After the porn scene, Charlie and I wanted to be alone. We returned to our original room, which was still empty. The side of the bed that we had claimed earlier was just as we had left it. While we were making love, Mr. Sputter Mouth and his date barged in, talking obliviously as though they were in a mall and had wandered into a new store. Do you think they cared that they were invading our space? Charlie and I, in perfect synchronicity, kindly asked them to leave. They did, without even the suggestion of an apology.
A few moments later, Anton popped his head in and informed us that the closing circle would be starting in a few minutes. No rush, he said, just letting you know. We didn’t mind. I revved up my engine and we came with enough time to rinse before returning to the main room.
The remaining guests were gathered on the floor. Anton led the closing Puja, an informal discussion of the evening’s activities with complaints and suggestions encouraged so that Club Tantra could continue to evolve. I made a point about the lack of condoms and such, which Anton accepted with agreement and understanding. “I don’t know what happened there,” he said. He seemed to have forgotten this minor detail in the rush of preparation. At least the catering was well done, I thought, as I nibbled on a mini turkey sandwich. To make up for the latex oversight, I give Club Tantra four stars for their fine selection of food and wine. Charlie suggested that the opening Puja include interaction between the women and men separately. That way everyone would be introduced to both sexes. Good point.
Although the party was officially over, Anton encouraged us to stay as long as we wished. There was plenty of space for sleeping if anyone wanted to stay overnight. We had no intention to stay over, but we weren’t quite ready to leave.
So we mingled with Blondie and her man. She was a Queens girl, accent and all. Charlie was fascinated with her nipples; they were enormous. The piercing makes them grow, she said. I winced when she told us that she was planning on piercing her clit, which meant she wouldn’t be able to have sex for a month. She was sexy in a trashy sort of way, although I found her boyfriend uninspiring. They were going to go into the other room to shoot a scene. Did we want to come?
Although I wasn’t really in the mood for more live porn, I went along, because, well, how often am I presented with this opportunity? The pornographer allowed us to shoot again. They wanted their faces shown. They were even skankier than we thought! (I respect the porn industry, but these improvised scenes were a bit too sleazy for my taste.)
When I gave up the camera, Charlie and I started making out. She leaned over me so I could suck on her tits. She wanted to lick my pussy. As tempting as it was, I refused. I told Charlie later that I didn’t want to take the risk, recalling her spitting and ungloved ass-fucking earlier. Seasoned swingers as they were, they didn’t seem to be very conscientious about safe sex. Who knows how often they get tested? I would have considered being more sexual with them only after having a frank discussion about their STD status. Even then, I would have demanded a dental dam. It was hot though, fooling around with her while she was being filmed. (Charlie and I remained off camera, so don’t even try to find us online!)
The pornographer eventually asked us to leave, for our presence was beginning to disrupt the shoot. We weren’t at all offended. We found an empty room, made a dry spot for ourselves, and had one last lovemaking session to wrap up our Club Tantra experience.
So the party as a whole was far from Tantric. Would we go again? Sure. Club Tantra has enough for any sexual adventurer to enjoy: tango, Puja, sexy surroundings and a fine host. Add some safer sex practices, screen the members, and save the cameras for another party. Otherwise, I would call it something else, like Club Kinky, or Last Tango in Porn City. As long as the organizers are open to improvement, Club Tantra may evolve into something I would be proud to frequent. I wish Anton and company the best in creating new possibilities for group sex in the city.
Grade: C
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
Club Tantra: My Experience, Unabridged 4
A room of our own. It didn’t belong to us. Nothing was familiar. Anyone could have walked in at any moment. And yet we owned it. We owned it. We owned it.
We owned it because we were there. Not resentfully there like the girl who disappeared. Not fearfully there like the woman who painted her face. Not almost there like we were in my bed a few days before. No. We were both there. Same time, same place. There.
Time for another adventure. From the corridor of lust, we peeked into another room. The pornographer we met earlier (before the tango lesson) was shooting a scene between Kinka and the blonde in garters. Our host was assisting with this amateur Penthouse performance. Someone handed him a dildo and a leather strap-on. He helped Blondie put on the harness and adjust the dildo.
Is it clean? I was waiting for someone to produce a condom. Wishful thinking.
Blondie spit on Kinka’s pussy. There was blood on the sheets. Spit and blood and various other excretions. No gloves. It was like watching an abortion in a third-world country. And it was all being captured on film for this guy’s website. Charlie and I watched in disgusted fascination. In spite of the sordidness we were witnessing, we liked the pornographer. He was focused and professional, intelligent and down-to-earth. He asked me if I would shoot while he adjusted the lighting.
No faces. Breasts. Pan the torso. Thighs. Close-up on the dildo going in and out...
Charlie shot some scenes as well. We weren’t the least bit aroused. Not our idea of tantra, but nonetheless an experience to be embraced. Now I can add pornographer to my resume. I guess I won’t be running for City Council next election.
We owned it because we were there. Not resentfully there like the girl who disappeared. Not fearfully there like the woman who painted her face. Not almost there like we were in my bed a few days before. No. We were both there. Same time, same place. There.
Time for another adventure. From the corridor of lust, we peeked into another room. The pornographer we met earlier (before the tango lesson) was shooting a scene between Kinka and the blonde in garters. Our host was assisting with this amateur Penthouse performance. Someone handed him a dildo and a leather strap-on. He helped Blondie put on the harness and adjust the dildo.
Is it clean? I was waiting for someone to produce a condom. Wishful thinking.
Blondie spit on Kinka’s pussy. There was blood on the sheets. Spit and blood and various other excretions. No gloves. It was like watching an abortion in a third-world country. And it was all being captured on film for this guy’s website. Charlie and I watched in disgusted fascination. In spite of the sordidness we were witnessing, we liked the pornographer. He was focused and professional, intelligent and down-to-earth. He asked me if I would shoot while he adjusted the lighting.
No faces. Breasts. Pan the torso. Thighs. Close-up on the dildo going in and out...
Charlie shot some scenes as well. We weren’t the least bit aroused. Not our idea of tantra, but nonetheless an experience to be embraced. Now I can add pornographer to my resume. I guess I won’t be running for City Council next election.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Club Tantra: My Experience, Unabridged 3
After the massage, Charlie and I wandered through the corridor of lust, peeking into the rooms prepared for play. We walked into an empty room. Half the bed was soaking wet. We suspected Mr. Vinyl and his girlfriend (who was wearing the same dress, in white) were responsible for the mess, for we heard some butt-whacking, pussy-clenching screams earlier.
As we surveyed the room, we noticed there were no condoms or lube or any safe sex supplies in sight. Of course we brought our own necessities, but what a turn-off! Such accoutrements are standard protocol at every reputable swinger / public sex event. Their absence here was a sign that something was amiss. Still, we were here. So we covered the wetness with pillows and melted into each other on the clean part of the bed. Then we made love, healing our bruised hearts in the soft red glow of that unfamiliar room.
As we were basking in each other, Mr. Hunky and his girlfriend walked in. He asked if we minded.
“Not at all. Please stay,” I said.
We warned them about the wet spot on the bed. Then we cuddled and kissed while discreetly observing the newcomers. I watched them as they stood at the edge of the bed, undressing. He was soft-spoken and admirably considerate, alternating between seducing her and pacifying her nerves. She hardly uttered a word and never smiled. She was silent as he lowered her down next to us. They had beautiful bodies, classically ideal male / female archetypes. Her pleasantly tan skin shimmered in the rosy lighting. I observed her silence, the contours of her self-conscious form.
As he kissed around her pussy, he said, “I love it when you shave.”
Although I am not a fan of bald pussies, his preference and desire for her shaved twat turned me on. Her nervous submission turned me on. I wanted to experience something with them.
Just then the other young couple walked in and asked if they could join us. “It’s okay with me,” I said. Charlie added his non-verbal consent.
No one else responded. But it didn’t seem okay with her. The new couple began making out in a corner. A vague discomfort permeated the room. A few minutes later, they were gone. I’m not sure what happened. Mr. Hunky may have said something. Or maybe they left of their own accord because they didn’t feel welcome. People come and go at orgies, and it’s not always clear what makes them move. It boils down to communication and energy. Sometimes a change in energy is enough to make a point.
Charlie and I were on the same wavelength; we knew, without a word, that we had to initiate slowly with them. Mr. Hunky was far more amenable, but it was up to her. It was up to her and me. It’s always up to the women in group-sex situations. She opened her eyes and looked over at us a few times. So virginal in her curiosity! So unspoiled by the scene! She needed nurturing from a soft woman’s lips, the lips of someone who accepted her trepidation and allowed her to hold the reins in her silent, submissive way.
“May I kiss you?” I asked, kneeling next to her at a respectable distance.
She looked at me and nodded. Her kisses were soft and sweetly wet.
“I like the way you kiss,” I said.
She didn’t smile or react in any other way. She was so passive; I wasn’t quite sure what she was feeling. I wanted to move onto her breasts, but she closed her eyes and disappeared. I reclined to our side of the bed and relaxed as Charlie licked my pussy.
I watched them closely, even when I wasn’t looking. I watched them with my body, aligning their rhythms to my own sensations.
If I focus on someone else’s sexual experience, I am able to manipulate my own progression as a mirror to what I am witnessing, similar to the way in which a cerebral fantasy can direct one’s solitary journey through masturbation. In this case, I was focusing on Mr. Hunky’s experience. She was merely a vessel for his pleasure as I imagined his lust for me. Or maybe I didn’t imagine it. We had an intense connection during the Puja. Now our eyes connected again as he was fucking her and Charlie was bringing me to orgasm with his tongue. In my sexual mind, Charlie had become an aid for my connection to this stranger man. It wasn’t about Charlie and me. Nor was it about the female statue at my side. It was all about this beautifully subtle, soul connection between Mr. Hunky and me. We knew and understood each other completely in those moments, and nothing else mattered. I whispered a few standard lines to Charlie, while looking askance at Mr. Hunky. “My pussy is so wet…” and “It feels so good…” Mr. Hunky, in turn, uttered a few comments about her: “I love the way your pussy feels…”
Our consideration for our partners stopped when our conscious selves were no longer in control. No matter what we said or did, our partners weren’t included in the energy exchange that flowed through his hand clasping mine. It was as though he was fucking me, not her! I wanted to come for him. I offered my fingers to his mouth and he sucked with passion. Our eyes locked as orgasm ascended from the depths of my being…
“I’m coming…watch me come!” I said to him, squeezing his hand.
Afterward, we looked at each other. He smiled at me. I looked down at Charlie and thanked him. I looked back up at them and noticed that she had ceased responding to his thrusts. She had seen something she didn’t want to see.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?” He asked her in his soft, considerate voice. “Do you want me to lick your pussy?”
I don’t remember what else he said, but I’ll never forget the stone-cold look on her face. I’ll never forget how deliberately she extracted herself from him, how stoically she walked over to her clothes and started dressing. He followed her and tried to placate her, tried to find the source of her distance. He knew what it was, I’m sure, but he wanted to hear it from her. “Talk to me,” he said.
It was sad to watch this scene. She was so removed that he couldn’t bring her back. But she wasn’t really there to begin with. He gathered the remainder of their clothes and escorted her out. A few minutes later, he returned alone.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “She’s…never done this before…”
“That’s okay…I understand,” I said.
“It’s okay,” Charlie concurred.
Poor Mr. Hunky. How much more considerate could he have been?
“It was nice meeting you,” he said. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”
Then he left us to ourselves, to imagine the silent conversations that would inevitably ensue between them.
As we surveyed the room, we noticed there were no condoms or lube or any safe sex supplies in sight. Of course we brought our own necessities, but what a turn-off! Such accoutrements are standard protocol at every reputable swinger / public sex event. Their absence here was a sign that something was amiss. Still, we were here. So we covered the wetness with pillows and melted into each other on the clean part of the bed. Then we made love, healing our bruised hearts in the soft red glow of that unfamiliar room.
As we were basking in each other, Mr. Hunky and his girlfriend walked in. He asked if we minded.
“Not at all. Please stay,” I said.
We warned them about the wet spot on the bed. Then we cuddled and kissed while discreetly observing the newcomers. I watched them as they stood at the edge of the bed, undressing. He was soft-spoken and admirably considerate, alternating between seducing her and pacifying her nerves. She hardly uttered a word and never smiled. She was silent as he lowered her down next to us. They had beautiful bodies, classically ideal male / female archetypes. Her pleasantly tan skin shimmered in the rosy lighting. I observed her silence, the contours of her self-conscious form.
As he kissed around her pussy, he said, “I love it when you shave.”
Although I am not a fan of bald pussies, his preference and desire for her shaved twat turned me on. Her nervous submission turned me on. I wanted to experience something with them.
Just then the other young couple walked in and asked if they could join us. “It’s okay with me,” I said. Charlie added his non-verbal consent.
No one else responded. But it didn’t seem okay with her. The new couple began making out in a corner. A vague discomfort permeated the room. A few minutes later, they were gone. I’m not sure what happened. Mr. Hunky may have said something. Or maybe they left of their own accord because they didn’t feel welcome. People come and go at orgies, and it’s not always clear what makes them move. It boils down to communication and energy. Sometimes a change in energy is enough to make a point.
Charlie and I were on the same wavelength; we knew, without a word, that we had to initiate slowly with them. Mr. Hunky was far more amenable, but it was up to her. It was up to her and me. It’s always up to the women in group-sex situations. She opened her eyes and looked over at us a few times. So virginal in her curiosity! So unspoiled by the scene! She needed nurturing from a soft woman’s lips, the lips of someone who accepted her trepidation and allowed her to hold the reins in her silent, submissive way.
“May I kiss you?” I asked, kneeling next to her at a respectable distance.
She looked at me and nodded. Her kisses were soft and sweetly wet.
“I like the way you kiss,” I said.
She didn’t smile or react in any other way. She was so passive; I wasn’t quite sure what she was feeling. I wanted to move onto her breasts, but she closed her eyes and disappeared. I reclined to our side of the bed and relaxed as Charlie licked my pussy.
I watched them closely, even when I wasn’t looking. I watched them with my body, aligning their rhythms to my own sensations.
If I focus on someone else’s sexual experience, I am able to manipulate my own progression as a mirror to what I am witnessing, similar to the way in which a cerebral fantasy can direct one’s solitary journey through masturbation. In this case, I was focusing on Mr. Hunky’s experience. She was merely a vessel for his pleasure as I imagined his lust for me. Or maybe I didn’t imagine it. We had an intense connection during the Puja. Now our eyes connected again as he was fucking her and Charlie was bringing me to orgasm with his tongue. In my sexual mind, Charlie had become an aid for my connection to this stranger man. It wasn’t about Charlie and me. Nor was it about the female statue at my side. It was all about this beautifully subtle, soul connection between Mr. Hunky and me. We knew and understood each other completely in those moments, and nothing else mattered. I whispered a few standard lines to Charlie, while looking askance at Mr. Hunky. “My pussy is so wet…” and “It feels so good…” Mr. Hunky, in turn, uttered a few comments about her: “I love the way your pussy feels…”
Our consideration for our partners stopped when our conscious selves were no longer in control. No matter what we said or did, our partners weren’t included in the energy exchange that flowed through his hand clasping mine. It was as though he was fucking me, not her! I wanted to come for him. I offered my fingers to his mouth and he sucked with passion. Our eyes locked as orgasm ascended from the depths of my being…
“I’m coming…watch me come!” I said to him, squeezing his hand.
Afterward, we looked at each other. He smiled at me. I looked down at Charlie and thanked him. I looked back up at them and noticed that she had ceased responding to his thrusts. She had seen something she didn’t want to see.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?” He asked her in his soft, considerate voice. “Do you want me to lick your pussy?”
I don’t remember what else he said, but I’ll never forget the stone-cold look on her face. I’ll never forget how deliberately she extracted herself from him, how stoically she walked over to her clothes and started dressing. He followed her and tried to placate her, tried to find the source of her distance. He knew what it was, I’m sure, but he wanted to hear it from her. “Talk to me,” he said.
It was sad to watch this scene. She was so removed that he couldn’t bring her back. But she wasn’t really there to begin with. He gathered the remainder of their clothes and escorted her out. A few minutes later, he returned alone.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “She’s…never done this before…”
“That’s okay…I understand,” I said.
“It’s okay,” Charlie concurred.
Poor Mr. Hunky. How much more considerate could he have been?
“It was nice meeting you,” he said. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”
Then he left us to ourselves, to imagine the silent conversations that would inevitably ensue between them.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Club Tantra: My Experience, Unabridged 2
After the Puja, a few experienced couples went off to get freaky in the bedrooms down the hall, while most people sat around the main space, waiting for something to happen.
Charlie and I sat on the floor next to Mr. Hunky and his girlfriend, with the intention to gauge her interest in women. I tried to initiate contact with her, but she cowered close to her man. She appeared uncomfortably shy and ambivalent about being there. I suspected that he had convinced her to try this out, but once she arrived, the reality was far too strange and intimidating for her to relax and be present.
Anton produced some massage cream and said, “Somebody could make use of this rug…any one of you lovely ladies?” Guess who took up that offer? As soon as I sprawled out on the faux animal rug, the energy in the room shifted. Anton had been massaging Anya on a table. He came over and offered to massage my arm, while Charlie massaged my ass. When I turned over on my back, I felt many eyes scanning my flesh. Mr. Sputter Mouth asked if he could join. “No, thank you.” A few more men made offers, which I promptly declined. I requested Mr. Hunky to massage my leg. Then I asked Frenchie, who seemed unassumingly hungry for attention, “Est-ce que tu peux masser mon pied, s’il te plait?”
Those who were not directly involved in my massage seemed otherwise inspired by my initiative. Although I was in my own world, I sensed observation and movement around me; people were either enraptured by the scene unfolding before them, or beginning to create their own scenes. Charlie informed me later that everyone in that room was focused on me. A balding new-agey guy spilling fat from his open robe gave me a huge compliment: “It’s wonderful watching you and your man interact…you’ve got something magical between you…it’s beautiful.”
I always attract attention at sex parties, without much intention to do so. Ego aside, I am aware of the effect of my looks, my actions, my choices. I’m aware of my power to create a scene that will naturally transform into the most exciting attraction at the party. Maybe it’s because I do things that others are afraid of doing; I take initiative when I seem to be a wallflower and people are shocked at my unexpected boldness. Maybe it’s because I’m not obviously doing it for them, even though I know that my actions will be noticed. I am fully aware, but at the same time I don’t care. Perhaps that’s what leaves them in awe. If I were to act as though I were performing, I imagine they would be less interested, and possibly even annoyed. I would be quite the critic if I were watching myself perform to get attention.
The same thing happens when Charlie and I are at a party together. It seems that everyone wants to play with us. Maybe it’s because we are often among the most attractive people present. More than that though, I believe it is our comfort with each other, and our combined sexual energy that make us so desirable. We are, individually, highly sexual beings. Together, the dynamic is magnetic. People want us with envy. We turn down many requests. We are there for our own pleasure with the intention to find a couple or a woman or two who satisfy our eyes and complement our energy. We are there for each other; everything else is candy. And we eat only the finest truffles.
More to come...
Charlie and I sat on the floor next to Mr. Hunky and his girlfriend, with the intention to gauge her interest in women. I tried to initiate contact with her, but she cowered close to her man. She appeared uncomfortably shy and ambivalent about being there. I suspected that he had convinced her to try this out, but once she arrived, the reality was far too strange and intimidating for her to relax and be present.
Anton produced some massage cream and said, “Somebody could make use of this rug…any one of you lovely ladies?” Guess who took up that offer? As soon as I sprawled out on the faux animal rug, the energy in the room shifted. Anton had been massaging Anya on a table. He came over and offered to massage my arm, while Charlie massaged my ass. When I turned over on my back, I felt many eyes scanning my flesh. Mr. Sputter Mouth asked if he could join. “No, thank you.” A few more men made offers, which I promptly declined. I requested Mr. Hunky to massage my leg. Then I asked Frenchie, who seemed unassumingly hungry for attention, “Est-ce que tu peux masser mon pied, s’il te plait?”
Those who were not directly involved in my massage seemed otherwise inspired by my initiative. Although I was in my own world, I sensed observation and movement around me; people were either enraptured by the scene unfolding before them, or beginning to create their own scenes. Charlie informed me later that everyone in that room was focused on me. A balding new-agey guy spilling fat from his open robe gave me a huge compliment: “It’s wonderful watching you and your man interact…you’ve got something magical between you…it’s beautiful.”
I always attract attention at sex parties, without much intention to do so. Ego aside, I am aware of the effect of my looks, my actions, my choices. I’m aware of my power to create a scene that will naturally transform into the most exciting attraction at the party. Maybe it’s because I do things that others are afraid of doing; I take initiative when I seem to be a wallflower and people are shocked at my unexpected boldness. Maybe it’s because I’m not obviously doing it for them, even though I know that my actions will be noticed. I am fully aware, but at the same time I don’t care. Perhaps that’s what leaves them in awe. If I were to act as though I were performing, I imagine they would be less interested, and possibly even annoyed. I would be quite the critic if I were watching myself perform to get attention.
The same thing happens when Charlie and I are at a party together. It seems that everyone wants to play with us. Maybe it’s because we are often among the most attractive people present. More than that though, I believe it is our comfort with each other, and our combined sexual energy that make us so desirable. We are, individually, highly sexual beings. Together, the dynamic is magnetic. People want us with envy. We turn down many requests. We are there for our own pleasure with the intention to find a couple or a woman or two who satisfy our eyes and complement our energy. We are there for each other; everything else is candy. And we eat only the finest truffles.
More to come...
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Club Tantra: My Experience, Unabridged
The word “tantra” inspires visions of breathing through the chakras, full-body orgasms and spiritual oneness with a partner. So when Charlie and I set out for a night at Club Tantra, we expected to fuse our breath with some sexy people, exchange spiritual energy through sensual touch then make love in an orgiastic mass of soul-buzzing bodies. Instead, we got a tango lesson, bad hygiene, and amateur porn. Not that the evening didn’t have its tantric moments. It just didn’t quite live up to our expectations.
The tango lesson, though not tantric, was a beautiful introduction. Anton, the founder of Club Tantra, and his partner, who I will call Kinka, demonstrated the Argentine tango, which is arguably the sexiest dance in the world when done well. Watching Anton and Kinka dance was incentive enough to learn the sensual moves. Anton, who is also a former professional dancer and dance teacher, taught the basic steps. It was a wonderful opening act - not only did it stir up sensuality between the couples, it loosened our bodies and promoted social interaction, prepping us for the more intimate Puja.
The Puja is a sort of spiritual ice-breaker in which the participants connect through body language and communication exercises. Following the dance lesson, Anton and his lovely assistant Anya, dressed in a red lace body-suit, picked up a couple of mics and instructed us to form two concentric circles—women on the inside, facing their male partners on the outside.
To paraphrase Anton: “Look at your partner, gaze into your partner's eyes and feel all the love you have for him or her, send him or her all your love and gratitude that you are feeling in this moment…now men, look at your partner, take her in, and notice something about her body that you haven't noticed before...now ladies, notice something about your man that you’ve haven’t noticed before...” Dimple on my nose? You know, your earlobes are attached. I never noticed that. Wow.
The Puja continued with the rotation of men. With each new partner came a new exercise. Some were more inspiring than others (both partners and exercises). For example: “Find something attractive about your partner...then compliment them on that attractive part.” Nice and easy if you’re facing someone attractive. Or: “Touch your partner, stroke them, whatever you feel, however you want...” I don’t want to touch this person! Nor do I want him to touch me! Of course we didn’t have to touch the person, but the suggestion encourages people who may not think to ask before touching. Charlie and I agreed that this idea was ill conceived for making people feel safe among strangers (i.e. lecherous men).
Many of the Puja connections were forgettable, but a few left lasting impressions on me…
“The man standing before you is the man you've been waiting for your whole life...he can give you all the love you've ever desired, everything you’ve ever wanted and needed from a man, he can give you, everything you’ve ever wanted from your father, your brother, and your lovers…you’ve been waiting for him your whole life, and now he is here right in front of you.”
The man standing before me was at least 30 years my senior, so the father part was believable. Although I had no sexual attraction to him, I was somehow able to put myself in a state in which I believed all the things Anton suggested he was to me. It involved looking at him in a way so that I wasn't focused on one eye at the expense of the other. (Notice, the next time you make intense eye-contact with someone, that your eyes tend to go back and forth between that person’s eyes, seeking clear vision. However, if you allow yourself to gaze without manipulating your eyes through the uncomfortable blurriness, you can see the whole person.) This is called soulgazing. The eyes of this man who I had never met before, told me a story of loneliness and longing. I felt that he either had a wife who died, or that he never had a woman look at him the way I was looking at him. His eyes were wet. I felt profound love and compassion for him in those moments. I was everything to him and he was everything to me. Then we rotated and I never saw him again.
Charlie and I exchanged stories. I told him about the guy in a tight vinyl corset dress. I had to find one attractive part of him and say something about it. He was pasty and goofy-looking, with crooked teeth and blond hair all over his body. After he told me in expressive eloquence that I was beautiful with lovely features and gorgeous skin, I said matter-of-factly, "You have nice legs." This was all I could say, after looking him up and down. That was the truth. I meant it, in spite of his effeminate pose and clownish, expectant grin. He did indeed have nice, muscular legs. I appreciated them and silently wished him all the pleasure he desired that had nothing to do with me.
Then there was the guy who couldn't shut up. He had to comment on everything. "You look great...you're gorgeous...really...is this your first time here? Great, great, you look beautiful...love the outfit...it looks really sexy on you…did you come with your boyfriend? He’s a lucky guy…have a great time..." It was uncomfortably clear that he was overcompensating for his social awkwardness. I forget what we were supposed to do with each other, but whatever it was, he sputtered through it with forced interjections, as if he felt the need to impress me with compliments. As if he believed simply being there with me wasn't enough. It would've been enough for me. It would've been more than enough. I was as present as I could be, but by the time he moved on to the next poor woman, I had had enough.
Charlie told me about his experience with a woman who was so uncomfortable she couldn't look at him for more than two seconds at a time. She was overweight and unattractive, but physical flaws were the least of her problems. The issue was her red lipstick stretching so far beyond the lines of her lips that she looked like a scary clown. But even more disturbing than her poor make-up skills was the way she darted her eyes around in frenetic frenzy. They were supposed to look into each other's eyes. She was incapable of doing so. It turned out she was Mr. Sputter Mouth’s date. We couldn't help imagining the dysfunctional nature of their relationship. We didn’t imagine it for long.
So there were some unattractive people at this event. That’s what happens when there is no screening process at a sex party. If you pay to become a member of Club Tantra, you’re in. The lack of selectivity is great for diversity (a roomful of supermodels is far less interesting to me), but it risks creating an unsafe environment. Physical attractiveness is not the problem--that's subjective. I'm referring to people's energy and behavior. In unscreened group sex situations, you can't trust that everyone has the integrity to respect personal boundaries, even if rules are presented before the fun begins.
So we used our own screens to filter out the inexperienced, the disrespectful, the inauthentic undesirables, leaving us with two prospective couples in our age range:
1. A cute blonde in a pink and black garter get-up and her Latin boyfriend.
2. A poetically handsome hunky guy and his shy, sandy-haired Eastern European (or Russian) girlfriend.
I connected with the handsome hunk during the Puja, when for a few minutes I became the woman of his dreams. There was one other person who I was mildly interested in—a single French guy—young, cute, and quietly normal. I was interested in him for linguistic reasons. I could whisper les gross mots to him and no one else would understand. They would say to themselves, “Wow, she speaks French. That’s sexy.” Then they would want me even more. And to be perfectly French, I wouldn’t offer them one little morceau.
Charlie was also attracted to Kinka—cute, sweet, sexy and a little bit dirty. I knew her and felt connected to her through Anton. She was keen on both of us…a sprightly little flirt.
The Puja closed with the mutual feeding of aphrodisiac chocolates. After going through all those men, I was thrilled to be facing Charlie again. Charlie, my love! It seemed like we had just returned from parallel trips that we embraced and endured separately to grow as individuals and come back more grateful than ever that we have each other. I gazed into his eyes. Then he licked chocolate off my nipple.
To be continued...
The tango lesson, though not tantric, was a beautiful introduction. Anton, the founder of Club Tantra, and his partner, who I will call Kinka, demonstrated the Argentine tango, which is arguably the sexiest dance in the world when done well. Watching Anton and Kinka dance was incentive enough to learn the sensual moves. Anton, who is also a former professional dancer and dance teacher, taught the basic steps. It was a wonderful opening act - not only did it stir up sensuality between the couples, it loosened our bodies and promoted social interaction, prepping us for the more intimate Puja.
The Puja is a sort of spiritual ice-breaker in which the participants connect through body language and communication exercises. Following the dance lesson, Anton and his lovely assistant Anya, dressed in a red lace body-suit, picked up a couple of mics and instructed us to form two concentric circles—women on the inside, facing their male partners on the outside.
To paraphrase Anton: “Look at your partner, gaze into your partner's eyes and feel all the love you have for him or her, send him or her all your love and gratitude that you are feeling in this moment…now men, look at your partner, take her in, and notice something about her body that you haven't noticed before...now ladies, notice something about your man that you’ve haven’t noticed before...” Dimple on my nose? You know, your earlobes are attached. I never noticed that. Wow.
The Puja continued with the rotation of men. With each new partner came a new exercise. Some were more inspiring than others (both partners and exercises). For example: “Find something attractive about your partner...then compliment them on that attractive part.” Nice and easy if you’re facing someone attractive. Or: “Touch your partner, stroke them, whatever you feel, however you want...” I don’t want to touch this person! Nor do I want him to touch me! Of course we didn’t have to touch the person, but the suggestion encourages people who may not think to ask before touching. Charlie and I agreed that this idea was ill conceived for making people feel safe among strangers (i.e. lecherous men).
Many of the Puja connections were forgettable, but a few left lasting impressions on me…
“The man standing before you is the man you've been waiting for your whole life...he can give you all the love you've ever desired, everything you’ve ever wanted and needed from a man, he can give you, everything you’ve ever wanted from your father, your brother, and your lovers…you’ve been waiting for him your whole life, and now he is here right in front of you.”
The man standing before me was at least 30 years my senior, so the father part was believable. Although I had no sexual attraction to him, I was somehow able to put myself in a state in which I believed all the things Anton suggested he was to me. It involved looking at him in a way so that I wasn't focused on one eye at the expense of the other. (Notice, the next time you make intense eye-contact with someone, that your eyes tend to go back and forth between that person’s eyes, seeking clear vision. However, if you allow yourself to gaze without manipulating your eyes through the uncomfortable blurriness, you can see the whole person.) This is called soulgazing. The eyes of this man who I had never met before, told me a story of loneliness and longing. I felt that he either had a wife who died, or that he never had a woman look at him the way I was looking at him. His eyes were wet. I felt profound love and compassion for him in those moments. I was everything to him and he was everything to me. Then we rotated and I never saw him again.
Charlie and I exchanged stories. I told him about the guy in a tight vinyl corset dress. I had to find one attractive part of him and say something about it. He was pasty and goofy-looking, with crooked teeth and blond hair all over his body. After he told me in expressive eloquence that I was beautiful with lovely features and gorgeous skin, I said matter-of-factly, "You have nice legs." This was all I could say, after looking him up and down. That was the truth. I meant it, in spite of his effeminate pose and clownish, expectant grin. He did indeed have nice, muscular legs. I appreciated them and silently wished him all the pleasure he desired that had nothing to do with me.
Then there was the guy who couldn't shut up. He had to comment on everything. "You look great...you're gorgeous...really...is this your first time here? Great, great, you look beautiful...love the outfit...it looks really sexy on you…did you come with your boyfriend? He’s a lucky guy…have a great time..." It was uncomfortably clear that he was overcompensating for his social awkwardness. I forget what we were supposed to do with each other, but whatever it was, he sputtered through it with forced interjections, as if he felt the need to impress me with compliments. As if he believed simply being there with me wasn't enough. It would've been enough for me. It would've been more than enough. I was as present as I could be, but by the time he moved on to the next poor woman, I had had enough.
Charlie told me about his experience with a woman who was so uncomfortable she couldn't look at him for more than two seconds at a time. She was overweight and unattractive, but physical flaws were the least of her problems. The issue was her red lipstick stretching so far beyond the lines of her lips that she looked like a scary clown. But even more disturbing than her poor make-up skills was the way she darted her eyes around in frenetic frenzy. They were supposed to look into each other's eyes. She was incapable of doing so. It turned out she was Mr. Sputter Mouth’s date. We couldn't help imagining the dysfunctional nature of their relationship. We didn’t imagine it for long.
So there were some unattractive people at this event. That’s what happens when there is no screening process at a sex party. If you pay to become a member of Club Tantra, you’re in. The lack of selectivity is great for diversity (a roomful of supermodels is far less interesting to me), but it risks creating an unsafe environment. Physical attractiveness is not the problem--that's subjective. I'm referring to people's energy and behavior. In unscreened group sex situations, you can't trust that everyone has the integrity to respect personal boundaries, even if rules are presented before the fun begins.
So we used our own screens to filter out the inexperienced, the disrespectful, the inauthentic undesirables, leaving us with two prospective couples in our age range:
1. A cute blonde in a pink and black garter get-up and her Latin boyfriend.
2. A poetically handsome hunky guy and his shy, sandy-haired Eastern European (or Russian) girlfriend.
I connected with the handsome hunk during the Puja, when for a few minutes I became the woman of his dreams. There was one other person who I was mildly interested in—a single French guy—young, cute, and quietly normal. I was interested in him for linguistic reasons. I could whisper les gross mots to him and no one else would understand. They would say to themselves, “Wow, she speaks French. That’s sexy.” Then they would want me even more. And to be perfectly French, I wouldn’t offer them one little morceau.
Charlie was also attracted to Kinka—cute, sweet, sexy and a little bit dirty. I knew her and felt connected to her through Anton. She was keen on both of us…a sprightly little flirt.
The Puja closed with the mutual feeding of aphrodisiac chocolates. After going through all those men, I was thrilled to be facing Charlie again. Charlie, my love! It seemed like we had just returned from parallel trips that we embraced and endured separately to grow as individuals and come back more grateful than ever that we have each other. I gazed into his eyes. Then he licked chocolate off my nipple.
To be continued...
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