I’ve been romancing myself & it’s really hot

(( a spicy experiment ))

Romance should never be confined to the container of a relationship.

This is absolutely criminal and depleting to the creator that is you.

A deficit that is quietly obstructing planetary healing.

My libido has been shit for a while.

Something I’ve put on the back burner- because there has been no burn.

This showed up in every sphere.

The astral plane, the bedroom, and the way I responded to emails.

Everything is sex.

Because everything is touched by an essence of you.

You are touched and touch others through a smile, a text, the way you drive, the form of your posture, and how you enter a room.

Flirtation is an act of service.

Two humans come together to kindle the fire, but it is the individual that brings the element.

You are all the elements of what make this universe alive.

Life is born through this romance of self. A spirit that was willing to give its full heart to be implanted onto this Earth. A fetus that fell so in love with its conception that it kept dividing cells.

I have fallen in love with many things without loving myself first.

This is not a love I recommend.

For the past year, I lost myself in my marriage.

I forgot what it was like to organically flirt.

To freely feel a fire to people, places, and really good-smelling perfumes.

I fell into a radically outdated concept that I have to sacrifice my lust for living to be a role. Now that I’m married, I need to shed ways that are not in “accordance” with this contract.

I love being married, but I’ve struggled with fitting into the dress of this construct.

It’s become a corset to the seduction of my own being.

I feel like this is an integral aspect of high divorce rates.

This abandonment of self-attraction.

This idea is that romance is for someone else.

I’ve been experimenting with tantalizing myself and I can not even BEGIN to express the shifts within my pleasure.

It was through my collapse of the spousal cavity that my heart tingled.

This is my capital venture of desiring myself.

I’ll never forget what my man said to me before we got married.

“This marriage is the marriage of ourselves. I want you to marry you through this new commitment. That is the greatest thing I could ever witness in our life together.”

I forgot to take this oath.

I’ve been forgetting to tend to the marriage of me.

This past month, I did just that.

I leaned into everything that felt like sex for me.

I re-defined what sex was for me to begin with.

For me, it’s a taste.

It’s a sensation. A delight that can be simple or extravagant.

Sensuality has no rules.

I oiled myself up in the sun.

I started planning trips for myself again.

I bought jewelry.

I rapped at the top of my lungs in the car.

I’ve been smelling delicious just hanging in bed.

I’ve been sucking on lollipops.

I took extra long moments in my skincare.

I started feeling myself in all regards.

I was missing pleasure.

I was missing, me.

I am pleasure. You are pleasure.

That is the cornerstone of romance.

Dabbling in the art of delight for delight’s sake.

I haven’t felt this hot in forever.

It has absolutely zero to do with my outfits, the pilates, or adaptogenic smoothies.

It’s a libido for me and me only.

I created a one-person devotion club to my eroticism.

The sold propaganda that romance is a two-person tango is strictly prohibited in this club. I want to see you dance for you.

What if you were hot for no one else but yourself?

What if feeling hot had NOTHING to do with the external?

What if….call me delusional…but what if being hot for you rubbed off on your partner? Your community? Your world?

I have single-handedly experienced this since playing with the idea of self-romance.

It’s sensational.

The horniness I have for being me is through the fucking roof.

And it has trickled into every little pocket of my reality.

As a woman who is *still* deconditioning from the wellness space, I am still blown away at how my libido magically turned back on (after months of absence) just within a couple of days of making the decision to marry me again.

A ceremony that is so sacred that no one else is invited.

No protocols, no deep dives crying into my writing, no flower essences.

Just. Me. Turning. On. Me.

This is an appetite of another realm.

I’m hungry.

Here is a deep truth to serve on the pheromone plate. No matter what your relationship status is.

No one will ever “have” you.

You are the only one who actually has all of you.

That requires special 1:1 affection.

Most of us have been making that optional.

The cup of romance you fill for yourself will equate to the romance you experience in this materiality.

Drink wisely.

That lush potion has been keeping me cumming back for more.

This is the art of fantasizing your self.

It’s priceless to be the art and the artist.

Nothing is required of you to tap into this luxury.

Just your soft curiosity is needed to enter into this cloud of arousal.

Maybe the interest to “boost” your libido or form a romance with yourself is really you asking to experience the pleasure that has been missing all along.

This simple ponder might be a spiral into your personal seduction.

One that couldn’t be touched by another.

That kind of holiness is exclusive.

I hope you find solace in your individualistic aphrodisiac.

I dream of you becoming intimate with your glee.

I wish you roses.

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xo

Sierra

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“A woman’s sexuality is not about seducing a man, it’s about being in her own feminine creative power.”

～ Maryam Hasnaa

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