I’m Meant to Have an Orgasmic Life

Sri Kala | April 9th 2025

One of the most divine pleasures I’ve ever known in this human skin is the orgasm. That sweet peak of sexual arousal—where time drops out and everything surrenders. I’ve studied it like scripture. Sat with it. Tuned into it. I’ve trained myself to recycle the energy, to ride it instead of letting it spill. I’ve practiced withholding and letting go. Prolonging the pleasure. Extending the wave.

My equipment’s on the larger side, which isn’t always a blessing. Sometimes it hurts. So we had to get creative. Learn to make pleasure less about friction and more about feeling.

Still, no matter how masterful I become, no matter how long I last or how many techniques I’ve integrated—orgasm from genital stimulation is always a flash. A starburst. A skyfire. And then… it fades. Especially for a man—there's a drain. In Chinese medicine, it’s the loss of jing. Vital life force.

I am meant to live an orgasmic life.

That point of orgasm—it’s a drug. A damn good one. It’s taken me time to unravel the shame tangled up in that level of pleasure. From growing up in the hood, fearing STDs and judgment, to sitting in an ashram where celibacy was sacred and sex was a vow-breaker.

I’ve lived both ends of the spectrum. And now, in devotion with Jesse—our sex is a dance of reclamation. A full-body yes. A space where we can go beyond taboo. Explore union through play, sound, touch, stillness. No limits. No maps

Orgasm isn’t a moment. It’s a state. A current. A frequency. A choice.

And still, even that is temporary. So what is it? This orgasm. Why is it here? Just to tease? To lift me into bliss and then drop me back into the grind?

Nah. That’s not the full story.

In my journeys—through breathwork, mantra, meditation, and the infinite realms of spirit—it’s been revealed to me again and again:

Orgasm isn’t a moment. It’s a state. A current. A frequency. A choice.

It flows and retreats not because it’s unavailable—but because I say I’m not worthy of it. Because shame tells me it’s too much. Because my mind says I have to earn it. Work for it. Contain it. Time it.

I used to think—if I just master this technique... if Jesse just does this one thing... if I could last an hour... if we both align perfectly... THEN I’ll be in that bliss. But that’s just another illusion. That’s just another trap. It makes pleasure into a job. It makes love a checklist. And it puts pressure on my beloved.

The real practice is letting it be easy.

The real mastery? Living turned on.

Turn-on is my compass. And yes, some folks get uncomfortable with that word. They think it means promiscuity. That I’m playing with fire. That I’m walking the edge of loyalty. But here’s the truth—I’ve only had two girlfriends. One of them is now my wife. I’ve only had sex with three women in my life. And the first time? It was disconnected. Not sacred. Not soulful. Just an act. I did it because I thought I had to— to be cool, to belong, to not be left behind.

I snuck out, met a girl from the neighborhood, and had sex just to say I did. I thought it would make me feel like a man. It didn’t. I left feeling just as unloved as before. I didn’t know what I was doing. I just knew I wanted something real. Over time—through awkward moments, deep listening, and a lot of mess—I started to feel my way toward something honest.

I wanted to be loved. To be chosen.

In school, I wanted to be treasured, adored. But I usually felt ugly. Like I was just another body on the conveyor belt, learning things I didn’t care about. Most of my energy went to trying to understand relationships. But I didn’t know how to protect myself. And I didn’t feel like anyone else was protecting me either. I’m still learning how to love from the place that feels unlovable. How to soften when I want to shut down. How to stay when I feel ashamed. Sometimes I can. Sometimes I can’t. But I’m trying. Not to be perfect—but to be present.

I was told not to feel it.

Not to look.

Not to want.

So I shoved it all underground.

I learned early—

Pleasure makes you dirty.

Desire makes you weak.

This erection for life is for my wife— my partner in this VIP, private, deep-dive of sexual discovery. For her, it’s about penetration— the way our bodies meet in the sacred space of the bedroom, the way I let my presence deepen into her, not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually.

And this energy also moves beyond us— it lives in how I penetrate the world with my attention. How I show up fully in a moment, how I let beauty move me, how I offer presence like touch— slow, intentional, and real.

I found myself suppressing a geyser—

the natural upward explosion of earth mana ecstasy—

just walking down the street.

Pretending not to see the booty.

Noticing—but acting like I wasn’t.

Now Jesse points them out to me. What a blessing.

“Hmm, that booty...”

“Nah, not that one.”

I like them a little plump. Not too little, not too much.

Every now and then, someone unexpected catches Jesse’s attention and she says,
“Mmm, check that one…”

“Oh yeah. Wow. Yes. That one is amazing.”

So many of us are walking around clenched—

pussies in a perpetual squeeze, cocks frozen in recoil, ass cheeks pulled to the sky, like we’re bracing for impact.

I’ve had to learn how not to do that. How to soften. To release my cock. To let my ass be part of my breath.

How many of us actually have a practice to tend to our sexual organs?

To care for the root, the pelvic floor, the base of our life force?

I’ll confess— I hear my own thoughts in contact improv...

Working harder than I need to. Not because of the dance— But because I’m afraid my big cock might brush someone. Afraid of being too much. Too present. Too real.

And still— I want to dance. I want to be free. So I dance with just enough control to stay safe.

Which also means... not fully free. I want to announce, through my dance, what I want.

I want to be wanted.

I want you to come toward me—

but I also want you to listen.

Sometimes I won’t move right away.

You might need to slow down and just be near me.

Feel the pulse, feel the space between us.

If you don’t feel called to go anywhere, I’m happy to just stay.

Breathe. Not do much.

But I’m always listening for a third partner—

that quiet voice in the field.

If the third says “go,” then I go.

If it says “slow,” I slow.

If it says “no,” I walk away—and I hold that for myself.

I get a hard-on when my body is really thriving.

When I’m having a great time.

Sometimes. Not always.

But when it happens,

my intention is to let it be another limb—

not a problem, not a performance,

just a part of me, awake and alive.

I can choose it. Right now.

That’s been one of the biggest realizations of my life.

Orgasm isn’t something I have to chase. It’s something I can allow.

So many of my deepest spiritual experiences— in sex, in meditation, in movement, in stillness— have shown me what it actually means to be alive.

Not just spiritually high or sexually satisfied— but fully here.

To live turned on.

To create from ease.

To love from my sacral and stay in my body.

To breathe into the parts of me I once thought were too much.

To feel good and still pay the rent.

We are meant to live an orgasmic life.