I was walking back from the toilet, in a rush, I had to get back in the room and pick a valentine. I was afraid if I left it too late I would get someone…well…less than savoury and too close to my own age.
There she was. Walking towards the door as I got back. I saw the name tag stuck to her arm and her profile was pretty. She was in red. In fact she was damn hot.
‘Excuse me,’ I said with the best charming glint in the eye I could muster.
‘Would you be my valentine?’ Words we had been told to use in wooing the fairer sex. I felt silly but what the hell.
She looked at me. Into my eyes deeper than I had expected. It caught me out actually. I felt a little foolish in the silence that hung there. She knew I was a player, a charmer and in that silence, I knew she knew.
‘Er….no’ she said quite simply no apology, no excuses. Just turned her head, not rude or dismissive, but just clearly made up her mind. She walked into the room.
I was smitten, the bitch!
But I must have done something right because later when I was chatting with other people after the night ended she seemed to warm to me. I made a joke out of her directness. I admired it. No bullshit, you had to respect that.
‘Why did you say no?’ I asked her, not out of any overblown belief that I am anything special but just because I wanted to know just what women of substance did see in my act. I knew it was an act, I thought they did too.
‘You weren’t placed in yourself’ she said. And I understood I was dealing with someone of quality then. I wanted to hug her. It being Tantric night you could do these things. So I asked if I could and she said yes. It was warmth. There was something in there I felt could ignite. I hadn’t expected that. I thought she was hot, tough, but I didn’t think she had soul. I was wrong.
We got together a few days later and some kind of crazy whirlwind took off around me. It was wilder than I was expecting or had ever dreamed she would be like, and yet…yet now I realise I had been wishing for this lately. I had. And now here it was coming to me like a gift from the universe. She was tantric, she did it for a living. She brought people up out of themselves sexually, spiritually, for 600 dollars an hour. I was getting it for free.
It was different. Subtly so. The sex was not like sex, no humping like a crazy animal as fast and furious as you could make it, riding on the frenzy, and nor was it slow and deep like some Barry White record. This was motionless, breathing, waiting, in stillness, sinking into yourself, being there and then the breathe took off and waves, pulses of ecstacy shot through the body up the backbone. You didn’t need to come it was somehow complete in itself. I have to admit, I felt out of my depth. This woman was not interested in being ridden like an untameble pony into submission. My normal sexual conquistador behaviour was totally neutralised. I didn’t quite know how to deal with it. I found myself trying to be a better man than I was. Trying to be deeper, more Tantric, more knowledgeable. The cracks showed. It came as a shock to me. I secretly thought I was hot in the sack. I knew nothing. Nada. Not a thing compared to this woman. She was…’present’…. is the word they use and I can see why. Her eyes watched me the whole time, beautiful, serene, self aware, no need of anything, just giving because that is what she did. She could see all of me. Knowing I was far from up to scratch. I felt like a performing monkey whose act had been seen before too many times to be of much interest. The more we went on, the more it felt like she was humouring me. Sheeeet. The worst thing a man can feel; Libido loss, self doubt. Tantra was suddenly becoming my nemesis.
OK. It wasn’t that bad. And it was great sex. I did ok in the end. She was cool. I had a good week. She thought I was hot. I thought she was on frickin fire. I learnt so much about myself it is untrue. But just when you think you have ridden out the storm and got a handle on your male egomania and start feeling like the king of the jungle…..I get a phone call….
‘Come over. I am in my flat in the city.’
Moments later I am there ready for the next heady experience of surrender, love, stillness in my naïve attempts to achieve sexual and spiritual bliss.
We talk a while. I start to feel like I am falling in love with this woman. She is something else. I know she does this for a living. Hey aren’t we all prostitutes in some way? I am trying to deal with that balance in the back of my mind. She doesn’t hide the fact.
Then she tells me about the phone conversation she has just had with this guy, a guru of sorts. I know him. We have spoken. He knows his stuff. She tells me all about how she finally started to feel him inside her. This is from a phone call. They were deep breathing I discover on questioning her in detail. Two and half hours. Her in orgasm. Touched by this magic motherfucking love god, and yes of course he was black. Sonovabitch!
And this is my question….how in gods name do you make love to a woman you are falling in love with after being told that. I tried my best but she just wasn’t there anymore.
My heart died on the spot.
I have a long way to go.
I had no idea.