Tantric Meditation - Morning Orgasms

Morning soon after a evening of erotic dreams. Awakening to feeling sexually charged, keyed. Feeling the erotic energy trapped amongst my hips. It's early. I have time to meditate, to masturbate, to have my morning orgasm.daffodils and tulips

Arising from my bed. The globe continues to be asleep. Silence. Its nearly tangible. It lays over my ears like an amplifier. Just about every creak, every single squirrel chitter, every single bird twitter, is audible, even from inside.

Coffee. Micro-roasted, the ‘Fat Albert’ blend. The scent is astounding, the taste as incredible as the scent, its flavor moderated with a dollop of heavy cream. Actual cream.

It is moist outside. The air caresses my skin, masking my face in cool mist. So refreshing and invigorating. Green. Lots of shades of green. The guest from England mentioned we've extra shades of green right here even than within the British Isles. The daffodils and tulips are blooming. The bamboo is dangling diamond droplets from its leaves. The primroses are displaying their colours, and my winter daphne continues to be blooming, sharing its scent using the breeze.

Life. “Every day you wake up then there’s a brand new day,” says a really dear buddy. Ambivalence or Acceptance? Striving to love the sensual immediacy on the moment-of each moment-even using the concerns of the day pressing, pressing, normally pressing. Pressure in my pelvis. An easy pressure to release.

Deep breath. Scanning my body. Holding tension in my shoulders, my abdomen, my low back. Exhaling. Shoulders drop, hips shift. Greater.

Back inside. Altar. Lighting incense. Sitting zazen. A nod to Buddha, so sanguine and magnanimous. Om. A timeless moment of blankness, of purity. Greater. A lot better.

Breath. Breathing. Drawing energy upwards from my pelvis. Hips rolling forward as I inhale, rolling back as I exhale. Gentle stress along my perineum plus the entrance to my vagina. Arousal rises with the gentle rocking, and with it, heat.

A lot more rocking breaths, much more heat, more energy to draw up, up, up via the leading of my head. As the power flows, so does the wetness. I can feel my labia aspect as I breathe and rock, breathe and rock, feeling the power of my arousal, so pure, so languid. There's no urgency, only pleasure radiating by means of me, orange-gold and potent.

The brush of my fingers against my labia sends a thrill up my spine. Nipples harden, sending the thrill back down my belly, racing toward my clitoris. Breath. Breathe. Breathing. Rocking. Rolling. Pressing. Pressing the button, reversing the flow of power, flooding my pelvis.

Orgasm. Bliss. Hiccuping breath. Much more rocking. Additional breathing. An additional caress of my mound. Fingers pressing. Orgasm and bliss. Endless cycle till breathing is ragged and I discover myself laying on my back, staring at the ceiling.