When Eros Returns After a Long Absence

A Reflection on Sacred Intimacy, Emotional Presence, and the Slow Thaw

In my work as a sacred body worker, I meet men in many emotional states—some are eager, some are nervous, some are disoriented by the intensity of being truly touched. But the sessions that move me most aren’t necessarily the wildest or the most sensual. They’re the ones where something long-

forgotten begins to stir. Where a man who has gone years without true intimacy finally lets himself feel again.

Sometimes it takes half the session—just to arrive.

Eros isn’t just about sex. It’s an energy, a current, a pulse that says, “I am alive. I want. I feel. I’m here.”

But for many men, that pulse has been buried.

Some were taught that vulnerability was weakness.

Some were touched too early, or not at all.

Some were shamed, or shunned, or simply never shown how to live in their own skin.

Others drifted through life without meaningful touch—not because they didn’t want it, but because they no longer recognized it.

By the time they arrive at my door, some haven’t been held in years.

Clients sometimes ask me: How can you be physically intimate with someone you wouldn’t choose romantically?

My answer is this:

I connect to their light. I feel into their erotic energy. I meet it, coax it, invite it forward.

If they get excited, I get excited. If I get excited, they get excited. We do a dance.

I find something I love—maybe a warmth in their hands, a depth in their eyes, or the way their breath catches—and I focus there.

But here’s the truth:

The sessions I find most difficult are the ones where the client is not emotionally present.

They may be naked, aroused, even talking—but I can’t feel them in the room. It’s like I’m dancing alone.

No matter how skilled my touch is, I cannot carry the emotional current by myself.

Sacred intimacy requires two presences. Two nervous systems. Two truths.

Recently, I worked with a 67-year-old man who hadn’t been touched in any meaningful way for decades. He had almost no language for his erotic self. His body was cautious, almost shy. It took over thirty minutes for him to relax enough to receive—not just touch, but presence.

When he did, something opened.

His breath deepened. His eyes softened.

He let out a sound that was part sigh, part sob, part laugh.

And the room changed.

That’s the moment I live for.

Not the peak. Not the climax.

But the yes that finally emerges after years of no.

Here’s what I’ve learned: many men don’t resist erotic connection because they don’t want it—they resist because they don’t recognize it. Or it scares them. Or no one ever stayed long enough to help them feel safe.

That’s why I use a combination of:

Seduction — not as manipulation, but as invitation. A call to awaken.

Vulnerability — not as oversharing, but as modeling. A way to say: “It’s okay to be here.”

Attunement — watching their breath, their eyes, their hesitation, and meeting it with kindness.

I don’t “perform” intimacy. I invite it. And sometimes it takes time.

When a man is hesitant, when he’s disconnected or frozen, I say something silently to myself:

May my presence awaken what has been sleeping.

May he remember that he is lovable, even here.

May I meet him only where he is, and not one step beyond.

May eros rise between us—not to consume, but to restore.

This work is not about giving someone a fantasy.

It’s about returning someone to themselves.

Even if it’s just for a moment.

If you’re someone who has been without touch, without intimacy, without emotional safety—

know that you are not broken.

There is nothing wrong with needing time.

There is nothing shameful about thawing slowly.

There are people—like me—who will meet you exactly where you are.

No performance required.

Just presence.

Just breath.

Just the willingness to feel again.