About This Work
Understanding a Practice Few Dare to Name
Geoffrey
The Practice of Peace was created to meet a need that has long gone unspoken: men’s need for genuine comfort, honest touch, and quiet intimacy that is neither performative nor sexual.
Modern culture leaves men few models for these experiences. From an early age, they are taught to be strong rather than sensitive, to control rather than feel, and to understand their bodies only as instruments of performance.
The result is a deep confusion about intimacy itself.
In this context, even the words nakedness, touch, arousal or release can provoke discomfort — not because they are inherently sexual, but because they have been almost completely colonised by sexual meaning.
We live in a world where the simple, neutral realities of the body are either hidden behind moral prudishness or exploited as entertainment.
Between those two poles lies an absence: the place where ordinary, non-sexual human connection should be.
The Practice of Peace exists in that missing space.
Not a therapy session
It is not a therapy session, nor a sensual workshop or massage, nor a performance of vulnerability.
It is an opportunity for a man to experience what stillness, trust, and acceptance actually feel like — without having to translate them into achievement or desire.
The work is grounded in clear boundaries and guided by professional experience. It recognises that the male body carries decades of unspoken tension and inherited shame, and that the first step toward peace is often simply being seen and accepted as one is.
This website speaks plainly because plainness is the only honest way to approach such a subject.
It does not sensationalise or soften its language, because these are not subjects that require secrecy.
They require respect.
The Practice of Peace invites men to step beyond cultural noise — beyond moral panic, self-improvement rhetoric, and the endless performance of composure — and to rediscover the natural, unforced state of being at ease in one’s own skin.
The most powerful part wasn’t the release itself, but the permission I gave myself to be so open about wanting it, there and then. For a man, that’s everything. I didn’t need a partner; I just needed to be a partner to myself. It was the ultimate pleasurable act of self-reliance.