RUIN HER

Thirty-six hours ago we were having dinner together at Lago in Las Vegas, overlooking the iconic water works show at the Bellagio. Across the table from me, her Bambi eyes widened in the sweetest delight as the ejaculatory and dramatic sprays of water reached towering heights.

The man and the woman I am with live inside wildly opened hearts. Again and again, they widen the aperture into their relationship, inviting me (and all those who have eyes to see) to peer inside the darkly enchanted forest of their love. He shares that jealousy is an emotion that for many years now, he has trained out of his experience. Instead, he chooses to be his most potentiated, most whole, most unadulterated expression and to penetrate his wife's heart, body, and soul with his deepest self. This is a man who has *chosen* to create an experience of love and intimacy and holding within the crucible of their love that no other man will ever be able to create for her. In every cell of his body, he knows that she has been ravished and torn asunder by his devotion. Through laughter, reflection, affection, and the energetic penetration of his leadership, he purposefully keeps her in a constant state of desire for him.

She is free from his possession or his 'ownership'. Through his devotion, she is free to BE her most vibrantly potent feminine essence: teeming with the Eros that can only be held by a woman opened by unbridled masculine devotion. Through his claiming of her, he will only ever set her free.

This is the way a man ruins a woman in the most devastatingly beautiful, wretched way.

He destroys her by giving himself to her -- utterly and completely. She is so wildly and at times, so painfully filled by him that nothing or no one will compare to the piercing depth of commitment with which he potently penetrates her.

Ruining a woman in this way is sacred and harrowing soul fucking. He dies for her, and in doing so, *creates* her to be able to receive more of him...opening her beyond the edges of the universe.

In her deepest Feminine soul, she knows this, serving him *and* herself by inviting him into greater potency and soaring expression so that he can take her beyond the boundaries of her heart, opening wild and deep.

Being with a woman ruined by love and a man masterful in claiming her open beyond any place she could ever take herself is a deep, dark and wild gift.

My body instinctively recognizes the very real mastery in him, his heart-opened capacity to command feminine surrender as an enactment of his devotion.

My body instinctively senses the way she deepens him, calling him forward into serving both him and *herself* by allowing herself to be claimed by purposeful masculine devotion.

This strange and beautiful friendship we share is a hot and holy mess of experience for me at times. It is a burning down and a fiery spewing of ash and an opening to a lush, molten heat.

We eat caponata and watch the lights of the Vegas strip fractally reflected in the fountains, like Picasso's painting of the Three Musicians...chaotic and yet somehow made all the more real because of the distortion.

I suddenly became aware of the state of my own body and the ways I am turned on by the fullness of their union, this two-bodied devotion to love and the depth of their capacity to destroy and to create. I feel the wispy silk of my dress touching my thighs and can feel the subtle reverb of the swelling crescendo of the gushing Bellagio waters in my sex. As it becomes time to leave the table and walk through the restaurant into the inferno of Las Vegas, I wonder with both fear and thrill (my favorite feeling-state cocktail) if my wetness will leave a small shape on the back of my dress, like a freshly birthed butterfly, its velvet wings still damp from its ravaged chrysalis.

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