The Thin Veil Between Sex and Death

A Journey of Release, Grief, and Pleasure

Disclaimer (For the Vanilla Folks):

Alright my innocently angelic darlings, this one’s for you. If you clutch your pearls at the mere mention of the word “sex” or feel your sacral chakra is more of a “do-not-enter” zone, consider this your friendly heads-up. We’re diving deep into the spicy connection between sex, death, grief, and pleasure — so if your idea of wild is a church potluck, you may want to grab a juicy fruit snack and skip this one 🍒

This post is not for the self righteous (or the blocked of pleasure seeking). If you’re still repressing your primal urges like a 19th-century Puritan or you get nervous around words like “orgasm” and “release” you’ve been warned. But hey, if curiosity has gotten the better of you, welcome aboard! Just loosen that spiritual chastity belt a little and enjoy the ride — we’re all friends here. To know me is to know I am an open book, unusually unapologetic about my pleasure practices and erratically ecstatic about eroticism.

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“I am really proud of you.” The words echo, as if whispered by a deep voice from the Great Beyond. It’s familiar, comforting, and unmistakably my pops. Since my father transitioned into the omnipresent, I’ve felt the edges of myself soften, the fears recede. Today, he would have turned 69. His absence feels palpable, yet somehow I’ve never felt closer to him — especially in the ways that challenge the world’s comfort with taboo.

@photographedbyonken

Sex and death. For as long as I can remember, I’ve sensed the connection between these primal forces. Yet, to speak of them in the same breath feels like an act of rebellion, which is perhaps why it feels like an offering to my dad, the sacred rebel who taught me what it means to embrace the wild.

Grief, in its rawest form, is an emotional release unlike any other. It strips you bare, unearths hidden parts of your soul, and pushes you to confront truths you’d rather keep locked away. In my grief, I’ve found the walls around my pleasure crumbling too. The same life force that draws us toward one another in moments of deep connection is the one that calls us back to the earth when we leave this world. They’re entwined, like breath itself — we inhale in birth, exhale in death.

For years, I struggled with the shame wrapped around my sexual appetite. Raised with a womb in a world steeped in dogma, I was conditioned to suppress, to deny, to control. Desires are dangerous, I was told, especially for someone with the power to create life. I became adept at detaching from my body, as though it was something to escape rather than to inhabit.

But over time, I came to understand that my sexuality — my deepest longings and pleasures — were not separate from my spirituality, but an intrinsic part of it. The energy of creation, the very essence of life, pulses in every touch, in every release. To embrace my pleasure was to honor the divine within me.

There is a profound release that occurs in both sex and death. Each is a surrender — to love, to the unknown, to the ultimate vulnerability of letting go. In orgasm, in grief, we lose ourselves, if only for a moment, and in that loss, we find something deeper, something true. We are returned to the essence of our existence: we are both finite and infinite, bound by time and yet part of something far greater.

It is no coincidence that at the height of pleasure, some describe the feeling as transcendent, as though they have momentarily glimpsed the divine. Likewise, in death, we often witness the release of the soul, the great exhale that returns us to the stars. These moments strip us of our ego, our fears, and remind us of our interconnectedness — to each other, to the universe, to our ancestors.

For years, I ran from the parts of myself that felt too wild, too untamable. But as I grieve my father and remember the man who defied convention, I realize that I inherited that sacred rebel in my blood. I am both the daughter of life and death, of pleasure and grief. To be proud of who I am at my core essence is to honor him, and to honor the divine nature of this great cosmic dance.

So here I stand, in the fullness of who I am, unashamed of the parts of myself that desire, that hunger, that grieve, that release. Today, I celebrate him and the truths we keep buried out of fear.

HBD, Magic Man 🎩🪄✨ — you’ve taught me well.

I transmuted some grief on this birthday of yours with some delicious orgasmic pleasure and it was absolutely GLORIOUS 🫦 I feel my heart, my body, and my soul blooming further open… FUCK YEAH! (Pun intended) 🥸