I’m sitting in a farmer’s field about ten minutes from my home, naked, leaning against a hay bale.
The wind is blowing my hair in crazy directions, and I imagine myself as one of those women in books who looks wild and free and you can just tell by her wind blown hair that she had some great orgasms that day …… and every day.
My skin is brown from all the summer sunshine, and when I turn my legs towards it, I can see my blond thigh hair, shimmer like gold.
A tampon string dangles from my vulva and I take it out, happy that I don’t need to worry about staining any sheets in this field.
There are two tummy rolls at the bottom of my stomach and I place my hand over them, tracing the stretch marks that make a spiral pattern around my belly button. I think back to the words of the surgeon I went to years ago, who asked me why I wanted to change this part of my body. Closing my eyes and feeling the texture that the stretch marks offer my fingers, I give thanks that I didn’t —and imagine my beautiful children growing inside my belly — pushing and stretching my skin with their long limbs.
My eyes move down to my vulva and I see my lips like the petals of a flower blooming in the morning sun. Encouraging them to bloom some more, I move my hand towards the petals and feel their softness. Years back I used to feel ashamed of how fully I bloom. Today, I don’t think there is a part of my body as beautiful as my pussy, and I promise to give her thanks every day for the plentiful gifts she offers me.
I pleasure myself in this field — against the bail that I imagine the farmer put there just for me. A mom of 5 on her evening walk, with her dog who’s off chasing geese.
I laugh as I cum, and afterwards, stand up and put my clothes back on to go back to the city, my home and my family. Seeing the wet spot on the ground I think with a smile, of the abundant crop the farmer will be blessed with next year.
*****My orgasm and my words are dedicated with endless love, to Betty Dodson – my mama of pleasure on her 91st birthday today.
I facilitated my first Bodysex circle nearly 5 years ago and since then, 158 women have sat in my circles — baring and celebrating their bodies, their stories, their vulvas, and their pleasure with me. There is no place on earth that I feel more at home, more embodied or more comfortable than when I’m in the Bodysex circle. It’s like a huge full bodied exhale every time. With each group of women, I’m reminded of the beauty of my body exactly as it is, the threads of connection between all of us, that none of my shame is unique just to me, and the never-ending heights of pleasure that I can reach with my oh so glorious right hand.
I love body sex. I love writing blogs about it. I love the women who show up to each circle, and the dialogue that often starts between us long before they arrive and continues long after they leave. I love that every single day that I pleasure myself, I can learn something new in my body.
And…. I’ve come to realize that what I really don’t love is the idea of doing any of the ever evolving forms of advertising that I’m told, and sometimes tell myself, I should be doing to promote these circles. It feels too much like convincing or selling and I’m really over convincing anyone of anything that has to do with me — whether it’s more time from a lover, the value of my work, or to listen to my feelings. Bodysex is powerful and…. not necessarily for everyone. Only you can decide if it’s right for you and it feels inauthentic for me to try to do anything to convince you otherwise. What does feel authentic though, is providing the space and inviting any woman — who is willing and open to this experience — to join me. I’m always here to field questions, calm fears and share in excitement (yours and mine!) — but I’m not going to try to convince you.
So with this being said I am going to have 2 set dates for Bodysex/ year in Saskatchewan (along with my Quebec dates). I will have a waiting list as well and if there is enough interest I’m super happy to add dates, but I’m not going to chase anyone or try to fill spots. My next Saskatchewan date is set for March 27-29th https://natashasalaash.com/bodysex-saskatchewan-workshop-retreat-spring-2020/and I’m working on setting a fall date for an Advanced Bodysex retreat. (for women who have attended at least 1 regular Bodysex and would like to explore pleasure deeper)
This feels good! It feels authentic, non stressful, relaxed, true to me and something that my 5 years ago self would not have had the clit for. ha ha <3
I often get asked what my self pleasure and orgasms are like after the last 4 years of doing Bodysex and Orgasm coaching. The truth is I’ve spent countless hours and days practicing, playing with my body, breath, sounds, positions, hands and toys. I’ve charted my orgasms everyday for a month to see what I’d discover and the most quantifiable data I found, was that my pleasure is best when I take the time to make love with myself using my hands — savouring my entire body. Quickies have their place and can turn around my day when it’s headed in the wrong direction, but what I really love the most is to “edge” my orgasms. Edging means I build my pleasure using my hands and my breath right up to the place where pleasure and orgasm meet. Instead of crossing into that though, I continue stimulating myself while grounding my breath (breathing low into my belly) to stay there, savouring every moment of the pleasure. When the pleasure becomes less intense, I build my pleasure higher with my breath (breathing up into my chest) until I reach another height of pleasure. Then, when that level becomes less intense, I once again use my breath to reach a higher one, and so on, until finally I’m up so high that I can’t see what’s down below and —inevitably fall over the edge into orgasm. The orgasm at this point comes not only from within me, but also from above me — like stars falling down on me while fireworks explode from inside me. It’s long, comes from my whole body — it’s an accumulative celebration of my whole self. This conscious, sensual and intimate practice helps me honour myself and, apart from time in nature, is my spirituality.
Sometimes, parts of my pleasure fall over the edge a bit too soon leading to tiny bursts of orgasm and I feel like I’m cheated on both ends. I don’t want to edge or surrender with only a part of me — I want all of me there. With more time on this edge I’ve discovered that parts of me fall in pieces when my breath doesn’t go deep enough into me — allowing me to be grounded at the same time as I’m climbing. This need to feel I’m on the ground while reaching such great heights of pleasure is a big one, as it’s really only with my feet on the ground that I feel safe enough to fall. I see this need in many men and women I work with and it reminds me how essential it is to feel safety and trust (within ourselves first and foremost) in order to fully experience pleasure.
In this “edge place,” the pleasure in my body creates a fantastical image in my mind of……
A woman on the edge of a cliff in Nova Scotia. She’s wearing a long white dress with an apron, a basket in her hands and a straw hat on her head. The grass around her is green and lush and her surroundings — from the waves crashing onto a cliff opposite her, to the wind blowing onto her — are a scene of immense pleasure. The woman has walked long to get to this edge, slowing down and even stopping at different times on her journey to enjoy the beauty of the world around her. At these times she closes her eyes, leans back and absorbs everything she can of the sounds,smells, and tastes of the scene around her. When she is satiated in the experience — but not tempted enough to stay, she moves on until she is overcome once again with such pleasure that she needs to pause and absorb it. On and on she goes until finally, after quite some time, she stops at the cliffs’ edge. The edge of this cliff is the most beautiful place the women has ever been and yet that surprises her because she can’t see what’s down below at all— she simply senses its beauty from deep inside her.
Eyes closed once again she spreads her arms out and lets the wind and the splash of distant waves touch her face and lightly wet her dress. Teetering on that edge her hat falls off, down, down below to the place of beauty she hasn’t yet seen and still she holds on — not wanting to let go of the beauty up top. Slightly disappointed that part of her already let go, she focuses on the fact that her hair is free now to blow with the wind — making the pleasure even more exquisite. The wind, sensing her pleasure building, increases its strength until her basket too falls — leaving room for her arms to spread out wide in full reception of the pleasure around her. Caught off guard by her basket falling, she reflexively opens her mouth causing her to breathe in more life through the wind, while her body is drawn to pull and sway along with it. Standing there swaying, mouth and arms wide open on the edge of the most beautiful cliff in the world, the woman wonders for a fleeting moment if she wants to leave this beauty for the unknown beauty that’s over the edge. The wind seemingly hearing her fear, reassures her by breathing more life into her — causing her to inhale deeper — bringing air right down into her feet until she feels the dirt under the grass between her toes. As soon as she feels the earth below her, her mouth opens wider, and she allows the wind to breathe her breath upwards this time bringing with it the most exquisite pleasure she’s ever felt in her life. In this moment of pure ecstasy, the woman forgets to hold on and, like a leaf falling off a tree, lets go — blessed by the wind and the waves……. into the place she can’t see but feels already in her heart.
I was 34 when I first noticed the stirrings in my body that people call desire. I had just weaned my 5th child and my body seemed to sense that my time for nourishing babies was over. Like a magnet being pulled towards a force, my vulva felt ripe, charged and open. Up until this point sex had always been something I did for someone else’s pleasure, to be a good wife or girl friend, or to feel loved. I had never orgasmed during sex or been pleasured by anyone else to the point of orgasm. In fact, looking back, I’m not sure any man that I had been with had even tried to pleasure me. I masturbated in secret at times — just to get a quick fix — feeling awful shame and guilt that I was “cheating.”
These new feelings of desire excited me and brought awareness to my body and caring for it in ways I hadn’t thought of for 13 years — when all of my focus had been on supporting and raising others. I became more aware of how different foods made me feel and began to exercise and take dance classes. Curious about the near constant stirrings in my genitals, I sought out every book that I could find on desire, pleasure, orgasm and sex. I invited my then husband to read a book with me so that we could explore the activities in it together and he responded by suggesting that I read it and tell him what to do. I understood then that sharing pleasure with me wasn’t a priority for him.
Discouraged but not defeated I kept searching for a book that would help me learn, and in my search came across Betty Dodson’s book “Sex For One.” Finally I’d found a book about sex, pleasure, desire and orgasm that didn’t require having a willing partner to practice things with. With Betty’s help I began to practice masturbating using my hands and — with patience, persistence and the help of a timer — become orgasmic in this way for the first time! Being able to bring myself to orgasm with my hands also meant that I could orgasm during penetrative sex with my partner — as long as I was willing to help myself out. Sex changed for me once I knew what worked for my body and I celebrated the fact that I didn’t need to have pleasureless sex ever again. I loved Betty’s philosophy of taking ownership of your pleasure and not waiting on or blaming anyone else for a lack of it. I became epically good at pleasuring myself and my husband enjoyed the fact that I wanted sex everyday — until he wondered if I might be liking it too much.
When our marriage ended I continued pleasuring myself in soft and gentle ways that still included orgasm but were more focused on making love than sex. I made love to myself in front of a mirror keeping eye contact the whole time. I tried different positions, sounds, breathing patterns — exploring what felt good for me. Touching my body — in a way that I wished a lover would touch me — helped me through that time and also helped me begin to love and accept myself. Masturbation became so much more to me than a quick fix and I devoted hours of my time to it. Spending so much time intimately with myself helped me to recognize parts of my body that I hated (the ones I avoided touching) and provided me with opportunity to give those parts more love. I became my own lover, my own emotional support and my own source of pleasure. The self pleasure was good for my self esteem too as — realizing how good I felt to touch, I imagined my body would feel good to someone else too.
My “self skills” also helped me become more discerning with new partners because I knew how to have pleasure on my own and I no longer felt like sex was what I needed to do to feel loved. I remember one situation where I stopped right in the middle of making out with a guy and told him I was done. It was a one time encounter and it became clear to me that the only way I would have any pleasure with him would be if I did it myself — which I knew I could just as easily do after he was gone. He was shocked and asked if I would at least give him a blow job which of course I said no to. (Note that he didn’t ask if he could pleasure me) The high from choosing for myself and saying no instead of “enduring” unreciprocated pleasure, was like nothing else, and once again I was grateful that learning self pleasure meant learning to take care of myself in more ways than one. That night I had incredible sex with a partner who knew just what I liked and who loved me too — ME! After that I discovered that men were usually happy that I could bring myself to orgasm with some trying to pleasure me and others not bothering to. Some were intimidated by my relationship with myself and looking back I can see why, but I was so used to having to rely only on me that I knew no other way.
My path hasn’t been seamless and I’ve made many mistakes in an effort to untangle old patterns and beliefs around sex, worthiness and love — yet the whole time the one solid I’ve had through my journey is me. I’ve been there for myself in love and pleasure no matter what was happening or who I was with. Today I’m in a relationship with a man who’s as good at pleasuring me as I am, and I recognize it as a beautiful gift to have someone excited to explore and share with me. Having relied on myself for so long it isn’t always easy for me to receive from him and I still battle with fears of him not wanting to put in the time or effort for me. But he continues to — in non demanding and non expectant ways — and each time I respond by softening and trusting more. As good as I am at doing it alone, it’s wonderful to have someone who wants to do it with me.
Desire throbs between my legs everyday and I know the source and abundance of it depend on me — in my love for myself…for pleasure….for life. Like any relationship worth keeping, I don’t take it for granted and make sure to devote time alone in pleasure and love with myself often. Soft lips that swell under my fingertips. Wetness. Curves. Stretch marks. Squishy tummy. Scars. Each time I touch my body I don’t have to imagine that it would feel good to someone else, I know — because it feels good to me.
Those who know me, know that I love story telling and fantasy. As I sat down to write about last weekend’s Bodysex retreat, I kept seeing the images from it in my mind like some grand fantasy. No matter how hard I tried to stay focused on writing a “proper blog” the images wouldn’t stop. So I gave up trying and here it is.…
Once upon a time there was a woman who loved to be naked. She was in her early 40’s — a mother — who looked regular on the outside yet felt like a goddess of fire on the inside. Sometimes the fire inside her burned so hot that she imagined there was a pot sitting on it, bubbling upwards and outwards from her vulva. On days where the pot would bubble higher — she wondered, in both fear and excitement, what would happen if it boiled over.
This woman enjoyed being naked and pleasuring herself so much that she decided to invite other women to spend a weekend with her, celebrating in nudity and pleasure together. Not surprisingly she discovered that there were many other women like her — regular on the outside yet goddesses of fire on the inside — longing to celebrate their heat fully.
She knew that celebrating in this way was not “normal” where she lived or anywhere really, but she was called to do this more than anything else in her life. She spent months thinking of the women before they came, wondering what their stories were, what they longed for, and if they too felt the heat of a rising, bubbling pot in their vulvas. She also spent a great deal of time preparing the weekend for them. She wanted them to feel like goddesses staying in a beautiful country, with a castle to sleep in and plenty of food to nourish them. She first found the castle — making sure it had plenty of space for the women to wander the grounds naked, then searched far and wide for a chef who could prepare delicious dishes to please their bodies and fuel their pleasure. Finally she elicited help from the goddess of art who also loved to be naked and found great pleasure in adorning the women’s bodies with her elaborate designs.
When the day finally arrived for the women to come, she blessed the space in the most sacred and powerful way she knew how. Laying down in the centre of it, she traced the length of her body with her fingers adding heat to her already bubbling pot. As the pot bubbled and her pleasure built ,the ceiling above her began to fill with colours and stars. Imagining that it was the sky above her— they came together, with the sky ejaculating a thousand tiny stars upon her body and the space around her. Content that the castle was now sacred enough for the goddesses to enter, she and the goddess of art, went to greet the women as they arrived.
One by one they came through the castle doors shedding layers of fabric that didn’t do justice to the bodies beneath them. Overwhelmed by the visions of such beauty, they welcomed the women into the space that had been so beautifully blessed merely moments before. As the goddesses took turns sharing stories about what had both dimmed and fuelled their fires, the woman realized with surprise that they all appeared more naked than before. She was sure that each one had removed their clothes upon entering, and that she herself had been naked all morning, and yet here they were taking off another layer of clothing.
As the day wore on, the women couldn’t contain their curiosity over what fuelled the fire under their pot and agreed that it was was essential to take a closer look. With mirror and lamp in hand, one by one, they spread their legs and opened their vulvas to each other — excited and nervous to see what they’d find. They were astonished to discover what appeared to be flowers growing out from between their legs. Even more surprising was that each woman’s flower was unique. Shiny, smooth, plush, rumpled, flowing, sleek, delicate, bold, dark, bright and a mix of both— each one different from the rest, like a field of wild flowers, and yet none more beautiful than the other. After exploring all of their flowers, both inside and out, the women marvelled at the lucky bees which came to taste the nectar hidden deep inside.
The women spent the rest of the evening and following morning sharing, laughing, being adorned with art, and noticing with surprise that the more they let their flowers open, the more clothing they shed.The opening wasn’t always easy and the women often felt conflicted with appearing one way on the outside and feeling another way on the inside. And of course they all wondered what would happen if the fire in their vulvas became too hot and their pots boiled over.
More naked still, and feeling brave from the deepened trust and connection, the women decided that it was time to play with the flowers that peeked out from beneath their legs and see what would happen to their already burning fire. Forming a circle they once again opened their legs and, with all of their flowers exposed at once, began to play. Like bees they buzzed and danced around the edges of their flowers — sometimes plunging in to taste the nectar — and sometimes teasing the petals, encouraging the nectar to trickle out. Their inner fires burned on and amidst the buzzing you could hear their bubbling pots rising higher than ever before.
All of a sudden, the clouds outside moved and the sun shone through the windows of the castle directly upon the flower of one of the goddesses who had at times, seemed slightly more reserved than some of the others. The other goddesses watched in awe as her flower opened up in full bloom before them. Crying and shaking in pleasure, her boiling pot spilled over the edges of her petals touching each of the other women. What they were touched by surprised them as it was not something you could feel with your fingers or see with your eyes. What came from her pot was simply more of HER. Her stories, her dreams, her hopes, her pleasures, her sorrow and her joys.
No longer afraid of their own pots boiling over, the other women let their flowers open wide and within minutes the entire room was in full bloom with each goddess spilling over the edges of their petals — being touched by the full celebration of who they are.
As they said goodbye the next day and left the castle, the women noticed that they no longer appeared regular on the outside and that, in fact, no one else appeared regular to them either. Could it be, they wondered, that we are all gods and goddesses with fires and boiling pots inside, simply afraid of showing who we are?
Dedicated with love to:Turtle, Princess tulip, Poretta,Maleficent, Becky, Beyonce, Lola, Pearl,Rapunzel, Boss lady, Unicorn, Coral, and all of the other goddesses I have sat in the circle with.
She’s a woman in her 50’s,
lying naked on my bed masturbating.
Never having orgasmed before she’s come asking for help.
Sitting beside her I watch her body move as she touches herself,
clearly enjoying the pleasure.
The skin on her chest starts to flush
telling me she’s close to orgasm.
I wish I could capture this moment so she could see how beautiful she looks,
but I stay still, not wanting to disturb her.
As the flush on her chest begins to climb to her neck I notice her crease her brow.
Leaning forward I softly touch her face, guiding her to soften too.
“I’m scared” she says. “I don’t know what it’s going to feel like.”
“I’m here with you” I say. “Your pleasure looks so beautiful on you.”
She starts to cry and continues to masturbate,
the flush on her neck now covering the lower half of her face.
The sounds of her orgasm fill my room, followed by the sounds of her sobbing.
Smiling through my tears I think “this is what half a century of release looks like” and I’m grateful for the honour of being there with her.
It’s not about feeling better, it’s about feeling more.
Sometimes I’m afraid to look
because I don’t want to see the
pain she holds tightly behind her eyes.
I fuss around her, caring for her in other ways
not quite trusting my own ability to cope with it.
Knowing that this isn’t right and that I can’t avoid it any longer,
I look — really look — feel her sadness, and begin to cry.
At the sight of my tears,
she turns away — not wanting to see my pain.
“We can do this. I know we can” I say to myself,
and I continue to look at her until she turns back to look at me.
Holding each other, we cry.
We are doing this.
It’s not about feeling better, it’s about feeling more.
She’s sitting across from me in the circle
beginning to tell the story of her past trauma and pain.
As the words fall out of her mouth,
her chest heaves then collapses while her eyes plead with me to rescue her.
The woman beside her looks at me as well
motioning with her own eyes for me to do something.
My eyes lock with the woman sharing and
I reassure her — without words —that I’m here,
she’s a survivor and she doesn’t need rescuing.
We’re holding space for her.
Taking a deep breath in, and then out,
I watch her body slowly land on her exhale.
Her chest lifts and she continues her story.
It’s not about feeling better, it’s about feeling more.
I’m on my back lying under him,
our bodies moving and breathing together,
like a circle, in and out, around and around.
His eyes don’t leave mine and I wonder, for a second, if he ever blinks.
What does he see when he looks at me in my pleasure?
Is it okay? Am I okay?
I feel heat and energy rising from my vulva to my chest
and I breathe into it,
feeling full — over filled.
“I’m going to cry” I say embarrassed, “but it’s not bad.”
And I do. I cry through my pleasure while he holds me,
breathing in the air that I breathe out.
It’s not about feeling better, it’s about feeling more.