Can you feel her aching?  That is the question

when you rest your head on her beating flesh

thumping, churning, revolving inside itself


No, it is not her heartbeat

this is a deeper pain that throbs

Deeper inside

Dark blood flows here

And there is no organ


No flesh to touch

No light to illuminate

No sound to guide


This is the wave of a distant thunder

rising from the blackened depths

Only she can feel it,

sense it rise, crawl up the vines of a hidden realm;

And there is strikes her, sinks its nails into her spine.

There, do you see it?  Only her eyes will show it.


Can you feel her aching?  In the pits of her eyes

She will show it to you

A slow, lingering madness

Hidden with the grace of poise and posture.

She is skilled;

But she is always asking:


“Do you feel this pain?  My pain

Do you sense it

Do you feel it looming

Can you smell it when I am nearby?


“You think it pleasure

You think I am aroused

You think it is because of you

But it is not


“I was wet from the day I was born

From the day I opened my eyes

and the sun shone on my breasts

This is not you, this is me


“So my question is for you

Here, now.  Can you feel me aching?”



You have a way in, through her eyes

And into yourself.

Touch the void in your own heart

and let it collapse inside you


Touch your own dark self

and look at your grief in the eye.

It will guide you, strike you,

stab you and love you


And then you will see it there.  There!

The same claws sinking in.

You felt this since your birth,

since your mother bore you.


Remind yourself of your mortal flesh and blood

Of waxing and waning

Of eyes, tears, smiles and cum

And here, this, us, naked and alone

We give ourselves to this birthright.


Us we stand, as men

Grief our striking blow

To bring us through the righteous gates.

Grief and remorse:  what binds us, breaks us and makes us strong


Only with these spears will we learn to feel

Give her this gift


Do you feel her aching?

Say “Yes,

Here is my own blood,

Pierced where the blade caught me in life;


“Here is my own soul

So give me yours

Give me what burns, yields, and surrender

Your aching is what makes me strong.”



Two years ago, I wrote the piece 7+1 Ways to fuck a woman’s mind.  It was a passion piece that I sprayed out in one sitting.  It was written from my cock and balls.  The response was as overwhelming as it was polarised.

On the one hand, I received waves of passionate gratitude, an outpouring of expression; a mixture of hunger and relief flowing from fast-typing fingers.  Humble thank you’s to you all.

On the other hand, I also received a fair share of criticism: a wall of anger, resentment and vitriol.  I had the full support of the editor who helped me published it, and a full-blown rebuttal from another.


This was not an accident.


This was what I was going for.  My piece was designed to be polarising.   It had to be.


I wrote the article knowing full well the potential consequences.  I was going to stab into raw emotion, split the audience in half, and draw sharp criticism.  I knew I was going to touch a nerve, and I knew which nerve it was.  The contrasting responses were inevitable.  Clearly this was something for us to explore.


So, that is what I am doing.

I will break it down for you.


What I do, and how I do it.

Why two years on, I am still fucking my woman’s mind.



1.  My woman orgasms 100 times a day.

This point alone makes almost all rebuttals and criticisms moot.

In fact, 100 is a conservative figure.

We achieve this via a unique combination of energies.  For one, she has an intense acceptance and appreciation for her body.  It emerges as a powerful body openness.  Energy flows from one end to another.  That is the power of self-love.

On her own, she manages 40-50 orgasms.  Together, we push that number to almost 200.  We achieve this because I fuck her mind.  I reach into her and she cums.

This is the reason why I began the article with “a woman’s sex is mental”.  Yes, I will eventually reach a place that is emotional, soulful, even spiritual.  But it must begin with the mind.  That is how I touch her; that is how I penetrate her.  To fuck her I must begin with her mind.

Yes, I could have called it ‘mindful presence’.  Maybe even ‘erotic conscious relating’.  That is a safe, sweet phrase to use.

It is more accurate to say that I fuck her mind.


2.  She masters surrender

Fucking my woman’s mind means she chooses surrender.  When I move to her, she makes the choice to surrender to me.

Before surrender, she has taken the time to invent a mask.  She will wear it every day.  She will hold onto it and swear by it.  She will appear beautiful, perfect and joyful throughout her long, menial day.  She will eat, sweat and taste the succulent gifts that daily life has to offer.  Her mask is her way of hiding.

My woman has mastered her mask.  She hides her true face in public as she goes around her business.  But quietly, oh softly, she yearns for that mask to be ripped off.

When I fuck her mind, I tell her to take off her mask.  “Show me your true face.  Hide nothing.  Let me see.  Give me the soul in your eyes.”

And she accepts.  She lets me.  She cums.  When she surrenders, she is strong, powerful, open and loving.  But only after she surrenders, only after I fuck her mind.

Why?  Because only then will I feel the depth of her, when all of her passions flow out.  Her surrender is not voluntary.  It erupts out of her engorged body.  She accepts it, but she does not trigger. It.  She will be overcoming with fear, even terror, but like all things, even these emotions become lost in her surrender.


3.  I master penetration

To fuck her mind, I penetrate her.  To fuck her spirit, I penetrate her.  Penetration means to reach in and touch her.  It means to reach past her masks, her pretending, and to love her.

Her mind is her forefront, and thus I must fuck her mind.  Her mind is in her eyes, and so I must touch that.

How does one do so?

With words.  That is why words are a woman’s weakness.

Touch her, grasp her, use words to send her mind into pulses of tension and contraction.  Poetry was invented for this reason, as was music.  To penetrate does not mean to shove in deeply with a sharp blade.  No, that will happen eventually.  Rather, the most elegant forms of penetration are subtle, even gentle.

There are many ways to penetrate.

One is through presence.

Another is with compassion.

And of course there is physical coitus.

But touch her first with words and penetrate her mind.


4.  We master pain.

Penetration is, by definition a violent, traumatic event.  I am there, I reach in and I touch her.  I must reach into her and change her.  I move to rip her open.  She accepts, surrenders, and opens.

It is painful.

It need not be a physical pain (though it can be).

It need not be an emotional pain (though sometimes it regrettably is).

It is a deeper, grinding pain.  A throbbing pain, a maddening pain.

It is important not to run away.  Pain is neither good nor bad.  It is simply essential.

Penetration is a wounding, and wounding is essential for growth.  For my woman to surrender she must accept the penetration, and with it the vulnerable, the pain, and the wounding.

Likewise, I must take the pain of witnessing her, of watching her open, agonising, and cumming in my arms.  I must feel her crumble and unleash what is inside.  She expresses it and is relentless.  Yes, this is also painful for me, in my heart.

She, in turn, penetrates me.

Our society is one that is afraid of pain.  We are afraid of wounding our loved ones.  We have shit fathers, and we have shit mothers.  We are shit lovers and partners because we are too afraid to open them and to wound them.  To confront this, to be mutually ripped open like this, there are few things more terrifying, and thus, we run away.  You will want to run away from these very words.


5.  We master compassion

Here, compassion will follow the pain.  Because I fuck her, penetrate her, and open her, I must be prepared for her pain.

To do this, I must master my own pain.  I must be present with it.  I must watch myself, penetrate myself, find the depths of my suffering, and come to terms with it.  I must admit to myself my mistakes, my failures, my neuroses, and the pains I carry from childhood.

I must take this and look at it in the eye, and suffer the terror of revealing this.  It is not pleasant, but I do so to train myself for the rigours that I must face in life.  This is important.

When my father told me to man up, he was tasking me to confront my pain.

When my woman asks me to be a man, she is asking me to witness hers.

And I can only do this with compassion.  I can only do this with penetration and presence.  It is a feminine pain that she holds.  She calls it her “female insanity”.  All women have this.  Many will hide it.  They say they hide it to protect themselves of the consequences.   They will hide it because they feel that their man cannot withstand it.

For my own part, I have found that I can withstand my woman’s insanity.  It took many years of finding the pain in myself.  Many nights by myself, thanking my wounded father, and taking the step to be a father for myself.

My woman senses this in me, and she trusts me.  I am allowed to open her, to penetrate her.  This is why she allows me to fuck her mind.


6+7.  We master flesh and energy

For us, this is intertwined.  Though we can travel into deeper realms of existance (and have a lot of fun describing them), we acknowledge the depth of the each other’s flesh.  We touch each other, taste each other and fuck each other.

For my own part, I must watch my body and myself.  It is my trap to become enthralled with my thoughts, and my woman’s body helps me become present in mine.

For my own part, I must always consider my body’s death.  There will be a time when my body will cease, when my flesh and my bones will become ash in the ground.  Confronting this is a pain in itself.

But I must observe the flow inside my own body, particularly when I communicate with my woman.  I observe the emotions, flux and flow.  I feel the weakness in my body when I am without integrity.  I feel the strength when I tell the truth (or Truth, whatever rocks your boat).

I am here as I can look at my hands, feel them, and then say, “here is life, here is love, and death awaits me”.

And with her body, and her pain, and her insanity.  And then her hunger, the hunger to be fucked, taken, and loved.  What else can I do in the face of it?  I can only penetrate her how she hungers for it.  I sense the desire in her flesh, it radiates of her as heat.


The +1 – Emptiness

Usually I stop myself from describing this part, because it’s too difficult to put into words.  But this time I will try. Musashi included it as his final Ring.  Sun Tzu wrote about it after his chapter on energy.  All I will say that for me, I let my flesh, energy and sex collapse into it, and I call it emptiness.

For me, I can’t do much better.

But for her, I can.

When she lies naked under the sheets.

When she is curled up like a babe.

When she has her hair in tumbles.

And all she can wear is her stupid little smile.

No words.

She is quiet.

This was what I am trying to communicate.  Being with a woman.  Ripping away her mind and her flesh, until I am given this.  I suspect most of the criticism pointed my way missed this point.  Oh well.

To me, this is the most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed.  I pledged never to stop until I saw this for every moment of my life.  And that is why I decided to pursue this, that is why I fuck her mind.


It is the black

when my instincts grip and my senses crawl

around, inside, and outside

claws grip onto the air

my eyes look to pierce the burning snow

meditating on the sound of the wind

the breeze brings in the songs of fortune

the black

burning fire of no light

reeking of pain charred into ash

from the grains of charcoal dew

arise the beast of no earth, no few

no face

no eyes

no sense

reaches out from the heart of steel

the black


My Lady is Sharp

She clings to the sheets and rips them from the mattress

She grinds into the bed and presses into the springs with her hips

She breaks open and shows me a crack into her body

She opens, and closes, clutches me close with her claws

My lady is sharp

She digs her nails where it’s softest

She grips at air with her breath

She clenches on bone and on marble

She rips the heat and she  casts it

My lady is sharp

Her ripping, her shredding, her anguish

My lady is sharp

Her bites to strengthen her grip

My lady is  sharp

She digs in deeper  to feel it

My lady is sharp




And then softness


What is sex?

Today in a facebook group, someone posted this topic.  What is sex, what is virginity?

Of course, for an adult, this is on the surface an absurd, juvenile question.  It reminds me of my teenage years, when us young folks would practice cunni and fellatio and call ourselves ‘technical virgins’.  ha.

However, perhaps as we grow older and mature sexually, the question changes, and as ever, challenges our self-image.  The questions change, and become more complex.

What is sex?  What is love?  What is fucking?  Where is the line?

What sex do I like?  Do I want to brutally take her?  Do I caress her softly?  Do I kiss her on the lips before a sharp whipping?

One of my most valuable lessons came after asking myself the question:  how do I know, when to make love to her tenderly, and when to fuck her brains out?

Time passed, and the answers, I found, came out of only one source.


And instinct.

To trust myself, and back myself.  What to say, what to do, how to act.  Action in the presence of a woman.  Hardness and softness.  All of it.  Intuition and instinct.

I think this is something born within every man, but it takes longer to cultivate.  When I think about it, I disparage every piece of “relationship advice” for men I read.  It’s rubbish.  It misses the point.  We should not be giving them answers to trivial relationship problems, we should be cultivating masculine power.

Forget all you read.  Throw out all the “6 steps to looking sexy” articles.

Listen to your body.

Feel it in your cock and balls.

Watch what her body is telling you.

This is sex.

It is the moment when she opens in your presence.  And then you strike.  And you penetrate.

After a while, physical sex is a joyful play.  Orgasms become trivial.

Deep penetration… ah now.  That’s what I am looking for.

Cumming so hard your back breaks in half.  Do you yearn for your body to stretch to shreds?

Piercing her mind with words.  Do you yearn to be driven mad with invading thoughts?

Shattering her heart with songs.  Do you want your chest to burst?

Melting into her soirit with endless cum.  Do you want your soul to be pierced with light?

This is sex.  It is not a random set of ideas, definitions, orgasms.  It is penetration that shatters all that once was, what made you who you were.  It leaves your body limp and lifeless, gasping for breath.  Your body emerging, sweating heat, blood filled with cum.  Yes, sex that destroys you and forces your world to change.  That is sex.


So, it has been quite a while since I have posted in this blog.  I think this reflects on the many shifts and realignments we have been making with the Red Silk name.  Diana and I are very… flux-like people and it took us quite a lot of time to settle on a theme that we both felt was right.  Above is a beautiful logo we settled on.  I think it does the job nicely.

I wanted to start with why I am doing what I am doing, and why I drove my work in this direction.

Firstly, it is in my nature to take in what I observe and ponder about it.  And I mean really ponder.  I mean I take what I see, work with it, play with it, tinker with it, and eventually grind it down to its minute constituents.  From it’s fragments I hope to grasp a whiff of its essence, to inhale it in its purest form.  I do this with everything I touch.  I taught myself sub-atomic chemistry when I was 10 and particle physics when I was 16.  I simply wanted to understand.  Somewhere in there, I turned my attention on women.

It took me a long time, and involved a lot of blood and sweat to grow my emotional intelligence.  This was not something that came naturally to me, but eventually I found a sweet spot between intuition and raw objectivity.  Unfolding the layers, reading a woman’s movements, and putting words to the shadows I saw in her eyes.  Silently I watched, and I learnt.

At the risk of diving my readers into the deep end, I discovered two essential truths:

The first was that the feminine was flooded in a constant, throbbing pain.  Well, that is not completely fair.  Men have their own, but it was an eye-opener to touch a woman’s flavour.  The proverbial “whole in man’s heart” existed in her as well.  And it was different.  Richer, deeper, heavier in the heart and wider in the body.  Lingering, slumbering, aching inside her, with every word, with every breath.  What was more, the aching was repressed, silenced, prone to invisible surrender;  only in heights of carnal sexual desire did it want to surface.  A brutal, destructive force in the centre of a woman’s essence.

The second realisation was that the pain was vulnerable to penetration.  Penetration.  The centre of the masculine essence.  In its most innocent form it becomes presence.  But presence is meant to be penetrative, because it is penetrative.  Penetration is the key, penetration is the weapon.  In its purity, it strikes, it is destructive, but with integrity, it is freedom, and it is liberating.  The greatest way to penetrate, is to penetrate a woman’s mind.  Through this  you strike her heart and her body.  The greatest form to penetrate:  words, touch, sex.  A lethal combination to unleash orgasmic catharsis.  Integrity is the key.

Red Silk’s purpose, then, is to unleash a wave of feminine catharsis.

First, is to unearth and unshame the well of the hidden.  The silent pain, the silent hunger, the silent groaning inside the cunt of every woman.  Giving voice to this energy, we give voice to the taboo.  It is through the taboo that our true natures are discovered.  We acknowledge the parts of us that we repress and deny, and in doing so we become a fuller part of ourselves.

The second is to awaken the earth-shattering potential of a world of orgasmic women.  There is nothing more beautiful than a pre-, mid- and post-orgasmic woman.  And to penetrate it.  And to watch her cum.  And to tell her to cum.  And to hold her burning and shaking body.  And to watch that pain melt away.  That is the power of penetration.

It’s interesting to me to witness the awareness of the masculine-feminine dynamics.  It has almost become a catchphrase that has come into use, a kind of fallback to explain the travesties that we experience as men and women.

The first time I saw these expressions in a contemporary setting was at a business/self-development conference.  I opened the provided workbook and saw it in the relationships section.  Written in cold hard ink, printed onto the page.  It almost made me sick to my stomach.

What bothered me was not the content itself, but how painful it had to be to learn it so cerebrally.  It reminded me how far away from out naturally selves we had come as a species, to had forgotten something so basic and fundamental.  As though we had forgotten how to breathe.

I for one, had to struggle deeply and look deep into my soul.  It was a strenuous experience, reaching in to grasp my dormant power, shredding my own skin to tear out the vesicles of artificial living.  It is a process of necessary pain, to birth that beast inside.  We are shrieking in the silence, the darkness, to find that space for ourselves.

And yet, to my own knowledge, I believe that we are going about it the wrong way.  For one, writing it onto a piece of paper, thinking about it, talking about it.  It is a path to ultimate wankhood.  It bothers me when I see men and women discuss it so openly, talking about it constantly.  I can see the work they are lacking, the pain that they are yet to endure, to feel, writhing within.

Feeling the dynamics of our masculine-feminine is a painful process.  It lies deep under layers and layers of subconsciousness.  In those depths, there are levels of horror and agony that cannot be expressed in words, at its centre a feeling of bliss that cannot be expressed in consciousness.  It is absurd to even put it on a piece of paper.

The way forward, I believe, lies in meditation.  Not meditation in the traditional sense.  Rather a meditation in which something is conceived so deeply, with so much penetration, it becomes it opposite.  When my masculine aura becomes distinctly feminine.  It is a place where I look into myself, pierce myself, use my sexual forces to implode myself.  Then I find who I am, the dynamics within, and from that place, I feel my power force outwards.

That moment when the beast awakens.

It all comes to focus.  Yes.

I am talking about that magic moment when everything becomes clear, simple, and elegant.  It is hunger, and it is bloodlust.

It is that moment when the sexual power implodes into itself.  A moment, roughly 20-30 days into a period of sexual cultivation.  This is what we were meant to feel as men.

Keep it simple, and stay silent.  No more need to speak of it.  You will see.  It will raise you.  Things won’t be able to touch you, to harm you.  But oh, how you will go out for it.  With passion.  With love.  With power.  With vigour.

When you start seminal retention and go on the path of sexual cultivation, things change.  In the previous article, we looked at how to go about handling our powerful sexual desires.  No longer do we have to feel obliged to give into them with masturbation or intercourse.  It does not distract us.  The allure of the feminine no longer takes us away from out mission.

All of this happens within the first 3-7 days.

The next phase occurs during days 7-10.  It is a shift from the physical to the emotional.

For myself, I have noticed that I find the greatest emotional health when I have practiced for at least 10 days, reaching a powerful plateau at around day 30.  I have also noticed that following ejaculation, we lose all of the strength, we lose some of my spine.

In other words, when we ejaculate, men are more prone to displaying neediness, loneliness, victim mentality, freezing in the face of fear, and weak leadership.

On the other hand, when you develop our strength with seminal retention, you’ll grow in three main areas:

  1. The ability to stop everything and become centered.  What I consider a key skill in life.  When you are able to focus with definite precision.  Most of it becomes effortless.  The ability to get into the zone and become present and focused on what is in front of you.  Think about how much you have accomplished when in this state.  Think about all of the good things that have unfolded with women because she could sense this inside of you.
  2. The ability to dig deep and call on an extra 10% of sustainable emotional power.  Sometimes we have to dig deep and find that little big extra.  The challenge of competition and sport.  The killer instinct in our training.  The challenge of confronting real-life issues in our relationships.  The stamina to fuck a woman’s brains out.  Ejaculation makes our reserves feel empty.  When you retain your seed, the fuel in your fire will feel like it is overflowing.  With the right discipline, you can grind it out, harder, faster and longer.
  3. The strength to confront your weaknesses and vulnerabilities.  When we cannot look at ourselves in the mirror, we are living in a world of bullshit.  This is scary for us.  Often we feel ourselves in the verge of crumbling.  We build ourselves up, tell rich tales  to overcompensate to impress our friends.  We tell stories about ourselves to impress women.  Nobody is impressed.  They all see through it.  I believe that you strength as a man begins with your ability to confront your own weakness.  Confront his own bullshit.  When you find the strength of seminal retention, you build the support to hold the fort.  You can dip in and see what’s in there.  The thoughts of not-being-good-enough are no longer daunting for you.  Your fear of abandonment does not have to control you.  You have a place to retreat to, a place to come home to.  And that home is a place of emotional power and strength;  you alone built it.

Lance Armstrong is full of shit.

That is my honest assessment.  It has been troubling for me, as an avid follower of the great Tour, to watch it’s greatest champion fall into such disgrace.  I honestly gave him the benefit of the doubt.  It was such a magnificent story, rendered, promoted and distributed.

Unfortunately, it is all full of shit.

I cannot help but feel disturbed when I look at the archival footage featuring the man vehemently denying his guilt.  He is very convincing.  He makes his statements with passion and authority.  He demonstrates conviction in his demeanour and delivery.  My assessment when watching these videos today is that he is a pathological liar.

Lance Armstrong is full of shit.  And now, after losing everything, he is trying to salvage the situation.  He is trying to weasel himself out of a disaster.  I’m sorry, but this is all too transparent.

And then I watch these videos, and I ask myself why?  Why would he do this for over a decade?

And what was there to gain?  Success?  Personal glory?

Yes, sacrifices must be made, but I wonder how obsessed must a man become before he sacrifices personal integrity.  Surely, for all this time, there was a part of him that knew it was complete bullshit.  How do you repress that idea, that your life is a lie?  That you are a global conductor of bullshit?

Maybe the drug of glory is too addictive.  Maybe it is the glee of getting away with it.

Let’s say there are lessons we can pull from this.  In the spirit of this blog, what can we learn?


There is the question of using your intelligence as a self-managing bullshit detector.  Often, we espouse the idea of honesty and openness in ourselves.  I do not think this is a good strategy.  Our brains were developed according to the forces of sexual selection and deception.

The first step of honesty is to realise that you are prone to self-deception.

Catch yourself when you in the midst of your own bullshit.  It is not a logical thing.  It is an intuitive thing.  It is a gut thing.

You will say to yourself, “Hey, you know that thing I was thinking/doing/living, that is actually complete bullshit”.

Then take note of when you try to get away with it.  You know what I mean.  That smug feeling when you connive a guilty pleasure, just for you.  Stop it.  Cut it out.  Learn from it and replace it.  Do something different.

As men, we grow from facing our challenges.  Our first and greatest challenge is self-deception.


Every decision, action and reaction you have has consequence.  Own the impact you make on others.

Take complete responsibility for every single thing that happens in your life.  You must live your life dynamically, and it will shift the world around you.

Take responsibility and credit when good things happen.  Be humble.

Take responsibility and be honest when it hits the fan.  Be open and direct.

What you do, what you say, impacts others.  Yes, they are responsible for how they react.  You are responsible for how you treat them. You are responsible for your integrity when you interact with them.  It is a partnership, an agreement.  Do not violate that.  Sometimes you will make mistakes.  Apologise, explain yourself and do what is right to redeem your actions.

Your gut will lead the way.


Beware when your actions only serve your own glory.

When a man is obsessively seeking out recognition and success, he is a boy seeking approval and status.  He may achieve it all, realise it all.  But what does it matter?  When you die your ashes won’t care about the glory.  What is the use of a famous name to a pile of dirt and bones?

Service is the only thread that matters in the fabric of time.  Make your efforts live to serve.

Let us take that to radical lengths.

What service would cause ripples that go out beyond you?  Outside of you?  Past your lifetime?

What legacy can be left behind that can be built by your successors?

Beware chasing the fame and the glory.  Do not make it the goal.  Make it a bonus.