Biting Hank's Belly

I am not the woman that Hank first met over two years ago. I remember that woman when I read my own memoir - "Shameless". But sometimes, I can hardly remember myself back then. I remember self consciously dancing naked with him (him dressed of course) – and feeling completely humiliated. It was so hard to be in my skin back then. It was beyond difficult for me to undress and be seen. I can remember like it was yesterday. I can remember him once asking me to climb to my knees – and the shame I felt in my body made it almost impossible. Skip forward in time.... Who is that woman on her knees on Hank’s table – naked except for black slightly worn thigh high stockings. Was that me? A hedonistic Goddess enjoying all the places that my arousal was taking me. I was dancing and swaying like a spirit had possessed my body as feather paddle was making itself known on my skin. Hank was playing with all manner of sensation toys and I was dancing with all of the different flavors that each played on my skin. I was dancing with Hank - but mostly I was dancing with the spirit that was alive inside of my body. This great big erotic energy that was flying through my soul and swirling around around my heart.

The music was a part of my arousal. I love the music that Hank plays for me. It is rich and tribal. The music calls forth this wild creature inside of myself. I was for a brief time without self judgment. I love that.

Before I climbed onto the table to begin my tribal sex dance – I was bent over the massage table. I love that place. I felt my leg wrap around Hanks’ body as he began to touch to me. I loved my session with Hank. They were safe - full of boundaries. I was really able to let myself go - and I did.

I was lost in the moment. I only half noticed my leg reaching back and wrapping around his. What was I doing? I never touch back! I felt myself reach back for him – and his breath on my neck. I wanted to drop to my knees and kiss his body. I wanted to start at his feet and work my way up. “Down Girl”….I told myself. This is Hank. You do not kiss Hank full on the mouth. You do not sexually engage with Hank. This is about you - not Hank.

But I wanted to. That was when I climbed on the table. I needed to go deeper inside myself…I needed to feel the dance with Hank – but I needed to go deeper into my own experience. And I did for awhile. I went to this amazing place where I was an African Princess dancing to the sensations that were vibrating in and around my body. With my eyes closed only the colors of the universe greeted me.

Oh – I felt the hands on my body – the sensation toys playing on my skin. And then Hank was in front of me. My body rose and then fell to a place of prostration as he held tightly onto my breasts. My breath was deep – and the wild, wantonness was back again. God I was loving this place – and celebrating my ease in being in it. It was like breathing in and out. It was that natural to me.

Hank’s fuzzy arms were teasing me. His hands pulling my hair. I wanted him to pull it harder. Perhaps I was an animal not a hedonistic Goddess or African Princess. I wanted to growl and shake my hair harder. I wanted to shake my hips. God! It felt so good to feel my erotic energy again! I rubbed my face into Hank’s body. I am allowed to do that. I found myself nuzzled into his arm pits, and I could smell his scent – and I started to nibble. Okay – maybe I started to bite Hank’s belly. Was that really me?

“I’m sorry!” I blurted out.

“For what?”

“For Biting your belly.”

“No you’re not! No you’re not! You are not sorry for biting my belly!!!” Hank laughed back at me. And started to playfully punish me with hand spanks on my ass. We were laughing - and I got over my embarrassment of falling over a boundary.

“You are right – I said. I am not sorry! Not in the least!”

And I went from the wild wanton creature to playful kitten. I wanted a pillow fight – and Hank grabbed the pillows. We went at it – me on the table bashing at Hank’s body - and him giving it to me double.

I was breathless, full of giggles and back in Hank's arms until it was time to go. In NYC it was a very rainy gray day. Inside Hank's apartment there was light. And I got to touch for a little while, that beautiful energy inside myself that stitches the rest of me together.

I still want to bite Hank's belly.

Dear Readers: I am getting lots of requests for me "Hank Stories" so here is another private entry from my secret journals! Enjoy getting to know "Hank"! This journal was written in 2009. Shameless Hugs, Pamela

A Sacred Intimacy Moment

Dear Readers,Yet another peek into my life....a scene from weeks past.... Enjoy! Pamela

I always have this feeling of going home when I see Hank. Hank’s black chairs, his Fulton, and his massage table is one of the places where I started – and where I have stayed. With Hank there has been no moving on. He still can hold space for me. I feel a kind of comfort in his arms that is hard for me to place. When he tells me that he is proud of me – it makes me happy in a very silly school girl kind of way. It makes me want to bring him a shiny red apple – and erase the boards for him.

There was a time that I went to see Hank every week. I don’t go as often – yet he remains as important to me as ever. So – when I walk in these days – I want to hold him so close that I could climb into his shorts. Going to Hank always brings me back to me. If I had a bottomless wallet – right now I think I would go every day. Some how – in the midst of all of this goodness – I am finding myself at lose ends. And I am oh – a bit needy.

We sat as we do – and talked. I needed to talk about my desire to be calm in this moment of calmness – and not go into a place of anxiety because that is what I am the most used to doing. And I could see myself going to that place of worry like a thirsty horse finding it’s stall. Yet right now – life was pretty damn good. The book was gone. Off to the land of galleys. Gavin and I were good and the kids were good So what was up with me? Why did I feel this awful feeling of impending doom? Perhaps it is the quiet that I am not used to more than anything. The time to cook again for my family. To fuss over greens and stir fries – to make almost from scratch cookies. The time even to take walks. I am settling down into that place again. It is an unwiring. In a way – I need to deprogram.

And so we sat there – Hank and me. I talked and he listened, counseled, and smiled at me like he does. And I realized, not for the first time – that I was sick of his damn undershirt. For three years, I have put my naked chest next to all manners of wife beater tee-shirts and polo shirts. And I just want to feel my flesh against his. I had felt like I had earned it.

And out of some place deep – some place unplanned – some place that was tired of an old boundary that just wasn’t needed anymore - I asked him if he would be willing to take off his shirt. He looked at me and I thought I would cry. It is so hard still so hard to speak desire – even with the man that taught me to speak it. I don’t remember the conversation, but he said that he would. Perhaps he would especially because it was so hard for me to ask. Perhaps he would out of his own recognition of my hard earned ability to stay with being uncomfortable – and not running away. I am not sure exactly – but that is my memory through the blood coursing through my veins and my heart beating too fast in my own request. We moved to the table – it was time to get me out of my head and into my body. It was a relief to get naked. I remember when it was so hard. So much is new in my life. And Hank did what Hank has never done with me – Hank took his shirt off.

Inside a Session with Hank

Dear Readers:

This is a blog that was never turned into a chapter for my memoir – but since we are friends – I thought I would share it with you! Aren’t you lucky?

My last session with Hank was a turning point for me. I have become clearer and clearer about how I need intimacy and connection in Sacred Intimacy. And that piece of this work, is perhaps for me, right now ‑ the largest piece. I am a human being under construction. Once upon a time, it was simply touch that my body needed. And the introduction of touch to my body - the ability to learn how to receive touch....how to surrender to “one way touch” was huge for me.

That was so big, that I didn't necessarily even notice anything else. The need for touch, the joy in the experience was so overwhelming for me. Learning about breath, learning about my capacity for sensual pleasure, understanding my body and what makes me tick was so big.

Understanding and making peace with what turns me on, and how to ask for it became a part of the process of my healing. It became so  interesting to me, how my needs as a sexual and emotional being can shift and turn on a dime. But maybe it is not on a dime at all, maybe it is a part of my evolution and becoming as a complete and whole sexual being.

I spent two hours in Hank's arms yesterday. We both had our clothes on, and we laid down on some futon pillows that he had in his studio. There were pillows and we shifted our holding or  hugging  position several times.

It was interesting how the different positions brought out different feelings. I don't think that I have been held like that since I was a baby. I highly recommend it.  There I was having two hours of conscious holding. This was not the kind of holding that I do with my husband in bed while we sleep. This was wide awake and not a prelude to anything necessarily.

I love just feeling Hank’s arms around me, the gentle touching that being so close to each other provided – feeling our breath and the physical feeling of safety and love that this sustained holding provided for me make me open like a flower.

I have always been good at accessing my feelings, but this - being held by arms and feeling Hank's body pressed against mine fully clothed - provided a place for all me to come forth and be seen.

At first all my body wanted to do was cry. And then I talked about so many things! My relationship with my father, my husband, and even my relationship with “one way touch”.  I even talked about my relationships with all of my practitioners. How they are all so different.and wonderful even if they are sometimes difficult. Yet they all serve me in some very profound way – and by having all of these practitioners in my life they have opened me  up  to face my desires for things that do not exist in my life.

All while Hank was holding me, I talked a blue streak, and cried an ocean of tears.  I remember Hank saying certain things to me like "Just let go...I've got you"....and how it felt that he was totally there for me and I didn't have to worry about falling. I knew that he had me tightly and wouldn't let anything happen in that moment to me.

I felt protected and safe in my own vulnerability and the relief that those simple words "I've got you" and those strong arms gave me was simply immeasurable. It’s really too bad that almost all traditional psychotherapy is done in chairs. This technique of holding and talking...is so much more profound than sitting in chairs. It opens up the body, so that the soul can talk.