Be the change you want to see.

Was talking with Jenn this morning and we were talking about sex and kissing and generally being fed, emotionally.

Being fed, emotionally, is what I call intimacy.

I was thinking about writing a Tumblr post, and maybe I'll adapt this for that purpose, because Intimacy comes in a MILLION forms that AREN'T sex. And there needs to be an understanding of that. Across the board, there needs to be an understanding of that.

Sex isn't necessarily intimacy. Sex doesn't necessarily feed your spirit and self, or make you feel satisfied.

Orgasm isn't necessarily intimacy either. (though sex without a satisfying orgasm can be classified as "bad sex", it can still feel intimate, especially if there's clear communication about what's going on and why, or if at least one partner feels like it's a gift to their partner) I could write so much about this, but that's what I've got at the moment.

Intimacy can be the right amount of eye contact during a meaningful discussion.
Or it can be someone who knows just when to offer a hug, and who holds on as long as you need it..
Intimacy can be the kind of hug where you can hear the other person's heartbeat and you just feel safe.
Or it can be touching and being touched in the ways that feel satisfying.

(I'm laughing at myself a little, because part of the reason I'm writing this is that I've had a song stuck in my head for two days, and it seems like it's an anthem for ace/asexual folks...)



Intimacy isn't about being naked with someone. (necessarily!) I've been hot tubbing for literally decades. It can be sexual, it can be chill. It can be friendly, or there can be no connection whatever between you and the other naked person...

But then there's this: One time at Kiva (santa cruz hot tub place) I met someone in the public space talking-allowed tub. For some reason we wound up talking about the fact that I was considering having ACL reconstruction/knee surgery. Probably that my body was hurting all the time, and I'd only recently finally learned that the ACL on my right knee wasn't just damaged, it was not just broken, but it was completely GONE. My ACL had broken so long before I and my doctors figured it out and got the MRI testing done, that my body had cannibalized the tissue, cleaned it right out.

I'm talking to the guy. It felt safe to express my fears about surgery, generally, and also to explain and describe the ongoing chronic pain I had been suffering. (when your body is missing a structural member, the muscles elsewhere in the body overwork to make up for that lack. This frequently causes serious pain.)

He says, I had that kind of surgery twenty years ago, things are VERY different now. He lifts his knee out of the water, there's a giant red scar circling 2/3-3/4 of his knee. He says, this is how they used to do ACL replacement, before arthroscopic surgery. He describes the process, which I'll spare you from hearing. Then he describes how they do surgery "now" (in 2011) with small incisions, a camera to guide the surgeon, and a much shorter recovery time.

Being naked and in a trusting environment facilitated the intimacy. Which was the sharing of personal stories, advice, and perspective, and LISTENING. Listening, with a mind to HELP.

I did get that surgery, (which is now 7 years ago on my personal timeline) in part because I had this conversation. He said it was worth getting, even back when he got it, even with the extensive scarring and longer recovery period. I'd thank him, if I met him again and recognized him.

That felt intimate. Shared stories and kindness.

Contrariwise, I have an ex boyfriend who used the being naked together/having been naked together, as an awkward means to try and reconnect and/or hit on people. It became One of his usual greetings. "Hey, haven't I seen you naked?"

He thought he was funny, I guess. Eh. *eyeroll*

My friend L is asexual, smart, funny, punny, charming, cute. She's one of the reasons why that song up there got stuck in my head. I've taken a year of pottery classes with her, and we camped together at Burning Man this year, sharing some adventures. We come from different backgrounds, but we always have been able to talk about all kinds of things. She asks the most interesting questions, because she's *interested* in people and how they think and feel about a variety of different things.

Conversations with L are always interesting and intimate. Lots of people say "small talk is bullshit" but she asks real questions, and answers real questions thoughtfully. She's really REAL.

Another example: a different friend needed a safe space and to be listened to and be a little bit squished last night. Then she needed to cry. She cried, for hours, on my shoulder and in my arms. She needed to talk and vent about her sorrows and anger and disappointment about her relationship disintegrating under her, despite her best efforts. And her efforts have been many, detailed, and persistent, in trying to "fix" her marriage, to communicate clearly, to set her boundaries. I admire the work she's been doing, and I'm fucking sad as hell and disappointed in her partner for blowing past her boundaries, ignoring her communication, and failing to show up and meet her with a similar amount of effort.

But being the person who she feels safe enough to cry with?

That's a kind of intimacy like no other. Offering her safe space and the kind of physical contact she needed to let go for awhile... there was nothing sexual involved, just two humans being human together in pain and comfort.

Intimacy comes in friendly touch, in fixing someone's hair or collar, scratching the spot on their back that they can't reach. (I think of those grooming touches as a monkey-mind socialization.)

Intimacy can be instant and temporary, or can build over time.

and the thing that I finally understand, after years and years of working on my "trust issues" and anxiety and depression, is that it's always always always based on *mutual* consent and connection.

Post two is coming up.
There's a dark underbelly that I wanted to keep separate from this particular discussion.