To the contrary, having dated women throughout graduate school, I was definitely more familiar than most with being close to another woman’s body. So it couldn’t have been just the mere fact of pussy that made that spring morning in Austin in 2012 so impactful.
Looking back, I think the reason it shook me down to my bones to see her pussy that day was that I had never really seen a pussy for the sake of just seeing a pussy.
For the sheer purpose of being present with another woman’s sexual body.
I’d like to share something here about my grief process of late. Sunday, a very close friend of mine died in a car accident. No warning, nothing in her life indicated the end was near. A car hit her and she was gone.
You might think that Orgasmic Meditation – or OM for short – and grief have nothing to do with one another. But that’s not my experience.
When I read the news by text Monday afternoon, I immediately threw my phone down and crumpled to the floor. The news hit me, the way news like this hits. Like a stinging electric shock. Like my vision blurring. Like my skin prickling. As if it was coming unglued from my body.
It usually starts the same way. One of us has something difficult to share. It’s like a hot potato, difficult to hold. We toss it about, circling the conversation before eventually blurting some news to the other that lands like a burning coal we didn’t see coming. Ouch! Damage is done. And we spend hours on the cleanup. And then I think, if only he had helped me warm into it, the heat wouldn’t have burned. I actually like it hot, when I choose it.