Desire is a Dirty Word

Eyes closed, I feel myself sinking down into the infinite depths of my inner ocean—such a noiseless, peaceable place. As I surface, my eyes flutter open and I take in the most beautiful woman in the world sitting before me. Her chest soaked in my tears, the embrace of her bosom and body is the safest, softest place I’ve ever landed.

This particular thread began weaving last Thursday evening. Four of us, two men and two women, sit together, revealing our desires. There is no expectation that any of these desires need to be fulfilled, and this alone creates safety for us to push beyond our comfort into even edgier inclinations.

Near the end of the session, these seven words tumble out of someone’s mouth, “I want to have a sex slave.” Even more surprising are the ones that follow from another, “I want to be a sex slave.”

We all sense that we’ve left the well-traveled terrain of culturally acceptable, and find ourselves in the outer reaches of some unknown. Our collective spaceship creaks and moans as we edge into the unexplored darkness. Are we allowed to be here? What creatures lurk in these shadows? Are we bad or wrong just for feeling curious?

I’m 11 years old, in a closet with my friend Holly, we’re playing dress up. To try something on, she takes off her clothes. I remember feeling curious, warm, even tingly as I notice her body and that she has a “private part” just like mine. My mom knocks on the door. “Hey, you better not be naked in there together.” My mother’s tone tells me we’ve done something we can get in trouble for—something wrong.

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Back to Thursday evening. We take it a step further - talking directly to each other instead of to the group as a whole. One of the men looks me in the eye and speaks his desire. “Ali….I want to be your sex slave.” His words, uneasy but firm, feel electric in the air. I sit quietly as they land and sink into my skin. He moves his attention to another person and then one more, naming his desires, specifically, personally, and with radical directness. Everyone in the room takes a turn naming what they want.

By the end of the evening, we are different people. No plans are made, no further conversation, we just allow desire to live in the space, to take a breath as itself. These aches, wantings, and passions have opened a door, simply by being themselves.

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Saturday rolls around and we are all sharing the same community space again. We do a morning session of interpersonal dance practices with a larger group, the topic today about flipping power dynamics when you feel put on the spot and like your boundaries are being crossed.

As the day unfolds, I find myself in conversation with the man who told me he wanted to be my sex slave. He shares what’s been alive in him since sharing desires, “I feel like I unlocked something…and I’d like to keep that flowing.” I make myself available for him to do so, right then, giving him five minutes on the clock to share his desires with me. The texture of his communication is gentle and sweet; like listening to poetry.

“I want to fulfill someone’s needs. I want to stop wondering if I’m doing what they want, or feeling like I’m supposed to know what they want. I want to rest in the knowing that they are in control. And then, I want to reverse roles and have full permission to ask for what I want.”

I feel the same quality of his desire that was spoken last Thursday.

Our energetic dance around this opening feels so intimate. We attune to ourselves and the other to see if we are on the same page. We begin to imagine our container, to dream up what this could even look like.

We structure our experiment: 4 days, 2 days in each role, one person gives commands, the other fulfills them. Both are always at choice: yes, yellow, or “avocado.” Said in any environment at any time, avocado means “Stop and completely disengage from whatever is happening right now.” This gives us the safety to stretch. It gives the person saying it the power to leave any situation at any time. It also means that the person receiving “Avocado” never has to worry whether they’ve crossed a line.

Once again, we rest in the safety of knowing that this is just a conversation, and means nothing about whether we are really going to do this. There is so much juice in simply being with the possibility.

At that moment, the other two from Thursday walk into the room and join us. It feels deeply aligned, as they too have been crafting their own container just across the way. However, when I’m asked about what we’re creating, I find myself hesitating to answer. It’s subtle like a soft breeze but my energy has changed.

I know the signs now - I’m frozen. Because of all the work I’ve done, I’m aware sooner, and I still have some agency but every moment it’s getting harder and harder to feel myself. I turn my attention inward and listen for what my system is trying to tell me. I feel a pull towards the other woman. Something in me wants to talk with her privately, just the two of us.

The me of yesterday would have never interrupted a group conversation to ask for something that would drastically shift the energy of the moment and orient solely towards my wants/needs. But I’m learning that I matter.

I open my eyes and turn towards the other woman. The whole group is waiting for me. I feel uncomfortable. I can’t seem to look anywhere but the floor, but I muster up courage and say “I’d like to speak with Anna, just the two of us for 15 minutes.” There. I said it.

The two of us make our way out onto the balcony. We sit facing each other, just us and the ocean under the canopy of night. I’m still frozen, I can’t find the right words. She’s listening and speaks from the silence, “I want to know how it affects your body to hear that I’m going to do this container?”

I close my eyes and listen.

Her voice is tender, “I am going to do this container with your lover, Kyle.”

I’m numb. I ask her to tell me more.

“I’m going to have sex with Kyle in this container.”

Other than heat rising up and down my torso, I have no access to my own interior.

Fortunately, Anna knows what to do next.

“Now I’m going to tell you the opposite.”

I breathe, preparing myself again.

“I’m not going to do this container with Kyle. I’m not going to have sex with him. And the reason why is because of you. My relationship with you matters more to me than an experiment.”

The tears come, quietly at first, then cascade down my face. Anna moves close, wrapping her arms around me, saying over and over like a lullaby, “I got you.”

I’ve never been held like this before. I’ve been held by men while crying. This is different. The softness is indescribable. In our meeting there is endless space. She’s no longer Anna, she’s the cosmic mother holding me without conditions.

After the first wave of crying subsides she places her hand on my heart, “Your heart is worth protecting.” She doesn’t know that her hand is resting on the plate of armor just above an open, gaping wound. The warmth of her hand dissolves the metal, her words weave into my wound as threads of healing light.

The tears become a torrent, I feel like I will never stop. It doesn’t matter. I can cry forever if I need to.

I was finally feeling all of the bottled-up pain that had gathered drop by drop.

It is a lightbulb moment for me that I can be a “no” to this. The version of myself I’ve been the last year was never a “no” to anything involving other people’s choices to relate with one another. I place a high value on sovereignty and freedom, but where we are intellectually and where we are in our body/heart/nervous system can be two very different things. I want to be okay with this, but my body and heart just don’t agree.

Anna smiles at me with a bit of a wink and says, “I didn’t really want to do the container anyway. I was hoping you would tell me not to do it.”

It takes a long time for the revelation that she is willing to change her behavior to protect my heart to really sink in. I share my desire to further unwind my nervous system from its historic pain. She promises to stay by my side through the alignment process, and I believe that she means it. She and I are going slow enough to feel that this is true.

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