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It does not happen often anymore, but it does still happen from time to time that I will finish a session with someone, go through the closing process (which is a bit like the shavasana period in yoga) and conclude our practice. Then, despite all of the conversations and information we have exchanged around boundaries and the non-sexual intention of Touch Practice, the person will say, “that was really wonderful, but I really, really want to have sex with you, very badly. Can’t we please do that now?”

At this point in my practice this moment does not throw me, but years ago, as I was beginning, this scenario would create a firestorm of emotion in me. Sometimes I would feel annoyance and anger, as though my practice partner were imposing something on me that I really did not want, something that made me resentful. Sometimes I would feel torn, because I had the same urges he did. Sometimes I would feel crushed and disappointed, because to touch and hold a person for an hour in a non-sexual way is often as fulfilling for me (or sometimes more fulfilling) than sex is, and I wanted him to have the same experience I had.

None of that was “real,” in a sense. I mean, those were my real feelings, but those were all things that my insides created in response to someone saying “I’d like to be sexual with you.” What I have learned is this: if I have set a clear intention and held to it, if I have entered Touch Practice with the intention of holding someone in a sacred and non-sexual way, then the other stuff is their half. I’ve learned to let it be their half, and to sit with it compassionately, just like I sit with all their other feelings and reactions.

First, what’s wrong with sex? Absolutely nothing. Sex is one of the most wonderful things ever created. I’m entirely pro-sex. I have no judgments about sex whatsoever; as long as it doesn’t involve minors or non-consenting adults, I think everyone gets to make their own choices around sex.

But sex doesn’t mix well with certain things. Sex and working with a psychotherapist, for example, is like mixing alcohol and drugs. And then going for a drive. You’re very likely to get hurt. Sex in a relationship with anyone who holds a position of power over you (your doctor, your lawyer, your therapist, your teacher, your pastor, your ex, you get the idea) makes for a dangerous cocktail.

When I practice with someone, especially a newcomer, I often hold a position of power (because a newcomer will generally attribute a position of power to me.) A newcomer will say, “oh, this is Kevin Smith, from Touch Practice, he must know what he’s doing.” There’s a certain trust that goes into that, a naive trust, that puts me in a place of “other than equal.” And, even with an experienced partner, if I hold someone and they become truly vulnerable, then I am at that moment in a position of power, and the same is true in reverse when I make myself truly vulnerable.

So often what I must do in Touch Practice is not only hold clearly to my intention, but hold the other person to their stated intention. For all of us, unless we have done a lot of inner work, and even if we have, our intentions are not always pure. In fact, let’s say our intentions are almost never pure. There might be a larger sense of “I want to approach this person in a non-sexual way with a sacred intention of healing and affirming.” Maybe that’s 85 percent of the psyche. Then there’s 15 percent that’s in there thinking, “wow, hot body.” Right?

So there’s the work. Choose. What do you want to do? Choose a course for the boat, set the heading, and then hold the boat on that heading. If the wind blows you really hard to one side, correct for it, but keep your eyes on the point that you fixed at the beginning of the trip.

Why choose? Because as I’ve written above, you can’t be in a situation where you hold an enormous position of power over someone who has made themselves completely vulnerable in what was intended to be a non-sexual relationship and then suddenly say, “I’ve changed my mind, let’s have sex.” Even if, especially if, the mind that has changed is that of the partner. To do so is to harm the other person, the one who trusted you to hold the intention.

An emotional reaction to a partner’s desire to have sex during or after Touch Practice tells us about ourselves, not about our partner. If there’s a lot of annoyance or resentment in the reaction, ask yourself, “am I annoyed or resentful because I want that too? Is it because this person is pointing at feelings I would rather not acknowledge?” Or, the polar opposite: “am I annoyed or resentful because I am struggling with how unattractive I find this person, and he has just pointed me towards feelings I would rather not acknowledge?’ The discomfort is with ourselves, not with partner.

When you are comfortable with everything you feel, you will become comfortable with what others feel.  It’s simple but profound. If you don’t believe me, try it. Do the work to become comfortable with everything that exists in your inner feeling world, and you will be amazed that you are suddenly not uncomfortable with anyone. If they have surprising feelings, you’ll have gotten used to sitting with your own, and you know exactly how to sit with theirs too.

Now, how about, “ok, we’ve finished Touch Practice, it’s over. How about next week we have sex?” My rule for myself is, “if a relationship begins as a Touch Practice relationship, it can not ever become a sexual relationship.” Sometimes practice partners have become close personal friends or colleagues and a part of my social circle; friendship is entirely compatible with Touch Practice, but a sexual relationship isn’t. I’ve thought a lot about this and had to explain it to someone a few weeks ago, and I have a couple of theories as to why this is the right way to go, for me, anyway, as a practitioner.

First, while there is nothing professional or clinical about Touch Practice (I don’t charge money, I’m not licensed, this is not a form of therapy or treatment of any sort; it’s a consensual, mutual practice, equivalent to going fishing together) I hold myself to what I call “pseudo-clinical” values. I maintain confidentiality. I follow a “do no harm” code. There are other values that I adhere to (see my mission statement) as though they were “legal” requirements even though they are self-imposed. This code seems to support Touch Practice on some level and make it possible to encounter people more deeply than I would otherwise be able to.

So, on that vein, there’s what we might call a “continuity of care” issue. If someone has Touch Practice with me and months later wants to return for a second or third or fourth practice, I want that relationship to be fully available to them and not compromised in any way. I want to be able to provide what they need.

How exactly would sex compromise a Touch Practice relationship? My strong sense is that in Touch Practice, the Child emerges. Because we work within the boundaries of pre-sexual, pre-adult contact, contact which can include the erotic and arousal but not sex or ejaculation, Touch Practice activates and engages us on a child-to-child level. We can engage the body at any age (and I have had many experiences of this) from adulthood back to infancy; we can access all of our pieces at all of those stages of development. As long as adult sexuality is sequestered from the process, the child remains available. Once adult sexuality is engaged, we no longer have access to the child. The relationship becomes only adult to adult, and it’s not possible to go back and reconstitute the child to child relationship. There is a loss of naivety that cannot be recovered.

There’s a lot of theory and hypothesis in what I’ve written today, but that’s my best way of explaining something that is very clear to me on a sensate level and somewhat hard to intellectualize, and it is a big piece of why Touch Practice relationships can be so powerful and life-changing.

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