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 that?”
“My wife’s eyes are always closed. She wouldn’t know.
I am that panther when I come.”
She smiled, “Pat him on the head and tell him to be a good kitty.”

III

She ran her hands up my belly to my chest
And down my legs to my toes,
Calling my aura to manifest
Itself in a thick blanket of energy.
Her fingers asked for entrance to my male vagina –
That engenders shit instead of life –
And it pulled her in of its own accord,
Eager for her ministrations.

IV

Her other hand adored my dick.
She coo’d sweet nothings to
The Male for creativity and
Energy and action,
For heat and fecundity and passion.
She petted his head, praised him for being soft and yet hard,
For giving so much pleasure and receiving so little.
Waves of grace overcame me
Pulsing through the energy.
Like a woman, I was lost in my pleasure.
The panther nuzzled my neck,
Turned, and walked back into the jungle.

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 who the hell knows how strange they really are. Some people think a vanilla 3-some is wild and strange. Hell, some people think making noise while you fuck is strange. Others think electrical prods, gagging, suspension bondage and peeing on each other are pretty ordinary.

Strange. Ok dude, whatever.

So we talk. He mentions age play (one or both pretending to be another age). He has never talked to anyone about this before, much less played with it, and never talked to a professional. He is concerned that I can not guarantee him that he will get his fantasies satisfied. Even though he has not told me what they are.

Says it’s risky spending this much money without knowing.

And how the hell are you going to know? Like I am going to say yes, I will do xyz – to a stranger on the internet who is – first of all, no telling who he is really. Second of all, I am going to agree to illegal activity? on email?!?!

However, after our talk, he emails some more. I explain some things about fantasy, about the importance of acceptance and that I take people through certain skills before we jump in.

Then he writes back – I don’t want to learn skills, I just want to play.

Holy shit. Wake up people.

If you don’t know that there even ARE any skills involved in fantasy play – then you sure as hell don’t have them!!

And if you are worried that you may risk spending your money and not getting there fast enough, then grow up!

This is in reality the hardest part – well maybe not – but at least the most aggravating part of this work.

You have NO CLUE what you don’t know. And I am supposed to show you what it is? Convince you that there does indeed exist some things you will need to be aware of to go any further?

Show up here ready to learn and have some humility about the fact, and we can get just about anywhere. Anywhere.

Try to convince me that there is nothing for you to learn – that is a crock of shit. What are you afraid of?

Get your butt in here and I can take you right to the edge of what you know, and what you are comfortable with, and it won’t take so awfully long, either. Of that I am confident.

If you are a beginner, then great, acknowledge there are things to learn that you are not yet aware of and that may not be explainable in a 10 minute phone call.

Don’t waste my time arguing with me about how much time it’s going to take you to learn the basics. There is no way in hell I can tell you. We have not even met for god’s sake!

And here is what chaps my butt (as my cowboy friend used to say).

What underlies this, I believe, is the assumption that everyone is somewhat like you. If we are going to learn algebra, it should take 12 weeks of 6 class hours blah-dy blah.

Do you not realize that some people can not yet add and subtract? Do you not realize that not everyone is like you?

And you expect me to be able to say it will take this long to get this skill and this long to get that one?

I don’t even know yet if you can feel anything below your neck. A concept that is likely completely foreign to you.

So skills? Yes, there are some. If you want them, you’ll have to admit that there are some you don’t have.

If you don’t know they exist, you sure as hell don’t have them and we sure as hell are not going into the potentially dangerous territory of dark fantasy without them. And if you don’t know that there is any potential danger in dark fantasy play, you SURE as hell don’t have them!!

And if you can’t handle either of those, get out of the way of others who do.

Gillian Welch, folk singer. Though the song is probably older – soldier’s joy (which was morphine, in the civil war)

I notice that I have just finished the last of the fresh peaches I bought when crossing the mountains a couple of weeks ago. The trees continue to turn.

Yesterday, on my way through the park, there were suddenly in front of me two that were almost completely bare. Skeletons showing.

Something about those skeletons ripped right into my heart and I burst into tears.

There’s no accounting for what breaks your heart open, is there? It seems all you have to do is pay attention.

I am aware of the color of the leaves turning this month. Their first blushes of gold and red, how one branch will start before the others, one tree will be the first to turn, or the last.

The branches that were the first have long since turned, and the tree is now in the full blaze of gold, the tragic beauty before the leaves are gone and nothing remains but the skeleton.

I am aware that these sunny days are numbered. That soon this one day will be over, and this sunshine will give way to grey and cold.

I am aware that those I love will not last forever. That the love I love will not last forever either, belief to the contrary.

Yesterday I cried for missing you. I was a bitter heartbreak. Why, oh why, could it not work? Why could I not have what I longed to have with you? Why did I walk into this love without seeing this?

Today my tears are different. They are softer, and not bitter. They are good-byes, of sadness that it is over, of recognizing the sweetness that was a hope. What if there could be sadness without bitterness? This would be it. It is a great relief. We loved as well as we could.

The Kiss

When my lips touch yours
I am taken to a place that is so utterly unspeakable
Filled with the beauty of knowing that I have touched the Divine
And have been touched in return

My heart opens to new levels that it has never known
A blank canvas, unlimited potential
Uncharted territory, new horizons
With a song that is known by my Beloved

One who has touched the heavens with her soul
And has brought it back for me to hold
And as I take it in my hands
The song of this familiar one
reaches to the depths of my being.

And in the reaching, a stirring
And in the stirring, my heart melts
And all that had created separation dissolves
into the recognition of the oneness.

And as I awaken to this knowing
And allow myself to be carried away
On the wings of this one kiss
There is nothing more than this moment

Willie Nelson gave me a hankerin’ for some country dancin’. (My daughter gave me a CD of him and his buddies doing live duets. Bonnie Raitt, Paul Simon, Emmy Lou Harris, Ray Charles even - his 70th birthday, and they rock out!!)

So I got there, to the bar, right on time. Unpretentious diner with a dance floor, but live country music every night (except the Thursday karaoke and the Sunday and Tuesday dance classes). The kind of place that looks like it serves grits. I love it.

Of course, I didn’t wait to start flirting. The bouncer’s a tall young fella, long pony tail, cowboy hat, friendly eyes. Good combination.

I asked if there would be plenty of people for me to dance with – Oh yeah, he says, they’ll be along shortly. Plenty. Big grin. Both of us.

He was right. My kind of crowd. Plain. No smoke. Enough old folks to keep it real. Not much costumery other that a few cowboy hats. And these folks Dance!

Each fella has his own style of leading. Some simpler, some fancy, some easier to follow than others. But sometimes there is a magical click when you fit together and move as one amazing, flowing, dancing creature.  His arms guide me and we swish, glide, spin, duck, turn, grin and laugh. My heart sings. This is the way I want to play the rest of my life.

Lead me! Spin me, turn me, dip me, I follow, give myself to you. Never knowing what is next. Each moment is brand new. I am in heaven.

And then there are the eyes of the bass player. I’ve learned that musicians who play for dancers often play to the dancers – becomes like a duet of sorts, each responding to the other. It’s a fabulous conversation.

(Back in the days of barefoot boogies to hand drums - as a dancer, I always thought I was dancing to the drummers, until one of them told me that once they get going, he follows the pace of the dancers and never stops until they do. He considers himself in service to us dancers.)

Kinda like love making, maybe?

So of course it wasn’t long til I was in love with the bass player and his eyes. I let myself fall in – lust is so delicious!! When he turns around, I look at his shoulders and fantasize getting my hands on them, getting right up to his back and grinding. Yep, that’s me, the middle-aged gal riding the thigh of bass player.

And that damned long guitar neck – that he plucks like there’s nothing to it - I’d heard they looked phallic, but they never had to me - until now. Ye–haww! I’m laughing out loud at myself.

So yes, we have a duet, the musicians and me. And the rest of us.

There’s the young kid sitting next to me who says – You sure can dance! – so I grab his hand and out we go. Not a leader, this one, so we jump around and laugh. And his buddy, who is more hip-hop than country, is surprised that I can meet him there, too.

And the woman my age who I invite out for a blues-y number. We get our hips going like no one but real grown up women can do. I wonder if she knows how fabulous she is. I wonder if she has any one in her life who sees it. We thank each other for the dance.

Damn, it’s good to have your blood running!

4 hours later, as they are packing up and the bartender is taking last call, the fella next to me says - I guess they gave out before you did.

Apparently! I say.

The night air is cool and soft, and I am still grinning.

However -  perhaps I can make up for it with this haiku from my girlfriend - I found it today, tucked away in my papers, from a few months back. Makes me grin all over.

Menopause Haiku

I can’t get enough

of my middle aged girl friend

with the way hot butt.

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 feel what you are feeling. What does this leg actually feel like in your hands? And the less obvious ones like getting your hands to relax – and slow down again. And turning your body so your hands are following the line of your arms. And slowing down again. And relaxing your hands again.

But mostly he loves seeing me come. He brings a briefcase of toys, which he likes to try out. ooh yeah, ooh no, ooh interesting but not great. And my favorite vibrator.

The first time, I had asked if he wanted me to keep going with the toys and see where it took me. Oh yes! It’s an interesting mix of selfishness and generosity, bringing yourself to orgasm so your friend can see.

It’s no wonder that anyone would want to witness. The first time I saw a woman in rapturous pleasure I thought to myself – My god – No wonder men fall all over themselves to see this! (Not a very complimentary way to say it, but those were the words then. Sorry.)

It is an extraordinary beauty. And one, it turns out, that he has not had with various previous wives who were not there, for various reasons.

So today – Would you like to help me inside while I play outside? Then you can feel the energy with your hand right there. Yes, right here, that’s the spot. Feel the texture right there? That’s the female prostate, or G spot. Hold it gentle and steady, just give me that pressure and presence. Yes, that’s it. Yes. . .

As we talked about it after, his eyes were moist with appreciation, and mine with the humility of giving this precious gift. And with remembering the years I was not there either.

It’s still not actually easy. Takes some attention. I’m not one of those gals who just falls into it.

But then, a clear sweet strain on a good fiddle can send me into bliss. Like right now. I’m turning this computer off.

So today, we play with asking to be touched, asking to touch, venturing into a taste of desire. He is learning well, a little at a time.

I lean back against him, he wraps his arms around so that he has full access to my breasts, which is what he bravely asked for. The first time we did this, last week, he held them like they were precious, which they are, and like they were a fountain of good comforting ju-ju, which they are. He settled in like a weary traveler finding home. Which he was. Today his hands are gentle but present, not tentative, which is a good sign. In fact, they feel great.

This week, he discovers another flavor of desire. His body softens and wraps me more closely, his breath deepens, his hands move more intently, like they convey the hunger in his loins. Which they do. I can tell, I think, (which is all we can ever do about another) that he is not confident enough to get any hotter. Plus, we did not agree to go there, so he is exactly right about that part. Even so, he seems at the edge of unfamiliar territory.

We pause. I tell him I notice that my body feels the heat too, and ask him to tell me what he notices about his own. Holding you tighter, he says, and pressing my legs around yours, like my whole body is going instead of just my hands. Yes, I say, me too.

So pause a moment and let your attention settle into your pelvis, I tell him. What do you notice? Warmth behind my penis, base of my pelvis. Does it feels good?, I ask. Yes, he says, it does. Good, I say, this belongs to you, this miracle.

Now, I want you to explore a little bit of movement, just a little. Let your pelvis start to rock ever so gently front and back. But keep breathing.

He starts to move, but it’s a little awkward, as if he can’t quite find where his pelvis is or what it wants to do. Can’t quite connect with it.

Let’s pause again, I say. It’s easier to find when you are still? Yes. Then let’s go back there and find it again. Back to base camp. OK, now, enjoy that for a bit, and now start that rocking again, just the tiniest bit, yes, there, that’s it, that’s it. Only move just as much as you can while still keeping that fire going – don’t overwhelm it. Yes. Feel that? Yes.

He is melting now into the fire, still moving very gently, just barely, but pressing in to me, hands still drinking in my breasts, warm breath on my neck. I like it too, but my attention is on his process. He is now able to move and still feel his pelvis. Connected now. Good.

Ok, I tell him, now I am going to slip out and move away from you, and I want you to keep your attention right there where it is, and enjoy that feeling. Even though I was a catalyst, the feeling is yours, the power is yours, the fire is yours. Just enjoy it awhile. Yes.

He makes this transition with ease. Truly enjoys it. This is not true of everyone. Some people tend to get more attached to the connection with me, would, if I moved out of the way so they could focus on their own experience, not get it, or reach for me, or complain. Or just pretend.

I wonder what makes the difference. I do notice that with a little coaching, he is able to receive my touch, take the pleasure in, is very present to it. Some are not. I conjecture that this might be related. It does seem that people who can’t do one have a hard time doing the other. Hmmm…..

A few minutes later, I give him some homework – to take this exploring into some self pleasuring. His eyes light up, and we joke about getting an A + on your homework, and about your friends asking what kind of homework you get at your school this week.

I have the best job in the world.

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. At one point, he teases me a little, tugging on my shirt, but I say, I’m not ready. I know, he says, and makes room for my pace. He is a wise man.

He allows me to explore him, enjoy him, pull him to me, grind on this leg. I lie across his lap, wrap around his middle, roll over him and under him, groaning in pleasure at the exchange of weight. He is an easy man.

We are kissing, and I ask him to do whatever he likes with my mouth. He opens us big, reaching with tongue, like dancing in a large cave. He loves it. I like seeing what he loves. He is a man who loves large.

I ask him to kiss me the way he thinks I like. He is softer now, mushing about and sucking my lips, which I love. He makes a wrong guess, and I tell him, Not that, and he changes. I ask him to tickle my lips with the tip of his tongue. I love that too. He is a patient man.

This is an extraordinary luxury, a man who is quite capable of leading, but who agrees to follow. And a woman who was taught to follow and who learns to lead.

I am reminded of the rightness of pleasing a woman.

I am forever on my soap box about not performing or using a technique. God help the poor man who tries to use a technique on me. Even a ‘good’ one.

There is another way to please a woman, and this is the way that feels right to me. Right, down to my bones. And that is to give her enough room to set her pace. It amazes me how much passion I have when I have room. He is a lucky man.