To survive, humans need food, water, and shelter, but to thrive requires more depth. For years, I was simply existing and my soul had been buried under a mountain of responsibilities: motherhood, work, trying to save a failing marriage. I had lost myself. My creative and sensual side had died, and I had convinced myself that due to my age, I was no longer a sexual being. I thought I had passed my sexual prime and I was moving onto a new phase in life where sex wasn’t important. As I’ve talked to many of my friends in their forties, I’ve heard the same story. Like me, they claimed that sensuality was a thing of their youth, no longer an integral part of who they are.
Everything started to change as I became a free woman after my divorce. Two men helped me to unleash my carnal desires and brought me back to whom I’m meant to be. The first occasion happened one night when I was out Bollywood dancing. I was lost in the spice lands, intoxicated by the music, dancing by myself, when all of a sudden, a young Indian college lad bounced up to me. We connected through the power of music, our energies melding on the dancefloor. The night ended with some sensual kissing and after that, we met a few times for some college make-out sessions. I was starting to reawaken, but he returned to India before things got intense.
A few months later, I met a man my age who had a similar story to mine. He was divorced with two kids and was trying to find a connection again. After a few phone conversations, we decided to meet. The chemistry was immediate and things progressed quickly. We couldn’t sustain an actual relationship because the miles between us were logistically problematic. However, the short time we spent together reawakened the sensual being whom had been hidden inside me all along. I realized, I’m not broken, I’m not dead inside. And, I realized that sensuality is an integral part of who I am, and it is something I desire in a relationship. When my sensuality is unleashed, it unlocks my creativity, and I become whole again.
The following poem is inspired by my sensual reawakening with this second man. I’m a musician at heart, so the metaphor of the cello seemed the perfect way to express my transformation.
The dusty cello rested upon the mahogany floor,
Untouched, desolate, the music buried inside her.
The maestro marveled at her beauty, her curves, the possibility.
He moved forward and delicately touched her, lifted her up,
Gently sliding his fingers down her neck, her back, her sides,
Delicately wiping away the accumulated pain and heartache.
Starting with the root, the C string,
He plucked her, still taut, producing a rich, velvety sound,
A slow rhythmic pizzicato,
Fingers dancing across the strings,
Awakening the lost notes,
Her low moans resonating, filling the room.
Intoxicated by her melody, he yearned for more.
Closing his eyes and breathing her in,
He lifted his bow, sliding it firmly along her robust strings,
Mesmerized, intent on evoking her true inner voice.
Carefully, he articulated each note, up and down,
The steady bow movements, growing more intense.
She quivered, shaking ever so slightly.
Responding to her pleasurable approval, he sped up his movements.
Her vibrations permeated his skin, seeped into his core.
Sweat dripped off his brow, trickling down her warm body,
His bow, throbbing, pulsing, pace increasing,
A rapid crescendo as the notes ascended,
She let a final high-pitched cry, music swirling into the heavens.
The world disappeared. Bliss radiated through her entire body,
All the loss, the heartache, the emptiness, washed away.
The maestro, shaking, embraced her,
Feeling the lingering vibrato of his temporary lover.
He would never forget their sensual symphony,
but he knew he couldn’t stay.
She was destined to be with another.
No longer hidden from the world,
Her soul would sing, never to be silenced again.