In a meditation hall in Chiang Mai, I once lasted about ninety seconds.
The teacher was a small, serene woman in orange. She said, in a voice like warm tea, “Simply notice your breath.”
I noticed my breath. Then I noticed my left foot asleep. Then I started composing a grocery list.
I weighed two kinds of cheese. Suddenly I was somewhere else entirely.
I opened one eye. The teacher was looking straight at me, and she smiled. “Welcome back,” she said.
I have thought about those two words almost every week since. They turned out to be the whole secret. The art is coming back.
Nobody manages to stay. We wander off and return, again and again, with a smile.
That is the skill at the heart of arousal too. Mostly it comes down to your attention’s address. Here we learn to lead it home.
Arousal Is The Skill
Let me say the central thing first. It changes everything else.
Arousal is the skill. Orgasm is one possible result.
Most of us were taught the reverse. We learned to treat arousal as a short, dull corridor for hurrying to the main event. Without the main event, the whole experience counted as a miss.
That is a miserable way to live in a body. It quietly trains you to feel disappointed by something delightful.
Try seeing it the other way around. Arousal is the room itself, with its warmth and its slow pleasures. Orgasm is one of several things waiting there, along with the glow, the melting, the laughter, and the sense of your own skin as a lovely place to live.
Some days you walk out with a peak. Some days you walk out simply warmer and softer than you came in. Both are a success.
Learning this often brings the peaks more easily. It makes a kind of sense. The deadline disappears, and the brakes lift.
Attention Is The Accelerator
Researchers have noticed a pattern, and women tell me the same thing over and over.
Sex therapists have long used a gentle approach called sensate focus. The idea is to touch, or be touched, simply for sensation. The goal is only noticing.
It sounds almost too simple. It works by training attention to rest on the body and stay there.
More recently, researchers have studied mindfulness, the practice of paying attention to the present moment with a kind, steady curiosity. In their findings, women with trained attention often report greater awareness of their own arousal and more satisfaction.
The research is still growing, and nobody should promise miracles. But it fits the experience of most of us.
Attention works as an accelerator. Arousal needs notice to grow. An ignored flicker of warmth fades. A flicker met with curiosity tends to widen.
It is rather like a plant. It responds to being noticed.
Attention is a skill, so it improves with practice, just like a muscle.
The Long Exhale
Now for the simplest tool in the whole book. It travels everywhere.
Your breath is the one steerable part of your nervous system. Slow breathing, and especially a long out-breath, sends your body a signal of safety. The brakes ease off. That explains the joy of a deep sigh.
Here is how it goes.
- Breathe in through your nose, slowly, for a count of four. Let your belly rise.
- Breathe out through your mouth, even more slowly, for a count of six. Let any sound come out.
- Do that five times.
That is the Long Exhale. It takes about a minute, and no one in the room needs to know about it. You can try it in a meeting, a waiting room, or a queue at the pharmacy. Over time, your body links that breath with softening, and it begins to soften on cue.
Women often tell me about their first real shift in arousal. It happens on an exhale. The body lets go, and something warm rushes in to fill the space.
The Watcher In The Corner
Now meet someone familiar.
Sex researchers have a lovely word for this, spectatoring. It means watching yourself from the outside, like an audience member at your own life.
How do I look? Am I doing it right? Is this taking too long? What is my face doing?
The Watcher sits in the corner with a clipboard and scribbles notes. She means well. She wants you to be safe and to look wonderful.
But she is busy judging the performance. Meanwhile you are somewhere else entirely, and your attention has left the building.
Almost every woman has a Watcher. The most confident, the most experienced, and the most adventurous all have one. She never goes away. Your handling of her changes.
The trick has three small steps, and they take a few seconds.
- Notice. “Oh, there she is, with her clipboard.”
- Name. Say it kindly, in your head. “Watching.”
- Return. Bring your attention back to a sensation. Your breath. The warmth in your hands. The weight of your body in the chair.
Notice, name, return. That is the whole technique. The teacher in Chiang Mai taught me the same thing with two words. A good mind does the same thing thousands of times a day, with no fuss.
A small secret. Give the Watcher a job, and she quiets down a great deal. Ask her to count your breaths, or to notice the temperature of the room. Even an inner critic enjoys being useful.
THE MYTH: Foreplay is the little bit before the real thing.
THE TRUTH: For many women, the warm-up is the real thing, or at least a large part of it. The slow build is the home of much of the pleasure. The peak is simply the crest of a long, lovely wave. A lingering warm-up often makes the whole experience richer, with or without a climax.
Your mind is doing exactly what minds do.
Wandering is the exercise. Every noticed drift and gentle return counts as one repetition, like a lift at the gym. A wander-free mind would have nothing to practice. Nobody on earth has a mind like that.
The woman in Chiang Mai, with her warm-tea voice, told us the whole art lives in the return. So drift freely. Every return builds your most important muscle.
Here is a piece of seduction craft with no cost and almost instant results.
Do one thing slowly today. Walk down a hallway at half your normal speed. Wait three extra seconds to answer a message. Make pouring a glass of water a rare and lovely event.
Slowness is quietly magnetic. Slow movers look like owners of all the time in the world. Nothing attracts like true ease. Slow is also arousal’s favorite pace.
You are rehearsing the tempo of pleasure. Do it at the sink, or the stairs, or the supermarket checkout, and watch the room slow down with you.
A Little Imagination
I will keep this brief.
Imagination is an accelerator, and an extraordinary one. It needs no equipment, and it travels with you. For now, know one thing. A little imagery goes a long way.
Picture a warm light, a favorite place, a memory of feeling wonderfully at home in your skin. Let it be vivid, with colors and temperatures and sounds. Make it small or grand.
You are simply lending your attention a pleasant place to stand.
The Fabric Hello
Now for something to do with your hands.
This is a short, fully clothed self-massage, and it is a very gentle introduction to touch. It stays on your belly, your hips, your thighs, and your lower back. It is a friendly hello to the ground floor of your body, and it takes about eight minutes.
Wear something soft. Sit or lie down somewhere comfortable. A pillow under your knees is welcome.
- Start with your belly. Place both hands flat on your lower belly, over your clothes. Breathe slowly and feel your hands rise and fall. After a minute, begin slow circles, clockwise, with a gentle, even pressure.
- Move to your hips. Rest your palms on the sides of your hips, on top of the bone. Let your fingers curve around. Press softly, then release, like smoothing a pillow.
- Greet your thighs. Slide your hands along the tops of your thighs, from your hips toward your knees, with long, slow strokes. Do it several times. Notice the fabric under your palms, and the building warmth.
- Say hello to your lower back. Roll to one side, or sit forward, and bring your hands to your lower back. Make slow circles with your knuckles or the heels of your hands. Lean into them a little.
- Finish with stillness. Return your hands to your belly. Breathe. Take a full minute to notice the warmth, the tingling, and the sense of having been visited.
Here you are simply saying hello, one area at a time, to a body long overdue for the greeting. A flush of warmth or a stirring is wonderful. Pleasant sleepiness is wonderful. Everything counts.
Go slowly, and let your attention follow your hands.
Priya is an accountant with a commute and a lot of spreadsheets.
For years she took the same train each morning. She read emails with the grim focus of a bomb defuser. One day, on a whim, she tried the Long Exhale between stations.
In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four, five, six.
By the third round, her shoulders had dropped. By the fifth, she noticed a faint warmth in her chest. It felt unexpectedly like contentment. She looked out the window at the gray suburbs and, to her surprise, found them rather beautiful.
“I was on the 7:42,” she said. “Nothing happened. It was my nicest moment in weeks.”
She does it every morning now. Her contented sighs between stops mystify the other commuters.
Try it with a trusted friend. Ask her to try one Long Exhale right there, and watch her face.
This practice holds everything together, and it takes about ten minutes.
Lie down or sit comfortably, in soft clothes. Close your eyes, or soften your gaze. Take five rounds of the Long Exhale.
Now take a slow journey through your body, from your toes to the top of your head. Pause at each part for a few breaths.
Feet, calves, knees, thighs, hips, belly, chest, hands, arms, shoulders, neck, face.
At each stop, simply ask, “What is here?” You may find warmth, tension, tingling, heaviness, or nothing in particular. Let every finding be exactly right.
The Watcher will arrive. Greet her. Notice, name, return.
At the end, rest for a minute. Then wriggle your fingers and toes, and open your eyes.
You may notice: a softening, a surprising pocket of tension, a wave of sleepiness, a flicker of warmth, or a quiet pleasure at having visited your own body. All of those are right answers.
SKIP IF: Sitting still feels anxious or uncomfortable. Shorten it to three minutes. Keep your eyes open. Or walk slowly around your home. A gentler version always exists.
Log: your attention’s longest stop in your body.
Garment: sheer black thigh-high stockings and a narrow pair of lace panties. Position: in an armchair, your back against one arm, your legs thrown over the other, wide open.
Trail your fingertips along the lace top of one stocking. Slow down. Drift up the inside of your thigh and stop an inch short of the place of your curiosity. Pull away.
Come back. Do it a dozen times, closer each time.
Imagine someone watching you approach, with a very patient smile. That person is forbidden to speak and forbidden to touch.
Your panties are soaked now. Your lips are swollen, your belly is tight, and the wanting is almost funny.
Let your knees fall further apart across the arm of the chair. Let your hand rest at last over your button. Feel the heat.
Take your time. Make one slow circle, then another, and stop. Breathe. Circle again, a little firmer.
Let the build come in layers. At every edge, ease off and wait three breaths.
On the fourth edge, keep going. Press and circle, faster, and let your hips lift. Hold your breath, then let it out in the breaking wave.
Out and about: a thigh squeeze under a tablecloth. Squeeze, release, squeeze, release, at the pace of a slow song.
The Private Wing has a spoken version of the ten-minute body scan, with music and a calm voice, and a longer guided evening version for nights of being led all the way to sleep.
