My dear beloved female friends; YAS I am using the female, she/her pronouns. I mean to. This is on purpose. I am going to gender the hell out of you right now. This post is gender specific and full of culturally embedded, gender stereotypes. Get ready.

Please, please do not make me sit through another “sister sharing circle” where you are talking about how much amazing sex you and your man are having. You are buying edible underwear and coming into your goddess self right? You are feeling empowered after your last divorce and ready to sway those sensual hips. You are ready to give blow jobs and sit on some serious face. You are ready to put on some singing bowls and howl at the full moon while staring into your man’s eyes and experiencing full-bodied orgasm. You want to tell us all about it. You have found yourself now. You have experienced sexual enlightenment. You are practicing tantra. I’m not really even sure what tantra is. Something that involves deep eye gazing and slow, sensual penetration. Something that feels incredibly intimate, vulnerable and opens you into the 5th dimension. But you are doing it. Your Kundalini is rising. The snakes around the base of your spine are entwined and hissing.

You are sitting here, in this sister sharing circle, blissed out on this tantric sex you’re having. In fact, you want to get back to your man as fast as you can for more mind-blowing sex. I think you’re just fitting this sister circle in to feel less guilty about neglecting your sisters for the last six weeks while you’ve been deep into time with your man’s penis. You’re gonna leave early tonight. I understand. You have a kid. Get that sex in while you can. I am not mad at you for that. But girl, are you sure this is tantra? I mean, how old is your man? He’s got to be in his 50’s? Can he really get it up that long?

I have to tell you, I hung out with your man a few weeks ago. I actually went to his house to pick-up a mattress. What ended up happening was I picked up that mattress and took it straight to the dump. It was full of holes chewed out by rats. It was yellowed and discolored. Your man said, “Hey Jen, you could really have some fun on this mattress.” I pictured you and him having tantric sex on this mattress with your legs spread out wide and his eyes looking like they were lit on fire and hungry. Your man hauled this mattress out of his dying mother’s house, a run down stucco unsteady frame built in the 70’s on the hot and arid streets of Cottonwood, Arizona. The sun had split and dried the stucco, making it peel off in strips. Brown grass was sticking up in clumps up from underneath the gravel in the front yard and your man’s brother was sitting in the drivers seat of his parked, dirty, green pick-up truck sipping an orange soda. It was starting to rain.

Your man wanted to give me the boxspring too. More for me to haul to the dump. But I took it. I took it because he just started loading everything into my truck. I didn’t have any time to look it over. I couldn’t say no to the mattress and the boxsprings. I couldn’t say no to his dying mother and him cleaning out her house.

I felt stupid and vulnerable. I didn’t want this free mattress. It was dirty and insulting. But I knew I was going to take it like the good, polite white girl that I am. I will actually even thank him for this dirty and disgusting piece of bedroom furniture. Your man’s eyes were shifty and racing. He didn’t say anything about you and the whole time I was like, “Yo, you know I’m friends with your lady right? You better bring up her name.” I wanted to get away from the wrought iron fence and the mother who was dying inside. I wanted to drive very quickly away. I tried to connect this man with the man you were talking about having ecstatic sex with where your Kundalini was awakening and pulsing. I pictured this man eating the edible underwear off your naked body while your son slept in the next room.

Then it all made sense. My wife and I ran into you at a party a couple months later. You seemed like you were pumped, but in a different way. This time, you were an independent woman and living your best life. You were only working for yourself, claiming your independence! Sister, what happened to your man? You told me, “Oh, we broke up months ago. Turns out he was a meth addict.”

LADIES. Please, please, please learn the different between when you are having close, intimate, connected, and present sex versus when your man is high on crystal meth. If his stamina and energy seems way over the top, that’s probably because it is. If he is too euphoric or too self-confident, get suspicious. If you wonder why he can’t ever pay you back for dinner, it’s not because he’s trying to become his best self and create his own business and just “struggling to see his inner warrior right now”, it’s because he’s spending all his money on drugs. If you feel like your Kundalini is awakening and the snakes at the base of your spine are rearing their thick little heads, make sure that you’re not being seduced by the great and mythical creature of meth.

If you’re telling me, as we’re sitting in a circle of other women, that you are having the best sex of your life, I might believe you. For a moment. For a day. But then you better tell me about the human things too. You better tell me about that weird mole that he has or the way he likes to only shave the back of his calves, or that he is still in love with his ex. Then, and only then, might I start to believe that you are a real person with a beating heart. If you come into these circles talking about tantric sex that lasts for months, I’m going to tell you this story about my friend who confused tantra for drugs. This is the cautionary tale my sweet princess. There is no tantric happy ending. There is only reality where in order for an erection to last five hours, drugs have to be involved. Your man does not possess some spiritual power that no other man has. Your man does not have a special penis that he has cultivated after a decade of not masturbating. He is just using crystal meth and he is using a lot of it.

Open those soft and earnest eyes my love. He’s also probably taking money from your son’s piggy bank while you sleep as well.