Day 5- Without Destination

Today I woke up exhausted and feeling a cold coming on. I got up and wrote, went out in the sunshine and wrote some more and had a great conversation with the young guy who lives next door. He sat next to me while he put a new board together and we talked about skateboarding, books and writing. He asked me about inspiration. I said just show up. That's what works for me. Show up to the paper. He talked about how skating was like that too and he talked about how people didn't always know you needed to practice every day if you want to get good at it.

Daily writing practice, daily skateboarding practice, daily masturbation practice- all of these things have power because of the intention, the commitment. You show up not knowing what will happen but you show up anyway. Will the words be good? Will you stay on the skateboard? Will you be able to come in a way that doesn't leave you feeling ashamed of how you got there?

***

Inside my house is full of people and tasks piled up to the ceiling. Laundry and dishes and the floors need to be washed. The landlord was due to stop by for the rent. I managed to get 15 minutes to myself in the sanctuary, filled the tub and could not summon the energy for rapid motion, couldn't get to getting off quickly. And so it went like this:

Slow, water, warmth. Soaping every part of this tired body with kind hands and attention. Paying particular attention to the parts that called out for it, breasts and nipples, inner thighs, labia, clit and my fingers found their way inside my cunt which felt tired too, did not leap to attention this morning but was not unkind to my hand's slow exploration.

My nipples were different, they were happy for the attention. They've felt ignored and they are now the cleanest, well soaped nipples in town. I found they had their own stories to tell me, reminding me of not so distant play times with pinching and slapping, with clamps with teeth, lips with teeth, and soft lipped, open mouthed reward.

I floated and rocked in the tub making little waves, paying attention to my breath, stretching, moving and it felt a bit like fucking does when it slows down to languid. The second or third go round when you are both sleepy and tired but haven't had enough yet so you rock together slowly, content, listening for the after- little rumbling echo spasms and the occasional, quick shudder, all body orgasms that sometimes erupt in the quiet of this locked together before sleeping.

It felt like that. That listening was to the nipple tales- that was the edge, the water and the rest of me just floated letting it play out. Remembering what all those sensations felt like, feel like and drifting. It was good to be slow today, good to be able to stay fully in my body without wandering into the badlands.

This was masturbation without destination. Self sex without a hard on. Touching without orgasm.
And that was okay for today. I move into the rest of my day with knowing what it feels like to be completely present, all the way in this body. Knowing that I can be attentive, slow and kind and that feels like some kind of miracle.