Eroticism asks us to slow down 🐢

Why it’s actually quite radical to resist speed.

When I am deeply embodied in my eroticism, oh baby, I move like molasses.

I sleep in, sun filtering through the curtains and onto my bare body, wrapped in linen sheets.

I cook long and complex meals, relishing in the ritual of the mise en place.

I take smooth, deep breaths in the sauna, the dry heat dragging me down.

That eroticism takes on a new life when I engage in BDSM — I am my most delicious as a domme when I don’t rush or force urgency into a scene.

Slowness is such an underutilised tool in the dominant’s toolkit. When I feel unsure on “what to do next,” I take a deep breath, and try to move with purpose. In that intentionality, in that slowness — a kernel of inspiration usually speaks to me.

I linger above bodies, my breath caressing soft skin pebbled with goosebumps.

I slow my hands when tying up restraints, cinching with a hard and delicious gusto.

I drag sharp nails down someone’s vulnerable neck as they squirm.

As life presses us forward, BDSM creates an erotic container in which time stands still.

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I recently watched an interview with the great James Baldwin, who proclaimed that “people who can’t make love, make money.”

It is a fascinating interview and well worth watching. His words were not meant to be interpreted in an exclusively erotic way, but as a razor-sharp indictment of a capitalist society hell-bent on profits over people.

Baldwin criticises the leaders of the Western world of deep moral failure — whose long histories of conquest and exploitation are gutting the humanity of its citizens. He witnesses an obscenely wealthy, yet love-bankrupt society.

This interview took place in 1968 but, damn, do Baldwin’s words still ring like a bell 🔔

“People who can’t make love, make money.”

Indeed, making love (whether sexually or not) is radical.

In it, we create containers of profound presence and embodiment — where no corporation, megachurch, or billionaire can touch us.

In it, we create connections not intent on extraction, urgency, or consumption — but collaboration.

In it, we labour not for economic productivity — but care and pleasure.

In it, there is just breath and touch and body — and blessedly not a screen in sight (usually 😉).

Eroticism resists the fast, the continuous, the never-ending.

It rejects the million little abandonments of self and of community that late-stage capitalism demands of us — ones that strip us of our connection to the earth, our bodies, and ourselves.

There is no stakeholder value created when we love, when we fuck. The indulgence is both in the play itself, and also in the lushness of lavishing outside of GDP.

I challenge you to make love over money this week in a small way 💗

Sleep in one morning with your partner, bring a neighbour some coffee, sneak a midday masturbation session, or have a leisurely glass of wine with a friend.

How can you practice slow and erotic embodiment?

How do you maintain your aliveness while moving like molasses?

Thanks for reading,

PS. I am speaking at the Dom/sub Dynamics Summit later this month — whether you’re a newbie or looking to deepen an existing D/s relationship, the summit is chock-full of badass educators. (And it’s free!) Learn more + grab your ticket here 🎟️