Secrets of Great Sex #1

Where the hell does this shit come from?

Who the hell am I to write about or talk about or claim to practice this?  I haven’t had a sexual partner in several years – haven’t had intercourse in maybe 20.

Spirit was a little extra-rough on my sleep cycle just now.  She totally roused me out of bed – really gave me no choice about whether to get up.  Yesterday I had gotten up very early – after going to bed quite early.  I think I got going yesterday at about 12:30 in the morning.  About 8 p.m last night., when I got home from leading the Your Fearless Body regular weekly gathering (which had gone great and was very satisfying, even exciting), I was suddenly so overwhelmed with exhaustion that I didn’t fight it and went right to bed.

I knew, as I moved around in the dark this morning, that I had not slept a real long time – but I did basically expect, when I checked the clock, to see something like midnight.  Four hours sleep has become my usual drill – and, when the day starts this early, I always allow myself the option that sometime before the world starts to really get busy I will give myself a little “nap”, even if that is only comprised of laying quietly in the bed for an hour, decompressing from the intensity of being used by the Muse for several hours.

Before turning on a light or looking at the clock I spent a few minutes sitting on the can.  Among my earliest thoughts every morning, probably the most salient is “What am I going to write first this morning?”  unconscious-mindIt is my experience that – first thing out of the chute, when my brain has not gotten cluttered with lots of little details, when the creative unconscious is still more accessible – I am meant to tackle some beefy piece of writing, something that later I might find too intimidating to even approach.  Not to finish something I have half-done and already know where the rest of it is going.  No, something for which I basically have only the title and a few whispy free-associations in behind the few words of that title.  Something that will really challenge me to fully show up – and then leave me totally exhausted, used-up, when the excitement is all over.

I remembered that – right before tumbling into the bed at 8 p.m. – almost crippled with the chronic physical pain that especially descends on me when I don’t have great distraction…especially first thing in the morning when I haven’t gotten into anything, and last thing at night when I have let go of all pre-occupations – I had written just the title of a possible blog post in the middle of the top page of a mid-sized yellow legal pad.  I sometimes do this and then the next day have no idea of what those few words refer to – can remember nothing of the supporting text that would need to go in behind that title, no rough outline, no stories, nothing.  I wondered if that would be the case with this title – of which I so far had no memory.

Still before looking at the clock, I turned on a little light on my desk, wandered over to my standing desk (dresser), where the legal pad lay on top of my closed laptop.  Yesterday, before going to the Gathering, I had gotten so overwhelmed and exhausted trying to outline plans for my future (I had quit my “wonderful” job cashiering at Earth Fare that day – sheesh! what a day!) that I could not stay conscious working on the love seat with my dog next to me – so had moved to the standing desk, where I almost always can stay conscious at least for a while.  I had, as was usual, moved my resistant, sleepy little dog from the sofa in the living room to the bed in the bedroom – where I knew she would right away be more happy and content – because she loves the bed and because I was there.

radio alarm clock
For much of my life, I have had a kind of a tormented relationship with sleep.  Now it’s all pretty simple: I usually go to bed when I’m too tired to stay awake, regardless of the time of day.  Then, after two or four hours of sleep, I get up again.  Even after such a short bit of sleep, my chronic undiagnosed pain has usually so taken over my body that it takes truly heroic efforts to push past the pain – which seems to be aggravated by moving, but I know will be relieved by getting genuinely interested in most anything, but for me especially writing.  And I know that, for each extra two-hour sleep cycle I add, this process of getting going again becomes much harder.

The clock said ten p.m. – I had had exactly two hours sleep.

I feel so amazingly, unprecedentedly un-shy about writing – and then sharing openly – all the sexual stuff that I now (30 minutes later) have ended up sharing in this blog post.  I’m going totally public about sex! (And I promise that if you get with me I will absolutely take your identity to my grave :).)

I picked up the legal pad and couldn’t believe my eyes, which immediately got really big.  The tired scrawl on the little pad still was shockingly legible. It read “Secrets of Great Sex #1”.

Oh, Madden, you can’t write about this!  What the hell are you doing to yourself?!  book cover - 101 Nights of Great Sex


Before you dare try to coach people about how to have great sex, you know you are going to have to do full disclosure about the fact that over the last many years you have mostly  become a kind of nun.  Then what kind of authority on sex are you going to be?

You have, without even acknowledging this to yourself – but now you know it – been kind of hoping that you could somehow tiptoe around this information and never come clean.” “Spirit told me to write and teach and do research on sex – to reclaim it as a wonderful and rich and innocent part of our lives.'”

That’s enough, right?  I don’t need to say any more than that – certainly not to acknowledge that for the last 20 years I have been celibate, aside from a pretty amazing part-time girlfriend in a far-away city, who I have been with only for three short visits in ten years – so disconnected from my normal life that I often forget to include her when I say that “I haven’t had sex in 20 years”.  When I catch myself in this slip, I always think and sometimes say out loud, “Oh, she would kill me.”

I have, actually, been asking myself lately how it could possibly be that Life seems to have assigned me this turf – along with power/aggression, an area about which I know even less.  I haven’t ever been a real Lothario – haven’t had hundreds of partners like that one famous basketball player (though my 30’s and 40’s had been pretty sexually active, containing probably 30 of the 45 or so partners I had once written down on paper – including a few memorable one-night stands).
Reclaiming the Body book cover

I mostly have never been super-athletic in bed, haven’t been able to go all night.  I actually had gotten pretty good at making my love-making last a long time, by slowing down or stopping altogether or even briefly pulling out when I feel myself close to coming – not by thinking about baseball, which guys have always been coached to do.  With a few very-memorable exceptions, I had never been especially creative or kinky in bed.  (I have always cherished those few memories.)

Louise (all sexual partner names changed) – who was still getting over a very painful end of a ten-year marriage – and I had many totally amazing experiences fucking and simultaneously looking deep in each other’s eyes, tenderly and passionately calling each other by name – calling the other person’s soul to come join the party.

(There was a long period when it seemed like my special mission was to women just coming off a marriage or other long-term relationship that had at least a disastrous ending – to help them find their way back to their natural emotional and sexual health. It was really gratifying to see how many women, like Louise, with whom I had “medium-term” relationships, immediately then went on to a really big relationship.)

Louise also provided her and me with great fun living out two of her long-standing sexual fantasies:

  1. Doing it in the back seat of a car. This was a first for me, too.  We were in the huge backseat of a ’59 Dodge that I had recently bought in 1990.  We were at a YMCA family camp in northern Wisconsin.  It’s Louise’s birthday, here on vacation – and playing out this fantasy is her one wish for her birthday.  The car is parked on a slight hill, the nose towards the very old cabin in which her son Ian, age 5, and my son Terry, age 10, are sleeping.In the heat of passion, when Louise has already been calling out all kinds of wonderful things, she calls out “John, this car is moving!”

    “I’m just rockin’ your world, baby.”

    “No – the car is moving!!”

    I pop up and look out the front window – and we are, sure enough, rolling down the hill towards the cabin.  I immediately dive over the front seat, naked butt in the air, to mash on the brake pedal with my hand – stopping the car a few feet from the fragile, poorly constructed, very old cabin.

    Killing my young son in the cabin this way would have been so hard to explain to his mother.

  2. Louise’s wish #2) Doing it on top, while playing “I’m so excited” by the Pointer Sisters. I don’t think this was a birthday wish – more kind of just a favor, since we had broken up a couple of months before.  It was a lot of fun for me – and a big kick for my roommate Debbie, who was listening to the whole thing through our very thin walls.

Pointer Sisters

There had been the one amazing girlfriend who had us act out that I was the psychotherapist and she the new therapy client.Vanilla-meet-Kinky-483x322

And then there was one of the best sexual affirmations, by the woman whose fairly generic personals ad I had responded to – only to have her confide to me, 20 minutes after I first arrived at her house, that she had spent the last ten years totally immersed in the BSDM dominance-and-submission “scene” and then gotten a little jaded with it – and wanted to see if “I could go back and start over where I left off ten years ago”.

Within another 20 minutes of sharing our sexual histories, we had gotten immersed in a really totally fabulous round of love-making – wild, passionate, even kind of (for two people who really absolutely did not know each other) genuinely affectionate and even loving.  When the dust had settled, she very genuinely said, “You do have amazing sexual energy” (words I have absolutely cherished and never forgotten).  But just as I was starting to get a big head – and some immediate stirrings of a shockingly-soon big cock – she followed this line-of-a-lifetime with, “but I just can’t go back to vanilla sex”.

But – even though I have been acknowledging to myself that my sexual resume isn’t all that impressive, I can marshall some evidence from the here and now that it was not just a clerical error that Spirit was sending me into this particular game:

  • I seem to be suddenly clear of all self-consciousness about my body.  Six months ago, I was very shy about my 73-year-old physique and avoided going to the beach – hating those last pictures of me in a bathing suit.  Now I apparently am totally loving my body.  hands in airWhen I, a couple of weeks ago, went to Susan Campbell’s Tuesday morning ecstatic dance, she had invited us to celebrate the week of Halloween by coming in a costume.  I pretty lamely had worn an argyle sweater and announced that I was “a college kid in the pre-hippie early 60’s” – which I actually had been, before enthusiastically jumping into the hippie revolution, which came a little late to my midwestern Catholic commuter college.I had actually proposed to Susan in a text the night before that I wanted to show up “wearing my birthday suit.” I knew even before saying this that it would not go over great with some of my friends at the dance – including the mostly not-hippie group of middle-aged folks. But I also knew that I really, really was liking this idea and knew that I was totally capable of doing it.  I even did not totally rule out the possibility that I would, at the last minute, totally strip and “make their day.”

    I did not end up fully stripping, but within just a few minutes of the dance beginning, I sure enough could not stop myself from enthusiastically ripping off my sweater, long-sleeved shirt and finally my short-sleeved shirt – all of which I dramatically launched to different corners of the dance floor.  I proceeded to have one of my most favorite dances in a long time – very excited to be so comfortably wearing and even showing off my simultaneously skinny (in the shoulders and chest – where you want some bulk) and flabby (in the belly, which you obviously would prefer flat) old man’s body.

    Attractive shirtless male model posing on the railway station.
    Me – at some point in my life, er…in my human lifetimes.

    There were even some big, full-length mirrors in one part of the room – and I visited them several times, to think thoughts like,

    “It’s a fine body, a perfect body – no great shakes and maybe not really esthetic or photogenic or a work of art.  It’s just another body – they’re pretty much all different.  How many of them are really great? really beautiful?  I mostly like it and am proud of it.  I’ll happily take it into anybody’s bed.”


  • I have been having all kinds of fabulous, thrilling, creative and kinky sexual fantasies.  I have been having self-induced orgasms that I surrender to so fully that I’m sure I am waking the neighbors – and think that being in my arms for such earth-shaking explosions would probably be a memory that any sexual partner would never forget.
  • I am these days sexually attracted to all manner of young and old people of various body types.  After really months of feeling very awkward about mounting a sexual campaign – or campaigning for sexual mounting – with only sexual partners of one gender , I have now thrown everything up in the air by saying, after 30 years of avoidance (never suppression), that I am bisexual, that everybody is now fair game for me. 
  • And, last night again, I ran over in my mind the images of several more women from my past who I knew that – even before this recent upswelling of very free personal sexuality – I had forever changed their sexual lives.  Not because of my “sexual prowess”, but because of my even-back-then genuinely powerful capacity to wed physical and emotional intimacy.
    • I had just attended a weekend men’s workshop where the facilitator advocated that, before beginning any new sexual relationship, we should basically interview our potential new partner about her sexual history – so we would know where the bodies were buried, where she had been wounded, and how we would be called on to support her sexual healing.The first potential new sexual partner with whom I implemented this advice was Joanne – and boy did she make me regret having done this!  Joanne spoke so easily and confidently, for about an hour – not really pausing or even lowering her voice when the waitress would come by to check on the progress of our drinks – of her extraordinary and over-achieving sexual past, that I was so intimidated by her that our first night together I had trouble getting hard.
      tell me your secrets - gene wilder
      When we broke up several months later, she was saying that she had “never  before me known how to be genuinely intimate in bed, how to drop performance and really get safe.
    • Donna, who at first was really intense and very speedy in bed, slowed down and got super-sensual.
    • Sally told me I had taught her how to breathe in bed – and, sexually experienced as she was, asked me if I was just exceptionally big…which I really wasn’t but apparently in bed had sold her that I was.


Published by Majo

These days all of my identities are converging: whether I am offering a blessing in the grocery store checkout line, offering a prayer in a poem or experiencing the kinship with all life while walking my or a client's dog - it's all the same. It's all Life.

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