Speaker 1: Welcome back, my sensual scholars of the sacred, the sexy,
and the stupid. I am yours truly Vivia volopta, and
tonight's sermon hits close to the clit. You can't heal
him with your vagina, but we keep trying. And guys,
while I'm mostly talking about you to her tonight, let's
get something straight. The reason you can't put yourself in
her shoes is because you can't even get in her
pants if she's still stuck on someone else. But if
you got in by some chance, congrats, King, you just
penetrated a portal still haunted by a ghost. But you're
not wasting your time tuning in because whether you're the
one trying to heal or the one wondering why they're
not letting you in, you're about to learn something because
this isn't just erotica. This is exorcism. So guys, stick around,
listen and learn now. Tonight, we're not talking about inner
child drama or mother wounds, No, honey, this one's for
the real battlefield, the wreckage left by x'es, the ghost
of the magical pussy passed, that one woman who ruined him,
or worse, he thinks she did, you know, the one
she left him, cheated on him, emotionally iced him, or
maybe she just moved on because she was tired of
massaging his ego every morning before coffee. And now he's
walking around with a heart like a clearance, spin closed, dented,
and full of misplaced resentment. We all know him. He
walks into your life like a rescue dog who only
responds to the scent of trauma and brake up playlists.
His ex still living in his frontal lobe, rent free.
She might have been toxic, manipulative, or just really really
good at sucking the soul out of him through his DMS.
You said things like he's just guarded, no baby, He's
under emotional foreclosure and still obsessed with the last woman
who blocked him five years ago, and they haven't spoken
since tonight. We delve into the divine delusion. We've all
subscribed to the belief that we can fuck the pain
out of a man who still follows his x on
Instagram and thinks therapy is for people who actually have problems. Darling,
come closer, No closer. Let's press our souls together like
mismatched nipples and unpack something sacred tonight. You can't heal
him with your vagina, but Goddess knows, we've all tried.
And here you come, lube in one hand, hope in
the other, whispering, Maybe this time my kouchie will align
his chakras. But it won't. Now I'm not saying we
haven't tried. Oh we've done the splits on the astral plain, babe.
We've ridden him like a karmic roller coaster, holding the
sacred intention. If I just write him hard enough, maybe
I can fuck the ghost of his ex out of
his nervous system. Boiler alert. The ghost is still there.
She's doing keegels in his memory palace. She's whispering, you'll
never trust again every time he looks at your text
and doesn't respond. And you, radiant healer with a sex
goddess soul. You thought you could detangle it, that messy,
ste key emotional hairball of she left me. I left her.
We were twin flames until she slept with my best friend.
I don't trust women who wear red lipstick. Now you thought, maybe,
just maybe, if you sucked his soul out hard enough,
with intention and a hint of Mollie, he'd finally see you,
he'd finally stop comparing your moons to hers. The girl
he's stuck, not physically energetically, no, not from voodoo, from
that body mind spirit connection thing, that alignment of spirit comfort,
excitement and toxic roller coaster adrenaline infused drama. That feeling
that makes you feel something that you can't stop feeling,
that you can't get anywhere else, from anyone else except
on Netflix. And of course, fortunately for you, while you
want to feel that feeling, for him, he's deep in
the trench warfare of rejection obsession. He doesn't know if
he wants her back or just wants to win. And you,
you're there holding the cosmic sponge, thinking, if I'm different,
if I'm softer, hotter, deeper, freakier, if I let him
choke me while I whisper emotional affirmations, maybe I can
prove I'm not like her, Oh sugar, he doesn't need
you to prove anything. He needs to heal something, and
that work, my dear, is not your orgasm to carry.
He sees a flicker of her in you, whatever it is.
You've accidentally become the projection screen for his pain. And
now you're trapped in a never ending test. Prove to
me you're not like her, But do that thing the
way she did. Spoiler alert, You can't, even when the
sex is electric, even when the vibe is sacred, even
when you cook clean, deep throat and hit exactly the
same kink shee did, but better, because healing doesn't come
from a blowjob. It comes from within, and unfortunately, his
within is still texting I miss you to a woman
who hasn't thought about him in two years. Your vagina
is not a rehab center. It can do a lot, grip, glide,
manifest orgasms, and maybe a small moon, but it cannot
fix his unresolved past relationship issues. But you, my darling,
you walked in with open energy and grade a pussy power,
thinking I'm gonna unstick him. I'm gonna make him believe
in love again. I'm gonna moan so loud his trauma
files delete themselves. But here's the thing. When a man
still energetically inside his last relationship, you could ride him
like a porn star on adderall and he'd still whisper.
She used to wear red lipstick too, And suddenly you're
not making love anymore. You're in a psychic threesome with
a ghosted X and a man who's emotionally frozen in
twenty nineteen, you're competing with a memory, and worse, she
had better angles and fewer boundaries. You're trying to detangle
this man's entire trauma naut He doesn't know who left who.
He says she was toxic, but she changed him. He
wants to trust you, but he also knows you'll eventually
betray him, because all women do you. Dude, I'm just
trying to suck your soul out through your dick, not
relitigate the downfall of the Roman empire that was your
last relationship. And oh baby, the minute you show a
single emotion you raise an eyebrow too slow, you ask
for clarity. He goes, oh my god, you're just like her. No, sir,
she might have broken your heart. I just came here
to break your back and maybe bake banana bread. Then
another time, he says, all women are the same, and
of course you're gonna show him you're the plot twist.
But here's the rub. You're not dating him. You're dating
the entire unresolved emotional tangle of every woman who came
before you. You're climbing mount baggage and stilettos, hoping there's
a picnic at the top. Then he gets triggered again,
but this time you touch his sweet spot almost. Sometimes
he sees you and something lights up. You remind him
of her. You almost touch the kink, that exact flavor,
that wild unicorn moment he had once upon a time
when the sex was transcendental and no one was worried
about who left who. But we stay, we try because
he saw something in you, didn'ty, He said, You reminded
him of this one amazing experience he had long long ago.
She tied him up in silk and whispered roomy in
his ear while astral projecting her g spot. You reminded
him of that, didn't you. And now you've been tasked
without consent, by the way, with recreating that one magical
moment that you weren't even fucking there for. He keeps
saying things like, I don't want to get hurt again.
I've been through some shit. I'm just trying to figure
out if you're different. Different baby. You just made him
eggs after giving him head in a full split. You're
not different. You're an endangered species. But the truth is
he wasn't looking for a new connection. He was looking
for a familiar wound to obsess over. And the real kicker.
You thought you could heal him with your softness, with
your loyalty, with your pussy powered choker balancing routine. Although
it didn't work. You were trapped in a denial loop.
It's not fair and it's not your job. But when
the energy is good, when the vibe clicks, oh, we try.
But guess what you are not his past, You're not
his therapist, and your sacred Yoni is not a trauma sponge.
You are a woman, a force, an energy, and energy
doesn't lie. You either vibe or you don't. You can't
force a current with pelvic thrusts and law of attraction affirmations.
And sometimes the energy just isn't aligned, not because you're
not enough, but because he's still sleeping with his history.
Now does that mean you stop trying? Of course not.
We try. We always try because trying gives us wisdom, rhythm,
and incredible lower back flexibility. So what do we do?
We try? We detangle, We alchemize rejection into radiance, and
when it doesn't work, we remind ourselves that it's all energy.
You don't attract what you want, You attract what you
vibe with. And sometimes that vibe is trauma dressed as potential.
And when he doesn't wake up, when he still sees
her in your eyes, still compares, still pulls away. The
moment you get close, let him, because connection is energy.
It's not just looks, actions, or words or how well
you rub his back. It's vibe. Baby. Sometimes it fits,
and sometimes it fucks you up for three weeks straight
and makes you wonder if you've ever really had closure
or just sexual confusion wrapped in spiritual delusion. And that's okay.
But here's the twist. Even when it fails, you win,
because one day he's going to look back and realize
you were the healing. He couldn't receive, the softness, he
couldn't hold the last stop before the emotional bus drove
off without him, and baby, being the one that got
away is the sexiest revenge there is. Because every sensual effort,
every kiss given in good faith, every orgasm you offered
with honesty, that's all yours. That's soul currency, that's divine karma.
And that man, if he doesn't wake up if he
doesn't realize what was in front of him. One day
he'll look back and realize he missed the bus, the big, hot,
double ducker tantric love bus, And honey, you'll be long gone, living, thriving,
moaning for someone else, and you'll become the one that
got away. And let me tell you something that's not
the worst fucking story to own. So keep your heart open,
your pussy blessed, and your boundaries tight because you can't
heal him with your vagina, But damn it if you're
going to try do it on your own terms and
leave him waking up at three am years later whispering
she wasn't like the others. I am vivia volupta, reminding
you if your pussy's a portal stop letting time travelers
use it to revisit the past.