This is a re-post from three years ago. Still current today :)

I just had sex with someone I would normally never get into bed with.
And it was one of the sweetest experiences I have had.

Internet dating. It’s still a whole new world for me.

We met for a date after a week of banter and as soon as I saw him I had that ‘o-shit’ feeling of realising that he was catastrophically awkward and nervous.
I guard against that these days by going straight to phone calls after the initial internet contact. For me chemistry is not in the text messages. Chemistry is in voice and energy. Chemistry is live and cannot be faked or pushed. My body just knows, yes or no, usually when I hear someone’s voice, definitely when I first see them.

We’d had some great conversations, easy and funny and there was something odd about him but I am a strangeling myself and underneath his oddness was a super intelligent, witty man with whom conversation flowed. So I said yes to dinner and in my head was planning to take him home. Because it’s been a while and I am not looking for happily ever after at this point, and I am a sex bomb with a body built for sin and I know how to drive it. Like I stole it. No shame in here. And it’s been a while and I was antsy. Kinda climbing the walls.

So.

He walks into the restaurant and I immediately think oh well, that’s it, it’ll be a nice dinner. He’s terrified and frozen and almost stuttering so I talk a lot and he asks all the right questions and gradually relaxes and I find myself chuckling inside because I like him, he’s honest and curious. He’s a gigantically big-brained nerd and he’s turned his attention to spirituality and found a way to reconcile science and spirit, has found buddhism and meditation and now he wants to find out everything, he’s open to all the possibilities. He doesn’t judge, is fascinated by everything I say, not as artifice or manipulation. Genuinely fascinated.

Which it turns out, is sexy.

I started wondering what his kisses would be like. At that moment he kissed me, tiny little bird pecks so soft I could hardly feel them.

O dear, I thought. There was no passion, no fire, no heat. Nothing to fan the flames of my desire.

But my rightness wouldn’t let it go. I could feel the tiger locked inside him. So I took him home and encouraged him to unleash and o boy was it worth the effort. For me, making love is an art form and I am an artist, we all are, inside somewhere, it’s just a matter of coaxing that part out.

I introduced him to some things and he was a quick study. Still awkward, but gorgeous with it. I told him exactly what I needed, hands, mouth, all of it; what pressure, what angle, what speed, how and when and where. He paid attention, to our mutual satisfaction. I probably had about ten orgasms, though I lost count after three or four.

Turns out the last time he had had sex with someone new was 20 years ago. Afterwards he said, kind-of hesitantly… ‘So… are you more sexual than other women?’

I laughed and said ‘There are more of us out there.’

‘I’ve never had sex like that, ever. I didn’t know women could have orgasms like that. I didn’t know you could communicate and talk during sex. You just told me what to do. I didn’t know women could do that either.’

He’s mid 40s, and just had great sex for the first time in his life.

He’s gone on his way now all fired up about learning about sacred sex, and I reckon he’s going to be doing some workshops and exploring a whole new universe of the body and bringing bliss to women along the way .

It got me thinking, which is why I’m writing this post, about women’s sexualities.
Back in my late 20s to late 30s I went through a period where I identified as gay. I had sex with lots of women. I have also had sex with lots of men. So I have accumulated a bit of experience, and I speak from that place. I’m not saying any this is true for you, but it’s true for me.

When it comes to sex, women tend to be a combination lock. Our emotional state factors in hugely; are we angry or sad or frustrated or needy or feeling unseen or unloved? Have the kids been hanging off us all day like baby birds with their mouths endlessly open? Is the moon in pisces have I got the promotion does my bum look big in these jeans? Are the lights horrible is there music what if I don’t get wet and he notices and I haven't had a shower do I… you know… smell? Is he going to want to stick it in my bum?

And then there is the physical, mechanical stuff. Some like it up and down, some like round and round. Some like a pointy tongue tip, others need flat pressure. Some like their clits sucked, for others it means immediate desensitising. Hood on or hood off? Fingers hooked in to the g spot or fingers thrusting or no fingers at all? And that’s before we even get to penetration… tip or shaft, deep or shallow? Tease or fierce?

What about that moment when we are done, we have had enough, we want to stop, and feel obligated to keep going even if it now hurts or we are silently gritting our teeth and bearing it?

The pressure to have an orgasm very often kills any chance of it actually happening. Sometimes it is easier to just give up on the whole thing, or fake it to bring the whole sordid act to an end.

How on earth are men expected to figure all of this out if we don’t tell them? Seriously, how? I feel for men, the pressure must be huge as they go in; either they become bloodhounds on the scent, alert for every subtle change in body language, every sigh and moan, or they give up and just pound their way to their own pleasure, cos frankly it’s all too hard to figure out and we aren't telling them.

We aren't telling them.

Last night, my lover was so so grateful for a small act; me simply telling and showing him what I needed, and as soon as he strayed from what worked, gently correcting; ‘not like that, please, like this.’ He was an eager and attentive student of my body. What’s not to love about that?!

I’m about to hold a workshop helping women dive into their authentic power, and it strikes me every time I run a Heart of the Huntress retreat that getting our needs met is a huge part of women being powerful in the world. And for a million reasons, many (if not most) women feel like they have no voice. It feels impossible to say anything. Whether it is in bed or in a job or a relationship. Not like that, like this. This works for me. I need. We can be paralysed in so many situations because from some young age we have been taught that it is not safe to have needs, let alone express them.

I need.

Neediness has become a swear word, where for me, needs are just that. Needs. Not optional extras, not fringe benefits. They are needs. We have bodies that need to be touched the right way, and when they are we flower and bloom into ecstasy, which our lovers will adore and want more of. If they're actual lovers, that is. We need intimacy and love and connection, we need to feel nourished and fulfilled for ourselves in our lives, not just in service to everyone else. We need to have parts of our lives just for us, where we come first.

We come first. Pun intended.

And hopefully second, third, fourth and fifth.

This didn’t come naturally to me, by the way. Speaking my needs in sex. I worked on this over decades, and it was often excruciatingly difficult. First saying one thing. Just one thing that I wanted. Then two things. It was so hard to speak for a very long time. But if you too are on that path, my fine sister (or brother), I encourage you to persevere. Sacred sexuality workshops can be a great place to explore your needs and desires in a safely held environment. (And of course, be discerning, ask for recommendations from friends, and above all trust your instincts. These can be dangerous waters.) Perservere. It’s worth the effort.

Desire is sexy. Sexual energy is life force in motion. Our bodies are designed to hold it and channel it and through this kundalini unfurling our awareness will expand into states of bliss. If we are to get the most out of this miracle of a creation we call a body, a bit of gentle guidance to the person in our bed makes all the difference.

And if you are a lover of women, and the woman you are with isn't speaking up, you can invite her to do so. Say, 'Show me how you do it. Show me how you touch yourself.'

It is such a simple thing, but it can unlock so much. Show me. It says: I am interested, I am curious, I want to know. I will pay attention. Your body is divine and special to me and I want to know how to please you. Show me. Tell me.

Sometimes women are shy at first but with encouragement they can be coaxed into revealing what works for them, especially if you keep asking... like this? Women will often deflect out of habit; don't worry about me, I'm fine, or (for many of us a secret fear)- it'll take too long. But persistence pays off and once she realises that you really do want to know, and you show her that you have heard her by doing things the way she has communicated, and that she is allowed to enjoy this too, and that you don't mind taking some time for her, everything can open up into a whole new realm of shared bliss.

So let's all speak up!
I’m sitting in a cafe with a smile on my face and a delicious humming in my body, knowing that an experience that could have been a total disaster was a beautiful dance of mutual sexual magic. I may never see him again, but I know he is going to be spreading the joy from our encounter for the rest of his life. And today, I am a well fucked woman.

PS.
I'm running a 7 day retreat exploring this and other material using 5rhythms dance meditation, archery, and a whole host of awesome tools. It's on the south coast of NSW, 8th - 14th May 2021. It's called Women, Unchained.

Here's the link to check it out on this website if you're called.
​https://www.wildheart.life/women-unchained.html

Big love
G

​Summer drops like a flat heavy hand. I'm not sure if I'm gasping from the heat or because it's just hard to push through walls right now, of any kind. Humidity a wet fist squeezing my heart.

I think I'm a wee bit depressed. Not 'can't get out of bed' or 'where's the door' or 'woe is me'... this is more of a low grade existential hum, studded with stones. I just... can't be bothered.

I'm so used to rivers of joy winding through me, no matter what is going on, that this has taken me a bit by surprise. I haven't been writing, haven't been making music. And for those of you who know me, this one's a biggie... I haven't had any lovers. Not for lack of availability... I just...
Can't be bothered.

It's like a cosmic meh has settled into the spaces between my cells. Some godlike teenager has possessed my psyche, sulky and irritable, rolling its eyes and lurking sneaky-smart, looking for the moment when mum and dad aren't watching so it can disappear into its starry room and watch mindless crap on the universal internet.

There's a gorgeous intelligence at work in humanity, dancing. I watch myself doing the things that move me out of stagnation, because in nature, anything that stagnates, dies. I know this, and my survival instincts are strong, keep me Human, but these times are so strange, it's like I'm looking through lenses and someone's switched the colour spectrum, not much, but enough to keep me off balance. The landscape is different in here now. I'm questioning everything, tracking the cluster of feelings and thoughts and sensations loosely arranged into and through a body, this phenomenon called Gina.

I've realised some things.

I'm an introvert by nature, but I constantly throw myself into the middle of groups to keep me from floating away. I use extroversion as a survival mechanism. And without the constant call to engage and meet the need of a group that comes with teaching, facilitation, running classes and retreats and workshops and camps, there hasn't been the call to arms to keep me connected to people. I've kinda... drifted. The natural introvert that I am has nothing to keep it in check. It's very very easy for me to be alone, which scares me a little, because some of the ropes tethering me to people are feeling thin. I could become a wilderness version of the crazy cat lady, a hermit living in the bush, talking to the birds and clouds.

A couple of nights ago I caught up with an ex, one with whom I can be completely vulnerable. The love is still all there, so it's hard, real-time, for both of us, but we're finding our way in friendship and part of that is that whenever we get together we dive right back into a connected, delicious relationship of honesty and vulnerability. Capital R Reality, no matter how painful. Which for me is so good it hurts.

I started talking about my experience in life right now, and in the reflection of that conversation, in the compassion of another human heart, deeply listening without judging (or managing whatever judgement was arising, he's great like that) realised how far I've floated, in this year of social distancing, and how much our human connections reaffirm our identities, and without human contact, a different shape can arise in us. I see that we constantly correct our course, mostly instinctively, choosing the people and situations around us to bring us balance. It was so good to let the strange energy of formlessness arise and be witnessed so I could trace the shape of this part of myself in the world and in that mapping, transform the edges of it. Scientists have been saying it for ever. When something is observed, it changes.

I also see that this last six months has been the balancing comedown from the incredible creative explosion of the first part of last year, when I was recording my album. When I allowed myself to fully let go of all responsibility and blaze with pure creativity, fuelled by probably the most intense sexual affair of my life, sex and music intertwined, fizzing and vital and multidimensional, tapped into what felt like the main vein of god. Drinking from it like a greedy child, alight with pure vision. Music dancing me, effortless. Energy braiding me earth to heavens, body to heart to spirit, life to poetry to music to love to comets to an ocean of intensity, electric rain in my eyes. Insights flowering minute to minute. I know I can't live there forever, and the return hurts, there's a grief in coming back to mundane consciousness. I know why creatives can go a little (or a lot) insane. It's pretty big out there, and there are lots of stars.

The human heart thinks in metaphors. I see elegant patterns everywhere. It's like watching a seabird lifted by invisible eddies around high ocean cliffs. If you stare long enough, you can see the shape of the wind, traced by the wings of the bird.

Watching, noticing. Patterns. Chaos, upheaval, a change in perceived freedom. Last year, the many years before... I skipped through a life of travel, facilitation, running classes and workshops, adventures... all the hubris and privilege of a first world existence. The privilege of resources, enough to enable me to follow my desires. What they were is irrelevant. I danced my passions because I've been born in a healthy body in a wealthy nation to a family who love me, where all my needs are met. Riches.

And now, the cosmic teenager in me is having a tantrum, because I can't do those things any more in that way. And around me, the world of humans is struggling the way species do when their environment is under pressure. When their resources are under pressure. It's all very well to be in love in peacetime. Holiday affairs are blissful things, because they aren't real. It isn't until you get home and the every day reality of 'who takes out the garbage' and 'who has to work to pay the rent' and 'how do we manage this illness' and 'I feel like you're not listening' and 'why can't you meet me' kicks in that you either find the will to do the work or you bail.

Our culture, our modern first world existence, has given us a million opportunities to bail, when something feels hard. And now those options have dwindled, and we're faced globally with the capital R Reality of the realisation that holy shit, there is nowhere to hide, and we have to do the work. We can't leave this relationship, because it's with ourselves, with our planet, all the places we've distracted ourselves so as not to feel.

I love the genius of this. It feels kinda horrible at times but how amazing, it's like big mama Gaia has just sent us all to our rooms to have a good long think about things. And much as we can point the finger and throw blame around like dogshit into a fan, we can't change some fundamental truths and they hurt and are scary and we have to find ways to deal with them.

So although I'm a bit depressed, I'm not worried about myself. Curious, perhaps. I'm watching, and consciously putting myself back into situations where I have to reach through, find my humanity, engage. This is the first thing I've written in months and I feel rusty and awkward but I can see where the words are hiding and begin to coax them out. I'm facilitating Survival Quests and Vision Quests. I met with Tank a week ago to talk about launching the Gigi and Lovetank album, and I'm excited, we've got a precisely calendared schedule of staggered releases of singles, online performances, video clips... he's mentoring me through the whole thing with the benefit of a couple of decades in the music biz. I'm super grateful. I've just had a romp with a new lover, and it's like slipping into a delicious warm bath, remembering that dance, skin to lips to fire. I'm choosing vitality. Eating better. Waking up again. Choosing to move.

I'm remembering how to be alive.

And I'm naming all this because there's a thread running through the conversations I am having. Many of my friends are struggling in ways they never have before. So if that's you, if you're feeling a little lost or hopeless or flat or the cosmic teenager with the bad haircut and ripped tshirt with MEH plastered across the front has taken up residence somewhere in your emotional house, I see you.

I see you, and I love you.