Let's Talk About Sex
It was common during my school weekends for students to get up in front of the class and share about all the healing and growth that they were experiencing as a direct result of participating in the Spiritual Psych program. One of my classmates, Adriana got up and was glowing as she excitingly shared about this new freedom she had around sex.
Adriana had been sexually abused as a child and always felt some blocks around her sexuality. She had a hard time enjoying sex and carried around a lot of pain and trauma from her past. Well, let’s just say she had felt like that until now.
Now she claimed to be completely healed after having a Yoni Massage. Now Adriana summated, “I get aroused when smelling a rose…”
Hmmm. I got to thinking. I would like to get aroused at the smell of a flower too. Of course I was secretly hoping that this massage would help me lose weight but if suddenly I was more into sex, well, so be it. I’ll take it. I asked Adriana more about the Yoni massage.
Being in a room with two hundred people who have gathered because they enjoy the types of conversations that we had in Spiritual Psychology School, opened me up to whacky **** even I had never heard of. Usually I was brightest bulb in the tanning bed but not so at school.
Everyone had a life coach, a past life regression specialist, a chakra healer and an energy balancer. At any given weekend, people boasted about this seminar, raved about this holistic healer and compared the latest raw food diet. It was a fellow classmate who suggested Adriana get a Yoni massage after hearing her discuss her sexual blocks and history.
“Go!” Adriana encouraged me. “It has changed my life!”
“But Aegina,” some classmates argued, “you were not sexually abused. It sounds like it could be healing for people who have molestation in their experience.”
Listen, I may not have been abused in the conventional way but my sexual history was far from healthy. I grew up believing that if you were desirable, a guy would **** you (or screw you as my mom and Tricia say).
Every movie I saw had the token fat or ugly girl that no one wanted to kiss or be with. I was petrified that not having sex would scream so loudly that I was undesirable that I decided I would have to have sex as soon as possible. But having sex meant I had to allow someone to touch my body, which I was not on good terms with as a teenager.
I couldn’t imagine having sex with someone I knew. I feared that they would learn the truth under the girdle and tell everyone else. And you can replace “girdle and fat under girdle” with my “guard and my true-self under my guard.”
By age sixteen, I was panicked and knew I was pushing it. Everyone I knew had been sexual active by then and I was left in a group with this one girl who was saving herself for marriage (excusable virgin) and one girl who was drop dead gorgeous and wanted a fairy tale -losing- her- virginity- story (totally justifiable virgin.)
When I went to Greece that summer, I drank heavily every night and had sex with a few guys. Not at once but over the course of the three weeks. I suddenly decided I would try to elude people into believing that I was the type of girl who only slept with Europeans.
Only then did I relax knowing the other girls would now have to catch up to me. I went from minus one to plus several. It meant so much to me that I was able to participate in conversations about penises and sex stuff.
The truth was, I thought sex was the most overrated activity in the world. Granted, the scene was more like me leaning against a large sharp boulder with some drunken stranger who didn’t speak English literally drooling all over me.
Every so often I would have sex with some random guy so as to keep current for the conversations that came up around having sex. I suppose it’s like when Tricia takes a CPA courses on- line to keep her license updated.
In the four years that followed, I only knew one-night stands. I did not have sex with the same person more than once until my first real boyfriend and that was when I was twenty-one. Technically, he was my second boyfriend. I didn’t even have sex with my first boyfriend. We were high school sweethearts and he was gay.
I was fat, and Gay was gorgeous. He was Italian. He got ‘best dressed’ in high school. He adored me. We were best friends. I just did not want to believe that he was gay because he said he liked me and I just wanted that to be possible.
We would get drunk and make out and he said he wanted to marry me. I loved him and if he was gay well then that ****** it all up. Why can’t a hot guy like and love me? I refused to believe he was gay.
Sure, his hairspray bottle was the size of a small missile. And yes, he was a diver, like Greg Louganis and crossed his legs and had that bent wrist thing happening. But why couldn’t he just be feminine?
Do you know what dating a gay guy did to my already low self- esteem? We watched movies under the covers on Saturday nights in high school while his parents were away and nothing happened.
Nothing. Unless we were drunk and out in public. Then he was all over me. Closet gay guys do that. It’s now a “how to know your boyfriend is gay” sign. They only display affection in public; it’s for show.
In any event, back then I thought it was me. I thought he just wasn’t sexually attracted to me. We were still “dating” when I went to college and I tried to keep Gay only visible from his red sports car. From afar it appeared that I had a hot guy driving me around and it was all good. But when he got out of the car and swayed up the stairs in his tight booty shorts, mesh black tee-shirt and sockless loafers, I was in danger of being the girl who didn’t know her boyfriend was gay.
I loved Gay and then one day he told me he was gay and I was devastated. Not because I lost the love of my life. Not because he lied and I felt betrayed. But because the gig was up. I knew it was too good to be true.
When I was thirteen, this Chinese lady asked me and my friend, Cristi for directions and then started chatting us up. She asked us where we were going and I said to meet her boyfriend; meaning Cristi’s. The Chinese lady thought I said my boyfriend and proceeded to tell me straight up, “You have boyfriend?? No. You no have boyfriend. You too fat for boyfriend.” It wasn’t the first time I heard this. I had said it to myself all the time.
Although all of that changed and I had several boyfriends, enjoyed much better sex and had a much improved relationship with myself and my body, I still figured there was damage done and hoped that the Yoni massage could heal it.
I logged onto the website Adriana gave me and there were all these bulleted seminar topics mostly about Tantric Sex and KumaSutra. I did not see anything that said Yoni massage. I pressed ‘contact us’ and there was a small bio of a man and his picture. I assumed I was looking at a Yoni massage practitioner. The masseuse was tall, thin, bald and an ex-marine. He sat in the picture with bent knees and his arms wrapped around his legs, mountains in the background and a peaceful smile. He was about fifty -years old.
I got an e-mail back from YM (Yoni Man) and he thanked me for my interest in the Yoni massage and said before we set up an appointment, he would like me to read a brief summary he composed of the Yoni massage so I could decide if it was right for me.
The article he sent me was titled “The Yoni Passage; an opening to the soul’s magnificence.” It was a lengthy description and I skimmed through it but my eyes suddenly bulged out of my face and I covered my mouth when I got to the part that said ‘gently stroking the clitoris for several minutes…until entering the sacred yoni using several fingers….finally applying pressure to the G-spot…..”
At the end of the page it said ‘No Fee………..donations are welcome’
The Yoni was my vagina and I was about to have my vagina massaged by a vagina massaging professional