Light creeps in through my puffy eyelids.
Here we go again, I grumble. Waking up feeling low on love when you’re surrounded by love.
How do I keep ending up here?
I’d been struggling with an unusual rise in tension with my beloved during this extraordinary circumstance.
Waking up alone after a lackluster goodnight embrace compounds the emptiness.
I remember my women’s group homework assignment of self-pleasure for the week.
I blame my mediocre participation on the recent slump in my sexual appetite and excitement.
I just don’t really WANT to do it. ??♀️
Check in with your gratitude, Lea. Remember that right now, millions are alone with no physical touch available.
Yes yes, I remember. And, it’s ok to feel low sometimes, k?
My fickle mind travels to a familiar place of disempowerment: I’m not getting my needs met by him.
This is his fault. And I have no other options.
My higher self protests. But wait, she pleads.
You are forgetting the commitment you made to yourself last year.
You are now your own best lover, remember?
Yes, of course. She was right. And, I haven’t been on a sensual date with myself in quite some time.
I decide it’s time to take matter into my own hands.
I set up my morning breathwork soundtrack for abundance.
As the guide’s silky voice and smooth rhythms emanate from the walls, I sink into a familiar peace.
I begin to groove and gyrate to the sound waves undulating through my energetic channels.
My hands begin to glide across a body built for sin. I feel a familiar warmth bloom under my graceful fingertips, moving at the exact pace I crave.
As the music and my breath escalate, I gently rake my nails across my skin, leaving streaks of pleasure in their wake.
Finally, I was ready to make the move.
I placed my hand over my sacred temple and asked for permission to honor her wild and delicate beauty.
My hands grace her tender flesh with ease and confidence.
In just the way that I
know
how.
My arousal swells alongside with the music’s crescendo.
At last, the moment I know so well is at hand.
A rising, a soaring, a gliding, a cascading.
Orgasmic breath emerges from my lips.
I giggle with glee as the waves undulate again and again, weaving fractals across my third eye. ? ? ?
Ah, I exhale with satisfaction. But we’re not done here. I can sense there is one hiding behind the first.
The deeper layer that yearns for release.
The layer that whispers, “Tell me more.”
Where the secrets and the fates and the furies are hidden.
With delighted focus, I coax her into revealing her sacred cipher.
The code is broken and the secret is released.
My mind solves great mysteries, my heart heals nations, and my spirit dances with the cosmos.
After the second waves recede, I engage my mula bandha, my root lock, and pulse my divine currents upward throughout my vibrating womb and limbs. ?
Hours, years, centuries pass as I drift back into consciousness.
A Cheshire Cat grin spreads across my lips.
“Was it good for you?” I ask.
“Oh yes, my love.” I respond.
I fold myself into a deeply nourishing, post-coital embrace.
I murmur a dreamy declaration of self-love:
“I love you, Lea.” Breath.
“I love you, Lea.” Breath.
“I love you, Lea.” Breath.
I relocate my generosity and know that all will be well with my beloved.
All is most certainly well between me and me.
⦑ lea Ælla ⦒
Poly Compassion Queen
~ written for those isolated alone and struggling to start or maintain a self-pleasure practice in this time of COVID ❤️
