Sensuality called — it said: what’s the rush, babe?
[Note: This is Part 2 of a nine-part series where I document what happens when I dive headfirst into Bibi Brzozka’s Waves of Pleasure program on Mindvalley. The dissonance is still here. But now there’s ylang ylang. Soft, skin-warmed linen. A mood-inducing playlist. And a part of me learning how to stay a little longer.]
Sensuality.
Not exactly the first word that comes to mind when you’re being prepped for rounds and rounds of chemo and radiation.
But lately, it’s the one I keep circling back to. And after facing the emotional backlog in Lesson #1, Bibi’s telling me to tune into what my body wants to feel. (Missed how this all started? You can catch up with Part 1 of my sensual spelunking adventures in what I now call Waves of “Wait, We’re Doing What Now?”)
Now, here’s the one thing they didn’t tell me when they were prepping me for all that chemo and radiation: I’d be put on medically induced menopause.
That means my body didn’t get to ease into anything. No gentle fade-out, no “is this perimenopause?” guessing game. Just full stop.
My ovaries got shut down. Chemically, hormonally, biologically. Periods gone. Estrogen gone. Libido might as well be put on the side of a milk carton.
And because it was so sudden, the symptoms hit like a freight train: hot flashes, night sweats, vaginal dryness…
Let’s not forget about sex after menopause. Sensuality, dulled. Touch didn’t land the same. Arousal took forever (if it even showed up).
What used to feel electric suddenly felt… muted. What used to take its slow, delicious time suddenly went by like wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. And as science shows, the more tense and stressed we are, the harder it is to feel pleasure.
So when Lesson #2 of Mindvalley’s Waves of Pleasure has Bibi going, “we’re going to activate all of your senses so that you’ll be able to feel pleasure at any time throughout your day,” you best believe I was thinking, “Ooookaaaaaaaaaay, what new fresh hell is this…”
Figuring out what actually turns me on (besides cake)
There’s this one scene in Varsity Blues where Ali Larter’s character tries to seduce Paul Walker’s character with a whipped cream bikini. If you’ve ever watched the movie, you know the scene I’m talking about. And you know how every teenage boy reacted a lot like 🤭😬, while every teenage girl was more along the lines of 😦🫣.
That scene left me, the curious cat, wondering what the big hoohah was about. To me, whipped cream equals sticky. And sticky on the body equals uncomfortable… No? Like when ice cream melts onto your hand on a hot day. Un. Com. For. Table.
So when Bibi asked, “which senses are most pleasurable to you?” in her program, the first thought that whipped (lame pun?) into my head was definitely NOT whipped cream.
But it dawned on me that I have no clue what senses I find pleasurable. It’s always been kiss kiss feely feels boom bam.
But isn’t that what’s being taught as being “pleasurable”? I mean, even research shows that the average duration of penetrative sex is 5.4 minutes.
“We usually try to quickly achieve pleasure by focusing directly on our sex organs.” (Yeah, okay, Bibi. Stop reading me like a book.)
“When we do that, we are missing out on the foundations of pleasure.”
So… turns out I’ve never really learned how to enhance sensuality. I’ve just been treating pleasure like a speedrun.
What is sensuality, really? As Bibi explains, it means “being fully present with our senses, and it is the basis of pleasure.”
And while I may not (yet) know which of my senses are most pleasurable to me, perhaps looking at it from the other side of the spectrum might be easier.
Apparently, I’ve been ghosting my own body
“What senses do you engage with the least?” Oh, Bibi, you sure do know how to get right in there.
So, alright, let’s go over the five senses again, shall we? Touch, taste, smell, sight, sound.
Touch and sight are what I’ve been shown as pleasurable, thanks to pop culture.
Like that one scene from 40 Days and 40 Nights where Shannyn Sossamon’s character reached her divine release with only the use of a feather. (Not that it hurt either having Josh Hotness — I mean, Hartnett — doing that with the feather.)
Or the very many different positions of the Kama Sutra. Or the classic paperbacks where Fabio’s hair did 80% of the seducing.
So that left taste, smell, and sound that I had never thought to play with.
Yet, science says they matter. A lot.
Smell, for instance, plays a huge role in arousal. One study found that men could actually detect when women were sexually aroused just from the smell of their sweat.
Sound, too: adding erotic audio has been proven to increase desire in both men and women. Even vocalizations, like moaning or breath, can shift the entire dynamic.
And while taste hasn’t been studied as much, it still matters. People have used foods and herbs for centuries to boost desire. Even today, some plant-based aphrodisiacs have been tested and shown to help increase arousal in both men and women.
So, maybe Ali’s character in Varsity Blues had the right idea. Stickiness, be damned.
Trying to feel the (not-so) obvious stuff
The thing about surviving cancer is that it teaches you how to disconnect.
You learn to stop listening to your body. You give in to the fear of intimacy.
And in all that bracing and white-knuckling, you don’t just shut out the bad stuff. You start shutting out the good, too.
But Bibi had a point: “Slow down with full presence and attention while you’re igniting all your senses.” I need to learn to slow down. To be present. To feel what’s truly sensual.
What can I do with touch? Feel the gentle graze of my fingers as they trail across my skin. Or notice how soft cotton clings, falls, and hugs in ways I never paid attention to before.
What can I do with taste? Let the sweetness of a piece of mango melt on my tongue. Or taste the fragrant tea as it warms my throat and settles into my chest.
What can I do with smell? Inhale the soft floral pull of jasmine drifting through the room. Or catch the earthy note of ylang ylang as it clings to my skin.
What can I do with sight? Watch the sky bleed from gold to violet as the sun disappears behind the water. Or trace the curve of my body in the mirror, not to judge it, just to see it.
What can I do with sound? Hear the quietness of the morning darkness before the world kicks in. Or play a song I forgot I loved, and let it fill the room like it belongs there.
It doesn’t feel like much yet. Then again, I’m only just beginning.
But here’s what I’ve taken from this lesson: Pleasure is a skill. And for the first time in a long time, I’m listening.
And you?
If you’ve ever felt like your body was more functional than felt, or like you forgot how to even want to be touched…
I’d love to hear your story. Someone out there probably needs to hear it too. Xo
Next up: The Art of Sensual Embodiment. Because apparently Bibi says “erogenous zones,” and all I can think is: “Seven. Seven. SEVEN!”
