The Power of the Pan

Image by S. B. from Pixabay

Then I hurled through the trees to the creek bed where I intruded on the Pan in the F*ck.

That stopped me in my tracks.

The girl was splayed on her back on top of a boulder. Her legs bent at the knees and dropped aside to form the portal of the Divine Harlot, where the Pan gripped her hips with his meaty hands and f*cked her mercilessly.

I could see the outline of taut muscles through his furry thighs as the Pan rolled his pelvis. Her full breasts bounced in rhythm to the beat of the beast thrusting in and out of her. Her lips were black cherry red and her cheeks flushed roses, her pale straw-colored hair streaming around her head.

I had never seen anything more beautiful.

This girl was absolutely exquisite in the F*ck.

From her writhing, moaning bliss, I could tell she was no virgin when she had crossed paths with the Pan. But she might as well have been. Chances were she had never been pummeled like this, and she clearly loved it. She arched her back and gyrated her pelvis while reaching for her peak.

The girl’s flesh quivered, her body quaked as she dove into an explosive climax that consumed her in waves. Shrieking ecstatically, the girl was already begging for more.

What a magnificent little whore. She had to have descended from a nymph.

I was so enthralled with watching her I didn’t realize the Pan was watching me.

His hair was so thick, I could barely make out the horns and flying ears. His beard was the same ruddy chestnut as the hair on his head. His features were brutish, with deep set murky eyes and a blunt nose.

The Pan was still hard when he pulled out of the girl. The sight of that huge, engorged c*ck made the blood drain from my face.

I recoiled.

This was not the way things usually happened with the Pans.

According to all the stories I’ve ever heard, I should have been overcome with a searing lust.

Of course, he noticed.

“Huh,” he muttered.

I backed away from him.

The Pan peered intently into my eyes, tilted his head, and grinned.

“Well, I’ll be damned. You belong to Sappho.”

“What’s that mean?”

Suddenly, I was neither afraid nor repelled.

The Pan chuckled.

“Unless you don’t know who Sappho is, you know exactly what I mean. You like girls.”

As soon as he said it, I knew it was true.

Suddenly, my longing for Adele and her vicious torment made far more sense. She probably suspected that about me, and fed off my yearning to pump her vanity.

The girl pulled herself upright on the boulder, still quivering.

The Pan picked her up by the rump, and she tried to wrap her legs around him. Instead, he set her on the ground, and directed her towards me.

Once she was closer, I noticed she was a few years older than I. Her eyes still bleary from the F*ck, but her gaze cleared and brightened when she saw me.

The girl looked me up and down slowly, and smiled.

It took every bit of self-control I had to hold still. Every part of me wanted to tremble.

Even with her hair tangled and her skin flushed from the F*ck, she looked more like a Madonna than the wanton slut I’d just seen getting pounded and relishing it.

“Oh my,” she said breathlessly, and turned her face to the Pan. “Is she going to join us?”

“Do you want her to?” he asked.

The girl moaned and threw her head back. She had a lovely, long throat and her deep red lips curved in a smile.

“I do,” she murmured. “I want to play with her while you f*ck me.”

I blazed when she said that.

“And then I want to watch while you fuck her.”

I froze.

“I wouldn’t count on that,” the Pan said.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t think she wants me.”

“How is that possible?”

“Because she wants you,” the Pan replied. “I think she wants you really bad. As bad as you want me so bad you’re dripping for me right now.”

“Really?” the girl murmured, her mossy green eyes intent on me. “If you’re right, maybe I can change her mind.”

I’ve never been at a loss for words at any time in my life before or after that moment. The wetness between my legs made me blush.

The girl giggled at the expression on my face.

“Hello there,” she called out. “I’m Heather. What’s your name?”

I paused, still unable to speak.

“You have a name, don’t you?”

“Dusky.”

“I like that. It’s sexy. Do you like to play with girls, Dusky?”

“I don’t know. I never have.”

“Have you ever messed around with boys?”

“No.”

“So you’re a total virgin?”

I blushed so hard, I thought I’d pass out.

“I guess so. Yeah.”

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen. Most people think I’m older.”

Heather nodded slowly and smiled, as she perused me up and down again.

I had seen that rakish expression before. On the faces of men and boys, that look made my skin crawl.

But coming from a slutty Madonna like Heather, that look made my knees shake.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered. “You have such a strong, womanly body. Do you want me like Pan says you do?”

I nodded before I could stop myself. It was impossible for me in that moment to deny how I felt.

Such was the power of a Pan.

Writer's Block in a Sex Scene? How to Open Up and Break Through

Writer’s block hits in so many different ways.

Technically, right now, I’m not “blocked” per the usual meaning, because I’m writing regularly.

Even if I’m in a slack phase in my writing, I am making progress on the crucial second draft of “The Shepherd and the Courtesan” (working title only), and I have to keep up on the blog.

Since I was blocked in the truest sense of the phrase for years in that I didn’t write at all, what’s holding me up now is not that much of a big deal.

But I do find it interesting.

There’s one scene that’s holding me up – the first sex scene between the Shepherd and the Courtesan. This scene does not happen right away in this novel.

In fact, it doesn’t happen until the second half of the novel, and there are several sex scenes before the reader even gets to them - sex scenes that are juicier, more transgressive, and more exciting.

Before we get to this, we have the psychological BDSM sex scenes between the Patron’s Daughter and the Brute – neither of them main characters – while the main character, Addie, who will later become the Courtesan, acts as voyeur.

We get to Addie’s flight to the Capital City, and none of the sex scenes are with her as a Courtesan for the sake of pacing.

But we do get the first sex scene between the Shepherd and the Woman who would become Ella Bandita; and the first sex scene between the Shepherd and the Courtesan is right after that.

But the difference between all the other sex scenes and this one is that this sex scene between the Shepherd and the Courtesan is much more vulnerable.

This scene is rooted in tenderness, whereas the others have some element of drama, hedonism, and intrigue.

Also in the scene between these characters, I’m writing about those who are not the usual players in an erotic scene, mainly because of age and ageism.

The Shepherd is 50, and the Courtesan is 60. They are still true to the usual standard of romantic fantasy in that both characters are exceptionally attractive.

In an erotic scene, the Courtesan suspends disbelief because she’s been very sexual for more than 40 years; and any woman who stays highly sexually active keeps her juice much longer than those women who don’t.

The Shepherd, however, has been mostly solitary and without a mate for 25 years. There is a lot of vulnerability there. I’m resistant to write about that, and I wonder why.

I wasn’t resistant to writing about the psychological and physical violence between the Brute and the Patron’s Daughter.

For the record, that’s not how I approach sexuality in my personal life. I’m not into BDSM, although I have a lot of friends who are and they are fascinating people. Perhaps that’s why. I’m emotionally detached.

So maybe I can’t be emotionally detached at the thought of a character who had embraced his solitude, and was now suddenly confronted with emotional and sexual intimacy, along with the fears that would entail.

That hits closer to the home of my experience.

Then I arrive at the logistics of impotence.

Erectile dysfunction is reasonable to expect in a middle-aged man who has not had sex in a quarter century.

That likelihood cannot be ignored because it would render the scene ridiculous, even in a “fantasy.”

Oh, and then there’s the logistics of being a woman writing a sex scene from the POV of a man.

I’ve done it before with the Wanderer in the previous novel, but it adds a whole new level of awkwardness to writing it.

Since Viagra is not an option for a story set in pre-Industrial fairy tale times, I consulted with my Tantra teacher on natural methods to induce a solid hard-on for the good Shepherd.

She shared the finger-in-anus-to-massage-the-prostrate technique that she claims would raise an erection in a dead man. (Ok, I exaggerate.)

Although that information is very pragmatic, I couldn’t figure out a graceful, poetic way to introduce it in the scene.

And the sensitive Shepherd, who has long been celibate, is more likely to be scared off with a move like that. Maybe I’ll use it later in the story once they get better acquainted.

Another tantra teacher suggested that the Shepherd start waking up with erections, getting back in touch with his sense of arousal before they ever get together.

Now that, I can use.

For their first time, so far, I went with tender loving care, encouragement, tantric breathing, and palpating the perineum.

Although there’s no guarantee those gentler methods would be effective in real life, who is to say that’s impossible? It only has to be in the realm of possibility, and that is good enough for me.

As far as insights and how-to advice, I think I led by example.

You can write a blog or a Facebook Note, and open up to strangers. Writing this post gave relief to my shyness. I've never used Facebook Live or Instagram Live, but I bet that would lead to some pretty out there input, and there’s always something useful.

If you prefer a more intimate place to get feedback on your sex scenes - in fiction and in life ;-) - I recommend talking about it with people face-to-face.

Discuss the sex scenes with close friends or your writers’ group. I will need to do this eventually for that masculine perspective on those sex scenes told from the man’s experience.

But even without that, other perspectives can be very helpful in fleshing out a challenging what ifs and snafus. And talking about it in person is likely to break you out of your reticence and embarrassment.

Oh, and there’s always masturbation. With a fantasy going on inside your head, maybe even the sex scene you’re stuck on.

My golden rule when it comes to writing about sex: If what I’m writing doesn’t turn me on, how can I expect that to stimulate the reader?

I’m ready to take on that sex scene now. How do you handle being shy about writing a descriptive sex scene?

For anybody who’d like a nibble - and this is only a nibble - because sex is part of the background, not the main event in the scene, click here to view this excerpt out of my work-in-progress, “The Shepherd and the Courtesan.”

The Heroic Great Queer Hope and My Tantra Buddy - Tantric Shitshow, Part 5

Image by Dmitri Posudin from Pixabay 

Hey y’all,

One legitimate complaint Sierra had about Source Tantra - it was 3 full days before any announcement that drew attention to her as the LGBTQ pod leader.

As I wrote earlier, there were a few queer women involved in Source Tantra - gay dakini Lisa, lesbian doctor Debbie, and 2 bisexual pod leaders.

On the day I left, I learned dakinis Leah and Lisa, and some of the advanced and elite teachers, were exploring ways to make this event more queer-inclusive with who they already had.

But Sierra squawked and hollered about the last Masters where the gays didn’t find each other until Day 9 out of a 10 day workshop, and she was the Great Queer Hope.

If they wanted to make the Masters more queer-safe and queer-friendly, she was the one for the job.

Yeah, right.

Anyway, Solla, the organizer of the Masters event, couldn’t bring herself to introduce Sierra as the queer pod leader. Instead, she formed random pods through numbers – all 1s go to such and so, all 2s go to who do you call her, all 3s, etc.

This was the first night.

Since I believed Sierra would provide the queer base she said she would, I left the pod I landed in to join hers, even though her pod looked as straight as mine.

Sierra had what my grandmothers used to call “a bosom,” and hers was an ample bosom.

Heroic Sierra draped a rainbow flag across that ample bosom and declared her pod for the queers.

Her pod looked so confused. Some even looked stricken.

“If you’re gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender or questioning, that’s who I’m here for.”

Everybody cleared out fast. The queer pod was down to me and Sierra.

Solla came running over with a panicked what-the-hell-just-happened look on her face.

Somehow 3 brave souls wandered back to the queer pod.

One was a Frenchwoman who gave off the vibe, but she made it clear that she wanted to connect with a man.

Another was a Polish woman who seemed rather fearless and I saw her holding hands with an English woman – maybe bisexual? More likely just European.

The third I’ll call Virgil (not his real name).

At almost 29, Virgil shared he didn’t have sex until he was 26, and that he’d only had sex with 1 girl. He didn’t get specific beyond that, which makes me think it only happened once – a near-virgin? Virgil said he was there to learn how to interact with the feminine.

That guy had my respect.

To be that transparent, and to show up to a workshop like the Masters with his inexperience - that takes epic courage. It also takes courage to stick it out in the queer pod when you’re straight. Inexperienced, but straight.

Anyway, we embraced ourselves as an intimate group. Because we were so small, there was time to share, and that’s how I learned so much about Virgil.

Sierra stated that everybody could ask her anything because she had LOTS of expertise in Tao and Tantra. Maybe she wants to be the Lesbian Charles Muir?

Our pod gained new members by the end of intention-sharing. These folks didn’t arrive until the 2nd day, and missed the rainbow flag draped across heroic Sierra’s ginormous tits.

For whatever reason, Solla finally recovered enough to introduce Sierra as the queer liaison. This was on the 3rd night.

And that’s how I got my Tantra Buddy.

Anyway, after Solla finally announced Sierra as one for the queers, Elise (not her real name) from Toronto approached her, said she was so relieved and that she now felt more comfortable there.

Sierra introduced me to Elise briefly at dinner. The next morning, I passed her on the break during Mantak Chia’s class. She said hi and we stopped to chat. She asked immediately if I’d be interested in being her tantra buddy to practice these techniques. Elise also said she was surprised to learn some new tricks in the lecture that she hadn’t come across before.

One thing about the Masters, they got the ball rolling. They gave us homework from the word go.

Dakini Leah made it very clear that we wouldn’t learn Neo-Tantra from reading and paying attention in class. We had to practice.

Because Sierra was too busy healing the souls of people who were 1000s of miles away, only to claim exhaustion afterwards, I hadn’t been able to practice at all.

It was the 4th day.

So in answer to Elise’s invitation, I was open to it but I’d like to get to know her some since I’d only met her for a minute the night before. Even though she asked me first, I asked if she was comfortable with something so intimate running out of the gate.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “I’m a sexological bodyworker and pro domme. I do this all the time.”

Ok then.

Modern Sexual Healers and Backstory II - Tantric Shitshow #4

Image by Comfreak from Pixabay

Hey y’all,

This is part 2 of “Modern Sexual Healers and Backstory.” If you’d like to read the first half of this, click HERE.

Back to that gray area of sex work and therapeutic healing, the combo sure makes a tangled snafu, doesn’t it?

Even if this work is illegal, this field is burgeoning. There are now many names this work goes by – sexological bodyworker is the latest I’ve heard of – and that has a more professional ring to it.

It’s gone international. There were several sexbod workers (what they call themselves) from various parts of the world who came to the Masters. They came not only for their personal sexuality, but also to expand their skillset.

People who have more prestigious, high-respect careers are adding sexual healing to their repertoire. Regardless of the respect I lost for her, Sierra is educated as a naturopath and acupuncturist, but she claims to do this work – along with “healing people’s souls.” (Yes, she actually said that.)

Another woman from Charles Muir’s team had also studied Taoist sexuality with Mantak Chia, and has claimed to reach expertise in both is a medical doctor. She too does this work.

To all this, I say: “Bravo!”

Sex is important. Great sex is good for the body, the heart, and the soul. The stronger the orgasm, the more thorough the release. It’s absurd to think there’s still so much shame around sexuality, that people are still so reluctant to talk about it.

There is a desperate need for sexual healing. And traditional talk therapy hasn’t cut it. At all.

The culture of shame and repression is harmful enough before abuse even gets a mention.

Sexual abuse, molestation, rape, incest, exploitation, and all other forms of abuse have been a scourge on humanity, on women and children for a really long time. This has been happening over generations and for centuries, probably from the beginning of the human race, and it’s really fucked people up.

It’s fucked with discernment in the areas of trust, self-worth, opening up, healthy attachment, intimacy, loving relationships, equal friendships, communication, sexual response – I could go on and on about this – and that’s without addressing the addiction, isolation, and self-destructive tendencies that are often by-products of sexual trauma.

People need each other. We need community, connection, intimacy, RELATIONSHIP. If life really is all about those people we connect with and love and relate to, it’s appalling and unfair that so many people have suffered through some kind of abuse that has screwed up those internal systems which bring us to healthy love, friendship, connection, intimacy, and sexuality.

How do I know all this?

Because I’ve lived through my fair share.

I prefer not to go into detail, but my experiences with double standards, chauvinism, sexism, misogyny, sex-negativity, hate-filled religious thinking, sexual abuse, rape and the fear of rape, not to mention the daily assaults  - both great and small - on feminine pride and dignity that all women and girls endure; all this definitely messed with my ability to have loving, healthy relationships and great sex.

My experiences aren’t particularly unusual. So many people have been through similar and much, much worse.

Yet I have spent the lion’s share of my adulthood trying to heal. Tantra and Neo-Tantra – among many other non-sexual modalities – have been a part of that.

I wish I could claim that all my efforts have been a complete success, but my last relationship proves that the results have been a mixed bag.

I stayed in a toxic relationship for far too long in spite of my best efforts to end it in a timely manner when I knew it would never work. I allowed myself to be manipulated because of my fears of being alone.

I’m not just embarrassed, I’m ashamed of that. By the time my ex-fiancée and I broke up, not only was I no longer in love with her, she was somebody I couldn’t stand. And I can’t say I love the parts of me that caved under pressure and stayed with her.

I really thought I was stronger and smarter than that. I thought I had “healed.”

In all, it’s a relief that people are starting to talk about it. As a society, we have only had this conversation with any degree of openness and compassion for maybe 20-30 years. That’s not a lot of time for trauma that runs deep through the generations.

The vista of sexual healing really is a wild and raw frontier that is mostly unexplored. And everybody who comes to this – “master,” teacher, enthusiastic student, “tantrika,” “dakini,” sexual surrogate, shamanic sexual healer, sexological bodyworker – we’re coming to this with our histories, our wounds, our triggers, and our shit.

There is a lot of discovery to be had, growth to embrace. And in that journey, mistakes will be made.

It would also be nice if legality could meet this exploration with justice and compassion.

Maybe then there wouldn’t be this need to hide behind the verbiage of Tantra.

For everybody who has read this far, thanks for joining this ride with me.

Peace,

Mana

Introducing Master #2, II - Tantric Shitshow #3

Image by LoggaWiggler from Pixabay

Hey y’all,

(Continued from April 21, 2020)

How do I know all this? Because Charles Muir is a storyteller and he told us all about it.

For the record, although Christy Rose was described as one of the elite teachers, she did not offer private sessions that week.

His son, Orion, did. He was a beatific, California-hippie type who was cursed with the inability to get a tan. He had fair skin that burned easily, with regular features, a beard, and long, flowing hair. He wasn’t all that compelling. He revered his father and lacked his father’s charisma.

Charles Muir did have his own crazy version of charisma, because his appeal defies explanation.

Seriously, think of Yogi Bear as one of the players in “Revenge of the Nerds,” and you might come up with a fairly accurate image of his presence.

As the week progressed, I came to like and respect Leah, the head dakini for Source Tantra, quite a lot. You’ll be reading more about her later.

I had no idea I would that first night, however, when she was introduced.

She was cute, vivacious, and confident – a cheerleader type. She wore a form-fitting Asian-style dress from her neck to below her knees. Her dress would have been demure except for the slits that went halfway up her thighs and the obvious boob job encased in such a garment.

Leah was very frank and articulate in what she had to offer, and her specialties were erectile dysfunction and premature ejaculation. She was very passionate about sex and sexuality, and how Neo-Tantra could help us all got so much more out of our bodies. She was especially enthusiastic that we women have as much erectile tissue as men, inch for inch and ounce for ounce, and we deserve to know all about that, and what to do with it.

In the gossip that ensued over the next week - because the Source Tantra group was very gossipy - I found out that she had been Charles’ partner for 8 years, from the time she was 25 and he was 55, to 33 and 63 respectively. She had also been one of students. During that time, she helped him run his Art of Conscious Loving workshops that he had started with his 2nd wife, Caroline Muir.

As Charles’ protegée, it’s highly possible Leah has surpassed her mentor and that really pissed him off. Leah taught some of the classes. The one time she and Charles were on the stage presenting together, he was such a dick to her and regularly undermined Leah during the lecture. She kept her head and her composure, and probably had to exert herself to do so.

When Charles introduced Lisa, the other dakini, the one who is gay, he made a point of saying that she had strong “Shakti energy.” (I’m sure Rashmi would have done backflips to hear that.) Lisa was the one I thought I would be interested in working with from the info about her online. But she didn’t have a whole lot to say other than “yeah, everything Leah said,” and that was pretty much it.

Lisa was not somebody I gravitated to, so I don’t have much to say about her – other than finding out through Facebook that she’s gay, and that she and her partner, Dana, traveled in Sri Lanka after the workshop.

So exit stage left, gay dakini Lisa, and happy trails.

After the lengthy introduction of his team, Charles launched into an overview of the next 10 days, with some sage pieces of advice on how to handle the experience and various challenges that would come up.

“Tantriks and tantrikas are noisy lovemakers. When you feel one coming on, make sure you grab a pillow and howl into that.”

He even showed us how, by grabbing a pillow and making muffled, gargling, and grumbling noises into it.

I thought it very odd that an Ecstatic Love Workshop on extensive private property that throws events like this all the time would have strictly enforced quiet hours that started at 10pm.

Especially because there were events up until 9:45.

Later, I heard that at the very first Masters 8 years before, the ecstatic orgasm noises got so loud and lasted so long that somebody in the neighborhood called the cops in the middle of the night, and “Master” Mantak Chia had to get out of bed to go deal with them.

That workshop must have been rip-roaring success.

Another of the topics Charles Muir covered was “falling in love” during the workshop.

“It’s so tempting,” he said.

“We all have that urge to merge. And you throw in great sex and possibly the best orgasms you’ve ever had, and it’s so easy to believe that you found the ONE! And this is LOVE!”

“Don’t do it!” he warned.

“When this is over, everybody goes back to their real lives. So while you’re here, meet people. Find friends you can practice on. So become tantra buddies and help each other learn. That way, you don’t hurt each other.”

Solid, practical, sound advice that definitely applied to the audience. Most of the people at this workshop were flying solo. At most, I believe couples made up 1/3 of the attendees.

That impressed me. His perspective on awakening sexuality impressed me even more.

Charles Muir was very frank and open about the gift of awakened sexuality for both men and women, and how riddled we are with the sexual shame that shuts us down. He said men had limited time to awaken before aging did its thing, yet women could awaken at any age.

He spoke with compassion how so many women don’t feel what they should with a clitoris that has 8000 nerve endings because we’ve been numbed out. We’ve endured stress, criticism, slut-shaming, fat-shaming, age-shaming, trauma, sexual abuse, rape.

He said we could heal. He said we could get our feeling back.

Listening to Charles Muir that night was such a relief. He was a truly powerful speaker and an eloquent storyteller. I was inspired after that talk, and filled with optimism.

Looking back on that strong beginning, it’s almost impossible to believe how badly things would tank within days.

And that, my friends, will have to wait until further down the line. I’m leading you into this slowly, and there are reasons for that.

Thanks so much to the friends who heard my plea and sent letters, notes, WhatsApp texts, and even a WhatsApp phone call.

That made me feel so loved. Yes please, keep them coming!

By the way, if you write me, I also write back. Not long epistles like this, obviously, because I need to have some time for me and the wonderful place I’m in.

Much love to all y’all!

Peace,

Mana

Introducing Master #2 Part, I - Tantric Shitshow #3

Image by LoggaWiggler from Pixabay

Hey y’all,

So for the past 4 years, I’ve studied with a classical Tantra teacher who comes from the source. Rashmi was born and raised in India, and her family comes from a long lineage of Hindu Shakta Tantrics - like everything else, there are various lineages that approach classical Tantra from different angles. In her lineage, as the name implies, their priority is to worship the goddess first.

So…needless to say, Neo-Tantra makes her blood boil.

Neo-Tantra started in India about 150 years ago. According to Rashmi, it started from a bunch sexually-repressed white people who couldn’t handle all the decadent, sensuous images in the ancient temples, much less the culture of a people who knew how to enjoy their sexuality and their energy and their bodies – possibly without limits.

So what they did was take the sexuality and leave behind the spirituality (Hinduism) and the physical practice (Yoga) that went with it. Then some posers came back to reclaim both, only to get it all twisted and distorted and bastardized beyond recognition.

I imagine a few fake Indian Swamis got in on the hustle – and if so, it’s possible one of these was Charles Muir’s guru back in the day.

However it happened, Charles Muir is known as the “pioneer” who brought Neo-Tantra from India to America. His company, Source Tantra, is based out of California.

I can easily understand Rashmi’s rage towards this man, and others like him.

The workshops he branded with the flowery language of pretty words like “Sacred Spot Massage” and “Tantra: The Art of Conscious Loving” would be more honest and aptly described with the moniker: “How to Fingerfuck Like a Boss.”

Because that’s pretty much what it is.

However, that would be far more challenging to market.

“Welcome to the Sex Seminar,” said Charles Muir on his introduction.

Of course, that got a lot of laughs.

But what can I say about my own impression of the man?

To be honest, my impression of him on that first night was highly favorable. But my very first impression of Charles Muir was that he was in a lot of pain.

On the first night, as I had said in a previous email, the “Masters” were introduced to us along with their teams. While Mantak Chia talked and talked, Charles Muir sat cross-legged on the stage. His eyes were closed and he rubbed his legs in a continuous rhythm. His face held the tightness of people who are struggling physically, and trying hard not to show it.

His hands were huge – even larger in proportion to his tall frame. I think he stood around 6’3” to 6’5.” However, I wouldn’t call his presence imposing.

Why? Because Charles Muir has the goofiest face I’ve ever seen on a man. And once he started to talk, his mannerisms were as cartoonish as his features.

Not exactly what I expected from a man who has been married 3 times and slept with countless women all over the country while touring with his workshops.

Yet he was funny and very endearing. What was obvious was his personality, his humor, and his charm, not the patriarchal glory-of-man mindset that unveiled slowly as the days passed.

I also appreciated the fact, that unlike Mantak Chia, he allowed generous amounts of time for his Source Tantra team to be introduced with a lot of detail. They were offering private sessions during the workshop, and he also talked all of them up.

His team included his current wife, his son, and his 2 best dakinis - one of whom had been his lover for 8 years; and the other I would later find out was GAY.

(So, Sierra really wasn’t so necessary for the queers. But that’s another story and I’ll get back to that later.)

Christy Rose Muir is his 3rd wife and pretty much half his age. She’s a festival goddess type with platinum extensions braided into her hair, exotic makeup, and clothes that managed to be both clingy and flowy at the same time. She gazed at Charles with the goo-goo eyes of adoration, and even had a sultry, caramel voice. It could be argued that Christy Rose was also rather cartoonish, but sexy cartoonish.

“I met this beautiful man 8 years ago,” Christy Rose crooned when she was introduced. “And what you’re about to learn over these next 10 days are not just secrets taught to him by some Hindu in India, but techniques Charles came up with on his own, as well as relational tools we use in our relationship.”

So how did this idyllic pairing of beings come together?

At Tantrapalooza. According to Charles, the nickname for that happening was “Fuckapalooza” and his friends tried to talk him out of going.

He said something about feeling like he was too old for that kind of thing.

On that night, Christy caught his attention with her blue dreadlocks, mad hula-hooping skills, and six pack abs that had their own six pack.

Charles must have caught Christy’s attention with his presentation of sacred spot massage with one of his lovers, Mare Simone, who must be really well-known in the Neo-Tantra Universe from all the hoopla on the mention of her name.

Anyway, Charles Muir and Mare Simone did their thing with quite an audience, and she was also on her period that night. So at the climax (ha! Pun impossible to avoid), she squirted blood along with her sacred amrita, and they were a hit.

The first date between Charles and Christy was sacred spot massage. Their second date was when Charles invited her to be his “birthday present to himself” for his 65th birthday.

And from there, love blossomed. Isn’t that romantic?

Peace,

Mana

PS: To be continued on Friday, April 24, 2020…

Introducing Master # 1 of the Tao - Tantric Shitshow, Part 2

Image by 29450 from Pixabay

Hey y’all,

I’ve always had a thing for the yin/yang symbol, that balance of light and dark, with a piece of light within the dark and piece of dark within the light.

The yin/yang is actually a major symbol in an afterlife love story, an unfinished novel that I really need to finish someday. Maybe this experience is a nudge for me to work on “Lover Man and Bella Donna” – although god/goddess knows how this might affect the original story.

The time I spent in this workshop, I feel like I was immersed in the meaning and essence of yin and yang.

As I said in the earlier email, there were yin/yang symbols everywhere – but not necessarily white and black.

There were a lot of white and gold combos, red and blue, the former tied into how Mantak Chia taught the sexual aspects of the Universal Healing Tao.

Sexuality plays a strong role in his system, but it’s not the end all. His main suggestion with orgasm is to send the chi up into the organ systems to create healing, because our sexual energy is the most powerful source of chi we have.

His focus is mostly on alternative healing, and he has all kinds of odd and peculiar treatments - Karsai Nei Tsang Genital Detox therapy is one of them.

According to Mantak Chia, this is crucial in clearing our sexual organs of the grit and gunk and metals and toxins that settle in our systems and in the pelvis.

Really, this isn’t as out there as it sounds, most of the treatment is a deep abdominal massage with only a few minutes in the genital area. Or at least that’s the way it was for the woman. That burly Thai Karsai Nei Tsang massage therapist really went to town on the man.

Oh, there were live demos of this.

One of the guests, a Frenchman, volunteered to be the model for the male half.

He kept his underwear on - fitted black shorts - the entire time, but the therapist pulled his testicles out and did what I can only describe as wringing them out to dry.

Maybe they didn’t tell him what the demo entailed because he looked like he was about to pass out when it was over.

The female model was from the Source Tantra team, let’s just say she was ready. I think she didn’t get the memo that the therapist would work around her underwear.

She expected to be naked, and immediately threw off her bright yellow sundress – to the shocked horror of Mantak Chia. He threw the dress back at her and told her to cover up as the audience howled with laughter.

Other than that, the demo went without incident.

There are many who consider Mantak Chia to be a fraud. That what he teaches isn’t really Tao.

Rashmi, my classical Tantra teacher, is one of them.

He’s also come up with his own version of Qigong. Most of the Thai locals don’t know who he is. He caters to a well-to-do Western audience.

Dean, the New Zealander owner/manager of the guesthouse where I landed knew who Mantak Chia was, and knew Tao Garden is where I was coming from because Kip told him, and asked me about it when I got there.

“I’ve heard some strange stories about that Tao Garden and Mantak Chia, something about him getting people to drink their own piss.”

Well, he didn’t go quite that far with my group.

But he did make a suggestion.

Gold and white light are the colors a couple draws in and exchanges in the peaks of sexual ecstasy and orgasm – or something to that effect.

He happened to mention that non-alcoholic beer and urine were the perfect gold color to take in that magic color, and that people have been known to drink their urine…

What some people will do for a harder hard-on and stronger orgasms…who knows?

Aaannnddd…wouldn’t it be something if Mantak Chia was having us on, seeing just how far he could push a bunch of stupid Westerners to follow his crazy lead?

He always looks like he’s about to laugh…so maybe?

Either way, the man has written and co-authored a gazillion books on his take on the Tao and Qigong, as well as made as many videos.

So if he’s full of shit, he’s gone to a lot of trouble to prove his point and make it truth.

And a lot of people have benefitted from his teachings and methods. So perhaps everything, even ancient spiritual and healing systems in a state of constant flux, changing with the times and as needs arise and shift?

Yet Mantak Chia treats his staff like shit, and it is obvious women are there for a man’s pleasure and other needs.

His current girlfriend is at least 40 years younger than he is. He blatantly and unabashedly owns the excessive privilege and sexism of a man from his time and place, as well as stature since he has risen far in his life and career.

His house was on the property, and it’s a beast of a mansion.

The man runs a tight ship, I’ll give him that. There’s reason this is called the Tantric Shitshow - none of that crap from his Tao half.

As far as Sierra’s mission to get the Tao and Tantra dinosaurs to “change their language to be more queer-inclusive,” Mantak Chia made his nod.

He mentioned in one of his lectures that gay and lesbian clients could also use these practices to gain more chi and improve their sex lives.

Other than that, he did not give a damn about changing a thing about how he expressed himself.

Since we were on his turf, tough shit if nobody liked it.

His lesson-plan was extremely male-centric. Whenever he was supposed to focus on female sexuality, he always slipped into…

“And the penis and the testicles…

Also, his talks were interspersed with the dirty-old-man chortle.

You know that sound that’s a hybrid of “hee hee hee,” and “huh, huh, huh?” (Maybe it is hue, hue, hue?) That’s what he sounded like.

One thing that was helpful was that he taught through repetition. So after a while, I started to get it. Every morning, even if we didn’t make it to his Qigong class, he started the same exercises repeated the same things over and over.

We’d circle our pelvises in each direction and then take it to smaller circles to move the sacrum. Simple exercise, but that worked.

It was awesome for low back pain, btw.

“Now squee (squeeze) your anus, squee (squeeze) up, up, up…” He would lift his hand up to indicate sending the chi up to our brains.

“If a man has his sacrum stuck, that affects his penis and he can’t screw…(insert dirty-old-man chortle here)…so spiral from your sacrum.”

“If the lady doesn’t work with her jade egg and tighten her wagina, the king would throw that concubine out! (Insert dirty-old-man chortle here)…”

“If you want more chi, more energy in your sexual organs, play with your nipples and connect with your prostate, and ladies, connect with your mysterious gate and your uterus. Lift your sexual organs, and men, don’t forget to squee your testicles. (Insert dirty-old-man chortle here)…”

Honestly, the only queer (queer as in bizarre, not queer as in gay) aspect to his lessons was the room full of people squeezing their nipples, while the men grabbed their junk.

And my personal favorite? The lesson in the soft entry, hard retreat – and that is exactly what it sounds like it is. Part of that lesson was his advice that it was crucial for the woman to come first. But even that was about the men.

“Men, it is very important for the lady to ejaculate first. Because when lady orgasms, her wagina becomes so warm and juicy, and the penis is like, OOOHHH…and immediately grows hard.”

Granted, I probably didn’t get his words exactly right, but this is close enough.

I think that’s enough for now.

I’ve been in Laos for a few days, and I absolutely LOVE IT here! I’ll write more on that later. But this place is just gorgeous!

Peace,

Mana

The Quixotic Quest of the Great Queer Hope II - Tantric Shitshow, Part 1

Image by ktphotography from Pixabay

Hey y’all,

[The beginning of this letter is the blog right after this one.]

I thought: “What the hell. I’ve never been to Thailand, and what better way to celebrate my freedom after ending a stifling, oppressive relationship than to go to SE Asia and start that journey with a Tantra adventure.”

So I signed right up.

This is the part where I should have done some research.

From the information I found online, the Masters – Mantak Chia (Tao) and Charles Muir (Tantra) - seemed really male, really straight, and much older than you would expect. Mantak Chia is 75 or 76, and Charles Muir just turned 73.

In other words, these men were of a different generation who never had to consider LGBTQ inclusiveness. Hell, they never even had to consider women – queer or straight – beyond making sure they had orgasms.

There was also no mention of Dr. Sierra Levy or a space for Queer Tantra in the description.

This would have been a good time to ask those questions. But I didn’t. And again, that’s on me.

So I get here.

This workshop was on Mantak Chia’s turf of Tao Garden Health Spa and Resort outside Chiang Mai. The grounds are lush and beautiful, there are yin/yang symbols everywhere, and there are all kinds of eastern healing modalities offered in the clinic and in the spa, some of which you can’t find anywhere else in the world, and it seems he keeps making up new treatments.

The environment there is far more Taoist than Tantric, but that’s ok. As complex as Taoist sexuality is, I learned just enough from Mantak Chia that I’m interested and curious to learn more - even if he was prone to saying “wagina” instead of “vagina,” especially when tired and his accent got so thick I hardly understood him. But I preferred his “wagina” to the excessive “yoni” talk that happened during Charles Muir’s lessons.

We’re not Hindu. Yoni coming out of an American mouth sounds pretentious. So pretty please, with sugar on top, call our bits the sacred cunt already. It’s more honest, not to mention sexier.

I finally ran into Sierra, who said she didn’t know how many people had signed up who were queer. Kind of odd for the head of queer tantra.

She said she had put the word out on Facebook and “other groups,” so maybe some would show up. She had heard there were “a few queers” here.

She also said that there would be an announcement drawing attention to her as the queer pod leader, and that’s how we would find each other.

People came to this workshop from all over the world - some couples, but mostly singles - of all ages and sizes, many between mid-twenties to early forties, and most seemed straight.

Although I suspect there were several bisexual women here, most of them were from Europe, a place where discretion is the better part of valor. From my experience, European lesbians/bisexuals are perfectly content to hide in plain sight.

And when you’re in a workshop that’s very patriarchal in its outlook, that’s probably a better way to be.

Oh, and both of the “Masters” in this Workshop on blissful, ecstatic love had a harem mentality when it came to women.

All this became more obvious every day.

So does this sound like the kind of Tantra workshop a queer woman would feel awesome in?

Umm….yeah…not. Dr. Sierra Levy did not tell me any of this.

Once I got here, Sierra told me a lot more. This was a biannual workshop – the 4th, and rumored to be the last “Masters.” She had been here for the 2nd and 3rd workshop, and said that both times had totally sucked.

“It’s so heterosexist,” she said. “I’m here to give support, and to make this a safe space for queers to be. The Masters need to evolve and change their language.”

And Sierra was here to make that happen.

She didn’t tell me any of that either when I had met her.

She had a particular hard-on for Charles Muir, the Master of Neo-Tantra.

Sierra had taken his course in California several years ago. When it came time for the men and women to separate to learn about yoni (cunt, goddammit!) and lingam (you mean cock?) massage, she piped up that she preferred to massage yonis .(cunts!)

Sierra insisted she’d rather join the men and Charles Muir refused to let her do it. He said she could buy his books and videos on how to massage the yoni.

(How about divine pussy? That has a nice ring.)

But Sierra Levy could not join the men.

“Well, what if I pack? Could I join the men then?” Sierra told me she asked him. “Charles Muir didn’t even know what I was talking about.”

Well, no. Why would he? Never mind the generational difference, most men who are mighty comfortable in their male privilege don’t take the time to learn the ways and verbiage of queer women.

Anyway, Dr. Sierra Levy, naturopath and acupuncturist has been pissed off at Charles Muir ever since.

Who knows how long she’s been a thorn in his side? She was determined to get him to evolve, and change his language to spill his secrets to a queer audience.

“I would rather die than change my language!” Charles Muir protested.

What’s mystifying to me is how many times she has taken his workshops. Again, this was her 3rd out of 4 Meeting of the Masters Workshop. And that doesn’t include the California workshop she took several years ago.

For what it’s worth, Sierra has a kind heart and I think she meant well. And to give credit where it’s due, the Sierra’s of this world do their part to bring about social change. They squawk long and loud, and eventually people have to listen, even if they only do so in the hope they’ll shut up.

Which she didn’t.

However, I did not knowingly or willingly sign up to be a part of her Quixotic Quest as the Great Queer Hope in the world of Neo-Tantra and Sexual Tao.

Oh, and by the way, she lacked the skills to be supportive to the one and only queer who showed up on her recommendation, much less be this stellar hero of the Great Queer Hope.

This was one of those scenarios where somebody wants to be a part of something so they can feel important and special, not for what they have to give to others.

If you’ve read this far, this is only the beginning.

Peace,

Mana

PS: Click HERE if you’d like to read the beginning of this letter.

The Quixotic Quest of the Great Queer Hope I - Tantric Shitshow Part 1

Image by KiraHundeDog from Pixabay

Hey y’all,

Well, that was a disaster.

I love being open. I love the results of being open most of the time. It’s a state that makes life more interesting, and jumping into the unknown has landed me in some spectacular places and experiences.

But every so often, I would be wise to exercise the caution of taking a closer look of what I’m jumping into.

And this Masters Workshop Tao Meets Tantra, with Sierra Levy (no – excuse me, I mean Doctor Sierra Levy, naturopath and acupuncturist), allegedly as the head of Queer Tantra was definitely one of those times.

I should have researched.

I should have asked questions. I should have asked a lot of questions.

But I didn’t, and that’s on me.

To get y’all up to speed, I left the Masters Workshop on Sunday, while it ends today, Wednesday. I came to Pai with Kip on Monday.

Right now, I’m sitting in a lovely little café on a dirt road with a lovely view of a small farm between this café and the place where Kip and I are staying in our respective mud huts.

Roosters are crowing, birds are chirping, the morning sun is bright, and it’s not too hot yet.

Photo by me.

Oh, and there’s a white Buddha statue on the hill above us.

There are lots of Buddhas on hills around here, and lots of temples.

I have this gorgeous little cappuccino set up in front of me, with a tiny cup of flower water on a small wooden tray, with a wooden spoon to stir as much brown sugar as I desire into my cappuccino.

In other words, I’m good, life is good, and I’m in a good place.

Photo by me.

I’ve also had some time to process long enough to find the humor in what I just left behind.

It’s fabulous when everything goes smoothly in life and travel, but the really good stories come from conflict and chaos, when everything goes to hell and all the drama that ensues.

So please excuse the length of this email. For those who want to dive with me, it will take several letters to tell all this in digestible chunks.

On that note, back to the shitshow and how I landed in it.

I met Sierra last summer at the first Cascadia Tantra Festival on the Olympic Peninsula. I almost didn’t go. I had finally gotten back in my house and I was exhausted. But the guest coordinator convinced me to come, insisted this would be so healing and nourishing after a breakup.

So I rallied and went.

This was one of those times when jumping off the cliff into the unknown was a gorgeous idea.

Five weeks after my split with Morgen, I was numb. The healing from the CTF was desperately needed. At the end of those few days, I was able to feel again, without feeling horrible. And to give credit where it’s due, Sierra Levy had been a part of that.

Sierra and I were 2 of 3 queer women there. The 3rd, Grace Bryant from Seattle, was one of the presenters and her 2 workshops – “Deconstructing Gender Identity” and “Non-Binary Tantra” - left little doubt as to what she was about and what she had to offer in this workshop.

On the last day of CTF, Sierra and I had paired up for an exercise in letting go through sending some love to those who had hurt us and who we hadn’t forgiven.

Sierra said: “I don’t need to do this. I’ve already done my work, but I can hold space while you release. I’m in bliss about 97% of the time.”

Looking back, that statement right there was a red flag.

But I went with the flow. In the exercise, we sat across from each other and held hands – left palm up and right palm down, left hand receives and right hand gives to make a circuit between us.

It was intense.

Energy coursed through me as tears streamed down my face.

I let go of so much shit inside of sorrow and the sorrow inside of shit about Morgen and her daughter, Yseult. Then they flowed out, and Robert (my late brother) and Keckley (his ex-wife) came in, and then my older brothers, then my parents, and I think you get the idea.

A powerful release like that is vulnerable and sets up a lot of trust.

After this exercise, Sierra and I continued talking, and agreeably lamented the lack of queer women who were also interested in studying Tantra. She then told me about this intensive Workshop in Thailand, and to spread the word to other queers who I thought might be interested.

“I’m heading up Queer Tantra,” so said Sierra, “and I want as many of us there as possible. There are only about 20 spaces left.”

“Are you teaching classes?” I asked.

“Maybe. My role hasn’t been fully defined yet.”

She friended me on Facebook and sent me the link. I kind of had a picture of her playing a role similar to what Grace Bryant had at this one.

I thought: “What the hell. I’ve never been to Thailand, and what better way to celebrate my freedom after ending a stifling, oppressive relationship than to go to SE Asia and start that journey with a Tantra adventure.”

So I signed right up.

This is the part where I should have done some research.

To be continued…

Peace,

Mana

The Rush of the Crush

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

I hadn’t felt like that in so long.

Do you know the magic? I hope you do.

The thrill of elation lit up every part of me, as the warm radiance flushed from the depths, rising to the surface to emerge and be seen. The luscious softness refused the resistance of armor. There was no place for my feelings to hide.

Then our eyes met.

The agony of vulnerability grew sweet. I saw the luminosity of the smitten reflected back to me from the woman who had just inspired my delirium. Her face glowed and her smile opened.

That kind of radiance can never be faked — the gorgeous, pure rawness of “I like you, Like You, LIKE YOU! OH HELL YEAH!”

So my crush liked me too.

It has been forever since the last time those floodgates had opened.

I couldn’t believe it.

I had ended my engagement only 4 months before. The last thing I expected was an experience of that kind of butterfly twitterpation. It caught me off guard.

Not that I’m complaining because, you know…how can anybody complain about something so delicious?

“I can’t believe you feel that way over somebody else already!” One friend declared.

“Didn’t you ever feel that way about your ex?” Another asked.

Well yes and no.

In the beginning, there was chemistry. Of course there was because new relationship energy has always been euphoric.

But my ex-partner never swooned me through the virtue of being herself. Her touch was felt where it landed. But a stroke of my arm didn’t make me giddy and trill anywhere else, much less everywhere.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons we didn’t work out?

But the rush of this recent crush took my breath away on that unexpected day. It juiced me up. I was riding high - turned on and on fire. The sensation was exquisite.

Yet they call these things “crushes” for a reason.

Mainly because the stars are not aligned for something to actually happen with that scrumptious flood of feelings and possibilities.

Things are “complicated,” as they say. New romance and passion are not likely at this time, because there are obstacles in the way.

It already kind of hurts.

I’m painfully aware that although I don’t miss my ex-partner, I do miss relationship. I miss contact. I miss closeness. I miss waking up next to somebody.

I miss touch. I miss it a lot. Physical touch is my dominant love language, after all.

So the temptation of an old, destructive habit is ever present. It’d be so easy to fall into a fantasy of what-might-have-been-if-only, or the-hot-pursuit-of-trying-to-make-something-happen.

I hear the siren call of yearning. I can feel it in my gut, in my sinews, and even in my bones.

I’m so tempted to obsess, to want, and to long for this would-be beloved who is beyond my reach. The urge is almost irresistible. I want to stretch and bridge the chasm between us with my passion.

But I know where that path goes.

I know because I’ve done this before. I have chased the unavailable, only to fall into the abyss of misery, unbearable loneliness, abandoned dignity, and the regret of lost time.

Not to mention the regret of wasting something beautiful for what it actually was.

The rush of the crush intoxicated and invigorated me. With my blood flooded with heat, I came back to life.

I’m grateful this happened.

What a gorgeous reminder of all that is possible in the Realm of Love. That excitement and vibrant life force are exactly how I want to feel at the start of my next relationship.

Then the thought occurred to me that perhaps I’ve been a little touch-starved.

I had been sleeping and waking up alone for a few months, after all. I probably needed some tender, loving self-care.

So I went for a massage.

When the LMT asked me what areas to work on, I shook my head.

“I don’t need you to work on my tight spots. I’m here because I need to be touched.”

He nodded in understanding.

His touch was solid and dependable. Although did not give me a rush of twitterpation butterflies, it soothed and relaxed me.

After a half hour or so, the art of massage worked its magic. I melted into the sensation of parasympathetic ease, of oxytocin and other yummy endorphins.

The marvelous I left with was not the same as a hot new lover.

But the massage helped. It helped a lot.