Erotic Resonance

Oftentimes in a Bach keyboard piece, there is a single repeating note in the bass voice incessantly droning on, and on, and on. Only thing, though, is that it is neither droning on nor incessant. No, it is much deeper, that constantly repeating tone provides a ground from which the other voices rise up and out of it as they take flight soaring heavenward in swirling ecstatic states.

For many years, Steve has been one of the constant voices in my practice of Sacred Intimacy. He is a wanderer to places far and wide while my life is divided between Berlin and Boston, through it all we somehow have managed to maintain a practice that has been quite regular in spite of our geographic diversity.

Like the bass tone in Bach, there is both a familiarity and a resonance to our erotic journeys. As in Bach with each return to that single repeating tone, we come back to a familiar spot from which new voices take us in ever different directions as we dance to Eros inspired tunes. Contrary to what one may think about a practice rooted in  constancy, each journey is a uniquely rich and different experience.

Admittedly, there is a certain ritual like pattern, but it comes at the beginning of each journey as we transition back into touch space. Looking into each other’s eyes, we draw ourselves closer, sync our breathing, strip each other, and bring our naked bodies together. In the hinter ground, one could almost hear the recurring bass tone with its relentless, onward momentum as the magical current of eros begins to flow through us.

Paradoxically, the more the erotic energy builds the more inwardly we go, into realms that are uniquely our own. Outwardly, our bodies grow warmer, our cocks stiffen and become dewey, we touch and taste each others bodies, all are familiar gestures. Inwardly, even though we soar together it is inevitable that we are in different worlds.

Our minds are unique realms unto themselves. That we can never fully comprehend the other is part of the beauty of the journey. It is enough to feel the ever building joy of the dance of Eros in each others bodies, to experience each others spasms of ecstasy as eros bursts from our cocks and every other cell of our bodies. When the dance is complete, we sink back into the ever sounding bass voice that was there at the beginning, gave rise to the journey, and sustained us throughout.

Manly Love

On dark, wintry, and rainy days, I sometimes like to walk around. This kind of atmosphere can put me in a pensive mood. A little while ago, I was strolling along the runway at Tempelhof Airport, now a public park. As so often happens to me in this city, I feel the past hovering around me.

It was close to this runway that an American pilot became a legend, the Candy Bomber, or to the Berlin children, der Rosinenbomber. During the airlift, he would throw tiny parachutes bearing the unimaginable luxury of pieces of chocolate down onto the streets teeming with hungry war weary children.

Walking the runway, images of another bomber pilot came to mind, one who threw his candy my way. In the waning days of sexual bliss before the word AIDS burst in upon us, I had gone upstate to an area along the Hudson River where gay men wandered naked in the woods and swam in the river. My path crossed that of an older man, the idea of 30 at that time was almost incomprehensible to me. We dallied, explored, but it was late and we both needed to return to the city, he for a flight the next day.

The night we spent together was one I still remember, the feel of his body, of his cock, of his kisses, of our orgasms. It did not matter that the chances of our seeing each other again were slim, perhaps it was the non-attachment that intensified our time together. He had been in Vietnam, was tortured by the brutality of it all, and of the cruelty that gay men in the military had to live under. In coming out and leaving all that behind, he was condemned by his family not only for being gay but for rejecting a family tradition of lifelong military service. Some tears were shed that night, and in the wetness of tears, sweat, and orgasms there was a kind of healing that only being open and vulnerable can give.

Walking along the Tempelhof runway thinking of my night with a bomber pilot and of der Rosinenbomber, images of men not afraid to show their tenderness flitted through my head. I thought of the beauty of being naked with other men, of our being loving with each other, of being erotic and reveling in each other’s touch. It matters little what brings us together, be it lust, friendship, romance, or just simple curiosity. It is all a form of manly love, of shedding the things that divide us, of shedding brutality, of stripping away our clothes and giving of ourselves to the other. It is about those magical moments when we feel the connection that only an erect penis moving across our bodies leaving a hint of moisture can give. It is about the magic of intimacy and the courage to show it.



Normally, we do not think of the winter months as a time for regeneration. Many of my friends dread the growing darkness and cold weather, I do not. Today as we set our clocks back for the start of winter time, at least here in Europe, my thoughts are around the season we are entering where night and shadow grow longer.

Shadows are ever present, even in the height of summer darkness coexists with light, bound together in some kind of synergistic energy. In our inner lives, we have good days and bad, feel happiness as well as sadness. Sometimes I think these contrasting, even contradictory images of positive and negative forces, are most alive in me whenever I am back in Berlin and wandering the streets. It is here where this dynamic is more conscious in me than in any other place on earth.

Darkness has unfortunately been overly associated with evil. Certainly, I do not deny that evil can lurk in the shadows. All I need do is walk outside my apartment building and feel the Stolpersteine beneath my feet to remind me of an earlier time that was shrouded in an evil darkness and of the Jewish residents whose fate ended in tragedy. I take pause to think about the conflicting images of darkness, and of how brutally real they are.

For the moment, it is a different kind of darkness that I am thinking about. It is of a darkness full of creative vitality, and that comes to life through touch. In massage, everyone I know and practice with instinctively dims the lights and lights candles to create a special atmosphere within which we enter that magical space where two living bodies come together. As time travelers step through a veil into another dimension of a past history, we journeyers in touch also step through a veil, but ours is into a spatial dimension, into a place where erotic energy guides our movements. For me, there is no greater beauty or sense of life than being in a space where naked men are engaged in intimate touch voyaging through the pathways of eros.

Is it not in darkness where much of this planet’s life finds regeneration? Life does not cease with the coming of night nor during winter. No, it is transformed as it goes deep inside where an inner warmth nurtures new growth. In Sacred Intimacy, we enter a space wherein men come together, share the warmth of our bodies, and nurture the erotic seeds that give us energy and life. Entwined in each other’s orgasms intensifies our life force as we share this most fundamental of energies. To my mind, there is no deeper or more honest way to connect with another man. In these moments of mixing our energies, our spasms, and our wet essences, we give each other the gift of regeneration. In this darkness, there is always light.




The Big O

Guys have borne the brunt of much criticism for our seemingly constant fixation on getting it off. Yes, the monster within, the Big O. We are told it occupies too big part of our lives. But wouldn’t you expect this of something so fundamentally basic to life, indeed to the universe itself? Just think about the widely accepted model of how the the universe came into existence, the Big Bang – nothing less than a bloody orgasm of cosmic proportions. Talk about one mind numbing eruption, if God, or whatever, made anything better he certainly kept if for himself. I’ll put my money on this being as good as it gets.

Why then are we so hung up and tetchy when the subject of orgasm raises its sweet little head? Is it really necessary to cloak it in shame? Only let it out for air if we intend to breed? Castigate it to some uncontrollable cravings of our nasty bits while we pretend to be above such things? I’ve never really understood this so-called split between body and soul that has been washed into our brains. There is no split, it’s all bollocks. Body and soul are one, and it is in orgasm that we experience in a microcosmic kind of way the fundamental mystery and beauty of the universe with all its creative powers.

As I see it, the universe revels in orgasms, they happen all the time and not only among seven billion people wanking away. If aliens are listening in, they must think this is one randy planet. And it’s not just humans clasping each other in spasms of ecstasy, the whole cosmos seems to be one big spastic joy body with stars exploding, Sun storms erupting, volcanos spewing forth their goodies, and who knows what is going on at the quantum level!

Having orgasms is as natural as the rhythm of life, and this is why there is nothing more healing or wonderful than having orgasmic connections with others. The state of utter peace that we share with each other in post orgasmic bliss is one of the most heightened spiritual states there is. Yes, spiritual. Spiritual because it is physical, because it is natural, because it takes us into realms of joy experienced in no other way, and because we have exploding cocks that mother universe evolved for just this purpose. To shackle our guys with shame is about as useful as denying that the Earth spins around the Sun. Or, to use a more colorful analogy, about as useful as tits on a bull.

Every time we experience the Big O whether in a self wank or clutched together with a friend, lover, or someone whose eye we just caught, we relive the fundamental phenomenon of this crazy wonderful universe that every cell in our bodies is a part of. Those who would try to deny us this are not only clueless but missing out on what it means to be fully alive.


The Woody

There probably isn’t anything more fascinating than a stiff cock. Not everyone’s of course, there are certain people, maybe even some obnoxious world leaders, whose members flaccid or tumescent I have absolutely no desire of seeing. But generally speaking, beholding and touching a guy’s manhood in all its glory is a pretty sweet deal.

Access to a woody is not so simple, it can stir up desire and fear in equal proportions. At the center of these contradictions stands the erect cock proud of itself while smirking at our weaknesses. It is bursting with energy, wants to be petted, even beckons for attention from across a room, and longs to be touched, to connect with someone else. It is one powerful little package, and because of this cultures have built up all kinds of restrictions and punishments for those who dare to transgress. I have known straight identifying guys who have wanted to see and touch another guy’s woody. With desire as universal as this, no wonder the fear mongers have worked overtime to cast every slur in the books against our cocks, and they have done a pretty good job of enslaving a lot of people to their beliefs.

It seems a little silly to me that male nudity in paintings is often accepted, yet it is still not a common sight in other more immediate cultural mediums such as films, TV, and the stage. Even in these mediums, an erection is taboo, it seems to be the point at which art becomes porn. When you consider the amount of time that is taken up with people viewing porn on the internet, it shows just how powerful a force erotic energy is, and how weak the controls against it are.

In more ways than one, the woody is a lightening rod!! As we get closer to breaking its protective taboos, anxiety levels rise. Even in my Sacred Intimacy practice, it has not been uncommon to see this kind of anxiety play itself out as guys in a first session caution me that they might get an erection. Although such anxiety surfaces, it usually does not last long. Once we get into touch space, all such fears melt away. There is such a depth of wisdom in the simple act of touch that can do much to heal us.

I don’t know how new myths come about, but if they could be created in an instant, I would advocate for one that recognizes the connective and healing power that radiates out from cocks in full glory, and that intimate touch with them needs to be open and free of guilt regardless of gender or sexual orientation. Though I am not a utopian by nature, I like to think we are moving in this kind of direction, smashing old taboos, and erasing the guilt and pain that afflict so many people for what is a completely natural desire.

The One-Eyed Monster

There is no question in my mind that we have a bloody cool tool between our legs, and packing much more power than you would expect from a single piston engine. When it is throbbing at full force, it could slay a dragon! So it is not surprising that our little soldiers have earned such titles as the one-eyed monster.

First, a confession, yes I have enjoyed many a good joke about the monsters lurking in our BVDs. Yet when I think about my guy, I don’t see him as a monster. Although he is a horny little bugger, I see him more in the sense of a warrior than a monster. A warrior? Sure, but one fighting the good cause of bringing sensual joy into the world, one of spreading pleasure as we spread our legs.

I would go so far as to say we have a one-eyed genius at work down there warming our loins. Instead of a battering ram laying siege to an entire city, a cock can be the source of great healing power, a kind of shamanic warrior. Like all great warriors, our guys are gentle when stroked but fierce when provoked. Fierce, that is, in being single minded in the pursuit of stimulating pleasure, of bringing a healing force into our lives, and of casting aside the hate mongers who spread wicked rumors about our cocks being the root of all shame.

It could be that from time immemorial fig leafs of shame have been tossed at our cocks, yet the energy of those little guys has continually found ways through which to let loose, express themselves, and ultimately to push back the Goliaths of shame. Not bad for a single piston engine, it shows what strength and healing power there really is lurking between our thighs. And if you doubt there is healing power in eros, just think of the warm glow that pulsates through your body after an orgasm. No pharma product can match that!

Instead of a one-eyed monster, I’d like to think of our cocks as one-eyed shamans. There is a wealth of wisdom tucked into that third eye. We can learn much from it by giving it the honor, respect, and freedom it deserves.


Penis Power

Outside of a few warm and sunny days, spring this year in Berlin has been chilly and cloudy. On an impulse a little while ago, I got off the S-Bahn at the Botanical Garden on my way home. I’ve passed it on my bike or the train probably thousands of times and have never gone in.

In spite of the late spring, I was happy to see signs of life sprouting up here and there, and not surprisingly in the warm and sunny spots. Just looking at the flowers in the sun conjured up erotic images. Heat is energy and energy is a life source, without it we are dead. Think of how our bodies warm up when we begin touching another person. Whatever coolness we have at the start quickly gives way to a radiating warmth as our bodies come into an ever deeper and more intimate contact.

As I ponder on energy, life, and touch, an image comes to mind of DaVinci’s drawing Vitruvian Man. At the center is the penis. Lying at the center of the body, it is the axis around which everything turns. I think of times when I just sit and allow myself to feel the energy radiate from my cock up through my pelvis and out into my torso.

It only gets better when I am with another guy – together, the sensations are increased a thousand fold. The more erect our cocks get, the more heat and energy they give off, and the more we want to receive it as our bodies open themselves up. At a cellular level, we know where the life giving energy source is – we feel it in every level of our bodies. It is only natural that we turn to it the way a flower tilts towards the sunlight.

As it is with flowers, we too have an innate need to spread our seed. So why, I wonder, is there this idea of an orgasm as being a petit mort, a little death? For me, it is really a little birth – something that gives me energy. Post orgasm, I revel in the subtle radiating energy that fills us with the warmth and joy that lingers and nourishes us. It is nature’s gift, and one that fills me with a feeling of wellbeing. Lying together with a partner, letting our wetness moisten our bodies, tasting each other’s essence, going in and out of an erotic trance…ahhh, springtime.

Edge of Wetness

Images of moisture have been surrounding me. Over the weekend, I was strolling the streets of misty Vienna, taking a short break from rainy and misty Berlin. In my wanderings, I visited the Hundertwasser Museum, water water everywhere. While listening to a recording of him describing his experiences in painting, images of my journeys in Sacred Intimacy and touch came to mind. Painting took him out of this world, beyond its judgments and limitations and into a dream world in which imagination flourished.

As voyagers in Sacred Intimacy, we too journey into a dream space, into a realm beyond time and things separating us, beyond society’s judgmental and restrictive eye, into a place where we are free to be creative and wet in the most profound of ways.

Wetness is one of Eros’s trail markers, it shows us the way in. At first touch, our bodies are dry, our kisses maybe only damp. Progressing deeper into touch space, our building energy leaves more traces of wetness, trickles of pre-cum ebb and flow, and our excitement builds as we ride the edge of wetness prolonging its final eruption for as long as possible. All the while, we are in a kind of forgetfulness freeing us from time and space. It is an erotic dream space, a realm in which we feel the full powers of rejuvenation culminating with our cocks exploding in wet celebration.

Like Hundertwasser’s experience of forgetfulness in the dream space that was the wellspring for his paintings, I feel much the same with journeys into touch space. It is like drinking from the waters of the River Lethe in Greek mythology. Only by drinking of the waters of forgetfulness, of oblivion, are we cleansed to be reborn.

I think the Greeks were onto something here. The world places more than enough obstacles in the various pathways of erotic life, and especially for those of us who vibrate to homoerotic pulses. It is all the more important for us to wash away this negativity, to enter oblivion, and to feel the nourishment of rebirth. It all begins with the simple act of stripping and touching, from there the wetness trickles into a flood from which we emerge newly energized, and thus newly whole.

For Hundertwasser, a painting was a record of his journey into forgetfulness. For me, it is the glowing traces left in my moisture laden body from the experience.

Erotic Zen

For the past few days, I have been reading about Zen, something I know very little about. It struck me that there are similarities between the sense of oneness and healing that are experienced in Zen meditation and my practice of Sacred Intimacy. No doubt there are those far more enlightened in Zen who would frown on such a notion. Nevertheless, this fool will rush in where the enlightened angels fear to tread.

Being present, at one with oneself and the cosmos, feeling a sense of harmony, of stillness, and of wholeness are ideas common to many spiritual practices. Various traditions have evolved methods for attaining these states such as prayer, meditation, sitting, mindful walking, and so on. All seem to have the goal of calming our chatty minds so that we can step outside our egos to experience something beyond description.

Admittedly, Zen is a solo practice even when done in the midst of others, whereas Sacred Intimacy is about two people entering into an erotic journey together. During my own travels into the erotic, I like to take my time by beginning with us fully clothed and moving gradually into our naked selves. Connection starts with touching each other’s hearts, looking into each other’s eyes, syncing our breaths. What follows is guided by intuition as our minds grow calm and our egos slip away. Already notions that define us become irrelevant, our identities become unimportant. These journeys are about opening ourselves up to our partners by entering a non-verbal world where touch takes over from seeing. Erotic space guides our bodies and shows us into the magic realm. It knows were to go, all we need do is to open our hearts and follow it.

Perhaps the feelings of oneness and healing that are in the afterglow following orgasm are similar to those the Zen masters have written about. I suspect they are because through an erotic journey we have stepped outside of things that divide us, set us apart from each other, and perhaps that even set us apart from our selves. Basking in the trancelike state that follows orgasm, my mind is usually at its most perceptive and peaceful. Not only have I benefitted from the build up and release of energy in my own orgasm but in that of my co-journeyer as well. With our bodies deeply connected, there is no more powerful experience than feeling the surge of each others orgasms. Equally as powerful is the sensation of our energies nourishing each other as we lie together in our post orgasmic trance.

Maybe this is not what Zen masters would think of as having reached an enlightened state, a Zen state, but when I read their descriptions about being in a state of wholeness and healing these are the experiences from my life that come to the surface and beckon me to practice, practice, practice…


Wet Dream – For Two

What a great gift nature bestows on men, wild erotic dreams culminating in an eruption of man milk covering you and your sheets in a gooey glow. Life is good! I was thinking about how much like a dream state, and a wet one at that, the erotic journeys I write about in these posts are.

My journeys begin with my fellow explorer and me stripping each other as we move into touch space. Just recently, I was thinking about this transition and how similar it is to sleep and the ways in which our bodies descend through various stages into the magic of a dream world. In the world of touch space, we also enter into a kind of magical dreamlike world, one that takes us beyond the limitations of clothing and the judgmental eye – beyond the world of taboos to a space where we can revel in the joys of eros.

In erotic touch space, we discover worlds that seem to lie dormant in our psyches waiting for us to enter. At the right moment, somehow we know where to go and how to get there. Another type of dream space comes to mind, the kind brought to life through the song lines of the aboriginal peoples of Australia. As they wander the outback, they hardly have need for maps as we think of them. As they sing a certain sequence of songs, their geography unfolds before them. Their maps tell stories, and through them they relive the truths of their existence.

Journeying in the touch world is not all that different. In touch space, we enter a world that has its own geography, to which we each have a map and our own unique stories. All are outside the  rational guideposts and boundaries of our conscious world.

In my experience with various co-journeyers, our explorations unfold mutually with little to no verbal communication. Every journey is unique regardless of the number of times I have travelled with a particular partner. Just as no two dreams are the same, so too with erotic journeys. In our co-venture through the geography of eros, our fantasies are different but we share touch at the deepest levels. Our wet dream world is a space where we intimately connect with someone, share a deeply erotic experience, and give each other the gift of wetness. When I am basking in the afterglow of orgasm with a co-journeyer, the feeling I have is of the deepest connection with this person and of a profound gratefulness for having shared a journey that not only brought us together but of doing so in a way that sets us free.