So, let's suppose a woman said, and felt, this:

"We are equals.  In every emotional, spiritual, intellectual way we are true partners.  We care for each other, enjoy each other, hold each other up high.  I don't call him sir, he doesn't tell me how to brush my teeth or when to go to the bathroom.  We are individuals and we cherish and revere each others' hopes, dreams, and aspirations.

But physically?  Oh God, physically no such equality exists.  My body--no, my whole physical being--is his.  His to have, his to enjoy.  Not mine to dole out sparingly and "loan" to him, but truly his.  My body is my gift to him, it is a thing my soul uses to lavish my love on him.  Like a rare sports car, it is his most prized possession, always cherished, often pampered, always cared for.  But still a possession, to be used for pleasure, joy, fulfillment...  It is his place  to come to be replenished, renewed, nurtured.  My body is a well for his libido to dip into however, and however often, he desires.  Not in the hopes that he will sip from me daintily, but that he will drink freely, fully...  That he will bathe himself, immerse himself, bask in me.  A pool to revel in without hesitation, without inhibition, no want or need ever held back."

What man wouldn't yearn, deeply for her?  What man wouldn't reach deeper and deeper into himself to protect and provide for her every day?  What man wouldn't place her high up, on a pedestal?

Constant Arousal

Many years ago I began what I can only call an "awakening" in my life, call it a very early mid-life crisis. I became much more introspective, much more self-aware, always looking deeply, objectively into myself and others to see what was really in there. I have never stopped looking, never stopped searching. It is a journey that will never end. One of the things that I have learned about myself is how profoundly sexual a person I really am. Years ago, a friend once told me, "You are such a deeply sexual person, but somewhere along the line some woman must have unwittingly convinced you that you needed to tone that down a bit, that you needed to keep that in check." I thought about this many times, and eventually it helped lead me to several epiphanies about myself and my sexuality. One of those was this: Sex isn't something you do--an activity, a verb. Rather, being sexual is something you are, a state of being... an adjective. Realizing that I was a deeply sexual person, and acknowledging the importance of physical affection in keeping me whole, was a life changing thing.

I don't want sex any more. I want a sexual life. Where tender affection, wild eroticism, and some elements of BDSM are "baked in," as much a part of life as eating, sleeping, and breathing. Not sex as something you "do," where you put down what you are doing, go "have" sex like it is an event. I want it to be a river. A river that flows through me, through my partner... A river with its own current that I can't always control or steer. It has wide spots and narrower spots. Sometimes it is deep and awe-inspiring. Other times it is shallow with intense rapids. But it never runs dry, it flows steadily through every moment of my life and is part of everything I do, part of all that I am, part of all that I ever will be.

It has no beginning and no end. It isn't a cycle… It doesn't start with a flirt or a turn-on, and doesn't end with an orgasm or resolution, and then restart again sometime later. No, it just flows. It is always flowing, it is always on, I am always on, she is always on... Our bodies, our libidos, are always engaged, always engaging each other, always stirring. I love that notion--that down in our bones, at a physical level even deeper than our subconscious--that my body, and my lover's, are in their own dance, constantly courting one another, constantly asking us to just be quiet and listen. Sometimes the request is whispered, and we have to listen carefully for it. Other times it roars, commanding attention, demanding compliance.

I don't want to dodge those whispers any more. I have spent too much of my life tuning them out, so that I can be productive--at work and elsewhere--without the "distraction" of my always-on libido tugging at me. I don-t want to tune them out any more. I want to welcome them, as welcome as my next breath, my next heartbeat... That leaves me living a life of constant arousal, and leaves me aching for the kind of partner that can nourish and nurture that state.

Imagine a partnership where you are the keeper, the guardian, the manager of your partner's sexuality. It isn't simply the on-line notion of "passive" submission, of being "always ready and willing" for your dom/master's urges. Imagine your lover's sexuality, their libido, as a fire you tend to. The goal is not to put it out--their arousal is not a problem, to be solved. The goal is to maintain it, to keep it burning, to keep it simmering all day, every day, fully aware that it will flare up into an inferno often. You add logs to it constantly, you stir it, you nurture it... you keeps the coals hot, you keep each other simmering.

You don't know when, or why it will flare up. Sometimes it's because you've planned it. But many other times, it is because you left each other simmering and let your bodies negotiate the when and the how with each other. If you listen, intently, your bodies always know, they always get it right. But you have to listen, and you have to heed them when they call.

The fire is always glowing, you are always on the razor's edge of a flare up. One day it might be a glance from your partner across the room at a dinner party. Another day it's a kiss that lingers just a second too long. It could be a little nudge of hips when walking down the aisle at the store. Or the way her breast "accidentally" brushes against his arm when reaching into the shopping cart. You never know what the spark will be. You just keep each other's coals simmering all day, and revel in the peaceful certainty that at the time and place of its choosing, the fire will consume you, whenever and however it needs to.

Imagine the peacefulness, the joy, of knowing, every day, that the fire will sweep over you however many times that day that it needs to. Your job is not to control it, it is just to keep each other simmering, keep each other listening, and let nature take its course.