The moment we entered our new home, something in us softened, dissolved, aligned. As if the space itself was blessing us, holding us, tuning us to harmony. The villa - a sculptural spiral of refined Balinese-modern fusion - rose in three tiers, its rounded form reaching upward like a prayer to the sky. A crescent-shaped pool wrapped around it like a sacred moat, inviting us to slip into its warm, azure waters after slow breakfasts.
The kitchen and living room opened wide to the world with panoramic doors that dissolved into the edge of the pool. Off to the side, a gazebo with a central fire pit waited for candlelit conversations and long, sultry evenings under the rhythm of tropical rain.
Inside: two generous, elegant bedrooms. Mine - the master suite - lay beneath a traditional alang-alang roof, its woven grass ceiling breathing with the island’s spirit. Panoramic windows blurred the line between the room and the lush horizon - lush tropical jungle smoothly merging with the ocean sparkling in the rays of the golden sunset. At the center: a vast bed dressed in whispering silk canopies and linen so white it summoned entire reels of sensual daydreams in my mind.
The bathrooms - modern, yet warm with Balinese soul - natural stone, wood, a signature bamboo ladder with soft, fragrant towels, a basin carved from volcanic rock, and a rain shower pouring straight from above, like warm heaven. Everything designed to dissolve you into pleasure.
…
"I'll cook meat. Will you join me?" my Muse entered as I was admiring the evening sky.
“Of course, darling. I’m on my way… with the camera.”
Somehow it seemed entirely reasonable that two naked women cooking beef deserved a Michelin star for the mere fact of doing so.. My Muse moved around the kitchen like a priestess - conjuring over the ingredients for our dinner - while I watched, letting my hunger build…
The kitchen and living room opened wide to the world with panoramic doors that dissolved into the edge of the pool. Off to the side, a gazebo with a central fire pit waited for candlelit conversations and long, sultry evenings under the rhythm of tropical rain.
Inside: two generous, elegant bedrooms. Mine - the master suite - lay beneath a traditional alang-alang roof, its woven grass ceiling breathing with the island’s spirit. Panoramic windows blurred the line between the room and the lush horizon - lush tropical jungle smoothly merging with the ocean sparkling in the rays of the golden sunset. At the center: a vast bed dressed in whispering silk canopies and linen so white it summoned entire reels of sensual daydreams in my mind.
The bathrooms - modern, yet warm with Balinese soul - natural stone, wood, a signature bamboo ladder with soft, fragrant towels, a basin carved from volcanic rock, and a rain shower pouring straight from above, like warm heaven. Everything designed to dissolve you into pleasure.
…
"I'll cook meat. Will you join me?" my Muse entered as I was admiring the evening sky.
“Of course, darling. I’m on my way… with the camera.”
Somehow it seemed entirely reasonable that two naked women cooking beef deserved a Michelin star for the mere fact of doing so.. My Muse moved around the kitchen like a priestess - conjuring over the ingredients for our dinner - while I watched, letting my hunger build…
for the meal, yes, but also for her. The way her body moved. The lines. The energy. I felt the desire awaken again - not urgent, not lustful, just present. Curious. Reverent. I didn’t say anything out loud - not yet. We were still tender from our last misalignment. Besides, what I was feeling wasn’t even lust anymore. It was something softer. Admiration, maybe. Joy. The quiet bliss of simply being near her, with no pressure to be anything more.
Dinner was delicious. We talked, laughed, slipped into a shared rhythm that felt almost childlike - easy, silly, close. We devoured our steaks without even noticing, then curled up on the big crescent-shaped sofa, gently stroking each other’s arms, purring like fed cats.
“You know,” I said, brushing her shoulder lightly, “what if we moved up to my room and tried that conscious touch practice we were talking about? No pressure. No romance. No erotics. Just… continuing this, but under the silk canopies.”
“I’d love that,” she smiled.
“Should we film it?” I grinned, all mischief.
“Of course. We need to get used to being on camera. Let it roll. Who knows what will come of it?”
We truly didn’t. We entered that practice innocently, with no expectations. I offered the structure - something I’d used many times when guiding others through sacred intimacy:
“Let’s take turns. You’ll lie down, close your eyes, relax. I’ll touch you — however I feel moved to. And you’ll speak. Tell me how it feels. What you like, what you don’t. What you crave. I’ll go first. Then we switch.”
“Perfect,” she whispered, lying down in the center of the bed.
I settled behind her head, warmed a small pool of coconut oil between my palms, and gently touched her shoulders. Her body shivered - not from cold, but from energy. She opened. And I opened in response.
“Talk to me, love,” I whispered, still barely moving. “Does this feel okay? Is it gentle enough for you?”
She purred, “It’s perfect, Catrin. I feel no resistance. It’s all… so nice.”
We kept speaking - small phrases, almost meaningless, like breadcrumbs leading us deeper. And deeper we went. The words grew softer, more sensual, more submerged. Until, at some point, I heard myself say, slowly, like falling, “I'm just disssssolving...”
We entered the flow. A field of energy enveloped us, much larger than us, wiser than us, taking over. We did not direct it. We were being played, like notes. All we had to do was surrender to the act of creation by the energy itself.
Waves of pleasure rolled through our bodies. Not sexual - but sensual. We vibrated. Stirred each other’s energy, then released it. We laughed, moaned, gasped, whispered - all in one flowing movement that felt like a song sung by our existence.
Dinner was delicious. We talked, laughed, slipped into a shared rhythm that felt almost childlike - easy, silly, close. We devoured our steaks without even noticing, then curled up on the big crescent-shaped sofa, gently stroking each other’s arms, purring like fed cats.
“You know,” I said, brushing her shoulder lightly, “what if we moved up to my room and tried that conscious touch practice we were talking about? No pressure. No romance. No erotics. Just… continuing this, but under the silk canopies.”
“I’d love that,” she smiled.
“Should we film it?” I grinned, all mischief.
“Of course. We need to get used to being on camera. Let it roll. Who knows what will come of it?”
We truly didn’t. We entered that practice innocently, with no expectations. I offered the structure - something I’d used many times when guiding others through sacred intimacy:
“Let’s take turns. You’ll lie down, close your eyes, relax. I’ll touch you — however I feel moved to. And you’ll speak. Tell me how it feels. What you like, what you don’t. What you crave. I’ll go first. Then we switch.”
“Perfect,” she whispered, lying down in the center of the bed.
I settled behind her head, warmed a small pool of coconut oil between my palms, and gently touched her shoulders. Her body shivered - not from cold, but from energy. She opened. And I opened in response.
“Talk to me, love,” I whispered, still barely moving. “Does this feel okay? Is it gentle enough for you?”
She purred, “It’s perfect, Catrin. I feel no resistance. It’s all… so nice.”
We kept speaking - small phrases, almost meaningless, like breadcrumbs leading us deeper. And deeper we went. The words grew softer, more sensual, more submerged. Until, at some point, I heard myself say, slowly, like falling, “I'm just disssssolving...”
We entered the flow. A field of energy enveloped us, much larger than us, wiser than us, taking over. We did not direct it. We were being played, like notes. All we had to do was surrender to the act of creation by the energy itself.
Waves of pleasure rolled through our bodies. Not sexual - but sensual. We vibrated. Stirred each other’s energy, then released it. We laughed, moaned, gasped, whispered - all in one flowing movement that felt like a song sung by our existence.
* The complete ritual unfolds in the Masterclass
I could feel the current moving down my spine and out through my hands. Yes. The hands. They were the instruments - the channels. I wasn’t the conductor. I was the baton. The magic wand in the hand of something far beyond me. Something divine.
An energetic orgasm is like a physical one - but it’s not centered in the genitals. It doesn’t explode. It spreads. Warm, ecstatic vibration pouring through every cell, filling the entire body with bliss. It’s not fireworks. It’s moonlight. And I’ve long known this type of pleasure. I don’t need to seek it. It lives within me. One clear intention, and it rises - a serpent of light winding through me. I could play in that energy forever. But I don’t need to. My source is abundant. Always full. And when you no longer feel lack - you no longer need to possess.
With men, I’ve felt this too. I spent years learning how to shift from physical to energetic intimacy. But bringing men into that space was rare. Most of them were still tuned only to physicality - unaware that there’s more.
But my Muse - she had walked beside me for years. In my field. On her own path. Exploring Kundalini. So when our energies met… they didn’t collide. They merged. Not two rivers. One stream. We weren’t separate. We were together.
“This was so beautiful…” she whispered.
“A living artwork… shaped by God through our flesh.”
We let the energy settle. Laid next to each other like teenage girls on ecstasy. And honestly - that’s exactly what it felt like. I remembered that buzz from my clubbing years: the slow, honeyed thoughts, words hardly formed, the giggles, the endless smiles.. blissful sighs and glowing eyes.
We lay like that forever - knowing something immense had just passed through us. Something sacred. Mysterious. Unknown.
And that mystery only… made me want to go deeper.
An energetic orgasm is like a physical one - but it’s not centered in the genitals. It doesn’t explode. It spreads. Warm, ecstatic vibration pouring through every cell, filling the entire body with bliss. It’s not fireworks. It’s moonlight. And I’ve long known this type of pleasure. I don’t need to seek it. It lives within me. One clear intention, and it rises - a serpent of light winding through me. I could play in that energy forever. But I don’t need to. My source is abundant. Always full. And when you no longer feel lack - you no longer need to possess.
With men, I’ve felt this too. I spent years learning how to shift from physical to energetic intimacy. But bringing men into that space was rare. Most of them were still tuned only to physicality - unaware that there’s more.
But my Muse - she had walked beside me for years. In my field. On her own path. Exploring Kundalini. So when our energies met… they didn’t collide. They merged. Not two rivers. One stream. We weren’t separate. We were together.
“This was so beautiful…” she whispered.
“A living artwork… shaped by God through our flesh.”
We let the energy settle. Laid next to each other like teenage girls on ecstasy. And honestly - that’s exactly what it felt like. I remembered that buzz from my clubbing years: the slow, honeyed thoughts, words hardly formed, the giggles, the endless smiles.. blissful sighs and glowing eyes.
We lay like that forever - knowing something immense had just passed through us. Something sacred. Mysterious. Unknown.
And that mystery only… made me want to go deeper.
to be continued..