On pleasure, from “The Prophet” by Gibran Khalil Gibran:
“Go to your fields and gardens, and you shall learn that it is the pleasure of the bee to gather honey of the flower,
But it is also the pleasure of the flower to yield its honey to the bee.
For the bee a flower is a fountain of life,
And to the flower a bee is a messenger of love,
And to both, bee and flower, the giving and the receiving of pleasure is a need and an ecstasy.”
How many of us remember this feeling? Have we ever had it? How many times we’ve felt like a flower, giving and receiving pleasure? We don’t hear much of the word ‘pleasure’ anymore. It almost sounds decadent and old fashioned. Taboo almost.
My tale is about a weekend dedicated to pure pleasure. This is not a tale about a man who is capable of loving a woman. Only of giving her pleasure.
It started with a short message from Mr G (henceforth to be known as G) saying he liked me and will I get in touch. A few messages on and we got on Skype. Previous to that he had written something to me that got ALL my feathers ruffled: that my name was too difficult to say and write. Did I have a nickname? Welllllll. I don’t ever remember anyone being so lazy, condescending, macho AND disrespectful. A challenge, (you know me by now, can’t resist a challenge) wooohoooo! I had written back that sometimes life was tough and no, I didn’t have a nickname…. On our first contact on Skype, he tried to immediately categorize me (without knowing that the English tried to do so for 7 years and failed!). He eventually ended up by liking my laughter and deciding that I was very intelligent. And I also got the feeling of a very intelligent man, someone who is used to yielding authority. A very frustrating man. An old fox. Wooohooo again!
After 5 weeks of “Hello, how are you” he flew over. Picked him up from the airport (I couldn’t stand still, had to make the rounds of the waiting area). His looks were non impressive. A balding, gray haired man (sorry for the disillusionment…), not tall, with a funny walk. But with presence. We drove home, my home. The usual getting settled in activities. Dinner. Lit candles, wine, music. I thought ‘well, why not?’ and had one of the most amazing weekends of my life. But let me regress a bit, to when he was still in his country. (Patience!)
During those weeks of Skype, he always treated me with respect tinged with some sexual push…. I gradually started feeling a sense of awakening which was centuries old. As if he reached and touched a spot in me that had been dormant for thousands of years. An ANCIENT feeling. The two “s”-s emerged and merged: softness and sensuality. In the past I’ve had these feelings, separately, sometimes making me feel unprotected, vulnerable. But now the softness flowed like a river and my inside walls started melting. I felt like a woman, soft and powerful, fully capable of receiving and giving pleasure. I decided that I would take this weekend as it came. No fantasies, no illusions, no planned activities, no expectations. No fears, no holding back. Again, to let it flow like a river, curving, rippling, taking the easiest path to wherever it was going. And thus, not having the boundaries of expectations, magic happened.
After six years of sensual starvation, the volcano erupted and the lava flowed and flowed and flowed. He was a master at his art and I mistress of the flow; he the conductor and I a well tuned instrument. (A friend described her similar experience to popping a bottle of champagne and the bubbles erupting and flowing non-stop.) (Of course this magic doesn’t last but let’s not talk about depressing subjects. I’m in my romantic mood.)
The connection was incredible. It was very very old, as old as the universe, the polarity between maleness and femaleness, that edge where when they meet, all disappear except the merge of the polarities. Three days of this and I was buzzing, vibrating, exploding, every nerve end in pleasure/pain. There was no place for rationality. (I’ll leave that to our wise world leaders.) I buzzed and vibrated for 3 weeks total. Way after he took leave. We said goodbye soon after and I thanked him for giving me such a present. Like all of us, I wanted continuation, more, once not being enough. But now I know it was perfect. A cameo in my life, a precious gift, an awakening that has made me feel alive. But most of all, an instigation to write. (All those unrequited feelings had to find a venue.) Thank you G for being the means of so many new paths, new feelings, new ways of being a woman.
And may all of us be like the bee and the flower.
And if you didn’t like what you read, go and write some of your own.