Dumpster-Dancer

tantra

An Atheist of the “if it feels good do it” school, I cursed the prudish “Christian” control freaks who brainwashed the girl who was to become my wife. I hated them for making her think that her powerful sex drive was somehow shameful. After our marriage I cursed them for planting phobias in her head that made me look like a sexual predator in her eyes.

A constant refrain from her was “but don't you love me? All you care about is sex!” This from a lusty, responsive woman who was rubbing herself off against my thigh at 15 years old . . . before the brain washers really got their hooks into her head.

I recently blogged how, in her mid-30s, she finally went Borders Books for a #tantra book to learn how to meet my needs. I implied that she was only responding to my pressure and demands, trying to save our marriage. But that's not really true.

In fact, around that time we'd been arm twisted into attending a Christian couple's retreat. There the lusty pastor's wives

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“The Art of Sexual Ecstasy” is a westernized #tantra book by Margot Annand. I recommended it to a female who seemed to be interested in exploring the relationship between human sexuality and the God who made us both sexual and relational.

On further consideration, that book recommendation was the wrong one. That book helped my relationship . . . but only because I’m a man. It’s the wrong book for a feminine woman who also has a touch of the masculine essence.

At 35 I was ready to blow up my marriage. I truly and deeply loved, admired and respected my wife. Most of our relationship was idyllic. We talked, shared and budgeted on the same page. We solved problems well. We had overcome the pain of childlessness (or at least learned to deal with it.) But I ached. I ached because my sweet woman could not understand my need for something more in our sex life.

I thought that I just wanted something kinkier and more varied. I thought that I just wanted more passion and enthusiasm.

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