Howl

Do Sexual Partners Leave an Energetic Imprint?

Exploring what’s beyond the physical act of sex

After my first relationship ended, I returned to the spiritual practices and research that I had abandoned during my time with my ex. I was 19, and in our short 9-month union, I had experienced physical and emotional abuse, cohabitation, a pregnancy, a miscarriage, and his infidelity (with my best friend). I was stripped to the bone and needed to find my way back to myself.

While listening to a recorded lecture by a spiritual teacher (I won’t name her because I can’t find a proper citation for the statement I’m about to paraphrase) who has now become quite famous for other noble efforts, I was shocked to hear her say that when a man and woman have sex, the “energy” of the woman lingers in a man’s system for about a month afterwards. But for the woman, being the receiver of his body, she carries his energy within her for up to a year after the encounter.

I was intrigued by this. Something about it rang true for me. I already believed that we have an energetic body in addition to our physical body. And though my experience with sex (with another person, that is) was incredibly limited at that time, I had felt the strong, intense pull of something other than my flesh and bones reaching for him when we were together. I could feel something within me, something beyond my feeling body, that was wanting him, needing him, joining with him.

After sex, what people described as “afterglow” felt like more than the hormonal high or the slow thrum of waning orgasmic contractions. I could still feel something of him, like he was still inside me — an energetic imprint.

But because of the trauma I was processing in the aftermath of the relationship, the last thing I wanted to hear was that he was going to be in my energetic field for a whole year.

I tried to put it out of my mind at the time and just move on.

Years later, I remembered that statement. I was sitting across a room from a man who had completely captured my attention and I could feel a wave of energy pushing out of my body, reaching for him. Our relationship evolved into a series of casual dates and even more casual sexual encounters, and every time our bodies came together, I began to feel that same sense of my energy pressing into him, enveloping him.

From the receiving end, however, it felt very different than how things had felt with my first boyfriend. I rarely felt his energy “touching” me — there was something about him that seemed unreachable, untouchable, unknowable.

When I could feel his energy, it would hit me in a strong, demanding wave. The afterglow (if you could call it that — he never gave me an orgasm) was something more akin to watching a bloodstained rag in a sink full of cold water — the way the red blood seeps out in trails, eventually leaching into the water and off the rag.

…every time our bodies came together, I began to feel that same sense of my energy pressing into him, enveloping him.

I remember driving home and feeling like that. Like a stain was seeping off of me. It hurt. I felt awful. Used up. I couldn’t stop thinking about him being in my energetic body.

By the time we ended things (by that, I mean by the time he left town without telling me), we had never had penetrative sex, so I thought maybe I wouldn’t have to carry his energy for a full year.

But that was semantics. I went down on him twice. I swallowed everything he poured into me, all of that life essence. Really, is there a difference, energetically speaking? Does it really matter into which hole a man enters and releases himself?

I came to realize that was just as much of an imprint as if he had put his penis in my vagina. And sure enough, I couldn’t shake him out of my system for at least a year after that.

I’ve tried to find the quote from the spiritual teacher mentioned above. I wanted to see if I remembered it correctly, this notion that a man lives within a woman’s energy for a year after an act of intimacy. But I’ve yet to be able to find it.

I’ve seen passing references to supposed Buddhist beliefs that a lover stays in your aura (same thing, really) for seven years. (Yikes!) But I haven’t taken the time to find out whether or not that statement came from a sacred text or spiritual teacher.

But really, I don’t need a spiritual teacher or text to tell me that people exchange energy during sex. Or that a woman with a man is prone to take on more energy than he takes on, being the one with the body that receives and holds another body.

What interests me is…how long, really, does a man stay in my body after sex?

I’m not sure the answer to this question is as simple as it might seem. I don’t know that you can attach a unit of time to it and call yourself cleansed once that time has passed.

Right before I became intimate with my last partner, I went to a psychic, who immediately told me I had overwhelmingly strong sexual energy that wasn’t being tended to. I was mortified — and honestly, I think she was a little embarrassed, too. I don’t think she expected to say that.

She said she was going to look at my aura and see if she could find a clue as to why I was neglecting my sexual needs then immediately stated that she saw a young man in his early twenties with black hair who had physically hurt me, and a man closer to thirty with blonde hair who had taken pleasure from me but given me none back.

I almost started laughing and confirmed that those were two of my previous lovers. By then, it had been over ten years since I’d had any contact with my first boyfriend and seven since I’d seen Bacchanalian Blonde.

And there they were, still sitting in my aura.

Then she told me she saw a new man — younger than me, also blonde. She said I was afraid to try again, but that I should go for it.

“I don’t know if we will make it as a couple,” I confessed. “I am so afraid of falling in love with him and eventually losing him.”

She leaned forward and said, “Honey. I didn’t say marry him. I’m telling you what I see — that you need to have sex. Don’t worry about the rest.”

Again, I almost laughed. I’d only been to a psychic once before, and we had talked about lofty spiritual aspirations and healing from my past. In my second psychic reading, I was being instructed to just get laid.

I did. And of course I fell in love. And of course we did not make it.

But throughout our years together, I experienced energetic connections with him that I had never experienced before. There were times when our energetic bodies literally reached out for the other, pulling our physical bodies together without assistance, or creating a simultaneous orgasm. There were times when he was inside me that I could feel the energy of him radiating through my pelvis, my chest, up into my heart, my arms, my hands, filling up my whole body. There were times when it felt as if my entire torso opened, like being unzipped from clavicle to pubic bone, and inside was a welcoming space, waiting for him, pulling him in, holding him safely within me.

Afterwards, when I got up to get a glass of water, I could still feel his energy stirring in me, creeping back down the way it had come in. Or I’d lay there and marinate in the feeling that I was still holding him inside the zippered pouch of my chest and pelvis, keeping him safe, even though he was by then lying next to me, half an arm’s length away.

Five years later, I suspect he is still within me. And my first boyfriend. And the blonde who I had wanted as a boyfriend. And the others who only ended up being guest stars.

There were times when it felt as if my entire torso opened, like being unzipped from clavicle to pubic bone, and inside was a welcoming space, waiting for him, pulling him in, holding him safely within me.

Is this a failure on my part? An inability to let go and move on? An indication that my soul is a little slow? Or maybe just sticky?

Or is this just the way of it?

If you believe in the spiritual declaration that we are all one, when we actually become one with another person, perhaps it stitches them into your soul forever.* Maybe we are all a walking woven tapestry of all the people we have slept with. Maybe they are supposed to be a part of our energetic body.

I try not to be afraid of this, anymore. I can keep working to purge the energy that hurt me and keep the energy that gave me pleasure and love.

How long will the next lover live within me? One year? Seven years? Forever?

The only thing I know now is that it doesn’t really matter. What will matter is the connection. Our bodies. Our souls.

If we are knitted together forever in the act, that’s a price I’m willing to pay.

Please note that I’m talking about consensual acts here, not sexual trauma.

© Yael Wolfe 2019