Still hanging out with Janus here. Might have gone too far back. I was remembering the days chatting on ICQ. That makes me technologically old. Anyway, I had a photo posted there that attracted chatters. One day a guy who said he was from India complimented me on my appearance and invited me to lunch. I accepted. On the day agreed he showed up at lunchtime and the security called to let me know I had a visitor. I was totally oxygen-deficient by the time I walked from my office to the gate. I was so anxious I could not breathe for he was just about to find out that the pretty lady in the photo was not me.
When I stepped out of the gate, there across the road was a tall Indian man standing near a little car. I wondered how his legs fit inside. We greeted and I went around to the passenger side to open the door, with no clue that the door opened upwards. Help was extended. During the drive, and the lunch we had clarifying conversation. Turns out that he was not too surprised that I was not who he saw, but he was fine with that as our conversation was consistent with what we had online, so he felt comfortable once we got to talking. He was an Ophthalmologist who took afternoon jogs to keep fit. I did see him a few times after our lunch date; we crossed paths jogging in the National Park and he would stop and chat a few minutes then jog on.
Why did he seek out the attention of strange young women online? It was not just young women, but more professional women whose views were useful in his self-orientation of being in a strange land. He could have done the same with men, but he considered himself a normal man who prefers to engage in activities with females unless a male is absolutely required. The level of the initial conversation was good enough to prompt a meeting. I said the right things and he decided that a lavish lunch was most fitting for us to enjoy while maintaining or raising the level of conversation on diverse topics. It was indeed educational. But for all his insistence that it did not matter that my photo was a lie, it bothered me for a long, long time because he was genuine and I was the one with the flaw. Ego trip.
The role of the Internet popped up in class recently and it was agreed that I should share at least part thereof with my readership as some might find value therein. The talk was a flow, now I have to limit my thoughts to the speed of my fingers and that can be a task sometimes, but here’s the effort, on yet another way to skin a cat. I would opt for using a surgical knife for the job, but someone once suggested an easier method – removing the underwear spreading my legs. Some form of rebuke was in order, but why sweat it. Everyone is entitled to their perception of things. We obviously did not have the same semantics on the word cat. Moving on…
The talk was about the role of pornography in the current spate of erectile dysfunction and premature ejaculation. According to our neurology, touch is the mother of senses because it facilitates numerous processes. Thus, each day we need our dose of touch. The first few minutes of being touched evokes neural responses that trigger hormone releases. And we started with oxytocin. Yes, the womb comes to mind, but right now we want to consider it as the social hormone; the one that allows for recognition and bonding and the development of trust between people. So when we hug, or play with each other’s hands, our chemical balance changes and whether or not I like you, I suddenly start smiling and considering that you might not be so bad after all.
Going back to the womb concept, it is part of the reproductive system, so I am actually stirred deeper than I admit during this innocent play. And while we consider that womb has to do with women, oxytocin is not that limited, we have it once we have a spine. So playing with the guys legs under the table at lunch or dinner will activate his, though there are more subtle methods. And as Therapists, it is within these very few minutes of massaging the client that they decide whether or not we deserve our certificate. Oh, you have good hands. Chach! It’s not about us. Never was. It is the client having their own chemical releases within and loving it. But it works for us. They look at us glassy-eyed giving us consent to touch anywhere, and the relaxed atmosphere facilitates the efficacy of our work. Thank you.
Okay, oxytocin builds for a while, then another trigger occurs. The so-called dormant thymus takes the cue and releases peptides that regulate hormone release from the hypothalamic–pituitary–adrenal axis, aka HPA axis. Well you know endorphins in that! And for all the things endorphins can do you are suddenly now only aware of euphoria and the release of sex hormones. With the thymus in the chest, near the heart, sending sweet sensations all over you, you’re sorta thinking that this could be love, but you’re fightimg the feeling because the Therapist is not really your type. And without meaning it in an undignified way, just trying to maximize the moment, you inquire how much more it would cost for her to give you that happy ending. Ending? Now? Honey we’ve only been at this for 15 minutes. You can’t possible want the massage to end on this note. But you do, you are restless, you want to focus now on contracting your pelvis and letting go of what you took so long to accumulate. But she insists, so you concede. Therapists, it’s about this time that you are advised to begin using deep pressure to create some distraction from the pleasure.
So the massage continues. Within a few more minutes another trigger occurs. What’s that? Think they call it dopamine; a big guy who is eager to add some colour to your swirl. The offer is again placed on the table because in the reality of your relationship, everything is over and done by this time. This is how touch-starved we are and our personal relationships feel the brunt of it because we don’t have time to spend creating pleasure in each other so we don’t know that mere touch can be sufficient to stir us to intoxicating levels off our own bodily chemicals. And we look to that perfect person outside ourselves to do it, and they don’t know themselves any more than we know ourselves so we keep having abortive pleasure experiences that do not take us all the way neurologically (at least) and when we are down from the premature high, we chemically hate our lovers, but we don’t realize this either. But inside something keeps nagging us that this is not the end, there is somewhere else to go, this was just another point towards the peak. But having never been there we can’t know for sure, so we store the cell memory of 5 and 15 minute loving-making and dutifully work with it, or even call it the best. But nature is merciless and the body will have what it will have even if it has to pull the wool over our eyes while it gets it. So we tank up on coffee, chocolate, etc. for our dopamine and the neurotransmitters don’t care for our reason as long as they get what they want.
Now we are just about the half hour mark in the massage and something curious happens. Another level of high emerged thanks to dimethyltryptamine, or DMT, the thing they call the spirit molecule that our pineal gland generously offers. (Now we understand why the guy who is serious about his meditation is not tripping over our sexy outfit. He experiences DMT without the physical fuss). And things get weird because you are now sure that the Therapist is an angel, you can see the halo over her head even as her somehow naked body undulates as it guides you heavenward. Interesting imagery that you don’t dare voice fill you head and when the massage is all over you try to be as cool as ever, noting that your proposal was rejected, and thank her for a beautiful massage in the softest tone you can muster. But you know the mental things you did with her the whole time that you are never going to tell. And maybe you should consider, not calling her every time you are in town, but introducing more time into your love-plays on the home front so that this benefit of hour-long touching can be had with someone with whom you actually feel something for.
Getting back to the Internet or DVD influence, it seems that our young men are suffering because their addiction to pornography is crippling their need to cultivate the types of touch, and continuous touch that lend themselves to sheer positive results in relationships. Men seem to have their major sensations locked in the genital area, women have sensations everywhere, so men have work to do to stimulate the whole body…the general idea is to touch her until she is trembling like a leaf, then the idea of penetration can arise. At least be courteous enough to facilitate her journey through three sets of hormone interventions and the two of you can work on the DMT together.
The other point was that because the brain is big on shapes and movement when porn is viewed it activates dopamine so quickly that the previous two sets of hormone are put in the shade. No need of them. But excellent masturbators are not necessarily so hot with real women, having bypassed as a norm the journey with touch. She cannot evoke an immediate dopamine response in the man, thus to feed his own urgent need he may indulge in controlling behaviour which disregards her needs and seek to get him his goal now for now. Impatient, goal-oriented sexual behavior is what our bodies come to know as lovemaking, while we fantasize of vacations where we are lazing around all day being touched.
It goes back to something I said some time ago about the unifying of the two that was suggested as requiring at least half hour of lovemaking to achieve. Our impatience and dissatisfaction within our lovemaking sessions spill over into the other aspects of our lives and taint them. I talk too much of sex, but not enough because I am convinced that everything is about sex so we need to understand it. Sex means union or unity, yoga means the same, religion means the same, and there are many other words that mean the same thing, so where really is the difference? If I say I want to have yoga with you, that’s okay. Or I want to have religion with you, that’s even better. But if I say I want to have sex with you alarm bells go off. That certainly makes me unprofessional or immoral. The mind foregoes that I am saying I want to be in harmony with you and it tosses up images of intimacy, infidelity, etc. No wonder we freeze when our religious leaders cross the sexual line. Our minds refuse to appreciate that all the great sermons and warm handshakes were leading to this moment. They were gradually removing the boundaries and creating a oneness we sometimes acknowledged and sometimes denied. For if touch stimulates oxytocin and our core/reproductive system is affected, and that core is serviced by the vagus nerve which services other areas, how do we separate our sexuality from any kind of touch? The touch of the Therapist, Priest, Parents, Pet, Friend, etc. evokes the same natural responses. How do we hate one and love the other. We might need to do like some and limit touch to householders. But the question will still arise as to whether it is right or wrong for the touch of family member to stimulate sexual responses. And I would have to clarify within myself whether it is what is evoked or how it is channeled. Listen, I want my oxytocin stirred. Give me my hug.
Now as I type I am considering women. On the basis of cell memory, and the fact that we are a large percentage of our ancestors, could it be that incidents of rape, rough lovemaking, and other cellularly-perceived forms of abuse are manifesting themselves in the form of our oh-so prevalent gynecological issues? Tension is not our friend, yet we tense ourselves as a form of protections. Have we been so fiercely protecting ourselves from various forms of spiritual, psychological, physical, etc. impositions that we have added damage to our reproductive/creative center? The body is the visible soul and the soul is the invisible body, so maybe the diseases showing up that we seem to know no reason for are from lineage, or some complication within the soul that is grounding off. But what’s more complicated is that we are trying to uproot a plant when we only have access to its physical branches because its roots are in the ether somewhere.
So maybe releasing the tension in our pelvis does not necessarily require physical sex/union, but rather learning to own our sexuality, to touch our own skin and feel oxytocin activated. Learning to release whatever guilt we have come to associate with pleasurable touch, and whatever pains we have endured directly or indirectly, and all the other things that do not serve us in this life. And feel our womb as the sacred place it is, and allow no lover who cannot respect that. And when we find someone who is willing to work with us, let us learn to forego the forced contractive climaxes that add further tension to our pelvis and exchange them with relaxation, and without trying for some momentous supernatural sexual achievement, the wave of our own natural hormones are sufficient to take us far if we let go. Our men too. All that constrictive/contractive ejaculation ain’t helping the prostate none. Oxytocin, endorphin, dopamine, DMT, come into the picture with time, let’s give ourselves time and the climax will come too.