Part 3/9: Monica Geller screamed, “Seven!” but I just learned there are actually more erogenous zones than that

In Editor's Pick
May 14, 2025
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This is Part 3 of a nine-part series where I document what happens when I dive headfirst into Bibi Brzozka’s Waves of Pleasure program on Mindvalley. This one’s about fingers, goosebumps, and realizing my armpits might be kinkier than I am.

“Seven!” is what Monica Geller screamed as she showed Chandler the erogenous zones of  a woman. But as a 15-year-old (when that episode came out), I was oblivious to what that scene truly meant.

Turns out, the body is, as Bibi explains in her program, “the main infinite source of healthy healing and delicious pleasure.”

And when the conscious touch is brought in (as I touched on in Part 2), it “allows you to move away from the goal of sexual arousal and focus instead on discovering and perceiving sensations and pleasure moment to moment, creating an intimate connection with your body.”

Throw in the erogenous zones, and I’ve got myself a slow, delicious undoing of everything I never knew pleasure was.

Did you also wonder, “What are erogenous zones?” in your teens? No? Just me?

If you hadn’t gotten the memo yet, the meaning of “erogenous zones” boils down to this: the body’s “hotspots” for physical arousal and emotional connection.

Some are obvious. Others are so underrated they might be wondering why you never call. And according to Bibi, they can be “stimulated more readily than others to generate a state of arousal.”

I’ll admit, the whole concept of it (and sex) didn’t interest me until my late teens. I was more interested in sports and crushes than unlocking primal urges.

That’s not saying that I didn’t feel the curious sensations that every prepubescent girl goes through. Children as young as two often show normal signs of sexual curiosity, like touching their own bodies, asking questions, or pretending to be grown-ups.

But middle school health class never mentioned the female erogenous zones. Neither did American Pie, Road Trip, Van Wilder, or any other coming-of-age high school comedy that mistook male orgasm for the grand finale.

So, obviously, it was not on my radar. Even later in life, after a cancer diagnosis, I realized how little I knew about pleasure.

And when Monica introduced the magnificent “Seven!”, curiosity blinked twice and said, “Seven what now?”

What are the erogenous zones, exactly?

So, the seven (specifically, for women):

  1. Genitals
  2. Nipples (and areolas)
  3. Breasts
  4. Lips (and mouth)
  5. Inner thighs
  6. Neck
  7. Ears

Now, here’s the thing: Research found that 95% of women have erogenous zones outside the genitals, with the most powerful being the breasts, lips, neck, ears, and buttocks. Even better? Twelve percent of the women in the study said they could orgasm from stimulating these zones alone.

That information alone is like…boom! Mind blown. Especially when, as far as sex myths go, women’s orgasm supposedly lives and dies in the vagina.

Which makes what Bibi says land even harder: “We need slower, longer, more intentional foreplay.” And those “hotspots” are a great way to get from “Why can’t I orgasm?” to “Seven!”

While Monica stopped at seven erogenous zones, there are actually more. Here’s what Bibi expands the list with:

  1. Scalp
  2. Lower stomach
  3. Inner wrists
  4. Palms and fingertips
  5. Behind the knees
  6. Buttocks
  7. Feet and toes
  8. Inner arms
  9. Armpits

(I know, the armpits one got me doing a “Heh?” too.)

Keep in mind that there’s no universally agreed-upon number of erogenous zones. That’s the beauty of it. It’s subjective, it’s neurobiological, and it’s personal.

As Monica says, “The important thing is to take your time; you want to hit them all, and you want to mix them up.”

And as for mine? Classified. Husband-access only. 😉

1, 2, 3… Pleasure’s got a hold on me

There was something I noticed as I was doing this lesson, and that’s that slowing down and being present made a huge difference in enjoying the pleasure versus racing towards “pleasure.” 

Running my hands gently through my erogenous zones, I can clearly see (or rather feel) what I’ve been missing. I finally understand what sexual energy feels like. Warm, tingly, and tender beneath the skin.

It’s going to take more work, for sure, to make this second skin. Especially after the radiation and chemo totally fried and numbed my reproductive area. 

But you know what? I can definitely say this: my inner sex goddess is sure excited for “Seven! Seven! Seven! Seven! Seven! Seven! Seven! Seven! Seven! ✌🏼🖐🏼!”

Now… what I want to know is, have you ever been surprised by what actually turns you on? Like your scalp. Or the back of your knee. Or yes, maybe even your armpit.

I’d love to hear your story. Someone out there might need to hear it too. Xo

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A statue of a mermaid giving herself a breast massage

Part 4/9: I thought breast massage was just self-care…until an intimacy coach dropped the word breast-gasm

In Editor's Pick
May 22, 2025

This is Part 4 of a nine-part series where I document what happens when I dive headfirst into Bibi Brzozka’s Waves of Pleasure program on Mindvalley. There’s touch, tenderness, and a soft reclaiming of something that was always mine.

I have a confession:

I didn’t come to Waves of Pleasure out of curiosity. I came because Bibi Brzozka once shared that breast massage helped a client feel again… after a double mastectomy.

She, according to Bibi, experienced “heart and breast-gasms after undergoing breast cancer, double mastectomy, and injection of implants.” I mean, like, wow!

Granted, I didn’t go through breast cancer. But I know that’s huge considering the kind of trauma all those treatments had on the body.

There’s this one lady I sometimes talk to who went through breast cancer. She didn’t have a mastectomy, thank God, but she still experiencing the aftershock of chemo and radiation… and it’s almost three years later.

So when Bibi said “breast massage,” I came a’runnin’. (And if you read Part 3, you’ll know I’m no stranger to unexpected erogenous zones.)

Because even though I didn’t go through breast cancer, I still got my own scars. And it left me wondering, could anything Bibi says help me feel in my body again?

Me and the girls: a status check

Tits, boobs, rack, melons, the girls, bust, tatas, or even just plain ol’ breasts… Whatever it is you call those two mounds on your chest, there’s one thing for certain: breasts are a big deal for women. Love them or hate them, they’re a part of who we are.

But that’s not to say that we’re wholly satisfied with what the lottery gene pool gave us. Stats show that 71% of us are less than happy with our sets and wish that they were either bigger, smaller, or shaped differently. That said, it’s no wonder that cosmetic surgery of the breasts increased 15% from 2019 to 2022.

So when Bibi asked in the lesson, “What is your relationship with your breasts?” I didn’t have an answer. I hadn’t thought about it, really.

My breasts were just that — my breasts. Just like my hair’s my hair. And my face is my face. And my vagina is my vagina.

It was not something that I really dwelled upon or complained about. And even when I did have a fuss, they could be categorized as “good problems to have.”

Underboob sweat… My boobs playing peek-a-boo out of my bra… Or that end-of-day relief when I finally get to take the damn thing off.

Because, growing up, everyone around me was either wanting big boobs or ogling big boobs. And as a human who’s been well endowed since my teens, my breasts were a good “problem” to have.

Love, by default

Even now, I love how they give me a more feminine figure. I love how they clue me in before I even realize I’m stressed. I love how they’re like a built-in bib for any food that misses my mouth. And at the end of the day, I really love that I have what other people seem to want: big boobs.

Which is why Bibi’s question caught me off guard. Now, I’m questioning why it never occurred to me to have a relationship with my breasts.

The closest I ever got was second base for the usual lump checks, bra fidgeting, or the occasional breast massage during a spa session.

But I don’t think I’ve ever done much with the girls for pleasure (I mean, other people have, but that’s a whole different story). It just wasn’t something I was taught to do or told was an option.

I also think that’s why the breast cancer survivor I talk to is still hesitant to be intimate with her husband.

She told me this once when we were swapping stories about all the weird, wounded parts of our bodies after treatment. Like me, no one ever taught her that breasts could feel good or that they could be a source of pleasure, let alone orgasm.

So now, after the burning, the scars, and the fear, intimacy after trauma feels almost impossible to her. And she’s not alone. That’s how I felt, too, about my cervix.

And it turns out, the stories we’ve been told are nothing compared to the ones we’ve never dared to write.

Notes from the nippleverse

Anyone who’s sexually active knows that breasts play a huge role. “Breasts,” Bibi says, “are literally a portal and a gateway to so much magic, pleasure, and love.”

Not when it comes to sex after menopause, Bibi. Especially medically induced menopause.

The thing is, what people don’t tell you when you’re being diagnosed is how f*cked your body becomes. The discomfort, the dryness, and the hormone crashes.

Sleep goes to sh*t. Skin forgets how to glow. One minute you’re fine, the next you’re sweating bullets from the hot flashes.

It’s not sexy. And least of all, it doesn’t feel sexy.

So when Bibi’s all like, “magic” and “pleasure” and “love,” it took everything in me not to slam the laptop shut and call bullsh*t.

But I also knew I’m here for a reason…to, as Bibi puts it, “reclaim [my] breasts as a portal to liberation and the source of feminine pleasure.”

This means I have to start looking at what I believe about them and what kind of body image healing I still need.

Like, I know what turns me on when my husband’s doing the touching. But I never stopped to ask what I like…for me.

It’s time to change that. I want to be able to give myself a breast massage without feeling self-conscious or like I’m doing something wrong. I want it to feel natural and intentional, like brushing my hair or applying moisturizer to my face.

Because if I can learn to touch my face with love, maybe I can learn to do the same with my chest.

Chest day, but make it sacred

As an aromatherapist and former spa therapist, I’ve known about the benefits of breast massage for years. Lymphatic drainage, improved circulation, and hormonal support. Maybe a nod to self-care if the client was open to it.

We learned the basics: warm oil, gentle pressure, and skip the nipple if it feels too personal. Keep your tone even, your hands neutral, and move on to the next body part.

But the deeper stuff? The emotional, sensual, actually-for-you kind of breast massage? That was never part of the conversation.

What we weren’t taught, and what I never even considered, is that sensual self-touch could be intimate. And that, apparently, it could even lead to breast-gasms.

One study Bibi highlighted found that nipple stimulation activates the same part of the brain as the vagina, clitoris, and cervix. And not only that, but I never knew that something so simple could release a rush of oxytocin, the feel-good, bonding hormone we usually only hear about during birth or breastfeeding.

“This is how powerful bringing more pleasure to breasts can be,” Bibi adds.

Well, damn. I’d been missing out.

Still, the idea of enjoying my own breasts feels a little awkward. Society’s done a solid job of making sure we women don’t go there.

But I wanted to try. So I started circling. Slowly. And I’ll admit, it felt alien, yet also intuitive and therapeutic.

I let myself notice the texture of my skin, the temperature, the places that felt numb and the places that didn’t.

It was, in a way, liberating. To stay in the moment and enjoy the sensations without having to direct anyone or explain what felt good.

No breast-gasms, though. Maybe one day.

But for now, it’s just me, feeling something. Finally.

A woman expressing sensuality while licking ice cream

Part 2/9: Sensuality called—it said: what’s the rush, babe?

In Editor's Pick
May 7, 2025

This is Part 2 of a nine-part series where I document what happens when I dive headfirst into Bibi Brzozka’s Waves of Pleasure program on Mindvalley. The dissonance is still here. But now there’s ylang ylang. Soft, skin-warmed linen. A mood-inducing playlist. And a part of me learning how to stay a little longer.

Sensuality.

Not exactly the first word that comes to mind when you’re being prepped for rounds and rounds of chemo and radiation.

But lately, it’s the one I keep circling back to. And after facing the emotional backlog in Lesson #1, Bibi’s telling me to tune into what my body wants to feel. (Missed how this all started? You can catch up with Part 1 of my sensual spelunking adventures in what I now call Waves of “Wait, We’re Doing What Now?”)

Now, here’s the one thing they didn’t tell me when they were prepping me for all that chemo and radiation: I’d be put on medically induced menopause.

That means my body didn’t get to ease into anything. No gentle fade-out, no “is this perimenopause?” guessing game. Just full stop.

My ovaries got shut down. Chemically, hormonally, biologically. Periods gone. Estrogen gone. Libido might as well be put on the side of a milk carton.

And because it was so sudden, the symptoms hit like a freight train: hot flashes, night sweats, vaginal dryness… 

Let’s not forget about sex after menopause. Sensuality, dulled. Touch didn’t land the same. Arousal took forever (if it even showed up).

What used to feel electric suddenly felt… muted. What used to take its slow, delicious time suddenly went by like wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. And as science shows, the more tense and stressed we are, the harder it is to feel pleasure.

So when Lesson #2 of Mindvalley’s Waves of Pleasure has Bibi going, “we’re going to activate all of your senses so that you’ll be able to feel pleasure at any time throughout your day,” you best believe I was thinking, “Ooookaaaaaaaaaay, what new fresh hell is this…”

Figuring out what actually turns me on (besides cake)

There’s this one scene in Varsity Blues where Ali Larter’s character tries to seduce Paul Walker’s character with a whipped cream bikini. If you’ve ever watched the movie, you know the scene I’m talking about. And you know how every teenage boy reacted a lot like 🤭😬, while every teenage girl was more along the lines of 😦🫣.

That scene left me, the curious cat, wondering what the big hoohah was about. To me, whipped cream equals sticky. And sticky on the body equals uncomfortable… No? Like when ice cream melts onto your hand on a hot day. Un. Com. For. Table.

So when Bibi asked, “which senses are most pleasurable to you?” in her program, the first thought that whipped (lame pun?) into my head was definitely NOT whipped cream.

But it dawned on me that I have no clue what senses I find pleasurable. It’s always been kiss kiss feely feels boom bam.

But isn’t that what’s being taught as being “pleasurable”? I mean, even research shows that the average duration of penetrative sex is 5.4 minutes.

“We usually try to quickly achieve pleasure by focusing directly on our sex organs.” (Yeah, okay, Bibi. Stop reading me like a book.) 

“When we do that, we are missing out on the foundations of pleasure.”

So… turns out I’ve never really learned how to enhance sensuality. I’ve just been treating pleasure like a speedrun.

What is sensuality, really? As Bibi explains, it means “being fully present with our senses, and it is the basis of pleasure.”

And while I may not (yet) know which of my senses are most pleasurable to me, perhaps looking at it from the other side of the spectrum might be easier.

Apparently, I’ve been ghosting my own body

“What senses do you engage with the least?” Oh, Bibi, you sure do know how to get right in there.

So, alright, let’s go over the five senses again, shall we? Touch, taste, smell, sight, sound. 

Touch and sight are what I’ve been shown as pleasurable, thanks to pop culture.

Like that one scene from 40 Days and 40 Nights where Shannyn Sossamon’s character reached her divine release with only the use of a feather. (Not that it hurt either having Josh Hotness—I mean, Hartnett—doing that with the feather.)

Or the very many different positions of the Kama Sutra. Or the classic paperbacks where Fabio’s hair did 80% of the seducing.

So that left taste, smell, and sound that I had never thought to play with.

Yet, science says they matter. A lot.

Smell, for instance, plays a huge role in arousal. One study found that men could actually detect when women were sexually aroused just from the smell of their sweat.

Sound, too: adding erotic audio has been proven to increase desire in both men and women. Even vocalizations, like moaning or breath, can shift the entire dynamic.

And while taste hasn’t been studied as much, it still matters. People have used foods and herbs for centuries to boost desire. Even today, some plant-based aphrodisiacs have been tested and shown to help increase arousal in both men and women.

So, maybe Ali’s character in Varsity Blues had the right idea. Stickiness, be damned.

Trying to feel the (not-so) obvious stuff

The thing about surviving cancer is that it teaches you how to disconnect.

You learn to stop listening to your body. You give in to the fear of intimacy.

And in all that bracing and white-knuckling, you don’t just shut out the bad stuff. You start shutting out the good, too.

But Bibi had a point: “Slow down with full presence and attention while you’re igniting all your senses.” I need to learn to slow down. To be present. To feel what’s truly sensual.

What can I do with touch? Feel the gentle graze of my fingers as they trail across my skin. Or notice how soft cotton clings, falls, and hugs in ways I never paid attention to before.

What can I do with taste? Let the sweetness of a piece of mango melt on my tongue. Or taste the fragrant tea as it warms my throat and settles into my chest.

What can I do with smell? Inhale the soft floral pull of jasmine drifting through the room. Or catch the earthy note of ylang ylang as it clings to my skin.

What can I do with sight? Watch the sky bleed from gold to violet as the sun disappears behind the water. Or trace the curve of my body in the mirror, not to judge it, just to see it.

What can I do with sound? Hear the quietness of the morning darkness before the world kicks in. Or play a song I forgot I loved, and let it fill the room like it belongs there.

It doesn’t feel like much yet. Then again, I’m only just beginning.

But here’s what I’ve taken from this lesson: Pleasure is a skill. And for the first time in a long time, I’m listening.