The Panther

November 9th, 2008 by Celeste

Another poem from my friend, the Christian mystic –

Whore VIII: The Panther

I

“Ooooo,,, Don’t you just love that panther head?” sighed the tourist.
I look on the wall where the beaded head hung.
The jaguar could have just walked in from the Mexican jungle outside.
I’ve been that panther, inside my lover, passing my passion.
“Oh, honey,” I thought, “you need me bad.”

II

“Relax,” said my whore. “You’re tense when you come.
Your wife ever tell you… Continue reading


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Skills? Who needs ‘em?

October 27th, 2008 by Celeste

What the fucking bullshit.

So the guy inquires at my website, which states clearly what the rules of engagement are – that we have a phone consult and that we meet in person for a conversation, at a clearly specified dollar amount, and so on.

Wants to know, via email, whether I will do such and such. Well, not exactly. Has many complex fantasies, some strange. Doesn’t say what they are, so… Continue reading


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Watching . . . and helping

August 7th, 2008 by Celeste

Hungry hands is back. Today he walked in and seeing the massage table set up said – Good, I want to put you on the table today and have you show me how to give you a massage.

Sure!

But the better part of touch is never the attempted technique, it’s the presence. Which is very hard to teach. There are some secrets though – the obvious ones like slow down and… Continue reading


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Waking up the fire

July 23rd, 2008 by Celeste

We are sitting on the floor, and he leans against the couch, and I lean back against his chest, resting my head against his shoulder. I have been teaching him how to ask for what he wants, how to touch, how to relax into his pleasure. He is a very nice man, which is a good thing to be, unless you can’t be anything else. Then it becomes something of… Continue reading


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A lucky man

July 17th, 2008 by Celeste

Love is a mystery.

I don’t know how he does it, but he just keeps loving me. And it is this, in the end, that opens my door again.

I am eager to touch him, his face, his shoulders, the piercing in his nipple. He pulls off his shirt to give me access. He is a generous man.

I am not ready for him to touch me back. Not yet. I stay clothed… Continue reading


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Healing men, and men who heal

July 7th, 2008 by Celeste

A friend calls today. She has a friend, a man, who thinks he might be interested in doing this work. That is, in working. However, he has never received the work.

Oops! That will never fly!

Another colleague a few weeks ago, also a man, told me that he feels his healing gift is with women.

That was in response to my question to him - You don’t work on men? No, he… Continue reading


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The Power of Celibacy

June 29th, 2008 by Celeste

It’s a big difference – celibacy and not gettin’ any.

Last week I left you hanging on a lonesome note. A few days later, I got myself over to a colleagues studio for my turn on the massage table. We sat and talked a bit, just to catch up on what I was feeling. Oh, I remember now, what it feels like to have loving acceptance, witnessing, caring – that’s just… Continue reading


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Yes, she says

May 19th, 2008 by Celeste

I want to be the young girl, and I want you to be the strong man, he said. I want to feel like you are awakening me.

Am I more fatherly, or is this sexual? I ask him.

Not sure, he says. I want the protection, but I want to feel my body stir. I want to feel the surrender and the opening.

I do have a lot of the strong man in… Continue reading


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Book store surrender

May 8th, 2008 by Celeste

I stopped by a book store yesterday, and wandered perilously close to the sex section. It was huge – huge! Actually it probably wasn’t all that big, compared to say, the computer section. Heck, it might not even have been as big as the gardening section, but I don’t know, because that’s as far as I got. I mean, how can you walk right by the sex section?

Maybe it was… Continue reading


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Round and full

April 22nd, 2008 by Celeste

Today, his hands on my breasts and his cock between them, I remembered how, as a girl of 10, flat as an ironing board, I had yearned for breasts. Nice round ones, though I would have been happy for any, really. I imagined them, pretended them. Once, on the way to the pool, shirt and shorts over swimsuit, I secretly rolled the top of my suit down so that it… Continue reading


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