For Betty Dodson (and the unknown farmer who bailed the hay)

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.

The Edge

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. 

Freedom Is…..

Freedom is…

never brushing my hair,
biking without a helmet,
sun on my pussy,
sand in my ass crack. 

Freedom is…
accepting my self as I am,
preferring my bare skin to clothing,
letting my stretch marks show,
my abundant lips dangle.

Freedom is…
experiencing my sexuality through my;
open body, open mouth, open eyes and open ears,
and realizing that these experiences can happen all day everyday,
with or without my genitals. 

Freedom is…
listening to my body and 
trusting that by simply breathing, I can handle everything I feel.

Freedom is…
choosing feeling over avoidance — even when it’s painful.

Freedom is…
Having sex with the lights on,
talking dirty,
fantasizing without shame,
saying “I’ve got one (or two or three) more in me” even if my lover is done —
and not apologizing for it.

Freedom is…
being vulnerable with people that I love,
knowing that in my vulnerability I create an opportunity for deeper intimacy —
whether they meet me in it or not. 

Freedom is…
being brave enough to ask for what I want
and not taking it personally when I don’t get it.

Freedom is…
knowing what my core values are, 
choosing to live a life that is in alignment with these core values, 
and recognizing the freedom that this alignment gives me. 

Freedom is… 
Me. 

**photo credit goes to Stiina