The sexual meditation that taught me how to love myself better.

There was a moment back in the early winter of 2019 where I was hurting and lonely, starved out on a lot of levels, feeling rejected and denied, thirsty and needy. I was struggling with feelings of unworthiness and rage bricked behind a thick wall of pent up lust and frustration. My head felt like it could have imploded with everything I was feeling.

But then I walked past the main room mirror on the wall. I stopped, looked in the mirror, and saw myself. I walk pass this mirror everyday, this is a small flat and I’m practically a hermit, and every day I see my image walk across it with me.

In previous years, I winced at what I saw. There were days where I saw a shadow of what I used to be, a ghost or a zombie, something not quite alive, not quite there. There were days where I saw a fighter, someone who needed to always be alert to protect what mattered most. There were days were I saw a failure, someone who failed to save their family, someone who failed to end the cycle of abuse for so many people, someone who was failing to properly take care of the one they cared about the most. There were days where “I” wasn’t really there at all, something looked into the mirror and something looked back with twisted facial expressions and wet, wide, red eyes.

I thirst for a muse that doesn’t exist, I’m too fatigued, too wounded, I need my fix. In this post, only in this post, in this moment, I relapse, I surrender to this madness. Fuel me, fuel me so I can set myself and my partner free from this.

These lingering images, they taunt me so much. I walked a year ago, worked on myself, healed the addiction, but circumstances are draining me out on all levels, and very little is fueling me. Nootropics used to work, now they don’t and there’s no good reason for it. Other techniques help stabilize my mood but the fatigue and brain fog is relentless.

That thirst, binging on those fantasies, that got me through before. I never had such a wide selection of muses before, but they don’t ignite me in the ways I need and this makes me livid.

Walking away from the last muse tanked my sexual thirst, my treatment regimen worked, it worked well, but life is backing me into a corner and nothing is boosting me in the ways I need.

So life, stop cucking me with those visuals of someone I can’t taste, this isn’t doing much for me, other than adding to the anger and frustration and this isn’t helping my body and mind function better.

I force out those visuals over and over again, but they come back worse lately. Show me a muse worthy of the things in my mind, of the kinds of art I’d make of them, of the handcrafted sensory installations I’m dying to construct.

Harp, 2019.

This was one of my love letters that I wrote a couple of years ago. I don’t feel the same about the person I wrote it for but I remember the joy I felt when I wrote it. I’m trying to retrace some steps here to rediscover my joy for this kind of writing.

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A love letter I wrote last year.

First, I’d slowly circle you counterclockwise, gently peeling off your clothes,

layer by layer, making sure you feel the drag of every stitch of fabric across your skin. First that overshirt, then the undershirt…feeling your toned and lean frame across my fingertips as I do this. Next I’d work my way down to the belt, tug it loose so, so slowly…kissing your exposed skin as the layers gently drop to the floor. Then I’d wedge my hand between the back of your pants and buttocks, lightly cup the right cheek as my wrist and forearm gently force down the waist line…then use my other hand to take great care in pulling your pants off, then lastly, I’d glide my fingertips between the elastic of your underwear and hips…and gently pull them down until they drift to the ground…

Next, I’d pull out some warming gel. It is water based and dries fairly fast without leaving much residue, I use it for aches and pains sometimes. I want to help you relax, so you can really enjoy yourself thoroughly. I’d dollop some into my hands, rub them together to warm it all up, then start with your neck. I’d carefully but firmly work my thumbs where your skull connects to the top of your spine as the rest of my fingers work your muscles connecting your neck and shoulders.

A fantasy I’ve been having lately, part 1.

In this fantasy my partner and I are healed up and working as the content creators we always wanted to become, making our projects and art together and loving the experience.

I see us doing a collaboration with another couple that we really resonate with, a very modest indie game maybe, something within our means. To make something like that with another couple someday would be extraordinary, it would be one of the most amazing things I could experience in this lifetime.

The chemistry we’d all build up working through design problems, workshopping the story, entering some diplomatic disagreements and coming up with better solutions as a result. That work relationship, that professional dance, what that would do to me, especially if I were to develop a crush on them both.

It would be my dirty little secret during work hours, how I’d steal a quick glimpse at him and her, trying not to get caught, but hoping I do…I’d let that tension build within, moment by moment, day by day. Every time one of them would brush up close, close enough so I feel the warmth of their body across my skin, I’d faint a little inside.