The Loss of True Sexual Intimacy

Sexual intimacy is often marketed as a fireworks show ... a crescendo of sensations, a choreography of technique and timing, the right moves leading to the right peak. Even when framed as “giving each other pleasure,” the center of gravity can remain a quiet, stubborn singularity: my experience, my skill, my performance, my proof that we did it right. But intimacy that touches the soul is not a performance. It is a meeting. It is not two bodies solving each other like puzzles; it is two lives deciding, for a time or for a lifetime, to share breath, to speak without words, to become porous to one another.

To love someone so much that you become part of them is not about absorption or ownership. It is the opposite: a reverent sharing where both remain fully themselves and, in that fullness, discover a third thing ... the “us” that exists only when you’re together. Soul intimacy is the patient tending of that “us.”

At the center is presence, which is more than being in the same room. It is choosing to be reachable. It is noticing, listening, allowing space for surprise. It is remembering that a partner is not an object you operate but a living interiority with weather, history, and sacred places. Presence says: I am here for what is happening, not just for what I planned.

Pleasure matters ... of course it does ... but as a river that carries you toward each other, not a scoreboard. Sensation without connection can be exhilarating yet hollow; connection permeates sensation with meaning. The difference is not in technique but in attention. In soul intimacy, every gesture is a question, not an answer. Is this you? Are you here? Do you want this? Does this feel like home?

Consent becomes poetry in this realm. It is not a checkbox; it is an ongoing rhythm. Ask with eyes and hands; answer with breath and leaning in, or with a gentle pause that says “not now.” Consent protects autonomy, which protects mystery, which protects desire. When you know you are safe to say no, your yes carries the weight of freedom, and freedom is erotic.

Soul intimacy honors pace. There is wisdom in slowness, not because slow is always better, but because slow lets you feel. It invites nervous systems to settle into trust. Trust is not a switch; it is an unfolding. The more trusted we feel, the more we can bring our true selves to the moment: the playful, the shy, the brave, the tender, the wounded. A soul-level encounter is big enough for all of that.

Becoming part of someone is, in practice, a ritual of attention. It looks like this:

- You let yourself be seen. Not a curated highlight reel, but the unguarded contours ... awkward laughter, sudden tears, the way your chest tightens when you are praised.

- You see them, not as fantasy or function but as a person in motion. You track their micro-expressions, their softening, their withdrawal, their return. You learn their language without assuming you’ve mastered it.

- You trade certainty for curiosity. You ask, “What are you feeling?” and make room for the answer, even when it reroutes the night. You notice what they don’t say and give it kindness.

- You align your bodies with your values. If you promise tenderness, your touch is tender. If you promise play, your touch is playful. If you promise reverence, your touch is reverent.

The body becomes a listening instrument. Skin hears. Hands translate. Mouths write poems on shoulders and hips. Breath synchronizes like two metronomes drifting into the same time. There is a gravity that appears when attention deepens; it pulls you toward a shared center. Some people call it spirituality, others call it flow, others a sacred ordinary. Whatever the name, it is a field where self-consciousness fades and a quiet rightness hums: we are exactly where we are meant to be.

In that field, orgasm becomes a horizon, not a target. It can be joyful, powerful, or tender ... but it is never owed. A moment of held eye contact can be as complete as any climax. A long exhale that shakes loose a day’s worth of tightness can be the body saying, “Thank you for finding me.” When connection is primary, satisfaction refracts into many colors. You can leave fulfilled without finishing, and you can finish without concluding.

Aftercare is part of this theology. The moments after are not a fade-out; they are an integration. Bodies remember how they are treated in the quiet. A glass of water, a blanket, a gentle check-in, a laugh at the tangle of legs, the simple question “How are you?” ... these stitch your experience into the fabric of the relationship. Without integration, even beautiful encounters can drift into disconnection. With it, the “us” grows roots.

Soul intimacy also has room for play. Reverence does not mean solemnity. God, if that’s your language, invented laughter. Awe and silliness can dance together. In fact, the ability to be goofy with someone you’re in awe of is one of love’s great freedoms. It keeps the encounter human ... two people on a planet spinning through the night, ticklish and holy.

For many, trauma lives in the body. Soul intimacy is tender with that truth. It does not force disclosure; it offers choice. It learns triggers and pathways to safety. It understands that healing is nonlinear and that the lover can never be the therapist but can always be a companion who believes your body’s wisdom. The invitation remains: You get to decide. You get to be whole.

In long partnerships, soul intimacy matures. Familiarity deepens, but novelty requires cultivation. Rituals help: a song that cues slowing down, lighting a candle, a small exchange of words that opens the space. So does intentional curiosity: What is true for you now? How has your desire changed? What new boundaries or longings have arrived? The person you love today is not exactly the person you loved last year; that is not a threat but an invitation to meet again, and again.

Inclusivity matters. Bodies and desires are varied. There is no one choreography for how souls meet. Queer love, disabled love, asexual and demisexual love, love across cultures and faiths ... each offers its own vocabulary for connection. What unites them at the soul level is not sameness but sincerity: the shared commitment to honor reality over performance, personhood over product, connection over conquest.

Perhaps the most radical move is to bring your whole life into intimacy. The way you argue, apologize, share chores, dream, grieve ... these are also erotic. Resentment numbs the body; kindness wakes it up. Admiration fuels desire; contempt starves it. Each time you protect each other’s dignity in the bustle of daily life, you are preheating the oven of the heart.

To become part of someone is to weave yourself into their story and let them weave into yours, thread by thread: a steady hand at their back as they step into fear, a whispered affirmation on a hard day, the way you remember how they like their tea, the way they know when to hold you without fixing you. When bodies meet in that accumulated care, sex is not an event; it is a conversation between histories, a prayer of gratitude, a rehearsal of trust.

And yes, sometimes it is wild. Sometimes it is quiet. Sometimes it is both in the span of minutes. The throughline is not technique but truth. You are not using each other to escape yourselves; you are choosing each other to return to yourselves. You do not disappear into another person; you become more yourself in their devoted gaze, and they become more themselves in yours.

The world will keep selling scripts: perform pleasure, collect experiences, chase novelty as salvation. But the soul knows a different arithmetic. It knows that depth multiplies. It knows that the most exquisite sensation is the feeling of being met, fully and freely, as you are. It knows that when love is this vast, you do not consume each other ... you commune.

So let the bodies be luminous and real. Let the yes be chosen, the no be honored, the pace be wise, the play abundant. Let there be laughter, water poured into a glass, the warmth of a blanket, the courage of a question. Let there be the miracle of two people pausing long enough to hear the sacredness arrive. And when it does, do not rush. It is not a climax to be captured. It is a presence to be kept.

Julia O’Hara 2025

THANK YOU for reading my work. I am a global nomad/permanent traveler, or Coddiwombler, if you will, and I move from place to place about every three months. I am currently in Peru and heading to Chile in a few days and from there, who knows? I enjoy writing articles, stories, songs and poems about life, spirituality and my travels. You can find my songs linked below. Feel free to like and subscribe on any of the platforms. And if you are inspired to, tips are always appreciated, but not necessary. I just like sharing.

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