Lately I’ve almost been running a fever, thinking about how I want to be touched. My skin gets hot when I conjure it up. I lie on my back, legs open, amidst a few rumpled bed linens. Breathing slowly, I allow a certain humming sensation to come into my skin, tingling in my feet and hands. This is my eroticism. Some people would call it the kundalini. For me, it is simply sensual erotic energy.
Just as with all currents, it can get short-circuited when there is foreign interference. Ideally, the energy flows uninhibited and even encouraged along the conduit, burning gently, lighting it up, feeding it out until it makes a beautiful pattern of moving, exploding lights. Organized chaos. Pleasure.
And so, I crave a particular kind of touch that moves along with this current in me, activating it, firing it up, and then swirling it around until I explode with pleasure.
No pressure or anything! haha.
Actually, it’s easier done than said. A very casual, beginner’s approach is the best kind. A certain intentful curiosity . . . I myself need to be very still to feel and receive it. It’s almost a mood, rather than a touch.
Imagine that, around me, there hovers an invisible liquid membrane, warm and silky, smooth, and very very inviting. You know it is penetrable, and the sweet flowing silkiness of it makes you want to push right into it.
But the trick is to penetrate it so softly that it just gives way and surrenders under your hand.
There are so many ways to touch and play with water. Sometimes we do it so casually. Splash, slosh, smack, cup, plunge, wave, spit, swirl, wiggle, push, suck. Most of these ways cause a disturbance. Of course, like any normal person, I very much enjoy a reckless disturbance once I’m down a certain path in my sexual encounters. Yum.
But this eroticism. This approach. It craves a certain stillness. Not anything to do with passivity, mind you. The wanting has to be there – its hardness, its push.
But also the restraint. When the touch comes forward, it comes only to a certain degree. Then, rests.
Rests, hovers, absorbs, answers, holds.
When the moment is right, the touch sinks in. Not even needing to press, but fully welcomed and absorbed into my silky membrane. I give way because I am melted and full to bursting with erotic energy.
I feel another hot ripple through my bloodstream, imagining it. Splayed out, tender, naked, hot. Waiting for just that kind of touch all over my burning skin. A touch that hums, sings, receives, listens, attunes, and gives.
A touch that coaxes me to come.