♦ If I were a “spiritual” sort of person, I’m pretty sure orgasms would be my religion. I don’t mean to be flippant here. It’s easy to make “Oh, God, oh, God” jokes or to make an offhand comment about worshipping wanking, but that’s not what I mean.
As I say, I’m not a “spiritual” person, but an orgasm honestly can be the closest thing I can think of to a spiritual revelation. It’s not that I feel “at one” with any kind of greater power, it’s that I feel (pun mostly certainly not intended, but jolly nonetheless) myself.
I’m talking about a solo orgasms here, though there’s a similar effect in outstanding sex. I’m alone with my body, often naked or mostly so, and no matter what fantasies or fripperies fill my head at the beginning of my masturbation, these thoughts close down as I get closer and closer to orgasm. My mind draws in and soon, almost in a meditative state, I’m not really thinking at all. My mind is only the feelings in my body. Thought is action. There is nothing but my journey and my destination.When the orgasms hit, I’m a shuddering, gasping mess and yet focused so wholly on the sensations and the power of my body. I push my body to the extreme in seizing my pleasure.
I’m not a sporty type and so, for me, my masturbation marathon is almost a real one. I’m left shaking, heart pounding, gasping, head almost bursting, cunt twitching. And I know that, unfit, overweight, sedentary slacker though I am, my body is a powerhouse. My body can do wonderful things. I feel alive, connected to each nerve-ending in me. I’m energetic, yet serene. I buzz. I am blissful. The feeling of intense, loving orgasm is, for me, a(n atheist) numinous experience. It makes me wonder and it makes me exult. It is only even more amazing for me that it is what it is without any religious element at all.
Screw finding Jesus. Screw finding myself. I have my own meditation. ♦