There is a certain kind of courage we have to call upon when we step into the unknown with our own bodies — to touch a body you don’t understand anymore, to inhabit a body you may not always like, trust, or recognize, and to allow yourself to wonder if pleasure, intimacy, desire, and connection are still possible.

In this episode of Pleasure Bound, we talk about our first experiences with sex after becoming paralyzed. Underneath these stories, we’re really talking about what it takes to come home to ourselves after our bodies change. For both of us, there were years of grief, fear, loneliness, doubt, and disconnection. There were moments of wondering, What the fuck am I supposed to do with this body now? And then, somehow, we found the courage to lean in anyway.

The fear didn’t disappear. We didn’t suddenly love everything about ourselves. But somewhere underneath the grief was a tiny voice saying: There has to be more.

More pleasure. More intimacy. More curiosity. More connection. More ways to feel good and feel alive.

Possibility, wonder, imagination— that’s what pushed us forward. A healthy dose of hope, with a pinch of resounding faith. Trust. Trust that our humanness would prevail and we could find ways to feel good again.

Sometimes that means sex. Sometimes it means self-touch, looking in the mirror, breathing into your body, letting someone touch you, or simply allowing yourself to be included. Sometimes it means slowing all the way down because trauma has made your body feel unsafe again.

And then there is the work of sifting through ableism and internalized ableism—the stories that tell us our bodies are too much, too complicated, too needy, too inconvenient, or somehow not enough. We have to learn that we don’t have to make ourselves smaller to be worthy of love. We don’t have to apologize for needing care. We’re human. Care comes with the earth contract, y’all.

We don’t have to reject ourselves before someone else has the chance to.

But fuck, it’s hard. Because we care. We want to be loved. We want to be wanted. We want to belong. We want to be invited. And sometimes we have to carve those paths ourselves, then leave them open for the people coming behind us. Sprinkle sweets breadcrumbs of connection, in which only the brave traveler can delight. Real life is not for the faint of heart. And baby, this shit is real as hell.

That’s part of what I love about these conversations. We get to expand the imagination of what is possible for disabled bodies and marginalized bodies. We get to say: There is room for you here. You don’t have to figure this out alone. Your body is not the end of the story. You belong here. You’re worthy. You’re a fucking treasure.

Because those first sexual experiences after paralysis weren’t really about proving that we could have sex. They were about discovering that we were still here. Still capable of pleasure. Still capable of desire. Still capable of giving and receiving connection.

Still worthy.

Still alive.

And not fucking done.

Maybe coming home to our bodies isn’t about eventually loving every part of ourselves or never feeling afraid again. Maybe it’s the ongoing practice of meeting ourselves where we are—with patience, curiosity, tenderness, and the courage to say, I don’t understand you yet, but I’m willing to keep getting to know you.

There is enough here.

And there is more here.

Of that, I am sure.

Big love,

Kelsey & Kate

* below paid subscribers, can find a ritual for creating safety in order to embrace curiosity. If you’re not yet paid subscriber, but you’re curious, try out a free month and see what happens…xoxo

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He’s the friend I’d call in the middle of the night when life felt impossibly heavy and my body somehow felt even heavier. We’d spend hours talking about disability, grief, sex, creativity, music, spirituality, joy, rage, and what it means to keep making a life inside a body that has changed. Somehow, after every conversation, I’d feel a little more human. A little less alone.

Over the years, Gabriel has become one of my creative soulmates.

His music has shaped me as much as any teacher ever has. It made me want to move again, after seven years. It gave me somewhere honest to put my body. It invited me into a new lane in which to play. As a choreographer, I’ve never experienced anything quite like creating movement to songs written by someone who actually knows my lived experience from the inside. Someone who understands paralysis, longing, pleasure, pain, adaptation, and the strange, exquisite poetry of living in a disabled body.

It unlocked something in me that I didn’t know was waiting.

Then we got to perform it together. Me dancing. Him singing live behind me. Us dancing together. I felt like I was dancing with my own story, my own pain, my own pleasure.

It remains one of the greatest artistic gifts of my life. There was something profoundly healing about sharing a stage with someone whose work had already witnessed so much of my own story.

There’s something Gabriel does that I can’t quite explain. His voice carries honesty before anything else. You hear the grit, the tenderness, the anarchy, the ache, the humor, the mess, and the beauty all at once. You can hear his pain echoing from the sweetness of his falsetto.

He refuses to simplify his life into an inspirational story.

Instead, like the late disabled musician, Vic Chestnutt, he tells the complicated truth. He writes about disability without asking for pity. He writes about sexuality without sanitizing it. He writes about grief without getting stuck there. He writes about pleasure without pretending it exists apart from pain. His work asks us to become more honest, more curious, and more fully ourselves.

He asks the world to be better while never losing sight of how breathtaking it already is.

There aren’t many artists making work like that. There certainly aren’t many doing it with this much vulnerability, grit, humor, sensuality, and heart.

Sometimes I find myself wondering why more people don’t know his work yet. Then I remember that the most honest art isn’t always the loudest. It doesn’t chase attention. It quietly changes people. It finds the ones who are ready for it.

I have a feeling the rest of the world will catch up eventually.

This week’s episode of Pleasure Bound is one of my favorite conversations we’ve ever recorded. We talk about rediscovering your voice after a spinal cord injury, making art from the mud before finding the fire, dance as medicine, kink, play, curiosity, and the lifelong practice of following what feels good and true.

If you’ve been wondering whose music you’ve been hearing throughout this season, now you know.

Go listen. Follow the threads into his music. Let yourself wander into his strange, beautiful swamp.

Big love,

Kelsey and Kate

*below, paid subscribers will find your slow, dirty, and sensual movement ritual for accessing the fearless swamp goblin in you. Enjoy;)

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In tarot, card XIII is the Death card. People often get scared of this one. Unless you know it.

Yes, it can be daunting, because it usually means change, and change is always just that — change.

But God is Change. - Octavia Butler

It’s not always easy, but we can do it. If we listen, surrender, and apply care…

The Death card isn’t necessarily about an ending so much as it’s about transformation. It asks us to release what we’ve outgrown so that something more honest can emerge.

That is what this episode feels like. An unfurling.

Over the past 13 conversations, we’ve shed so much: internalized-ableism, shame, perfectionism, inherited ideas about productivity, desirability, independence, sex, pleasure, and what makes life worth living. We’ve questioned the stories we hold, and asked ourselves if they were ever ours to carry.

This episode is a chance to look back before we move forward—to honor everything this journey has transformed in us, and everything that is still unfolding.

It’s also the beginning of a new season.

A season where we’re choosing to be legends, not ladies.

We’re letting the lady die. The part of us that believes we have to be agreeable, palatable, quiet, self-sacrificing, grateful, pretty, polite, or anything other than wholly and completely ourselves.

Good riddance.

Some things deserve to end so we can step into sovereignty.

Because we’ve outgrown them.

When we allow those old stories to die, we make room for more pleasure. More joy. More truth. More freedom. More of the wild, beautiful people we’ve been becoming all along.

Pleasure isn’t a destination. It’s a practice. A remembering. A willingness to keep transforming. To surrender to our deepest desires and have to courage to allow them to transpire.

Thank you for walking these first thirteen steps with us. We’re so excited for what’s coming next.

Big love,

Kelsey and Kate

*Below, paid subscribers can find a little ritual for releasing that which no longer serves us, and stepping into a longing truth. Let’s fuckin go y’all. if you’re not yet a paid subscriber, join us by enter your email below. Xoxo

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I knew we would talk about disability, sexuality, pleasure, and her beautiful book Where Shame Dies. I expected honesty and vulnerability. What I didn’t expect was how much she would challenge me to think about what it really means to move through the world without shame—not because you’ve somehow become immune to ableism or rejection, but because you’ve realized you can stop believing those stories that don’t belong to you.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the difference between walls and boundaries.

Every winter, I try to frequent the local rec center — The pool and sauna provide a space of respite, warmth and freedom of the water, even in the deep cold of the Northwoods.

Upon entering the sauna, there was another woman sitting, and sweating, as one does in a sauna. She said hello, and I had the immediate gut instinct that she was the brand of human about to cross my boundaries when it comes to my disabled identity. And sure enough, just after saying hello, and before even asking my name, she said, “I’m guessing this isn’t permanent?“

“Is what permanent?” But I obviously knew exactly what she was talking about. I was hoping she would back off. But she doubled down.

“The wheelchair. What happened?”

Here we go again… someone’s curiosity overrides their assessment of potential harm.

“You know, that’s not something I really prefer to talk about with strangers, especially ones who don’t even know my name yet. There are so many other things about me that matter more than what happened to me.”

As disabled people, so many of us have learned to protect ourselves by anticipating harm. Even sometimes expecting it. We explain ourselves before anyone asks. We soften our truth. We prepare for discomfort. Sometimes we become teachers when we’d rather just simply be people. There are good reasons for that. Sometimes it’s a survival strategy.

But I left this conversation wondering what happens when protection starts to become separation. What happens when the walls we’ve built to keep ourselves safe also keep out intimacy, curiosity, and love? Or our own sense of freedom?

What I admire so much about Trista is that she doesn’t seem to move through the world with walls. She has boundaries—clear, unwavering, deeply rooted boundaries—but they’re different. She knows who she is. She knows that her body isn’t the problem. The problem is ableism. The problem is the stories our culture tells about whose bodies are worthy of desire, care, visibility, and love — let alone access!

That distinction feels incredibly powerful to me.

When you truly stop believing that you are the problem, you don’t have to spend so much energy defending yourself. You don’t have to convince people of your humanity or your worth. You can decide when to teach and when to walk away. You can choose where your energy belongs.

As someone whose work is rooted in healing, embodiment, and collective care, I’ve been sitting with another question since our conversation: How do we hold compassion without making ourselves responsible for everyone’s learning?

I believe in education. I believe stories change people. It’s why I love storytelling so much, and why I’ve dedicated my life to telling them.

But I also believe there’s a difference between choosing to teach and feeling obligated to teach.

Disabled people, queer people, and so many others living at the margins are so often expected to explain ourselves over and over again. To answer every question. To turn every uncomfortable moment into an educational opportunity. That labor is rarely acknowledged, even though it asks so much of us.

Listening to Trista reminded me that part of liberation is trusting that other people can do some of that work themselves. They can read the books. They can seek out disabled voices. They can challenge the narratives they’ve inherited without requiring us to guide them every step of the way.

That isn’t withholding compassion, it’s practicing it wisely.

I’ve also been thinking about the armor we wear. We all need it, especially when our bodies become public conversations the moment we leave the house. But maybe the goal isn’t to become impenetrable. Maybe it’s to create armor that’s permeable—strong enough to protect what is sacred, but soft enough to let love, joy, intimacy, and genuine connection filter through.

I think that’s what I witnessed in Trista. Someone who fiercely protects herself without becoming defensive. Someone who can name injustice without letting it harden her heart. Someone who has cultivated boundaries that make her more open and available to love rather than less, because she knows her value. She embodies it.

That’s the kind of strength that truly carries you through a life fully lived.

Our conversation left me wondering what it would look like if more of us carried ourselves from that place. If our boundaries became an expression of self-worth rather than fear. If we trusted deeply that there is nothing wrong with our bodies, nothing wrong with the ways we love, nothing wrong with the ways we move through the world.

From that place, the question shifts.

Instead of asking ourselves, Am I enough?

We begin asking the world, Can you expand your imagination? Can you love more generously? Can you question the stories you’ve inherited about who deserves pleasure, tenderness, desire, and belonging?

That feels like the real invitation of this episode.

Not simply to rethink disability, but to rethink love itself.

I hope you’ll listen to this conversation with Trista. I have a feeling it will stay with you the way it has stayed with both Kate and me.

big love,

k&k

“Boundaries are the distance at which I can love you and me simultaneously.” — Prentis Hill

* below, paid subscribers will find a short offering for re-examining your boundaries as an expression of self-worth rather than impenetrable armor.

And if you’re not had a paid subscriber, join us. You could always cancel if it’s not your bag;)

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Sometimes pleasure looks like saying no, or canceling plans, or making space to grieve who/what has left, or what isn’t working anymore.

Sometimes it looks like finally listening to the part of yourself that’s been agitated, exhausted, overwhelmed, or quietly asking for more, or just…something different. Sometimes it’s a million little things, sprinkled throughout your day — decorating the mundane.

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In Episode 11 of Pleasure Bound, Kate and I talk about what happens when we stop chasing outcomes and start paying attention to the actual experience of being alive. When we own our needs and our truths and let the fuckin chips fall where they may.

THAT is pleasure, because that is freedom.

We explore:

✨ The difference between pleasure as a practice vs pleasure as another thing to accomplish

✨ Why the “scenic route” often leads somewhere more delicious or real than the destination

✨ JOMO (the Joy of Missing Out) and the relief of opting out

✨ Friendship, care, and tending the ecosystems that sustain us

✨ The grief and freedom that come with closing one chapter and stepping into another

✨ Why pleasure might be less about getting somewhere and more about HOW we travel

This conversation felt especially vulnerable because neither of us had it all figured out. We were living the questions in real time. Raw.

If you’ve been feeling disconnected from yourself, overcommitted, stuck in survival mode, or exhausted by the pressure to perform or be “better” or different — in the bedroom, in your work, or in your life in general — we think this episode might resonate.

Pleasure isn’t a box to check, my loves. It’s a way of being. Let’s be there together.

On the journey with you,

Kelsey and Kate

*Paid subscribers can find a sexy little breath ritual below. If you’re not subscribed, but you want to join the delicious party, try joining us for a free month and see what happens… XOXO.

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We talk a lot in this episode about the pressure to conform—to perform normalcy, desirability, and sexuality according to able-bodied standards that were never designed with disabled people in mind, or many/most other bodies for that matter.

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We talk about the vulnerability of sharing your unique body, with all its valid needs. Jim offers something radically different: the idea that there should be no standard. No single way to inhabit a body. No single way to experience pleasure or intimacy. No single way to show up sexually, sensually, or romantically.

What moved me most was Jim’s willingness to be vulnerable about his own experiences with pleasure and intimacy. He didn’t have to share those stories publicly. He didn’t have to pull back the curtain on such a personal part of his life. But he did.

And in doing so, he offered something incredibly generous.

This is a man who grew up in a time when having a disability was often treated as something to hide, something to be embarrassed about. The world was far less accessible. Disabled people were far less visible. Conversations like this simply weren’t happening in public.

While there is still so much work to be done, the truth is that Jim’s generation had an even bigger mountain to climb. Many of the rights, representation, and visibility we experience today exist because disabled people like him fought for them. We stand on the shoulders of disabled people like Jim who fought for a world that could imagine us, a world that could shift for us.

There was something powerful, grounding, and affirming about hearing a disabled man speak so matter-of-factly about himself as a capable lover, worthy of pleasure and connection, without apologizing for the ways his body differs from the heterosexual, able-bodied norms that dominate our culture.

THAT is activism.

Not because it was loud. Not because it was performative. But because it was honest.

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Jim’s stories, humor, sensuality, confidence, and deep self-acceptance create space for all of us to imagine ourselves differently. To imagine ourselves as worthy in whatever form we take. To imagine pleasure, intimacy, and connection beyond the narrow scripts we’ve been handed.

These are the conversations that shift culture.

These are the conversations that make people feel seen.

These are the conversations that resist.

And for that, we’re deeply grateful. 🌹⚡️

Don’t miss this one.

Big love,

Kelsey + Kate

Pleasure Bound

We start with quadriplegic temper tantrums — the kind where you scream into pillows, shake, swear, hit your armrests, bang your cane, and let your body finally release what it’s been holding. Honestly? Necessary shit.

From there, things somehow spiral beautifully into:

• nervous system stuff

• hope and presence after spinal cord injury

• sacred sexuality

• kinky furniture

• erotic audio stories

• the politics of being seen

• and a very serious debate about what to call your vulva/vagina in bed.

So… naturally, one of our favorite episodes yet.

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Kate shares a wildly vulnerable story about attending a kink event and experiencing something she never expected: deep embodiment, agency, surrender, sensation, and a hands-free orgasm in a room full of people she trusted.

But underneath the sexy details is something much deeper:
What happens when disabled bodies stop being treated like problems to fix and start becoming places to explore?

We also talk about the complicated dance between healing and acceptance after acquiring a disability. How do you hold hope (of whatever) without making “being cured” the condition for your happiness? How do you celebrate moments of return in the body without abandoning the life you’ve built inside the reality you already live in? How do you feel into radical self-love of your body — the one you have right fucking now?

There’s grief in this episode.
And joy.
And kink.
And tenderness.
And absolute chaos.

Kelsey also reports back from her homework assignment: exploring erotic imagination through the Dipsea app — which led to a very notable breakthrough in the hands-free orgasm department.

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We talk fantasy.
Dirty talk.
Turn-ons and turn-offs.
Why being called a “good girl” is a hard NO for some of us.
And why pleasure becomes radically different when your needs are actually being seen and met. When we allow them a seat at the table, and when our partner(s) meet us there. Imagine that. Actually, DEMAND that. That’s required.

At the center of all of it is this:
Pleasure is not frivolous. Get your nasty on, shamelessly and delightfully — wholly and holy, baby.

xoxo,

Kelsey and Kate

This episode lives in the second kind.

In Episode 8 of Pleasure Bound, Kate and I explore what it means to stay connected to ourselves — and to pleasure — during periods of pain, exhaustion, overwhelm, grief, burnout, and survival mode.

Not from a polished “healed” place.
Not from a place where we’ve figured it all out.
But from the middle of that shit, y’all.

We talk honestly about dissociation, intimacy, numbing, disability, desire, and the deep longing to feel present in our bodies again when life feels heavy. We explore the tension between wanting relief and wanting reconnection — and how pleasure can sometimes become both refuge and return.

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This conversation moves through so many layers:

• the mental exhaustion of directing your own care as a disabled person

• the pressure to stay productive while your nervous system is screaming for rest

• the complicated relationship between pain relief and shame

• ableism in dating and fears around being “too much”

• the craving for authentic connection, tenderness, and care

• what’s really underneath the desire to “fuck the pain away”

We also share how we’ve been reconnecting with ourselves through water — using baths, tea, ritual, and intentionality as ways to regulate our nervous systems and move through the world with more presence and care.

We talk about Dr. Emoto’s work on water and intention, grief rituals, embodiment practices, and how healing sometimes begins in the smallest moments.

Kate opens up about the “Rolodex of care-minded fuck buddies” — and I’M HERE FOR IT — currently taking applications, apply within 🔥

It turns into a surprisingly vulnerable and profound conversation about touch, support, desire, and the kinds of intimacy we’re actually hungry for.

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And somehow… we also end up in a long, philosophical ice cream metaphor (I don’t know) about self-pleasure, exploration, and letting ourselves try things without pressure or perfection.

Honestly, it may be one of my favorite metaphors we’ve ever had on the podcast. Deliciously nasty and present AF. Ya know, just how we like it;)

This episode isn’t about forcing positivity or “overcoming” pain. In fact, one of the most meaningful moments in the conversation is when we ask:

What if it doesn’t have to be overcoming?
What if we simply invite pain to the table instead?

Sit with it. Have a lil chat. Dance together.

Because maybe embodiment isn’t about transcending our humanity.
Maybe it’s about learning how to stay with ourselves inside of it.

If you’ve been overwhelmed lately… disconnected from your body… craving softness, sensation, intimacy, or simply a moment to exhale — I think this episode will meet you there.

Listen to Episode 8: Pleasure, Pain & Overcoming Overwhelm wherever you get your podcasts.

References from this episode:

• The Hidden Messages in Water by Masaru Emoto

• The Wild Edge of Sorrow by Francis Weller

• Sinners

• Dipsea

Content note: This episode includes conversations around pain management, substance use, and numbing behaviors.

If you’re struggling and need support, the Substance Abuse & Addiction Hotline is available 24/7:
844-289-0879

Paid subscribers can find a sweet little ritual below. And if you’re not yet a paid subscriber, now could be your moment…

Xoxo,

Kelsey & Kate 🌹⚡️

I went to the ER last week, and I was reminded of a small ovarian cyst that I have. “Nothing to be concerned about.“ I disagree…

I also have a UTI, which I always have to some degree as someone who uses a catheter, so sometimes it’s manageable and normal to show up in a culture, without necessarily needing antibiotics. But my body is totally weird and unknown to them, (cue eye-roll) so they gave me antibiotics and sent me on my not-so-merry way. Shocker.

Here’s what I feel is true — this pain and this cyst feel tied together. Part of something bigger. They’re clues. And it all feels tied to my struggles with agency, enoughness, urgency, and anger. It feels like unprocessed emotions, stagnation. This tension of authenticity, vulnerability, a feeling of safety, and peace within care work and other relationships. The struggle of making a living/finding the time for work as a disabled person, and finding joy, especially in our capitalist culture.

There is so much to unlearn, resist and rewrite.

This is where our work with Pleasure Bound becomes a living practice. This is the fucking medicine. This is the classroom — to reclaim our bodies, our truth, our peace, our pleasure, one “fuck it” and “fuck off” at a time.

Today I did a little recon.

I reached out to my friend Angie, who is an acupuncturist, and I booked an appointment.

I did some research into nutrition/foods to avoid, yoga poses that could be helpful, herbalism, somatic exercises, chanting, and more. I also found that, on an emotional and somatic level, all these things can contribute to my issues…

• vigilance

• boundary violations

• sexual shame

• grief

• powerlessness

• chronic caregiving

• survival mode

• suppression of anger/desire

Any of this resonate with you? Cuz daaaamn.

This year has been a year of learning to honor my truth. To reclaim my sovereignty. To let go of outcomes. And the more I lean into it, the deeper I go down the rabbit hole — into the places where I’ve abandoned myself.

They’re mine fields, sprinkled throughout my disabled and female existence. The places where power feels lost. Where agency feels lost. Where dependence is all too real to ignore. Where a body, unseen, is a lonely one.

Where a body, incapable or misunderstood, overly gives in other ways to be seen as productive, valuable, safe, enough, worthy, or human.

Where sweet humility, within having needs and preferences, is in constant confrontation with the ego — yours and others — tainted by ableism and internalized-ableism.

Where I long to be seen, desired, touched, fucked, loved, chosen.

I don’t blame myself. There’s no shame here. There is deep compassion. There is an unraveling. A mess. And I’ll be damned if it won’t be a sensual and beautiful mess.

I’m taking this moment to slow down. Simplify. And sensualize.

To listen. To let my intuition lead. To truly feel. To allow. To surrender. To morph. To become.

Yes, I’m scared. Yes, I’m tired. But I know…

God is Change. - Octavia Butler

…Whatever God is to you — The universe. The divine. Great spirit. You decide.

I love this quote. I love it because, since acquiring a disability, I keep learning that the more that we surrender to change, to the flow of life, the more we can feel the truth. The closer we can feel to EVERYTHING. The more we find the beauty and the blessings. The less we struggle. The better we love.

It’s no easy thing, change. But damn, we can feel our way through it. Adapt through it. Rise and fall and rise again through it.

This season of change comes as both a scary thing, and a knowing.

A knowing that this is an opportunity to listen to my body. To trust her. To move with her and act for her. To honor my truth and reclaim my sovereignty as a disabled woman over and over and over again.

To make this investigation sexy. To make it beautiful. To make it sensual.

To embody pleasure as resistance. My truth as resistance.

This feels like Pleasure Activism taking seed in my body in just one more way. Do you feel it too? Where do you feel it?

“Feeling good is not frivolous, it’s freedom.” — adrienne maree brown.

Big love,

Kelsey

For paid monthly subscribers, below you’ll find this monthly pleasure guide, all about sensualizing this month. an exploration of the senses as a mode of growing, returning, becoming, and celebrating.

Make it about simplifying in order to sensualize our lives. Make it about feeling. Make it about beauty. Make it about passion. Make it about truth. Make it slow and steady. Romance yourself.

And if you’re not a paid subscriber, but you’re turned on by this, click that button and subscribe. We’d love to have you.

-Kelsey and Kate

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Welcome back.

Somewhere between incense smoke, tub water, fantasy, fear, and self-trust… this conversation was born.

Episode 7 is a slow burn. It’s like the kind of sex you have when you have some mothafuckin tiiiiiiime. Sloth sex, baby. Just how we like it.

We open with some sensuous ritual — quad style. I show Kate how I light my incense — without working digits, (she’s got skillz)…lighting it from between my lips (please be careful out there), setting the tone for a conversation that’s intimate, mischievous, adaptive, a lil risky, and deeply honest.

From there, we dive into re-sensualization: the messy, delicious, creative, and absolutely VITAL path of returning to pleasure after disconnection, numbness, heartbreak, trauma, or simply forgetting that your body belongs to you.

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In this tasty episode, we talk about the highs and lows of adventurous pleasure. The thrill of saying a heartfelt yes. The danger of saying yes when your body is quietly saying something else.

What happens when we get caught in the moment and override our own cues?
What happens when fantasy becomes escape?
What happens when fantasy becomes expansion?

I share the climactic consequences (oooh La La) of slowing down and following my senses in the tub, and how pleasure practices can become pathways to nervous system regulation, peace, and presence.

Kate opens up about life as a single quad, reverse cowgirl style—navigating self-pleasure, trust, and the fear of repeating old patterns with new lovers. She reflects on how listening to her body is opening entirely new ways to feel — Fuck. Yes.

Together, we explore:

• Re-sensualizing after shutdown or survival mode

• Pleasure vs performance

• Fantasy as medicine / fantasy as avoidance

• Overwhelm and nervous system coping tools

• Trusting the body over urgency

• Why you don’t need to continue to accelerate intimacy to be free and joyful

This episode is playful. It’s tender. It’s a little filthy. It’s deeply human.

Listen now, and ask yourself:

What if pleasure isn’t about DOING more… but feeling more?

xoxo,

Kelsey and Kate 🌹⚡️

p.s. Paid subscribers will find a delicious little somatic invitation below. If you’re not a paid subscriber, and you’re curious, lean in…subscribe below. Xo

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Welcome back. We’re so happy you’re here.

This episode gets a little messy—in the best way.

We talk about fantasies, and what happens when you stop trying to make pleasure look “normal”… and start letting it be real, and wonderfully weird — because whatever your brand of “weird” is, you can bring it all, and know that it’s worthy.

Guess what else?…

This girl (Kelsey here btw) had an unexpected breakthrough:

An orgasm with a partner, post-injury. (Cue the triumphant music.)

But what made the sex memorable, and hot AF, wasn’t just the orgasm—it was the care, the curiosity, the intimacy, the trust, and the absence of ego in an effort to connect and SHOW THE FUCK UP.

“What do you need? Let’s figure it out.”

That energy. That’s what made everything open. And oh-so-sweet.

This episode dives further into the reality of:

• needing help

• receiving care

• advocating in vulnerable moments

And the reframe that hit hardest:

Receiving isn’t weakness—it’s connection.

We talk about how many fantasies don’t include our real bodies.

And what it feels like when someone desires you exactly as you are—no edits, no able-bodied/non-disabled/“fixed” version.

That shift?

It’s not just sexy. It’s healing.

“Weird sex” is just honest sex

Adaptive, improvised, communicative, non-linear, sometimes awkward sex…

That’s not weird.

That’s real.

A small ritual for you:

*Let yourself play here—no judgment, no performance.

Write out a fantasy, or record it in your voice, or just let it unfold fully in your mind — whatever works for your body/vibe.

Don’t edit it. Don’t analyze it. Just let it flow.

This isn’t about acting on it, it’s about expanding your erotic imagination… and letting yourself be seen by yourself.

Read it. Play with it. Let it unfurl you. You deserve it.

Your invitation

What if you stopped trying to be “good” at sex…

…and started being honest?

If this episode stirred something in you—good.

Stay with it. Play with it ;)

We’re here to explore, not perform.

Big love,

Kelsey + Kate

While preparing to write the latest Pleasure Guide for y’all, I was able to lean into some urgings from within myself. Urgings that crept up, like a sneaky tide, when suddenly I was in too deep. Drowning in its fire. Call it spring fever, or the fire of Aries. Whatever you want to call it, it was here to tell me something, to teach me something. It was calling me into action, into care. Here is some of that medicine that emerged, through tears, pain, anger, and desire. Medicine that I am still alchemizing in my imagination, my spells, my flesh.

What if the agitation is actually aliveness?

spring doesn’t always arrive as softness. sometimes it comes as restlessness.

heat.

a sharp hunger.

a pulse beneath the skin.

a craving for more.

it’s easy — instinctual even — to try to ignore it, or suppress it.

but what if we look deeper?…

maybe this season, and the sensations it brings, are an opportunity to ask ourselves:

what is this trying to tell me?

what could be on the other side of this?

this is where we become the pleasure witch.

the sensual alchemist.

the erotic warrior.

This is Aries season.

First fire.

First spark.

First desire.

The part of you that says:

I want.

I feel.

I’m ready.

If you’ve been feeling more agitated…

more turned on…

more impatient…

more emotional…

more alive than you know what to do with—good.

Something in you is waking up.

Not every urge needs to become chaos.

But every urge deserves your attention.

Because sometimes the itch isn’t a problem.

Sometimes it’s a message:

Erotic intelligence — being turned-on to LIFE. Awakening.

Life force calling for expression.

The body asking to be met.

A voice longing to be heard.

Pleasure can be the way in.

Not performance.

Not pressure.

Not productivity in a silk robe.

Not even sex necessarily…

Just presence.

A hand on the body.

A breath into the pelvis.

A caress of your chest/breasts.

A tiny yes.

A holy noticing.

A tiny spring pleasure ritual

(For the spark inside)

Place one hand on your heart.

One low on your belly -or wherever feels accessible to you

Breathe where you feel the heat.

Circle a body part of your choice — tongue, shoulders, wrists, hips, rib cage - or do any of it in your mind…slowly.

Let your mouth soften.

Let your body make one sound.

Ask-

What is trying to bloom in me?

What would feel delicious right now?

What longs to be released?

Then follow one small yes.

A stretch.

A stroke.

A sway.

Music that conjures desire.

Pleasure without needing to earn it.

The agitation is not the enemy.

It may be truth hidden.

It may be desire.

It may be your aliveness returning.

What’s trying to emerge within you right now?

Tis the season for erotic courage 🪷🔥

Big love,

Kelsey + Kate 🌹⚡️

Paid subscribers will find the link to the Aries/Spring/April Pleasure Guide below. Sorry it’s late y’all;)

*If you’re not paid subscriber, now is your chance to get your hands a lil dirty. Tis the season…

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This week on Pleasure Bound, we’re getting a little weird(er). ;)

And by weird, we mean honest, tender, horny, mystical…basically just more human.

This episode was so fun, deeply vulnerable, and extra real for us. we talk about about pleasure practices, solo exploration, intimacy in changing bodies, and what it means to let go of performance in favor of presence. Let go of comparison or judgement in favor of radical self-love and deep allowance for our bodies to be perfect just as they are.

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Kate shares a vulnerable and playful solo experience that blends microdosing, meditation, and full-body pleasure. #GOALS (I’m not jealous, you’re jealous.)

Kelsey opens up about long-distance dating, sexting, navigating intimacy as a quadriplegic, and what it means to stay curious inside a body that is always changing.

Together, we wander through:

• sex toys and sensory tools

• erotic mysticism and surrender

• pain, pleasure, and self-tenderness

• intimacy with disability and medical realities

• honesty, humor, shame, disclosure, and desire

• the magic of letting it be imperfect, awkward, and real

Pleasure isn’t about getting it “right.” It’s about being with what’s here. That’s where the blooming really happens🌹

…when we’re listening, laughing, adapting, creating. Letting go of expectations so that we can be surprised.

Sometimes, that means letting it be a little weird. And we’re here for it, babyyyyy.

This episode is raw, funny, vulnerable, and full of the kind of truth that makes you feel less alone in your body.

If you’ve ever wondered:

Can I still be sexy in this body?

Can pleasure meet me here?

Can surrender be part of the turn-on?

This one’s for you.

Big love,

Kelsey + Kate 🌹⚡️

Paid Subscribers: you’ll find a sensual lil invitation below…enjoy;)

*if you’re not a paid subscriber, but feeling curious, just go with it…click the button below and go down the rabbit hole with us.

Subscriber Extra: A Tiny Ritual for Surrender

This week, give yourself five quiet minutes.

• Dim the lights.

• Put on a song that makes your body exhale and open.

• Place one hand on your heart, and one somewhere that feels a little delicious — your thigh, your belly, your chest, the back of your neck…

Breathe. Slow down. Connect. Feeeeeeeel.

Then ask yourself:

What would feel good right now if I didn’t have to perform, prove, or get it right? What is calling for my curiosity and indulgence?

Let the answer be small, real, honest.

Maybe it’s a certain touch. A wiggle or shudder. A deep breath. A fantasy explored. A long pause.

Let pleasure be simple.

Let it be strange.

Let it be yours.

Maybe it takes you somewhere unexpected. Maybe it just lets you be right here. It’s all good.

🌹⚡️

We’re so excited to welcome you into the very first Pleasure Bound Reading Group — a new monthly space for our paid subscribers to get curious, reflective, and a little turned on by deeper conversation. 😘

When: Monday, April 13th, 5pm Central on Zoom. Link below

This month, we’re reading Chapter 5 of Come As You Are by Dr. Emily Nagoski — a powerful extension of our recent conversation around fantasy, imagination as medicine, and the conditions that help us access pleasure.

Pleasure doesn’t happen in a vacuum.

Our bodies are always responding to context — to stress, safety, shame, tenderness, exhaustion, fantasy, memory, possibility.

And if we want to understand our pleasure more deeply, we have to understand what helps us soften… and what shuts us down.

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This reading is an invitation to explore:

• what your body needs to feel open and receptive

• how context shapes desire

• where stress, pain, or overwhelm may be interrupting pleasure

• how curiosity and imagination can help us create new pathways back to ourselves

In other words: very much our vibe. 💋

This reading group is not about being an expert.

It’s about being in process.

It’s about reading with your body, not just your brain.

So as you move through the chapter, notice:

• What makes you exhale?

• What feels validating?

• What challenges old narratives?

• What makes you feel more compassionate toward yourself?

Take your time. Be tender with yourself.

Grab a cozy spot and a cup of tea and let the reading be part of your pleasure practice.

We’re so excited to gather with you in this new way — to think together, feel together, and keep building a space where our bodies, our desires, and our complexities all belong.

With big love, curiosity, and a little mischief,

Kelsey + Kate

*Link to the text, the Zoom room, and the prompts for closer reading in the Subscriber* section below. See you soon!

If you’d like to join our Reading Groups, and receive monthly embodiment and pleasure Guides, we’d love to welcome you to Pleasure Bound. Subscribe here ↓

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This week’s episode of Pleasure Bound gets a little darker, a little softer, and a lot more honest.

We’re all about the bold shares here, betches;)

We’re talking about kink — shocker, we know — but not just in the obvious ways…

We’re talking about the kind of kink that lives beneath the surface:

the fantasies we don’t always understand, the power dynamics we’ve inherited, the shame we’ve absorbed, the patterns that disrupt us — and that maybe have something bigger and shocking to tell us.

We’re asking:

What if pleasure gets bigger when we stop trying to be “good”?

What if the thing we’ve been taught to fear or hide is actually a doorway?

This episode takes us into:

• the erotic power of fantasy attached to a real person

• the difference between what porn taught us and what our bodies actually want/deserve/are capable of

• disability, adaptation, and erotic imagination

• the wild tenderness of aftercare

• the emotional and spiritual layers of self-pleasure

• and how shame can quietly block our access to magic

We also talk about the book currently cracking us open:

Existential Kink by Carolyn Elliott PhD — a provocative invitation to explore the hidden turn-ons, subconscious patterns, and shadow desires shaping our lives.

This conversation is playful, ridiculous, and hilarious (you’re welcome), but underneath it all, is something deeper:

A reclamation.

Of the body.

Of the voice.

Of the erotic self.

Of the parts of us that want more — more sensation, more honesty, more permission, more life.

There’s also a thread in this episode that surprised us:

aftercare.

Not just as something for partnered sex.

Not just as something for kink scenes.

But as a practice of reverence. Of sovereignty.

What if aftercare is part of the medicine?

What if the tenderness after pleasure is just as holy as the climax itself?

What if we stopped rushing away from our own openness?

And because we’re us, we also wander into conversations around microdosing, grief, divinity, nervous system shifts, and the way pleasure can become a portal — not just to orgasm, but to self-revelation.

This one is for the curious ones.

For the recovering good girls/boys/theydies and gentlethems.

For the sacred sluts.

For the #metoo homies out there, looking to heal through your own sacred eroticism, sensuality and embodiment. We see you, we love you, we are you. 🙏💜

For the wounded sense of prowess in you that deserves to rise — on your own time, in your own way, and in community.

For the disabled babes rewriting what sex and power can look like.

For anyone learning that pleasure doesn’t have to be pristine to be profound.

Sometimes it’s messy.

Sometimes it’s emotional.

Sometimes it’s nasty;)

Sometimes it comes with tears, laughter, shadow, fantasy, and sometimes, sadly…a dead vibrator.

And sometimes…that’s exactly where the magic starts.

Stay curious.

Stay honest.

Keep coming…home to yourself.

🌹⚡️

Kelsey + Kate

The podcast launch has been incredible. Truly.

Kate and I are proud, grateful, and a little stunned that this thing we dreamed up is actually out in the world.

But I’m going to be honest about something…

I’ve been kind of wrecked lately.

My voice, in all its forms, is tired. My body hurts. My brain hurts. My eyes hurt. I feel depleted, a longing for quiet, an internal ‘hush.’

There’s been so much output: recording, editing, writing, posting, dreaming, responding, building.

And at the same time… life hasn’t paused.

My pain has been flaring. My heart is broken. Ableism has been showing up in family dynamics. The world feels like it’s on fire some days.

And my body finally said:

Girl… slow down. This process could feel better.

It’s a funny classroom to practice what you preach.

Because Pleasure Bound isn’t just about pleasure in theory, It’s about listening to the body and choosing alignment.

So I’ve been asking myself:

How can this still be joyful?

What if building something meaningful doesn’t have to come at the expense of the body building it?

What if pleasure isn’t something we get after the work — but something that can shape how we work?

So right now I’m experimenting.

Imagining a new process. (There it is again — the power and pleasure in imagination.)

I’m allowing a slower and more dynamic rhythm to build in me.

I’m exploring a way of creating that honors my body, my energy, my grief, my curiosity, my different expressions, and my joy all at once. Here’s an example of that rhythm.

An invitation:

Somatic Practice: Returning to Flow

Take a moment wherever you are.

Let your shoulders drop if they want to.

Let your breath soften or deepen just a little — whatever breath calls to you.

Place a hand or your attention somewhere on your body — your chest, your belly, your thigh, wherever feels natural.

Ask your body quietly:

“What pace would feel better right now?”

Not the pace the world demands.

Not the pace your ambitions demand.

The pace your body recognizes as sustainable, even sweet.

You might notice:

• a breath slowing

• a desire to stretch

• a tiny impulse to rock or sway

• a feeling of warmth somewhere

• a little idea of a shift in your process

Let that small shift happen.

Pleasure often begins not as fireworks —

but as a spark. This is our return to rhythm. Follow the little light.

I’m still figuring out the rhythm of this new relationship between me, this work, and all of you.

But I’m leaning more into themes for the organization and expression of my work that feed my mind, body, heart and soul:

Dance, speaking, writing, conversations, and other offerings, all combined to create a joyful and satisfying balance in the way my purpose is delivered.

I have no idea what I’m doing. But I’m committed.

To listening to my body.

To protecting my joy.

To letting pleasure guide the process — not just the destination.

We’re building this together.

Thank you for being here in the real and the raw.

Big messy love,

Kels

Episode three is here — and this one feels tender, electric, and deeply honest.

This week we follow curiosity.

The quiet whisper of ‘what if?’

What if pleasure lives somewhere I haven’t looked yet?

What if my body isn’t a problem to fix, but a landscape to explore?

Kate shares about stepping into kink spaces and discovering new doorways to sensation, consent, and play. Kelsey reflects on dance floors, grief, breathwork, artist dates, and what it means to create a container for pleasure while living in a body that requires care.

We talk about the eroticism of trust.

About navigating caregivers and autonomy.

About shame, ego, and the vulnerability of being seen.

About sobriety and reclaiming sensation.

About pleasure as medicine.

About pleasure as resistance.

At the center of this conversation is something simple but radical:

Curiosity.

Curiosity as the inciting incident.

Curiosity as access.

Curiosity as devotion to the disabled body.

This episode is an invitation to soften toward yourself. To notice where you’ve closed down. To ask where you might open — not because you should, but because you want to.

What would it look like to fully claim your pleasure?

We can’t wait for you to listen.🌹⚡️

Big love,

K&K

**Reminder to go, check out our last post which features our inaugural Sovereign Body Guide for your expanded pleasure;)

*PS transcript is available on desktop only

Hello lovers,

Here we are, at another initiation, out in the open water.

This is the place where we soften, edges blur, and the imagination opens, like a portal.

Pisces season asks us to surrender — not in defeat, but in trust — to flow, to feel. To loosen our grip on who we thought we had to be. To dissolve the narratives that have kept our bodies small, edited, or apologetic.

This month’s (and our premiere) Sovereign Body Guide is rooted in fantasy.

Not as escape.

Not as erasure.

But as liberation.

I recently wrote about the tension inside fantasy — how easily it can become a place where we subtly remove the parts of ourselves shaped by disability, grief, difference, wounding, marginalization, or change.

Culture teaches us, molds the script as to what is desirable — what’s sexy, what’s worthy. And if we’re not careful, our fantasies start to mirror that narrow script.

But our imagination is not the enemy.

If we use it properly, it is one of our most powerful tools.

Pisces reminds us that imagination can be medicine. That surrender can be creativity liberated. That dissolving old identities makes room for more truthful ones.

What if pleasure wasn’t about becoming someone else?

What if fantasy became the place where you bring your real body — your scars, your adaptations, your history, your current capacity — fully into the story? And hold it, tenderly, sensually.

What if exploration wasn’t about upgrading yourself, but about expanding your sense of what is possible inside the body you have right now?

This first guide is an invitation:

To soften.

To listen.

To let your intuition lead.

To notice where you erase yourself — and gently choose something different.

Pleasure is not a performance.

It is a pilgrimage back to the self.

And this month, we begin by reclaiming the imagination as sacred ground.

XOXO,

Kelsey & Kate

PS if you like this post, give us a heart or a share;) we love to hear from you

*Reminder: Episode Three: Kink, Care, and Loving the Disabled Body drops tomorrow.

⚡️🌹 If you’re ready to reawaken the power of your imagination, begin with the Sovereign Body Guide below. ⚡️🌹

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Ash is a queer and disabled artist whose work viscerally and vividly reflects our beauty and complexity as humans.

This piece speaks so tangibly to the work we do here, and the way we look forward to expanding here, both for ourselves and for all of you.

Because, underneath it all, we share the same bones. We may fill this landscape with different identities, and what a beautiful thing that is, AND there’s a likeness to our wounds and our stories. No matter how we may differ, we share this human experience.

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From the roots to the blossoms, and their vibrant colors. From the moving textures in the bones and what orients through and around our precious frames, this piece is so symbolic of our individual and collective journeys.

We all have seasons in our lives, our bodies, our joy, our pleasure. But it’s about how we move through each season. How we listen and flow throughout our lives, and how we embrace the different iterations of ourselves with love, care and curiosity.

It is from somewhere deep within us that we are called, over and over again, to heed the call to pleasure. Our beating hearts, our blood as it pumps, our sweat as it drips from every pore. All of this, each inhale and exhale, holds the knowing, that this is meant for us. That our desires, in all their forms, are here to teach us, and guide us toward total freedom. To move through fear and blocks to see what’s on the other side.

“There is a place in you where you have never been wounded, where there’s
still a sureness in you, where there’s a seamlessness in you, and where
there is a confidence and tranquility in you.” - John o’donohue

And then there are the places within us that long for debridement. The places that beckon and moan, writhe and cry.

This is where those parts of us meet.

They meet in care and curiosity, tenderness and vulnerability.

This is where we greet the wounded parts of ourselves with the part of us that always knows we’re beautiful and whole.

Answer the calling. Witness the glowing embers and ashes. And know that they are not just teachings — a call for change — but also messages of hope. Proof that you can burn it all down, grieve it, learn from it, and know that it will grow again.

Xoxo,

Kelsey and Kate

What if you explored from the intersection of your wounds and the place in you that has never been wounded? The place that is grounded in who you are right now, the place that is who you have always been, and who you always will be — embrace your essence and your messiness. It’s all divine.

*Join as a paid subscriber to expand on this below… 🌹⚡️

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I think that’s what we’ll call you, it only seems fitting.

It’s hard to believe that we’re only at episode two because I already feel a deep intimacy growing here.

It took me months to write about and share the passing of my brother, Nathan, here on these pages. And yet, here we are, two episodes in, and this sharing feels natural and just…good. So, thank you.

Kate so wisely shared with me that it takes courage to feel, and damn is she right. Her offering gave me a moment to reflect on the work I’ve done to grieve, authentically and wholly. To surrender into the feels and allow it all to wash over me move — through me, like water through sand.

I imagine waves crashing ashore, some of the water washing over the exposed land, carrying pieces of it, separating it from where it came, and subtly altering the landscape with each sweep.

While some waves soak into the unassuming beach, making it dense, heavy, and staining it darker. But in the process, something new can be seen that was possibly hidden. Rocks, agates, and tiny particles, once dry and dull, now shine in their drenched surrender, revealing colors we might never have seen.

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Thank you for being here, witnessing each other, beautifully drenched amidst the crashing waves.

Big love,

Kels