I was talking to a girlf the other day who said she had boned a dude, had exquisite mind-bending sex and he -- get this -- came five times in a row. Five fucking times. In a row. Boom boom boom boom BOOM.
"No way," I said. "That's scientifically impossible....Isn't it?"
"Nope," she said. "He was just really young, and we would be done, and then the next minute, it was like, 'Oh, so we're doing this again? OK!'"
I stared at her in sex goddess worshipful repose.
"I don't think I'm very good at sex then," I said. "The most I've ever made a man come is like twice in a row."
Upon further soul-searching -- OK, I just thought of it right now -- I do remember a quadruple-timer (blow jobs count, right?) and my sexual self-esteem buoyed once again. (Joke. Kind of. OK, not really.)
Lately -- I don't have all that much sex. But I have more love in my life than I've had in a looooooong time.
I've never quite known the joy of unconditional love that a dog offers before, but it's been the most healing thing I've ever experienced in my life. Loving and caring for my dog Samsung has nourished my soul in a way that I never knew was possible. The sweetness and purity and innocence and joy of that relationship has taught me a lot about myself and what strengthens me. It also shows my valuation of different things in life now -- and the person I'm becoming.
The story I always like to tell about who I WAS and who I am BECOMING is having this incredibly ridiculous three-way with a very prestigious lawyer a few years back which then pretty quickly devolved into just the two of us fucking and sucking and smoking and drinking and when it was all over, we collapsed on his bed in a sweaty heap of sexness, and then I heard it: This soft, repetitive sound of his dog quietly snoring in the corner.
"Ummm, isn't that, like, annoying?" I said, pleased with how clever I was and in the most gross obnoxious sorority girl voice ever. The lawyer looked at me, perhaps with sadness in his eyes, and said, "I find it calming."
I shudder when I look back on this story. What a fucking dick I was. I mean, granted, I was drunk and high (and cock-drunk and cock-high, HEY-O!) but it's such a great BEFORE and AFTER of where I was then and where I am now. I mean, when I lived for two months with my parents in San Diego last summer, the most comforting thing, the most important thing in my life at the time was snuggling next to my father's guide dog every evening and just feeling the love, sending it back and forth, and giving thanks to God.
Which brings me to God.
I've been in kind of a shitty mood these past few weeks. Maybe it was the piece calling me a gross sexually revolting embarrassing damaged bipolar body humor zombie, but I think it was just the general sense of feeling like a hamster trapped in a wheel of work with little possibility, little sense of hope anywhere.
I liked things. I enjoyed things. Lately I've really enjoyed "Damages" on Netflix. That's been good. I like smart culture. And I finally got my taxes done. Oh, and I recorded a podcast which is going to air next month on the Riotcast network. A lot of good things. But just: Exhaustion. Total and complete exhaustion, with a chaser of pointlessness.
I hate it when I can't feel the giddy child-like sense of gratitude and joy for all the fun and awesome things in my life. It scares me. A lot. I don't like feeling like a robot. It freaks me out. And then I get very sad.
Here is the sequence of events that got me out of my funk.
1. I finally took my dog to daycare. A place called D is for Doggy, a business I had visited once before and felt tingled by all the good energy abounding. Samsung did so well! They loved him -- the staff and the other doggies!
2. In a squealy follow-up, I got a few emails from the daycare workers, one showing Samsung teetering out from a long day of playing, and then a group of pits all posing together for a pic. This touched me in a way that affected me deeply. I felt cared for. By a stranger. I felt the love of the people taking care of Samsung, and I felt Samsung's love -- and I felt, and see here's what it was that broke the funk: connected. That's what I need to feel okay. I need to feel connection. When I forget it, when I lose it, when I ignore it, my soul crashes. I go into burnout and exhaustion mode where the bleakness starts to overcreep my energy and my soul like a spreading black-blue stain. It scares me, and I don't know what to do. Answer: Find connection.
3. I decided to practice, really practice, the art of affirmations and just continuous prayer. I walked around the city, holding my dog's leash, and I looked at each crack in the sidewalk, each fight a couple was having, each screechef business meeting into an iPhone that goals were not going to be met this quarter and hard decisions had to be made, and I said, "Thank you, God, thank you, God, thank you, God."
My energy changed dramatically. I've been feeling connected ever since. I've been feeling in the moment. I've been feeling alive. I've been feeling possibility.
And now, with my friend Rachel DeAlto chaperoning, I'm heading up to the Upper East Side to meet that man who reached out to me earlier that some of you excoriated and others championed and I'm intrigued by. You know, the orgasmic meditation dude.
I've always loved positive risk-taking. The goal, the challenge has been to get to a place of receptivity, that connection to whatever God consciousness I possess, where the risks I can be taking are aligned with more higher energies, rather than lower ones of greed and fear and slithery anxiety and desperation and oh, the worst of all, the need to shove down feelings with anything but present-ness.
Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God.
There are so many beautiful things in life to experience five times in a row.
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