Sex is fun. Sex is more fun when you love yourself. Telling positive stories creates self-love that knows no bounds. In such stories, sex, even solo-sex, leaves knees weak, and libido highly satisfied.
My best sex ever happens when I’m by myself. Although I’m not by myself. My Broader Perspective is with me loving me as I love myself. When I have sex with myself, my entire Personal Trinity is there too. So it’s really an orgy 😂. An orgy of ecstasy.
The last time I had sex with myself, it left me weak-kneed for hours. The passion, the joy, the LOVE was so abundant…sex with others just can’t compare.
It seems weird that our society considers self-pleasure sinful or weird or even secondary to giving one’s self to another. Sometimes we give ourselves hastily in casual situations, as if giving ourselves is the means to the sexual release end.
We miss so much when we do that!
I used to think sex wasn’t sex if it happened alone. I used to call sex alone “masturbation”…a very unsexy word if you ask me. Where’s the romance in “masturbation”?
In my experience, joy of sex is off the charts when performed solo. That’s because, in telling positive stories, I’ve come to love my self.
My self-love knows no bounds. Why wouldn’t I be at the top of my list of people I want to have sex with? What’s more, knowing what I know, with weak-in-the-knees solo-sexual experiences part of my life now, why would I share myself with someone I hardly know, someone who likely is nowhere near as connected to themself as I am to me?
The tyranny of no connection
I get how desperation leads people to fucking almost anyone. So many people have no real connection with another. It’s rarer still that a person has a deep, real connection with themselves. Desperate to find connection, they look for it through the penis or vagina or other body parts of another, rather than finding the only source of unconditional, unbridled and ecstatic connection: with themselves.
It’s no surprise when sex amounts to “getting one’s rocks off”, or when sex gets stale after having sex with the same person over and over. Even someone you really (think you) love.
I’ve been there. I’ve done that.
And there I usually felt post-orgasm dissatisfaction. The more causal the experience, the more unsatisfying it was after the fact. It was fun during. But the aftermath…well, it was aftermath.
Now I know better.
Fully accepting me and feeling good
Loving me means knowing me and accepting me. That means knowing and accepting what I like. I enjoy what I enjoy and the more I do it, and accept that I’m doing it and enjoying it, the more joy I get from it.
So many stories out there say what feels good is bad. It’s the opposite people!
What’s good is good. What’s good leads you to more good. Follow that good-trail and before you know it, you’re in bliss…in bed, by yourself, yes, but also out in the world. Here’s the fringe bennie: when you’re chronically in bliss, you can’t help but meet blissful people. All those assholes? They can’t find you!
It’s deliciously mind-blowing
Accepting me happened over many years. Telling positive stories helped a lot. I’m glad I’m here, loving myself in bed and while moving through my day. Nothing compares to that. No one else’s attention matters more to me than attention I pay to myself.
And in that selfishness, I discover doing things I want to do, having things I want to have and being happy…all come easily. Joyful ecstasy of the Blissful Life. It’s available to everyone. And it will make anyone weak in the knees.