Hot In the Tropics: the symbiosis of steamy sex and self discovery
The thing about labels is that the one that often fits you most is the one you like least.
The thing that you possibly are, may just be the thing you absolutely would swear you are not.
My own personal discovery of this wonder was born out of an unexpected steamy afternoon encounter with an old friend about a year ago in this very same place I am now, my little island home of Bali.
The memory that lead to today's sexy and sweet tale, and the subsequent culmination of a year of wisdom landing in my body unexpectedly, occurred to me whilst having an incredibly vigorous massage. Truth be told, oftentimes my best ideas come when I am horizontal. Words, thoughts and wisdom are quite literally being massaged, by masseuse or man, into or out of me. Women are wonderous like that: we are both the vessel and the source.
So speaking of being sideways, this is also an excellent segue to today’s story because (and DAD PLEASE STOP READING HERE) that wisdom that arrived in a maelstrom of massage, began with an exceptionally pleasing sexual encounter with a man I will call Hot Henry while I was living in Bali the first time.
Why Hot Henry you ask? Because, well, Henry is hot; in more ways than one. Ergo, Hot Henry. I am absolutely confident he will not mind. No, I didn't think so.
Now, before I divulge the details of how I wound up with this particular memory on my mind today, I will give fair warning: if you’re a prude, don’t wish to hear about any of my sexual mis/adventures, I suspect we are about to part ways, probably permanently, but it was lovely to meet you, if ever so briefly. Didn’t think it would take me long to get to this, and here we are.
Let's get to the sex. For this wisdom was literally placed carefully inside me by a man, unwittingly, oh so carefully, yet oh so powerfully, specifically for purpose of me transmuting it into my own magic. Let me tell you how this, and I, all unfolded.
Hot Henry is a friend. A particular kind of friend if you take my meaning, but a true frend nonetheless. I care for him and I respect him. Hot Henry is also a flirtatious, cheeky AF, sweet as honey gentleman who happened upon my path some years ago in Sydney on a dating app.
He has broad rugby player shoulders, just the right amount of hair in all the right places, a Goldicocks dreamy downstairs (see nearest gay man for explanation), and lips you just want to bite. That man naked makes a woman want to cry - he is what I like to call everyday perfection and has a dick to die for. Every woman deserves a Hot Henry just once, or twice ifmyoure lucky, for men like him are magic for the soul in ways they will never understand. Mine is someone that will forever make me smile, and while he only pops in and out of my mind on the odd occasion, when he does, he is honey for the heart.
So, over the years and countries, we texted and flirted and flirted and texted, we sexted a little, we hinted, we glinted, we ghosted and we returned, and then when the stars aligned on one particular occasion we crossed paths in Bali, he on holiday with some friends, and I a year deep into an intense personal exploration of the world and of myself. We came together, here in a place that I love with all my heart.
It was magic hour at that the time of my life, because it was the time right before I had a few fairly sobering personal realisations, that were both incredibly challenging, but oh so rewarding. More on that later.
On that sweltering Bali day, Hot Henry is literally delivered to my door in a small overheated Balinese taxi, this beautiful specimen of manhood, kind and caring, but strong and sensual, dropped right into my lap. Actually and metaphorically. With the ease of friends without any trace of awkwardness, we spend the afternoon naked in the pool, naked in bed, naked in each other. After the second or third round of heavenly tropical afternoon delight, Hot Henry and I lay basking in both the afterglow of entanglement and the setting Indonesian sun, revelling in the really rather gorgeous abandon and bonhomie of a fabulously frisky casual encounter between two humans who just liked fucking each other. Sometimes, it needs to be no more than that.
We were safe in mutual respect, there is a sort of sweet understanding between us about the depth of our interaction, its limits, and its finite possibilities, that’s never been spoken of, it just….is. That kind of creation is rare, and a little bit magical. Thinking of nothing in particular, but enjoying my view, Hot Henry ran his hand over my tanned naked body as he lay languorously beside me, and said with the careless wonder of simply speaking one's thoughts out loud “I wonder what it’s like to be you? You’re such a free spirit aren’t you bub?”. He then bit my ass cheek and made to move off the bed.
Now, to most people I am sure this very sexy man, with absolutely above average sexual credentials, this would have been as much a compliment, as an observation. A sweet nothing someone says at the edges of care, intrigue and dispassionate wonder. Ordinarily, if he bit my ass like that I would have grabbed him by the neck and showed what freedom really meant. But I was too shocked to move.
To me, his words were as jarring as having like cymbals clanged right next to my ear as I lay drifting towards a sensual sleep. They rattled through my already vibrating and post-coitally sensitive body, and removed all traces of beauty and replaced it with fear. He got up to shower, but now, now I was far too preoccupied to bother to enjoy the view as he walked towards the bathroom. That is most unlike me. No one appreciates watching a naked man walk away as much as I. I am absolutely unabashedly an aficionado of the male ass.
Anyway, I digress. Sorry, but Hot Henry is a delight in many ways, and thinking of him makes me smile a satisfied smile. And want to do it and him again. Sorry, not sorry, Henry ;-).
Hot Henry meant nothing of it. There was no judgment, it was exactly what it was, an observation of what lay before him, a mystery, something unknown, and uncommon. What was it about what Hot Henry said that had such a cataclysmic impact on me. I was instantly out of sorts. I barely said anything to him as he left in the coming hours to catch his plane back home, for whatever reason that label, in that moment, caused a seismic shift in how I saw both myself, and how I saw others also saw me. Oh dear.
Down the rabbit hole we go.
The essence of my panic, my post-orgsam wobble, was that I was incredibly insecure about who I was in that time. I was not ready for that label, in that moment. So I loaded up the words of my deliciously hot Hot Henry and gave them a meaning they absolutely did not have. MY mind was racing. Did he mean I was a slut? Did he mean I was drifting aimlessly? Did he mean I was frivolous or feckless? Did he mean I....? The sting of shame was instant. I was filling in the blanks at a rapid fire pace. Blanks all of my own creation where moments ago there were none.
He meant none of those self-projected shameful slaps I gave myself. He, in fact, meant absolutely nothing more than a moment of unguarded reflection of my situation. How could anyone else possibly have an informed opinion if I didn't?
This sent me into a spiral of self-inquiry.
Who was this new woman lying naked on the floor in the Indonesian sun with the moments ago smug smile on her face? Of all people, I had absolutely no idea. In fact, let's get real, I had the least idea of anyone.
You see, before I left my old life, as miserable corporate lawyer, grinding away through the grit of city life, I thought I knew who I was, I thought I had an understanding of my place in the world. I could LABEL myself in a way that made me comfortable.
As a woman who had a successful career as a lawyer, I had a certain social status, I was a self-centred high achiever. I was perceived by many as a #girlboss, a bitch, a career girl, a powerhouse woman (or just a bossy asshole ;-)). That was okay with me, because that said, in my limited perception of those wonderful labels, that equated to me being smart, capable, in control and intellectual. It gave me power. Maybe not real power that comes from within; grounded power or embodied self power as I have now, but it had a cache with which I was comfortable. It allowed me to to define how others saw me (well it didn't but I convinced myself it did). It was my own egotistical interpretation that afforded me a kind of relative control over my life.
Which is all well and good until you realise that if that’s all you are ever seen as, a holy-shit clusterfuck of intensely alpha masculine traits, and if this is how you value your OWN contribution in the world you inhabit, you are about to come horribly unstuck. For within every person is both masculine and feminine; the ideal human is beautifully balanced. But me? Back then? Oh wow, what an enormously unbalanced shitshow I was. My feminine had gone 200% completely, absolutely and totally MIA. Someone call the search party, because that bitch was about to go rogue, and had her itchy little finger on the trigger, if only you could find her. She was guerilla warrior gone AWOL. Tick tick tick. BOOM.
So whilst I was revelling and rolling around in all these marvellous masculine things, my poor gentle feminine nature in a deep, diabolical state of disaster, a complete Code Red, I also of course absolutely abhorred being labelled anything softer, gentler or more feminine. This kind "femininity" to me (cue gagging noises) denoted a lack of control of the situation at hand, a weakness of your mental acuity, or as my dear old Dad used to say to me when I couldn't get a handle on my emotions, "come on mate, mind over matter cobber, they're just feeling". Bless him. It's the country way.
All those girly girls, tittering and tweeting like absolute tits. Give me a strong capable career woman anyday.
The label bohemian was the worst of all. People used to say it all the time, "Cookie, you're a bohemian free spirit, you're a hippie at heart". Ick. The hell I am. Aimless, directionless, annoying and achingly ethereal? Oh GOD NO. Not that. Pass me a fucking bucket.
Being boho or a free spirit in my eyes was embodying this kind of dipshit, airy fairy kind of irritating feminine. Being feminine, in a "traditional" way, was to me; weak, simpering and submissive. Let me tell you, this woman doesn't do submissive well. Those that have tried, over time, to bring me to heel will tell you, I always top from the bottom. I can't help it. I love it. But of course...in true self discovery style...it was all to come magnificently "a cropper" as we say in Australia.
Oh how the mighty were to fall.
For it became apparent over the coming year spent meandering over Asia and Europe, following my heart and dreams, not working, just floating from experience to experience…oh no…you see where this is going right?
I am the bohemian.
Oh God. Oh no. No no no no no, anything but that.
How utterly hideous. That floaty annoying girl who just wanders the world following her instinct on a whim. Oh she is a so fucking annoying. Who wants to hang around her in all her floaty fuckery? Not me.
This transformation from warrior woman to earth angel, happened without me even realising. Like one of those carnival fair hustlers with the three cups and a ball. I, the strong focused smart woman I thought I was had completely missed the trick. The Universe had pulled a total shifty on me, and I could only but laugh at the supreme majesty of it all.
I now laugh loudly as I look at my left arm and see the tattoo of a sacred geometry code of my birth constellation. The stars in the sky on the day of my birth now indelibly inked on my arm forever, indeed on my feminine left side. The loudness of my laughter at myself peals across the rice paddies and frightens the Balinese farmers. Oh man. The extent of my ability to fool myself was endless. Seriously? The synergistic simplicity of one afternoon of beautiful sex triggering a lifetime of self realisation. Well...I never.
So, here’s what I know now…here’s two years of soul searching tumbled into a single sentence.
You, beautiful human, are so many luscious labels, so many wonderous words, you are an avalanche of adjectives.
Let that land.
You are everything, and you are nothing, ad infinitum.
Well, how about that?
If that isn’t the most beautiful thing I ever learned about myself, and hopefully you about yourself, I don’t know what is.
In my case, this beautiful bohemian girl, all soft and sweet, free as a bird in the soul, she was there all along. Waiting with a patient spirit and wise heart, waiting for me to notice. Notice her. See her sitting there gently, waiting for that wounded warrior woman weaponized to the teeth to come home to her.
When that landed, my whole world moved, a seismic shift that bettered any orgasm I ever had. When you see yourself in truth for the first time, it is utterly unbelievable. You can’t imagine this magic. Or maybe you can.
You see, I can be everything I need to be. I am, every inch of me, embodied ecstasy at the joy of being a multitude of different me's. I am an alpha warrior free-spirited gentle sensual goddess, yes, that, all that and much much more. But that, darling friends, that’s my magic. I am so many things in one extraordinary body, I defy a definition. Everything is welcome here, nothing is not wanted, I am her, and she is me. I can be both angel and alpha, nothing need be mutually exclusive.
What’s your magic? Do you even know? Dare you to look? Scared of what you might see?
Whatever it is. Be it. ALL OF IT. Do not compromise. You are magnificent in your wholeness. Even the bits you want least. Sometimes, they turn out to be the things you need most.
I’ll leave that with you.
Let me know what you think.
And to Hot Henry, thank you for being my muse. Who knew one hot afternoon at the edge of the Indonesian oceanfront could let to the ultimate personal revelation that would change the course of an entire life? You are amazing, I hope, wherever you are, you are happy, you are loved and still funny as fuck. And if you want to see what freedom looks like one more time, well darling, come and see for yourself ;-)