So I picked up my oil paints again a few days ago

Desire

DESIRE

It can waste away – unused
Fade gently
Die quickly
Rise sharply
Slow burn to an intense high
Peak too soon
Be a passing phase
Make you wonder if it existed at all
Ensnare you brain
Ensnare your body
Confuse your mind
Delight your senses
Enliven your skin
Quicken your pulse
Scare your sensitivities
Challenge your pre-conceptions
Spark your creativity
Get your juices flowing
Lead you into the unknown, down unlit pathways, around blind corners and dump you terrified centre-stage with eyes of strangers upon you

annoyingly enthusiastic mature age student

So as some of you may know, I started a writing course this year. I am loving it. I only took one subject this semester as I wasn't sure how I would go after a 25 year break from formal study. I should have done more but hindsight is a wonderful thing.

I've met some inspiring people in my fellow students and last week during an event titled 'Word Con' I met some inspiring teachers. A range of presentations across variously related fields were given by professionals at the coal face of writing and publishing. If you're looking to find employment upon conclusion of the course, then definitely this kind of event would be appropriate. 

It's renewed my faith in next semester after what I consider a shocking attrition rate from my class this semester. I also got to meet students in other years and basically I do feel that I'm in the right place. Melbourne Polytechnic has an aesthetically attractive campus, is an easily accessible walk/ride from home and I'm feeling good about what's to come. 

So from here I need to figure out my subjects for next semester, pop up and visit the lovely Lucy in admin and continue to be that annoyingly enthusiastic mature age student that I am. Yay!

one person's experience

I told myself that it was too raw to write about but as anyone who knows me knows – I have zilch willpower. I paid up. It was voluntary. No one forced me into it. For years I’d had a curiosity, an itch that needed scratching. Subliminally I’m sure I recognised the logo and name from passing it so many times. It was only three doors up from my favourite bar and bottle shop.

Consistent effective branding with on-trend interior design backing up their message, the 100% white-washed 14 foot ceilings and wide waxed floorboards accentuate the eye floaters dancing in front of my vision. By the end of the long day session, my fading acuity of sight will be multiplied in the subdued atmospheric lighting.

The group of 26 workshop attendees and 6 facilitators sit cross legged on army regulation dark grey wool blankets. My lower back will be pushed to its comfort boundary by the closing of the ten hour session. Median age early 20’s to mid thirties, these upper middle class women self-describe as ‘open, intrigued, curious, nervous, tired and excited’. I can’t help but wonder how much is said honestly as how much is self-delusional. Do they say what they feel or what they think they’re supposed to say?

We all do a little hands-up agreeing to ‘what happens in the safe space, stays in the safe space’.  These women-only workshops costs more than I make in a day and the cynic in me can’t help but do a quick arithmetic to work out what this workshop might net.

The workshop exercises designed to break down our layers reek of self-congratulations and are non-inclusive of gender diversity, sexual orientation, age and experience. One of facilitators delightfully goes off-script often, her individuality showing through the uniform.

I sense too many over-porous people desperately seeking meaning, connection and reassurance. A one day workshop isn’t going to achieve this; regardless how many references are cited in the 20 page handout. Looking to be awakened their external crusades will provide fruitless, and I bear witness to their awkward confusion. Upon returning home, I have to scrub my skin to cleanse myself of the loose energy.

I was there myself, looking for something I had heard others describe. I was utterly underwhelmed. Lingam and yoni massage are useful things to learn but I don’t feel I learned anything new. I’m not saying the techniques demonstrated aren’t useful to a lot of people. I have already done a lot of energy work and felt I landed in a room of beginners.

I’m the kind of person with whom it takes a little while to accept people into my circle but once you’re in, you’re in. The non-sexual intuitive touching exercise really didn’t do it for me so I chose to sit (stand) out. The facilitators dutifully checked in with me to ensure I was ok. I was but I didn’t fancy touching people I don’t know. Call me strange. . .

The final section of the day reinforced their other courses on offer – read up sell at a $50 discount for today only.  I won’t be signing up for more. I don’t take the bait that maybe on some future course I may find the missing piece of the puzzle. I honestly believe that I would do better in a smaller group situation or solo situation. I need to state that I believe Tantra to be very useful to most people and anyone who wishes to work on their sexuality and relationships is definitely making steps in the right direction. I also met some delightful, radiantly beautiful women.

As our final exercise, we state our intention for the future and I willingly state mine as my feelings towards the workshop do not diminish my reason for signing up in the first place.

“I reconnect to myself as a sensual and sexual being”

We then wrote down what obstructs us from achieving this, burnt the written paper is was written upon, turned and walked down an avenue of love entering the world as a new born version of ourselves.

 And all I could think of was ‘Hurry up, there will be too many people at the bar by now.”

NSFW - I don't do this sort of thing

The following piece was written a few years ago for an erotica night that I was asked to perform at. Maybe read it out aloud to get the idea.

I don't do this sort of thing  

So where to start, how to explain

I don’t do this sort of thing.

You need to know that.

I barely knew him. We’d only briefly emailed, talked once, but the moment his hand touched my cheek my breathing slowed and my voice changed timbre.
I don’t do this sort of thing.

He knew he could reach inside my dress, gently bring out my breast and gradually pinch my nipple. He looked me in the eye the entire time.
I don’t do this sort of thing.

As a gentleman, he walked me to my car. We kissed passionately, with hands wandering. He said “Next time you won’t wear any panties”. I retorted “Is that so?” and secretly thought “He is probably right”.
I don’t do this sort of thing.

He sent me a diagram of a self-bondage tie I was to wear out that evening. I pleaded to be excused and he granted my request. I asked if I could wear my silver jewellery collar instead. He agreed.
I don’t do this sort of thing.

Every time my collar moved or became uncomfortable during the evening, I was reminded of the reason I was wearing it. When I came home, I achieved the rope tie, took a photo of myself in it and sent it to him. I slept like that.
I don’t do this sort of thing.

That afternoon he arrived with only a few minutes’ notice. All morning I had found myself cleaning my house….preparing.
I don’t do this sort of thing.

I opened the door and let him in. He took the rope from his bag and firmly bound my breasts. With nipple clamps attached, he guided me to my knees.
I don’t do this sort of thing.

Clearly I do.