Maintenance is not sex
Maintenance isn’t romance. It’s placement. I don’t clear him because I owe him. I clear him because I built this house. And I keep it flowing.
Maintenance is housework.
Maintenance is rhythm.
Maintenance is what keeps the system flowing.
Sex is something else entirely.
I don’t prepare for maintenance.
I don’t dress up for maintenance.
I don’t light candles for maintenance.
Maintenance is not for him.
Maintenance is for us.
Maintenance is a woman’s craft.
Not because she does everything herself.
But because everything moves by her standard.
Systems follow her rhythm.
Objects stay where she places them.
Energy flows where she directs it.
Maintenance is invisible — until it isn’t.
Until something is off.
Until friction shows.
Until flow is interrupted.
This is why I keep my tools ready.
Lubricant in the drawer.
Tissues on the nightstand.
Instructions in my voice.
Presence in my body.
Maintenance takes five minutes.
Sometimes ten.
Rarely more.
Because it’s not sex.
It’s not for show.
It’s not about seduction.
Sex is sacred.
Sex is play.
Sex is full-body energy.
Sex is what happens because the system is tuned.
Because the connection is clear.
Because nothing is clogged or backed up.[1]
Maintenance removes friction.
Maintenance creates space.
Maintenance lets desire rise naturally.
I may program him on a Monday morning — to take me out on Friday night.
I may tell him where I want to go.
What I want to eat.
How I want to be touched.
I may cancel at the last minute —
Because I know how to clear his system quickly.
With ease.
With certainty.
Without drama.
Because I’m not here to perform.
I’m here to place him.
I’m here to keep the house flowing.
I’m here to keep myself clear.
Maintenance is not sex.
Maintenance is stewardship.
Sex is celebration.
And I say when.
And I say how.
And I say why.
This is my house.
This is my field.
This is my rhythm.
No drama
I never leave him full.
I never leave him guessing.
I never leave him lost.
If I cancel a plan —
If I withdraw my body —
If I change the rhythm —
I clear him.
Not because I owe him.
Because I place him.
He is never left holding tension I created.
He is never left hanging in uncertainty.
I direct him.
“Take off your pants.”
“Stroke yourself for me.”
“I will come for you in a moment.”
This is not punishment.
This is not rejection.
This is stewardship.
Men do not suffer from too little sex.
Men suffer from too little direction.[2]
Unclear women create frustrated men.
Frustrated men create chaotic houses.[3]
I don’t allow that.
If I cancel, I clear him.
Always.
Without fail.
Without drama.
Because this is my house.
This is my field.
This is my rhythm.
Footnotes
Regular ejaculation in men supports stress relief and recalibration of dopamine and prolactin levels, which modulate tension, irritability, and emotional regulation. See: Exton et al., Journal of Endocrinology, 2001. ↩︎
Uncertainty and ambiguous sexual communication are primary stressors in male-female relational dynamics, increasing cortisol and reducing attachment security. See: John Gottman, The Science of Trust, 2011. ↩︎
Studies show that sexual frustration — particularly unresolved tension — correlates with increased irritability and lower relational satisfaction in men. See: Langeslag & van Strien, Journal of Sex Research, 2017. ↩︎