“How does your dick feel today?” I asked my spouse. We were in bed. I was checking in with him about pain level and feeling state, at the beginning part of sex. I had already asked about his head, feet, butt, tummy, and legs.
“It wants you,” he said.
“Wow! Great!’ I said. “How fortunate I am.”
I never get used to how much he wants me. Never want to take that for granted.
“How would your dick feel? If you had a dick?” he asked me.
“Well,” I said. “My clit is kind of like a dick. A little dick. It feels curious, lively, horny, hidden. It’s small but could get very… It could get very pertinent and involved. It’s full of potential.”
Yes, seemed accurate for the time. But that’s often true about my clit–full of potential.
“Is it densely concentrated?” he asked.
I thought of nerves, and how clits can have more density of nerves than dicks.
“Hmm, good question,” I said. “No. Well–I think those feelings are just regular density.”
How does your dick feel today, reader? Or whatever parts you may or may not have.
I know that’s forward to ask. But you’re here on a sex blog. Maybe you are ready for that question, showing up for that kind of love.
You dick could be tired from tons of masturbation or other sex. Your dick could be deeply withdrawn, in hibernation from inattention. Maybe your dick is sad and lonely. Or angry about some lack or injustice.
Maybe your dick is a vibrant part of you that gets moderate use and things feel balanced. Maybe its energy makes your life better. Or maybe your dick annoys you. Maybe you wish you didn’t have to think about sex and all the heartache need brings.
I think about monks who have made the experiment of turning off their sexuality. They’re outlier examples that I keep in mind as a touchstone. I respect the different sexual ways of being in the world, as long as they’re consensual. I like experimenting with ourselves. One life–let’s live it.
This morning I was lying in bed trying to sleep more and thinking about sex too much. The sexual experiences I wanted were so vivid to me, more real than real. I would make a sound, to try to express the feeling and move on. I really wanted to sleep.
Sometimes I wish my imagination was weaker. My inner life is too real. It’s hard being this out of whack with the rest of the world.
Other times, it’s like there’s gauze between me and what I imagine. I prefer some distance.
Today my dick feels hidden and not welcome anywhere. It would take a lot of work to coax myself into feeling safe enough to take off all my clothes, open my legs, and let my vulva shine its life into the room.