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Tantra

In this moment, you are my lover.

“Scared”, I say, staring into his eyes. A veil of his sandy hair draping over the corner of one of them.

Not an hour earlier he shook with embarrassment to tell me that he didn’t like my body, and that had impacted his attraction to me and his emotional development in our staggered relationship. I feel the waves of shame come off of him more strongly than I have them for this body I live in. I thank my belly for providing us this moment to release denials and make room for self-love.

But it stings my heart. And as I write this, one red firework over London.

And an hour before that we were taking a beginning Tantric sex workshop over Zoom, teaching us the foundation of conscious touch. I’m resistant but curious, and feel him match me in energy. As the workshop progresses we open into it. He kisses me during it, we’re pulled into making love, but I stop it.

Because I need the truth. And we haven’t talked. There’s been hurt. I don’t trust him. My ingredients are sparse.

The workshop seeps into us. Some part of us designed this moment, this chance to practice. 

My Teacher says Tantra is the weaving of the Will, Body, Spirit and Heart. Weaving. Looming together.

And in the present:

“Are you saying you’re scared or asking if I’m scared?” he asks.

“I’m scared.” I admit.

“Of what?”

“I’m scared that you don’t like my body.” I say, tears streaming down my face. Heart open. Wounded.

“Thank you for telling me the truth. Thank you for trusting me.” he says, kissing away my tears.

“I like your body. I love the way you feel.”

“I can’t believe you.” I say, still stung with hearing the words of my teenage worst fears that throughout adulthood I have heard from so many brave men. So many times from so many lovers, that they are attracted to me until I take off my clothing, until they see the scars of childhood obesity on me.

My mind tears into me. It shows me in all its penetrating glory the thoughts that will rip me apart from the inside if I allow them. I repeat to it “He chose this. He chose this. He chose this.” as a mantra to quiet it. It works. Some of it subsides. 

He pushes his hard cock against my belly. More of it subsides.

“Your body excites me very much.” He stares into my eyes. I know he is telling me the truth. I know that he’s been wounded too. That his mind and his eyes have been poisoned, that his worth has been dragged from him and spread across the people he beds, and that it has kept him from love and connection. And he’s dealing with it. And I can’t expect more. 

His accent sends shivers through me. This Englishman.

He places my hand on his chest.

“I feel it here.” he says. “My heart is beating, my throat is tight.” he swallows. 

“I am so hard.” he pushes his rock hard cock against me again.

I let go. 

Tantric Sex

We dive into each other. I feel the pulsing rhythm of our life coursing through us.

And we cling to it. Devouring each other. With each wave deeper into each other.  Clawing him, kneading him, needing him.

And we pull away.

“Hi.” 

“Hi.”

He’s staring into my eyes. When I close mine I see a distraction, colors, geometry, the projection of the mind. I am not here to see my mind. I’m not here for pretty pictures. Openly, I meet his gaze. We’re incredulous.

“In this moment, you are my lover.” he says.

“In this moment, you are my lover.” I say. I release it all.

And then our bodies call the shots. I bring myself back to focus and when I falter he does. 

“Come back to me.” he invites. He pleads. He commands.

I let go of thoughts of body ideal. Over and over. If he didn’t put them there, I would have. It’s up to me to clear them. They float away on my breath. I have learned to make it stop.

I am so lucky and grateful. Look what is on the other side of judgment. 

Heaven.

In the present moment. On giving, on receiving. On the energy coursing through him and me.

And we begin swinging into male and female farther and farther with each swing. He’s fingering me. Deeply penetrating me with what feels like too many fingers, but feeling his thick cock on my leg I know I need prep.

“I want to be inside you.” he says to me. 

Our bodies kiss, bite, clutch.

I feel nothing but the point of contact, and that is in so many places. I feel his divinity. I feel the snake awaken. She has been asleep for so long.

All I have criticized others for has been me externalizing my own junk. I throw it out. I let it go. I back up the dumptruck. 

I am here to experience what this man has to give in this moment. And it is time for me to turn him on. It’s time for me to take the risk. It’s time for me to work.

I kiss his neck, shoulder, chest. Lap him, suckle him with plenty of tongue.

I paint his torso with hot, wet missive kisses while stroking his legs softly.

Cradling him. Cupping him. His beautiful, large cock is mine in this moment. I don’t look at it. I am tired of looking. I can’t describe it. I just want to feel it. The heat of it. I listen to his cock. I want it to sing to me. 

I pull his foreskin back with my hand and lick at the tip of his cock to get it slippery and let me slide my lips around and over it, swirling my tongue under him and drawing him into my mouth

It feels good to hear him moan. To hear the word “YES”. And most of all, it feels good when he starts to trust me and my mouth and that I want him to feel good from the depth of my cunt.

He fucks my head. He moans with discovery at each inch I can take. My lover in this moment is tense and careful, but taut with desire to be inside me.

I notice my thoughts. I notice how I’ve been depriving myself of the giving of pleasure. I’m rusty. Atrophied. 

I receive. And I have become so tuned to doing so. Out of fear, and bitterness. I don’t want that, in this present moment. I want none of that. My body wants him to feel pleasure. I want to give it to him. 

I want to feel what’s inside him.

Time is confused. My memory doesn’t retrieve the experience, the exchange. The wrestle of power. How he overpowers me. How he tames me.

“Sacred.” he says. 

It is a better word then “scared.” 

I am not scared anymore. The voice in my head saying he’s doing this to prove something gets answered with a “so what?”.

His hand in my mouth. His other around my ankle.

He dominates me, and I allow him, but I don’t submit.

“I’m having fun.” I say, and he grins, ear to ear, and I feel the joy radiate off of him. He’s having fun. The immensity is having fun with us. 

He is fucking me. I haven’t shook to loosen myself. I grip him tight. My pussy hasn’t been stroked with the attention I need to be fully ready. And he’s too much for me. He’s too big, needs too much stimulation and needs it too deep and fast for me. I have him pull back when it’s painful, but that’s it. The rest is allowing the feeling to take me to my limits. Allowing me to be stretched. 

I am letting go of the story that we’re not physically compatible. That his stimulation doesn’t match mine. That he can’t read my body. That he doesn’t accept my form enough to be driven to pleasure it. I am letting go of the story that we’re not physically compatible. We wouldn’t be here if we couldn’t be.

He is focused on giving not receiving. I feel it in him, and the shift as he loosens his grasp.

“Is there any reality but this?” he asks.

“There are many realities, but this is the only one that matters.” I answer.

I want to feel him, just him. I want to witness who he is, I want to know him. 

I am learning to vocally communicate, but I don’t practice. I don’t want him to serve me. I want to feel what comes through us when I’m not in charge.

He pulls out of me and rips the condom off and throws it on the ground. He touches himself. He looks at me. I look first at his cock, his hand, the pace, the intensity, how tight and how hard

His face draws my eyes. It’s open. His eyes are full of heart, but vicious. He is divine. It is sacred. 

I feel feelers of his energy penetrating, running through me, expanding within me. Male. Animal. Harder. Faster. I am lazily playing with myself because nothing turns me on more than a man pleasuring himself, but in this I realize the pull of Pavlovian drive and that I am going for something else. I keep my hand still.

I am here to be present. If ejaculating is what is up for him, it’s what I want, and I allow all the joy I get in it without attaching to it as I normally do. I love every moment of watching this man come. Beaming, I stare into his eyes, I keep my hand on my pussy so I can feel his cock and his hand on the back of my hand.

He strains. Pupils dilate, and he says with more power and dominance than I’ve ever seen at this distance…

“MINE.” as he comes on my hand and belly. 

Runs his hand over it and smears it onto my face. With love.

“You’ve been marked.” he says to me. I raise my hand now wet with him to my mouth and lazily lick the come off of it while grinning and locking his gaze.

“That’s hot.” he says.

And so to sleep, though I want more tantric sex. I feel waves of pleasure and desire for hours afterwards as I guard him while he sleeps. And then, draped over him, eventually I sleep too, we wake and stroke and sleep again. I feel something ancient. I feel sleeping by a fire in tribal times. 

It’s my first time.


Other One Night Stands:

1: The Persian Lovers: The First Persian

2: Becoming a Cougar

3: Israeli Man at Burning Man

4: The European Lovers: Amsterdam (Live Sex Shows)

5: The Russian Lovers: Russian Kazakh Lover

6: Johnny the Cheesemonger

7: Nigeria is the Future

8: Stuck


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