Vulnerability Erotica from a Damsel *Not* in Distress…

I hold his face between my knowing palms, inviting him to feel through my encompassing embrace that I see the battle beneath his eyes.

He has done an exquisite job of holding me in the composed expression of his desire. Courting me on the dance floor, touching in with his gaze and insinuative sways of hip and volcanic ash.

Tuning in for a moment of connection amidst the DJ’s beats, and once establishing the resonant longing, gliding away, very clearly saying without words:

“I see you, I desire you, and I will not try and possess you”.

Thank you God.

Thank you man.

Thank you for being able to share with me the depth of your hunger without feeling that you need to pluck my flower from its garden in order to create a container around an object of your affection that would surely wither away or explode if you tried to own her.

He is a soulfully weathered man. Strong in his body, devoted in his mind and soul to his medicine ways.

I attract medicine men. Maybe that’s because I am a medicine woman.

I attract older men. Maybe that is because I am an old soul.

So we are standing there, off the dance floor now, and into the knowing darkness of the night to partake in sacred smoke and felt inclinations of the body and heart yet to be expressed.

Our bodies are pressed together in the dark. Clothes on, compressed against each others activated longings.

He wants to kiss me on the lips. I say no, smiling. Knowing and feeling in every inch of my body how much command I have over the sexual embodiment that permeates through each cell and drop of salty sweat that drips from my soul-soaked skin.

I’ve been letting him lead with his hands and intention up until this point. Surrendering through a moment-to-moment re-establishment of trust in our energetic connection.

I love the way his hands feel gripping my arms, feeling his erection grow beneath his pants, pressing agains my awakened body.

I look him in the eyes, and see the soul beneath his skin. We know each other, not from this life, but one before. When, I am not sure.

My hands holding his face with the most utter delicacy and simultaneously the most ferocious steadfastness.

He cannot escape from my capacity to see and hold him — and he doesn’t want to, he melts. He wants to be held. He wants to be seen by a woman so solid in her own sex, soul and self that she does not need him to be in a constant state of command and control.

I move my lips which he desire for his mouth to his chest.

And as I hold the sweet expression of his sultry erection between the contained space of my clothed and covered pussy, wet with prolonged intention, and flick the tip of my tongue against his collar bone.

It is wild, and so are we.

I smile, knowing that for so much of my life I was unwilling to be this woman. This woman who could allow a man to surrender.

I used to be a woman who could never exercise this composure or create a container for a man to surrender into. I celebrate myself here in this momentary awareness.

I used to be a woman who was so bought into the belief that I man needed to save me from myself, that to invite any man into my bed or embrace to go out of control would have meant the total abolishment of my own safety.

How could I have ever become a container for a man’s surrender if I didn’t trust in my ability to take care of myself?

I see now, how my own expectation for a man to tell me things about my life that I wasn’t willing or able at the time to see for myself set up my relationships and sexual experiences for a brick wall climax that I would continue to hit over and over again.

The seductive allure of being a damsel in distress put a cap on the power and embodied pleasure I could exercise with any many I brought into my bed or Being.

So as I have grown and learned, I have discovered what it means to be my own safety, my own Masculine container to fall apart within, and what that allows me is the ability to give the men in my life that same gift.

Yes, beautiful soul, weathered and at times withered man who is tired and spent from his pursuit of constantly balancing on a white horse that you must and will inevitably fall from

Rest in my loving embrace. Rest in the sight of this medicine woman who is much older and wiser than this 30 year old body elicits.

I am imperfect, uncontrollable, and unpredictable yes, but in those moments when your Being begs for surrender that cannot be spoken to because of centuries of conditioning compelling you to resist the vulnerable exhale into my arms, I am here.

Please forgive me for my short comings, and please see me for my intentions.

I am a woman, learning to be, a solid ground, you can rest upon.

Thank you. I see you. I am listening. I love you.

About the Author:

Arielle is an Intimacy Coach & Workshop Facilitator, with a passion for supporting visionaries and change-makers in crafting containers for their relationships that can grow evolve as they do. Her coaching and community workshops focus on creating empowered and heart-centered approaches to verbal and energetic communication that prioritize transparency of desires, boundaries, and edges for spiritual growth. Learn more about her work at