*Heads up! Strong adult language and themes below.* 

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This is a conversation about creation.

Some of us women have had our babies by now. The daily routine is set in place.

Me, I birth big dreams into reality. They keep me craving more, because dreams don’t take me to the edge of my bed, bend me over it and ravish me open to God.

I’ve learned exactly what it means to be a powerful creator—to speak whimsy into being. I’m a conduit of transformation. I coax thunder in a turn of a phrase that pivots points of views like an earthquake shifts the ground.

Yet, every night I writhe inside my own body, drenched in craving for luscious touch.

Dating can be like fast food and hookups are a temporary solution to my amorous impulses. Most of the hookups never link up past a swipe. I get a pen pal for a few seconds—the gleam of a connection. But the judgments and the logistics are too top-heavy to traverse. What is meant as convenience becomes a chasm, and the only way to bridge the gap is to give up dignity.

So, my body and my mind battle. One is screaming at the other to take action toward the impetuous desire to fuck every day, while the other screams back, “It. Is. Too. Much. Work!” The tension then becomes a compulsion, and before I know it I’ve given away the best of me to someone who hasn’t even taken the time to create communion.

Not a moment goes by that my second chakra is not lit up by alchemy. I’m drinking in knowledge and avoiding the gym. I am always two seconds away from a nap, because my ideas are like lightening that threaten to blow out my circuits at any moment. The rest of my chakras bow to the godhead and dispassionately go about the business of trying to keep me in balance.

I accepted my fate as an arbiter of manifestation. But, I cannot reconcile that the resulting outcomes include celibacy and unsatiated lust. Simply, if I’m such a powerful creator, then why am I not having sex every day? What actions have I left out? What priorities did I misalign with? What am I actually choosing? What lies am I blind to? What if I’m getting this all wrong?

I know that I’m not alone in arriving at the continued supposition that “I’m failing at life.” Maybe that’s dramatic, but it’s no less dramatic than not having sex daily when it’s the thing you want most. My body is a cacophony of cravings.

Lest there be any confusion, allow me this explicit description:

I want to wake up in that liminal space with his hot tongue on my clit. I want to feel the pulse of our vibratory frequencies manipulate our breath into a syncopated rhythm. I want to feel adored for my primal nature. I want lust to drip from every pore as the sweat from our intense lovemaking soaks our bodies. I want to feel the pressure of his cock pressing against my four walls, my ecstasy like a harness around him. There is not an inch of my skin that is without pleasure. These would be our morning movements, which leave room for our shadows to come out at night.

This lover of mine understands me, because he also moves at the pace of rapid creation. So, when the day is done our cups overflow into each other. He understands passion. He knows how to press me up against the shower wall and kiss me as soap drips down my body. Our sensual exchanges are never without pushing the boundaries of discovery. It is enough for the both of us. There is a magnetism between our bodies that makes fidelity inevitable.

I’m sure that at least one-eighth of the world’s population is experiencing some version of this—my fantasy to have sex every day. The rest of us are substituting some generic version of pleasure for that thing our body won’t stop asking for. I know mine is relentless in its demands.

So, I have come to afford it what it wants to the degree that it creates more ease in my life, because sadly dating has not. Connections cannot be forged and cravings cannot be managed through force. It’s not as simple as providing your palate with a variety of flavors. There is something mysterious and complex about the expression of destiny in the joining of two.

Because I’ve not yet solved the formula of how to have the type of sex I want every day, I’ve supplemented my quandaries with the notion that it’s just a matter of time and timing.

Masturbation and faith (two terms not often spoken together) are going to have to hold me over until the equation is solved.

And until it is solved, I will continue to want sex every day, but remain confounded on how to get it.

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Author: Rebekah McClaskey

Image: Cristina Souza/Flickr

Editor: Toby Israel

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