths I let these stories resonate before moving on.
My finger brushes past my right nipple causing it to lift and harden against my touch. I fed all of my 5 children with these breasts and the stories run like photographs in my mind. Tiny mouths, feeding children born from my body and from the body of another mama, squirrel sounds, pain, frustration and unbelievable connection. I take a deep breath for the gift of life then continue on.
Leading down to my stomach my touch switches from one finger to five. This is the area of my body that I have been the hardest on. It holds reminders of what went “wrong” in childbirth, my painful diastasis and my vanity. I touch my stomach over and over as a way of asking forgiveness for the years of unacceptance. My scars are me too and this touch reminds me of that. Another deep breath and my hands go farther down still.
Gliding my fingers onto my hips feels like pure joy. Leaning back onto my bed, still naked, I use my full hands to explore them. Learning to listen to and allow the movement to flow from my hips has been a huge source of pleasure for me. Rubbing my hips I begin to move them slowly in small then bigger circles – enjoying what feels like an intimate dance with myself. I see stories of learning to dance as an adult, of pushing my limits and of movement during sex. Breathing deeply again I’m starting to feel alive.
Letting my hands lead the way I end up with both of them between my legs. This is my favourite spot. I am still alone but no longer feeling at all defeated. What I feel is hope, desire and anticipation. I am made up of many stories and some are easier to relive than others, but they are all a part of me. Breathing deeply, moving my hips, touching my pussy – this is who I am. My womanhood, the root of my pleasure. I take my time allowing my hands to be my lover. How could I have forgotten? No matter where I am, who I am with, or how I am feeling – with touch, my hands will always bring me back to myself. Faster my hips move, deeper I breathe, sounds escaping my lips. I dance to the music of my stories and as the crescendo builds, my orgasm builds too. When I finally let go the release is like a slide show playing all of my stories at once with each one just as important as the other.
My lines show my joy and struggle, my lips are pure lust, my shoulders are my strength, my breasts are my mothering, my stomach is my shame, my hips my freedom and my sexuality brings them all together. My touch brings me home to myself.
Every Woman In That Space Saw Me Just As I am
I could talk about some of the logistics of body sex. The fact that the workshop is done in the nude. That women come from around the world and strip naked as soon as they are greeted at the door of Betty’s apartment. That we sit in a circle and share how we feel about our bodies, our orgasms. That we do a vulva show and tell and literally open our bodies up for these other women to see. That we are told what makes our vulva unique and beautiful. That we cry and we laugh. That we bring ourselves to orgasm – embracing our pleasure in a circle of women. That we end the day with group massage. That it feels amazing to be loved and accepted by all of these women who were strangers the day before.
All of those things are true. But this weekend I realized the power of body sex as it means to me.
Body sex is about stories. It’s is about looking at the stories I have been told or that I told myself about who I am, my scars, my limitations, my pain, my pleasure or my lack of pleasure. Body sex forced me to let them go. To leave them in the circle. It is the ultimate vulnerability. I came in naked with nothing at all to hide behind. When I began to talk about my problems, I felt kind of silly. As Betty says “The present moment is the point of power.” I started to wonder why the fuck am I telling that story. Who is that story even about? Was it mine, or was it just given to me? I wonder if I needed it as much as it needed me?
But here, in this circle with women from around the globe, I am naked and vulnerable and that story that kept me from ever truly being vulnerable, no longer seems to fit. In that circle, I feel only acceptance, authenticity, love, truth and sisterhood. Those stories I realized, may be a part of me, but they aren’t me. They came off with my clothes at the door, with a smile from a woman beside me in the circle, with the recognition of another’s pain, with tears as I shared, with the acceptance of my vulva, with the cries of my orgasm, with the embracing of my pleasure.
When I am naked and accepted in my nakedness, I don’t need those stories to explain why I am this way. I just AM this way. And every woman in that space saw me just as I am. No longer defined by my stories. The mother, the good girl, the bad girl, the slut, the prude, the victim, the too much. I am just me. And when I left that circle, I realized that I can not go back to those old stories. They are no longer relevant to me. I am me, just as I am and that is fucking brilliant.
With love and gratitude,
Natasha
Bodysex Workshop 2015 Date!!!!
I am extremely excited to be offering Betty Dodson Certified Bodysex workshops, for the first time,here in Canada! These workshops will take place in Saskatoon, SK. on May 30th and 31st. I will post more details and a list of common questions, that people have, over the next two days. In the meantime if you want to learn more, check out my blog posts, email me questions at natashawiig@hotmail.com or go to Betty Dodson’s website //dodsonandross.com for more details on what Bodysex is. I hope to see you in the circle.
Invisible Roots of Sisterhood
(This blog post is best read while listening to “Bird Song” by The Wailin’ Jennys)
We opened the Art of Self Loving Workshop in a circle where I asked that we each share, in first person, how we feel about our body and our masturbation history. This weekend wasn’t supposed to be about anyone else in our lives – husbands, lovers or friends – only our own experiences and feelings. What emerged were intimate stories of touch, shame, masks, labels, boxes, fears, pleasure and loss. We all cried at different times – sometimes I was crying for myself but often it was for someone else who expressed feelings that I recognized all too well. This sharing is where we began to build trust and slowly extend our roots of sisterhood towards each other. We ended the first day by practicing a technique called sensate focus touch. The idea is to learn to touch ourselves lightly, while paying attention to the point where our fingertip meets our skin. Sometimes we aren’t at all present in our touch and it can feel almost mechanical on the part of the giver and the receiver. But in this practice we continually remind ourself to go back to the point of connection and, intuitively, our body tells us which part or parts seem to need it the most. Touching ourselves in this way is an act of love and compassion, and each time it is practiced our body stores the memory of the sensation so that the next time the pleasure is greater still. We left with a homework assignment to touch our whole body in that way. No pressure to orgasm, no expectation at all, just paying attention to the exact point of connection.
I went home feeling calm about the day that had been and about what was to come tomorrow. I found space to do my “homework” but as soon as I started touching myself I realized that I was completely numb. Something was bothering me and it was inhibiting me from really being present in my touch. My self loving practice is rarely about just getting a release. It’s my way of connecting to my body, loving myself, being honest and discovering new ways to explore my pleasure. Frustrated I forced myself to go inwards for the answers to this numbness and, in doing so, discovered feelings beyond the mask of calmness. What I encountered was shame about not sharing enough of my own vulnerabilities with these women who had bared parts of their souls with me. I wondered if they thought I had it all figured out and that everything was perfect for me. I had asked them to meet me in the circle and show up prepared to do the work but I hadn’t really done the same because a part of me wanted to appear to have it all figured out. There was also a feeling of vulnerability about showing them my body. As part of a genital show and tell exercise that day I had sat naked on a rug in front of the group with a light shining on my genitals, opening myself to show them all the visible parts of my sexual anatomy. The purpose of this was to teach the functions, but also show other women what a real womans vulva actually looks like. In the Bodysex workshops, Betty guided each of us through this exercise with her loving hand on our leg and encouraged us with words describing the unique beauty of our pussies. Betty hadn’t been there to do that today and I wondered what they thought of me. Did they think I was ugly? Did they understand the purpose of this exercise or the power behind it? Sitting inside all of these feelings I decided to never do this workshop again. I would just finish my Bodysex certification, lead Betty Dodson’s workshops and if those didn’t work out I could blame Betty. (sorry Betty but its with brutal honesty that I’m admitting it) This workshop has parts of myself in it – namely in the emphasis placed on skin to skin touching of ourselves as a practice towards intimacy. Putting myself out there like that was terrifying. I lay there pondering the idea that all I had learnt and believed may be complete bullshit to everyone else while begrudgingly resuming the “homework” that I myself had assigned. Continuing to mechanically touch my body, while sitting in these feelings, I realized that I was rejecting myself before the group could reject me. That felt safer. Exhausted from the energy this took I needed a physical release. So I straightened my body, held my breath, touched myself – without any love – and orgasmed. Essentially on the night of my first workshop, I had abandoned almost all of the self loving methods I had learnt to use and was teaching this group. Breath. Movement. Loving touch. Then that voice in my head that I’m going to call Betty(smile) spoke up, reminding me that “The teacher is going to learn the most” and I thought “Oh fuck you can do better….. Stop running.”
I woke the next morning feeling energized. I had survived the “vulnerability hangover” and was ready to do the work, meeting the women in the circle – mask undone. Not only as the workshop facilitator but as a woman on my own journey of self love and acceptance who doesn’t have it all figured out. Sitting in the circle again and seeing all of the beautiful women eager to grow and learn with me, I shared my fears and the story of my failed attempt at the self loving homework the night before – right down to my half ass teenage orgasm. What I saw reflected back at me were accepting eyes, kind smiles and understanding nods. I like to think that it made me one of them, or maybe they always felt that I was – but in that moment I knew it too. As the other women took turns sharing how their homework went, I heard stories of looking in the mirror and opening themselves up for the first time, feeling erotically turned on by touching “non sexual” parts of themselves, orgasms, inner peacefulness that seemed to effect the others in their life that night, lust for self, asking for touch from another for the first time, vulnerability, and of difficulty at staying focused in the touch. All of my fears, while valid, were unfounded as the power of the workshop was happening in the ways it was supposed to. We cried together again followed by laughter as we ate popcorn and watched Betty’s documentary on orgasmic women. It was great to see all the different ways that women pleasure themselves and how no one way is right or wrong. After that I again took my spot on the rug and demonstrated types of touch that I use on myself as well as Betty’s Rock and Roll orgasm method. I shared parts of my own practice and encouraged taking the time to develop their own. I felt proud and beautiful in my nakedness and I knew that I was accepted as I am by each of those women.
The last exercise before closing circle was group touch. We divided into two groups and took turns touching a women on one or both sides for about 7 minutes. This, after a weekend of incredible sharing, vulnerability and sisterhood was unbelievable powerful. Sliding my hands over their bodies I could feel them at first hesitate and then melt into the touch. Tears poured down our faces as we felt and saw the effect that our loving touch had on every women. Clothing started to come off as external and internal layers were shed – allowing for more love to enter. I felt gratitude at being able to touch these women in this way and hoped, as I’d hoped when touching Betty a year before, that some of their strength and inner beauty would soak back into me. When it was my turn to receive I was struck by the power of their touch as soon as they placed their hands upon me. The closest way I could describe it is that of a high orgasm. It’s so internal it can’t be designated as coming from one place. It was as if they touched my soul. In an instant I was transported back to a year before, in the Bodysex workshop, when the women there touched me. This was a great reinforcement of what I had taught the day before about sensate focus touch and how the pleasure imprints in our bodies, increasing sensations every time we give or receive it.
To close the workshop we sat in a circle on the floor, invisible roots of sisterhood fully intertwined, holding hands and shared one word that encompassed what the weekend meant to us. Deliberately looking ,one at a time,into each women’s eyes the words that we spoke were: Open, Melting, Transcendence, Accepted, Connected, Empowered, Comfortable, Free, Loved and Vulnerable.
I look forward to sharing the circle with another group of women at my next Art of Self Loving Workshop //natashasalaash.com/?p=19 on May 2nd and 3rd, 2015. Please email me at natashawiig@hotmail.com for details.
//dodsonandross.com/blogs/carlin-ross/2013/01/everything-you-need-know-about-bodysex-workshops
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