Hello, beautiful Well Lived Woman community! Katrina here. I first walked into WLW earlier this year on a visit to LA and fell in love with the space immediately. Later this summer I was passing through en route to Joshua Tree. I was treating a friend to a facial at Honest Rituals and wanted to get some work done while she was getting loved on. It just so happened to line up with the co-working Tuesday at WLW. I got to connect with Jaimi IRL over her homemade lemon pie. We chatted about all things sexuality and I felt I had met a kindred spirit. I am really excited to be sharing some of my storytelling work with this community in the months to come. The story below is some of my most recent writing (I write alongside my clients all throughout the year).

A little backstory here: Aside from Revealed®, I have been facilitating nude womens-only workshops (Bodysex®) for the past seven years (maybe we will get to those eventually at WLW 🙃). They are full-on 2-day workshops designed to help people shed body shame and pleasure anxiety. Dr. Betty Dodson started Bodysex® as a response to women faking orgasms at “liberated” sex parties happening at the time (not an entirely different scene to today).

I was trained directly by Betty during her last few years of life. My Bodysex® workshops are a place for women to practice being in a deep, connected relationship with themselves alongside other women doing the same. It’s freaking beautiful. A lot comes up in these two-day workshops, as you might imagine. On the first day, we do a ritual called “genital show and tell.” It’s a cross between experiential anatomy training and an art viewing party. We use design principles (line, shape, colour) and architectural genres (Renaissance, Gothic, Baroque, etc) to inform our commentary. It’s incredibly vulnerable, healing, and usually full of laughs. I always go first and show the women everything on my own body.

So, at my last workshop, I sat in front of the mirror and spread my legs like I have done dozens of times. This time, when I saw my vulva, I immediately thought of my first sexual partner’s (rather saggy) balls. Let’s call him John. And let me tell you, I was certainly not expecting his balls to come into my world like that! Genital show and tell is done neutrally… as in most often, I am not turned on, and my erectile network is flaccid (yes, women have erections…all genders have the same amount of erectile tissue; it’s simply arranged differently). So my outer labia were looking a little deflated. Not my favourite, but it was fine. It was funny looking in the mirror and thinking of my first partner’s balls in my own vulva. I shared this thought with the group, and we all had a great laugh. It eased us into the ritual perfectly.

Fast forward a week after the workshop… and the stars aligned to bring John back into my life (or perhaps my vulva manifested him)?! There was a tornado at my mom’s while my family was on a little cottage trip up north. It looked like an apocalypse. Trees were down everywhere. Everyone was fine, but my mom’s basement flooded, and I had been storing a giant canvas tent in it. I lived in the forest for 5 months last year (an artist residency worthy of another story). Anyway, this tent had been through a lot, and I couldn’t be bothered to salvage it again. My mom wanted it gone if I wasn’t going to care for it. Fair. It was worth a few thousand dollars, so I wanted to try giving it to someone who could air it out instead of throwing it in the garbage. John came to mind immediately.

He’s a redneck, hunter type that’s strong, and despite being kinda rough around the edges, this man is still hot to me. John has chickens, loves lying in a hammock, and everybody’s mom (including mine) loves him. And this is the first time in our adult lives that he is single. Much to my delight, he wanted the free tent. He came over within the hour. We talked while he smoked cigarettes on my mom’s back porch. He opened up to me about his disappointments in himself, the ending of his last relationship, and how he feels like he’s behind. All of his friends with their wives and kids. How he wants to start going to counselling. It was the most tender I’ve ever seen him. As we go down to the basement to get the tent, he makes a comment about how I told him that if he weren’t with anyone by the time he was 40, I’d be with him again. I don’t remember promising this, but I love that he brought it up. I told him that if he quit smoking and did that therapy he was talking about, I’d consider it. We laughed. And then we moved the tent. 

We were all done, but it was clear neither of us really wanted to go. He asked if there was anything else. “I don’t know, let’s check,” I say. We go back down the stairs, knowing full well there was nothing. We were talking about something, and he was showing me pictures on his phone of what I don’t remember. What I do remember is feeling him really close to me. Close enough to feel the heat radiate from his body. He’s almost a foot taller than me, and I swear I can hear him smelling my head from above. Both of us were breathing each other in. The tension was palpable. We finally hug. In my mom’s fucking basement, of all places. 13 years later. I don’t let go. It was an excellent hug. I told home so. I confessed I had been thinking of him when I first arrived on this 3-week visit and how I wanted to cuddle him. He asked if I still wanted to.

I said yeah. I tell him I just want to snuggle, or else I think it will get messy. He says that’s fine. We went up to the guest house I was staying in. I asked if he could set a timer for however long he had so we wouldn’t have to worry about keeping track of time. He thinks we are going to take a nap.

I don’t remember all the details of how John and I got tangled together again, but I remember him asking if he could touch my neck. And then asking if he could kiss it. He asks if he can touch my boobs. All the tender check-ins. I remember the sweetness of that. That wasn’t a thing that happened 13 years ago. I tell him I want to keep my clothes on. He says fine. We make out and grind in every possible position for an hour. His timer goes off. He says he’s not leaving. 

The time crunch is making it hotter. He touches my pussy. First, over my underwear. He, oddly doesn’t ask for this part. And then he slid his hand under my thong. He didn’t ask for that part either. But he went for it slowly after we were grinding in every which way. And the neck makeouts. Wow. He’s still got that. My body arching, him grabbing my ass and making out with my neck simultaneously. It was hot. So it didn’t feel violating that he pushed the clothes-on boundary. My dress was around my waist, the circles he pushes around my clit over my underwear aren’t my favourite, but I wasn’t a no yet. I was still willing. When he slid his hand under my thong and put what felt like his thumb in my pussy, that’s when I was a clear no. But if I were into how it felt, I would have 100% gone for it. So, I was actually grateful for the push for more. But immediately, she (my puss) was not into it. He still doesn’t know how to do that part with me. Like he emotionally leaves when pussy comes out? But that’s also all he wants? It’s confusing. But something definitely shifts. I also wish he washed his hands before putting them inside me after smoking two cigarettes. I told him that. He apologized. And you know what? It still stayed warm and kind between us. We lay in bed and chatted.

It’s wild. I kind of want to try again. I want to cover him in oil and rub his cock on my clit so fucking slowly. I want him to understand the required pacing and how little force is required once our clothes come off. I want my pussy to bloom open to him. I want him to understand and experience this. I want him to know in his body how much good is available with so little effort when you start slow and gentle. I want to let our naked bodies get to know each other without agenda. I see now that I gave him all the power way back when I was 16. I never spoke up or offered an alternative direction to what he was doing. He always turned me on, but when we got naked, things shifted. I got scared and quiet when I didn’t like what was happening. I never said anything, and I sure as hell never ran the fuck. Ever. And that’s not good for him either. So much pressure to read my mind. I could have just shown him what I like. But I didn’t know how to do that then.

It was cool to have a similar experience to when we were 16 but not feel hurt by it at all anymore. It’s not personal that he doesn’t know how to touch my clit in ways I like.

I’m getting turned on thinking about showing him. Is that what love does? Feels the love underneath and shows them what’s needed? Or is that rescuing? Masquerading as love?

Can teaching be part of love? Or does someone need to know and see me at some specific level before?

Can someone’s being-ness be enough? And you figure out how to support each other and be good to each other from there?

Is that not what love is?

Anyways. We didn’t fuck. Well, it was my kind of fucking. We were connecting sexually. He wouldn’t call that fucking. But it was beautiful, tender, and animalistic, and I wish I had more time with him.

I truly wish so much goodness for him. And for me. I love us. I told him I cared for him a lot. He said he did, too. I didn’t say it, but I felt love swelling in my chest while we rolled around my bed. There were so many tender moments. And checkins. And eye contact. 

I really didn’t see that coming. Life, man. What a trip. 

Clothes on sexyness. That stopped when we got into pussy. Cuz she knows what’s up now. You know, I think she always has. It’s just that now I give her a voice. My pacing might annoy some people, but it is brilliant. It cannot be bypassed. Also. I think that man loves me. And I don’t really want naked sex without truth on the table. From me or him. Vulnerability. I really think it’s someone’s heart that opens my devotion. I think devotional sex will be the most beautiful, fun ride. I have a feeling it’s gonna get nasty in a really healing way, too. And whether it is with my first boyfriend or someone else, I heard the voice of my pussy loud and clear. She wants a lot. A lot of time and spaciousness to bloom open to someone. And she knows when it’s not enough. She’s had some really great sex. Truly. My last partner and I took months to listen to each other in that way, and the safety and hotness that opened up from that space were absolutely incredible. She’s not settling. And she’s gonna get it. 

I told him about seeing his balls in my vulva while we lay in bed after… “My saggy balls?” He says. “Yeah,” I say, and we laughed and laughed. I think I snorted I laughed so hard. He knew all along. He said he just runs hot. He thinks his sperm are reaching away from his body to stay the right temp. I don’t think he’s wrong. Bodies are smart and cool. And I love that we could just talk about that now. 

So much the same. So much love. It was really cool to feel how much more skillful my love is now. The raw ingredients of love are so good. But with communication and self-awareness, it’s a lot less messy. I have safety in myself now. And that frees me up to love a whole lot more. I’m not depending on my partners to keep me safe anymore. I can trust myself to navigate their emotions and desires without compromising myself.

I am celebrating that. 

Katrina is a group facilitator, storyteller, and educator. She works in the realms of sexuality, pleasure, and embodiment. She also facilitates Bodysex® workshops for women, and sexual storytelling courses for all genders. Connect with her on Instagram.