The Electric Yes
...engines, eros, and emulsions...
Today’s NECTAR is for paid readers. That’s where I share all the sweet + sticky bits.
Greetings from a sea of copper treetops and crispy mornings.
Some nudges for ya this week:
An invite to the exquisite Gene Keys Venus Sequence, starting 11/5
Today’s ASK: How Do You Balance Pleasing and Boundaries?
Rachael Dunville’s 3-Things to savor, sense, and appreciate
The Electric Yes
Last Thursday, when my schedule threatened to swallow me whole—eight straight hours of “ON” mode—I chose pleasure as my pace car. Instead of bracing and racing against the day, I adorned my space with intention. Flowers decorating every surface. A playlist that made my hips encircle the whole room, drawing on each wall with my flesh like an ink brush, smearing the beat with my soft ferocity. Wearing nothing but a short ruffle robe, a visceral reminder of my sultry forever fueling my capable.
Between each segment, I let these hips loose. There’s seemingly four of them—no, eight of them—all directions of the compass, each tracing circles in the air, marking my territory with the sheer delight of micro-movement. Each turn unleashed more of the contained energy, transforming my office into a canvas of carnal cooing.
Earlier that morning, Eric’s hands traced patterns on my bare back as I made my way upstairs, his touch a catalyst, a ripple of sensation channeled into a current I could ride through the day.
My body's lavish calligraphy, a sensual script that’s become signature.
You see, in my world, touch is everything—but not always in ways you'd expect. As someone whose skin is exquisitely sensitive to physical contact, I've learned that touch speaks in countless tongues: a note left on my desk in Eric's distinctive scrawl, the consensual, primal claiming that happens when he finds me puttering in the kitchen, the way our feet cuddle under cool sheets at night. These moments are our feral language, a private morse code.
Eric appears in my office at intervals, a fellow disciplined predator who knows just when I need unleashing. He reads the signs—how our contained energy makes the air thick, how my movements plead, asking to be undone. He knows exactly how to wake the wild in me with that perfect blend of reverence and raw hunger—just enough to keep my engine smoking, not just humming.
But it wasn't always this way. For decades, I was my own untamer, navigating these waters solo, becoming so adept at it that I found myself in high demand, teaching others who came to me like dry sponges to my fire hydrant of accumulated wisdom.
Those years of self-discovery, of learning to be my own extra-sensory pioneer, made me who I am. Now, with Eric, it's different—a partnership that amplifies everything I already knew about desire, teaching me that power sources can be found in the most ordinary moments: the way he adjusts my necklace from behind, the shared glance across a crowded room that carries enough voltage to light up the dark.
In these times of mounting pressure, when the world seems to demand our constant vigilance and worry, turning toward desire might seem frivolous. But I'd argue it's essential—medicinal, even savage in its necessity.
Because when we're fully present, fully embodied, fully awake to the current that runs wild through every moment, we're better equipped to face whatever comes. We're more resilient, more primal, more capable of holding both the world's pain and its possibility in our animal bodies.
Like a well-tuned engine responding to the slightest touch of the accelerator, our bodies are always ready to surge with sensation—if we let them. The electricity is there, coiled and waiting to strike.
Have you let a breeze make your skin rise to attention? A train passing, has it ever turned you on like it does me? Are you noticing the way silk slides across collarbones, like water over smooth stones? A color combo that evokes moan?
My yesss-es are quite entertaining when I let them all be seen and felt by me. And I do. Every one of them, allowed, turning me on in ways that aren't just physical, but visceral, cellular, ancestral, and deeply alive.