Misperceptions, Memes and The Case of ‘What Tantric Dakini’s Actually Do’

The Tantric Dakini. As sacred sexuality bubbles to the surface of modern erotic culture and more woman chose the path of spiritual sex work in the name of the divine, this catch phrase is beginning to make Backpage headlines and viral Facebook memes.

(( LEARN WHAT REALLY HAPPENS DURING A TANTRIC MASSAGE HERE ))

Calling oneself a “Tantric Dakini” is a badge of honor worn by women who work as sensual healers and muses in the Western sacred sexuality industry. She practices meditation, breath work and yoga inspired from ancient spiritual cultures with a New Age twist. Images of Shiva and Shakti are plastered on her walls like pop star idols. She purrs through her daily practice of pelvic curls and wiggles during Vipassana to adjust her jade egg situated up her vaginal canal. There is a glow about her because her kundalini flows effortlessly during yab yum and on the dance floor. She is a sexy yogini, dedicated to her path of reclaiming divine pleasure through the art of conscious loving and has been known to chant Sanskrit mantras when she orgasms.

There are plenty of FBSM courses you can take to be trained and certified as a Tantric Dakini in a matter of a weekend, IF you have a thousand dollars or so stashed under your bed (she prefers to call her bed an “alter to love”). But no training, guru, text book or thousand dollar piece of certified paperwork can transform you into a Dakini over night.

The Dakini is a force that resides deep in her soul memory begging to come out. When she goes to her first Tantric Puja at the yoga studio in Marin and stands eye to eye with a creepy grey haired man who is breathing onion mouth in her face something wakes up inside her precious yoni heart. She remembers. She sees this man as an embodiment of God Himself. She loves him unconditionally. Her eyes brim with tears, places her hand over his heart chakra and blesses him with her presence and holy love. He starts convulsing, hears angels singing in his ears and falls to the floor on his knees kissing her feet.

The trademarked practices the Western Tantra teacher is offering in the workshop gives voice to what she has naturally been doing all her life. Consciously moving energy with her breath, healing those around her with her touch and embracing the grace of divinity itself at the peak of orgasm as kundalini sparkles shoot out the top of her head when she comes, even though no clothes came off. Over time she guided her male lovers and consorts on how to hold his seed, make love to her for hours on end without ejaculating, and helped him find that sacred spot inside her pussy temple that when massaged just right makes her squirt all over the bed…soaking it.

She has an epiphany one day. She has found her gift. Her purpose in this world. She quits her job as a waitress, sets up a massage table in her dining room, lights some candles and incense and hangs her virtual shingle on the prostitution website message board as a Tantric Dakini for hire. Full body sensual massage is her cover, but once the client walks through the door he is in for a surprise. He is about to be touched by a Goddess.

Finally she has found a vocation that will pay the bills and allow her to eat out at raw food restaurants on a daily basis. But no matter how proud she may be of her new line of work most people don’t understand it. She teams up with a small group of other Dakini’s for support, but when she mentions the “T” word in public she gets tarred and feathered. She is faced with misperceptions, judgements, name calling, and frustrating assumptions. Everyone wants to know what a Tantric Dakini actually does…

What my friends think I do…

My friends think that I spend my time at all girl Tantric orgies with neutered man servants as we gorge ourselves on amirta cocktails.

What my mom thinks I do…

My mom still thinks that I am a yoga instructor working at an all girl therapeutic massage studio. She doesn’t understand why I work the night shift.

What society thinks I do…

Sex work, no matter how much new age spiritual fluff we try to dress it up with, is still sex work.

What my clients think I do…

Clients assume I will dress up like Cleopatra for a game of role playing, do anal, feed him grapes from my cleavage and allow him to “worship my Goddessness” with his tongue.

What I think I do…

A picture speaks a thousand words. This is my intention at least.

What I actually do…

Get up at 8am to post ads on the internet, tweak my text and get frustrated that another massage ho stole my tagline but is charging half as much, sit by the phone for thirteen hours a day waiting for calls to come in, lay around in my pajamas wasting my time on Facebook making silly meme photos in Keynote, read the Dakini Chronicles for shits and giggles, and once I finally decide to hit up Cafe Gratitude for lunch and am walking out the door a client calls and wants to see me in five minutes because he is waiting down the street and needs to get back to work for a meeting so I rush back inside, work my magic, blow his mind, educate him about non-ejaculatory orgasms, provide a happy ending anyways, ring my Tibetan singing bowls, kiss him on his brow, usher him out the door and decide to have Thai food delivered so I can spend the rest of the day in my pajamas on Facebook so I don’t miss another call.

Well, now you know the truth. Don’t assume all Tantric Dakini’s are like this. It’s simply how it worked for me.

xox ~Miss Scarlet

 

GET THE 411 ON TANTRIC MASSAGE, BODYRUBS AND FBSM HEALING HERE IN MY TELL-ALL GUIDEBOOK: A GENTLEMAN’S ETIQUETTE GUIDE TO SENSUAL MASSAGE!

 

 

Introduction to the Dakini Chronicles

The Dakini Chronicles: Enlightening Adventures of an Erotic Masseuse

By Scarlet Amor

Well, first off you should know the state of Dakini-dom in this modern world:

This is a secret diary.

(Do the math.)

We are moving closer to cultural maturity around accepting the oldest profession on earth. But until the day comes when I will not get burned at the stake for my work, I will have to keep my identity secret.

I will have to hide my excellent profession from my parents and most friends. I will continue to hesitate and tell a shifty mysterious story when people ask me what I do for a living. Or why I am going to the city again. Or whats up with those sexy pictures you accidentally saw on my hard drive last night. Or why I have two phones and only answer the red one in the bathroom.

But my story will be shared loud and clear regardless. Because it needs to be heard. Because we all can grow from clearing our judgements and stigmas around our sexuality. Me too. I still have my own issues. And I am willing to be completely transparent about my “stuff” behind the veil of this blog. Allow it to enlighten you.

Thats the true purpose of a “Dakini” anyways. To inspire transformation. To transfer ancient wisdom through the grace of her dance. To receive the records of the Universe through her eyes. To be healed and renewed by her loving touch. To be skyrocketed into infinity and back by her sexual essence. To discover who you truly are in her divine reflection.

She is a sky dancer, a visitor from the stars, taking residence in a human vessel from time to time on Earth. She is cosmic, baby. Her purpose is to inspire transformation in her seekers. Here for just a moment, and then suddenly…she flies away.

And you will never be the same.

I am not a prostitute. I am not a whore. Although some will judge me as that.

I am a sensual healer. I am a tantric masseuse. I am a sexual phenomenon. I am your wet dream and your savior. I am your guide into bliss. I am your friend unconditional. I am your true love.

I am Miss Scarlet.

And YOU, dear one, have just opened up the pages of my most secret diary.

Welcome to The Dakini Chronicles.

xox ~miss scarlet

www.FBSM-Etiquette.com 

 

Horny Dakini’s, Masturbation and The Case of “The Celibate Love Affair With My Angel”

I’m on call at the office and am totally exhausted after rocking out three sessions this morning. I decide to curl up on the luscious sofa upstairs in the waiting room while the other girls are working down below. I drift into a lucid state, not really sleep as I am still anxious to answer the phone and jump right into Dakini mode if I get a call. But I have my eyes closed, my mind drifting as erotic lucid dream visions start tossing and turning in my head.

[[ GET THE 411 ON BODY RUBS AND TANTRA MASSAGE HERE ]]

Its the Beloved, of course, my Angel Lover. He is laying next to me, wanting to make love. I can feel his arms around me, caressing me, gyrating his crotch into my back, kissing me on the neck, telling me how much he loves me. I smile and breathe the energy in, allowing the dream to pull up my vibration and my mood shifts. What is that uncomfortable sensation down there?

Oh my God. I’m horny!

Its not a superficial horny, or a raw sexual primal I need to fuck something now kind of horny. It seems to be coming from deep inside my soul. I can feel my yoni pulsating with life force, my clitoris standing erect, but when I reach down there and put my hand in my underwear my pussy feels sort of bland. I’m not turned on sexually, I feel no arousal to my touch, I’m dry down there, but the Shakti is rising, the energy of my passion, deep within my second chakra.

Half asleep, just holding my hand on the outside of my pussy, I dive into my breath work and starting pulling the energy up, sending ripples of shivers all over my skin and can feel my body temperature immediately rise. I squeeze my Kegals, pumping the kundalini up my spine and my breath gets heavier. Just at that moment, I can hear the client downstairs release. I hope I am not making too much noise?

I can’t remember the last time I masturbated. I haven’t had a private space in months, and my vibrator is in storage, so it just hasn’t really happened for me. Fucking myself with a vibrator just leaves me horny and disgruntled, not relieved. Even when I do it in the most sacred way. I have a big blue rubber cock I call “My Shiva”. I smudge it with incense, bow to it and honor it like a God, and then I put it inside of me while chanting mantras as I watch myself in the mirror. Tantric Masturbation.

But I wouldn’t call what I am doing right now as “masturbation.” I have no desire to stimulate myself sexually. Yet here is this very vivid image flashing in and out of my lucid mind of a beautiful man making love to me. The energy gets so intense that I need to take a break, drawing the Shakti up and then grounding it into the earth so I can rest in the plateau. I let one finger slide into my folds and I am dripping wet. I haven’t felt THAT in a while.

I wonder if I am getting frigid? I have tons of sensual energy, but I have been avoiding every and all situations where my sexual desires might get stirred outside the Temple. I guess you could say I’ve been celibate, more due to circumstance since I don’t have a real lover and I work sixty hours a week as a Dakini. I’m all about moving the energy. Any urge to get fucked for the sake of fucking is the last thing on my mind after yanking strangers off all day and then feeling sad that there is no one special lover for me.

My issue has been one of longing for a dream. My perfect mate. A fantasy.

And its not even that I am saving myself for my True Love, which is a story I have been telling myself. I am saving myself for myself. I am savoring the practice of keeping my kundalini contained, allowing it to move through my dance, my heart, my touch, my voice, but not through my primal sexuality.

I want to share this with someone special, not another one night stand. I know I really could use a good roll around, in terms of simply releasing all the sexual energy pent up in there, but that is not what my soul needs. This woman needs to be made love to, by a purified man, with the highest intentions in a sacred container of divine love. But that, my friend, is all but a dream.

So I make love energetically with my Angel and keep it at that.

I hear my Temple Sister get out of session so I pull myself together, feeling a bit more energized after that Tantric quickie with myself. When she comes back upstairs I ask how her session was.

“I’m so damn horny!” she responds.

Isn’t that ironic? My Temple Sister has just started a month long vow to celibacy as part of a Tantra training she is taking with a teacher here in the city. For one week she is not allowed to touch herself at all, or move the energy, let alone have sex with anyone else. Then for the next three weeks, she can only touch herself while reciting a mantra. She’s on a sexual fast, which apparently is not very amusing to her new lover in town.

I guess I am celibate too, but it is not a vow, or an ultimatum. Its more about waiting for the right timing, and the right lover. I have no desire to make any vows against making love with myself, but manual masturbation just ain’t doing it for me anymore.

I’m all about the intimacy, the love, the passion, moving the energy, playing with Kundalini. And all of that can be done with clothes on. I feel my Angel slowly slip out of me. He kisses me on my neck which sends shivers down my spine. I guess I will continue to keep this love affair secret for now. Because in the meantime there is another client to serve. Celibate or not, my Shakti needs to get rolling.

xox ~miss scarlet

http://FBSM-Etiquette.com

 

BDSM, Sexual Healing and The Case of “I Fell In Love Once He Cuffed Me”

“Get down on your knees,” he says.

His eyes were commanding yet full of fire and adoration. It wasn’t a request. He was so grounded and assured of his power that I could only blush in response. Hesitating for a moment I wasn’t sure what to do. It seemed silly, a command that normally would be reprimanding, yet the way he said it I somehow felt honored. I knew that once I knelt in the spot he was pointing at on the hard wood floor facing the wall I would no longer have a say in how our night was going to proceed.

It was our third date, if you can believe it. We met on an online dating site, the only man I chose to respond to because it just felt “right”. Upon our first meeting we spoke casually about sexuality over an expensive brunch, me mentioning my work as a Tantrica for the past six years, he mentioning his interest in BDSM. At the time I gave him my rant that I have no interest in the dark arts or to play fake bedroom games pretending to be beaten by my lover. It was a turn off to me, although I admitted that I have yet to fully dive into that world so my judgements are jaded. On our second date we had our first kiss and he mentioned it again. I didn’t take it seriously.

Yet somewhere in the back of my mind I was intrigued. I give all the time as a Dakini. I hold impeccable space and adamant boundaries. I serve with only their pleasure in mind. And I get to call the shots. When my clients are on the table I am in complete control. Subtle domination I guess, yet without bondage. I am a Dominatrix of Divine Love.

But deep down inside I crave a lover who I can trust to top me, so I can surrender, so I can receive. A man like that is hard to come by.

Here we are two weeks later after our first date and he is punishing me for standing him up last night. Rightfully so. We made plans to spend the weekend together, drive up to his house on Friday evening to “hang out” and “get to know each other” before an all day adventure he had sketched out for us on Saturday. But a work call came in, it had been slow all week and I desperately needed the money so I made a fateful choice to postpone our date until the morning. I needed to rake in $300 to pay my overdue bills. And I felt like we were moving too fast. I didn’t think it would phase him much. I was wrong.

With a nervous smile I submitted to him and took the position.

“My time is valuable,” his voice boomed behind me. “I felt disrespected that you cancelled two hours before we were to meet. You are lucky that I am forgiving.” I heard the sound of chains rattling and the soft thud on leather on the couch. Before I could open my mouth to respond he bent down to my ear and said, “Take off your dress.”

I had planned ahead for this moment, wearing some sexy lace black panties and a matching bra. I thought he was kidding around on the phone about giving me a spanking but I prepared nonetheless. I figured he’d just put me over his knee. Once I made it over to his house that afternoon he was calm and casual and didn’t mention anything about it until now.

I was tingling with excitement as I pulled my black cotton dress off over my head and laid it on the floor next to me. I felt humbled as he walked around the apartment in his heavy leather boots making it loud and clear who is the boss in this situation. This wasn’t a game. He had every right to punish me. I know had done him wrong and this was my way of making it up to him.

“Put your hands on the wall and bend over.”

I did as he said. Somehow my ass craved his steady hand, longing for his touch. But instead he kept me waiting as I heard more metal and heavy items shuffling around behind me. The anticipation was torturous, my muscles tensing up as his boots circled around and then stood silent about a foot from my shaking tail. I could feel him sizing me up. My pussy started convulsing.

Breathe, Scarlet. Remember your practice. Just breathe.

There was so much energy in the room it was tangible. I kept waiting for that sweet sting on my bum that I desperately deserved but he just stood there. I wanted to resist. I wanted to turn around and hug his knees and beg for forgiveness. Everything was shifting inside of me.

The built up resentments in my mind about all the men who have fucked me over, stood me up, canceled our dates at the last minute, left me hanging without an apology…it simply left with my breath. The old story I was hanging onto didn’t make any sense anymore. I had no excuse to do what I did last night. I was a douchebag for not honoring this man’s time.

The layers peeled off, one by one, like pages of a heavy book I’ve carried around all my life regarding “the men that let me down.” When I broke our date last night I had felt self-righteous. Now I am feeling the agony of waiting for retribution. It is as if the loving force of his hand will clear all the anger and resentments from the past in one clear stoke. And now I have to wait for it.

I didn’t feel ashamed. I felt empowered.

He waited until my last sigh was so heavy that I nearly collapsed. All the energy that has been stuck in my gut faded. I felt empty yet full of longing. Twenty years of therapy is nothing compared to this moment. The power was back in my hands, sweaty against the bare wall.

“Thats a good girl,” he says. Without mentioning anything of my process it was as if he felt my release. Sticking my ass back up in the air I took another breath in, my chin held high, and presented myself to him. But still he made me wait. There was another layer coming to the surface, one I thought I had let go of years ago.

Flashes of my childhood abuser came into my mind, of how he’d make me take this position with belt in hand after he forced me to strip down naked in front of him. Although I was only twelve years old he was my Dom. Punishment by him was belligerent, heavy handed, tinged with verbal abuse and inappropriate kinky innuendoes. He raped me of my power. I never considered that we had a BDSM relationship until this moment. No wonder I was always closed off to this world.

The realization made me laugh. Another key to my healing unlocked. I get it now. Fucking A, I am finally free.

That was when my date smacked me across the ass with so much love it made me squeal with joy. It resonated across my flesh and made my pussy tremble. The burning sensation on my skin was exquisite.

“Thank you,” was all I could say.

He grabbed me by my chin. “Thank you, WHAT?!” He had complete control over me. This man could strangle me if he wanted to, but the force of his hand that now slipped down to my throat felt comforting and safe.

Regardless, I didn’t want to say it. He clenched my neck tighter and smacked me on the ass again. My pussy was dripping at this point but I couldn’t move. There was a frog stuck in my throat, years of not being able to tell my secrets without getting in trouble welled up inside of me. I knew that once I spoke his name that old spell would be broken forever.

“Thank you….sir.”

I felt uncomfortable saying it. I had reached my edge. I felt like a little girl and started to contract. Without a moment’s hesitation, he released my throat, bent over and kissed me so tenderly on my cheek that I nearly cried. His love for me was astounding, as was his sharp intuition that I started losing my power of surrender. Turning my face towards him I finally was able to look him in the eye. All I could see was love, tenderness, respect and complete confidence. His gentle kiss sealed the deal.

“Stand up and put your hands behind your back.”

As he slipped the leather cuffs onto my wrists I knew that I had finally found my man.

xox ~miss scarlet

http://FBSM-Etiquette.com

 

Boundaries, Hot Clients and the Case of “The Kiss That Pushed the Dakini Over the Edge”

It’s 11pm in New York City. The front door buzzer rang and I was able to catch the image of the dude slipping through the door before I could ring him in. Oh my, THAT guy! The cute Harvard boy. My heart starts racing and suddenly I am nervous. Its funny that I am more comfortable seeing a complete stranger than working with a repeat client, especially the one that I remember having quite the crush on last time he saw me here earlier this winter. He was the only client who’s phone number I couldn’t find, and the only one that jumped to see me as soon as I returned. Funny that. My palms are sweating. What in the world am I going to do once he arrives?

Blush. I blushed when I opened the door. Dear lord, he is really REALLY cute. I remember everything about our session in a flash, not details, more of the essence of what it felt like to lay on top of him, the warmth of his skin, the instant friendship I felt when he was last here. He was nervous too, in the typical New York City rush into the door. “Hi,” was all he could say. We just stood there looking at each other, me holding his hand, staring into each others eyes. “You look different, Scarlet.” I raise an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know what it is. More tan? Different haircut?” I feel a bit uncomfortable as he checks me out. This time he blushes, “and even more beautiful than I remembered.” I hug him. We are both really nervous. Its kinda cute.

We sit on the bed to talk and catch up for a while. He’s my age, maybe even a bit younger, seductively charming in his shyness, and I just want to kiss him right then and there. My personal heart is getting in the way, the one that wants to take it slow and just get to know this fellow, hold hands and walk around New York City together. But I snap out of it and remember why he is here. He hired me for a 90 minute Tantric massage. This is a client. I send him into the shower to switch gears before I accidentally fall into his arms and lose my momentum all together.

But my heart nearly leapt out of my chest when he came out in the towel with his perfect body and that irresistible smile. He did a quick turn around to leave the towel in the bathroom giving me a flash view of his butt. Dear Lord, I am in trouble! Stay focused, Scarlet! Stay centered. This isn’t personal, remember? He hired you for your love. I get him to sit with me yab yum on the table and our bodies melt into a hug. There is this unexplainable electricity in between us. I am feeling more comfortable now but his nervousness is adorable and I’m instantly turned on. It was too intense to look each other in the eye. In a minute he was putty, slowly breathing off the layers, opening his heart to me. “I’m so glad you are back,” he says. “I missed you baby.”

Whenever I did get him to look me in the eye he’d get almost defensive. “What.” he’d say. “What does that look mean?” I get this all the time, not just from clients but from men in general. I shine my love light, I adore them, I love them unconditionally, I have not a thought in my head, and they always squirm and question me like I have some secret trick up my sleeve. They don’t trust me, and it hurts. Why does my love have to be received like this every time? I’m just loving them, plain and simple. Why do they squirm? Is there a single man in the world that is confident and open hearted enough to receive me and not make me feel like there is something wrong with my love light?

I flip my guy over and get him on the table, nearly gasping at the pallet I have to work on, and his perfect ass. He didn’t want to lay down at first, saying that just hugging me was all he really needed, although I know he wanted to kiss me too. Thats why I got him to lay down, so the temptation is not there, because for some reason I want to make out with this guy as if my heart depended on it. Is is okay to work out my personal needs with a client? Is it imperative that I keep my guard up and my boundaries firm and my personal heart shut down so I can serve him properly, like a professional? He’s paying me $300 an hour. Thats a lot of money. My loving touch is valuable.

So I laid it on him. I kissed his body all over as I rubbed him. I licked his ear. I pulled his arm over the table and put his hand in between my thighs and kissed his elbow with the utmost love and tenderness. I lay on top of his body and melted into him. It was ecstasy, for both of us. Pure romance. If this was my boyfriend there really wouldn’t be much difference in the energy I was sharing. It was real, authentic, I absolutely adore this guy. He felt it too, reaching out for my hand to hold, never grabbing at me, just absorbing my grace. I was enjoying the experience through and through. I love my job.

I took my time, our session was about over, but I was in no rush. I finally asked him to flip over face up and jumped on top of him immediately. Normally I stand back and let them adjust for a moment, but with him I couldn’t resist leaping into his open embrace. He looked into my eyes. I melted. His arms felt like heaven wrapped around me. I put my hand on his cheek, caressing his face, getting lost in his eyes. And then I did something I rarely do, without even thinking about it, going against all my professional standards. It was irresistible. I leaned in and answered his unspoken prayer. I kissed him.

It was all over after that.

You see, there is a good reason why I don’t kiss my clients. Its pretty standard industry wide that lip to lip contact is off limits, at least in FBSM. First off, most of my clients are unattractive and I am not into them in that way. Plus you have no idea where this strangers mouth has been. And quite frankly most of these guys suck at kissing. All forceful tongue in the back of the throat, no soft inner lip that makes your thighs quiver. Its a super intimate gesture in my world. Sure, I give strangers sensual massage for a living, sure I can hug them and gaze into their eyes and assist them in their orgasms, but swapping saliva? A no go. A kiss is personal, not professional.

I’m a cuddle slut, a kundalini junkie, wired to share my love with the world, but in the long run I am a total prude. A kiss is like sharing pieces of our souls, swishing our tender insides together and swapping DNA stories. A real kiss renders me unguarded, weak in the knees, totally submissive, if its a good one. A man can win me over completely if he does it right. I have to admit I am a damn good kisser, full of passion, uninhibited love, I can make a man hard in his pants within seconds with my lips against his and crack open his heart into infinity. I don’t mess with that power with clients. It can really make them confused and fall in love with me instantly.

This time, it worked the other way around.

I was gaga for this guy. I pulled back for a split second, wondering if this is appropriate, knowing that if we continue I can pretty much guarantee what will happen next. But it felt so good. He felt good. From a therapists point of view, we obviously both need this for our healing. I’m not in the Temple anymore. I don’t need to hold my boundaries for the sake of the other girls. This is MY space, my heart, its my call. I need a lover before I completely lose my shit, especially if I am going to rock New York with non-stop Dakini action. Its time to fill my cup. Dear lord, what should I do?

Open your eyes. Say YES, Scarlet. Its okay.

I gave in. Our kisses melded us together. It was soft, sensual, full of love and tenderness. My god, its been weeks since I kissed a man, months since I made love to anyone. Our bodies fit together like perfect lovers, as if we were made for each other. All control I had over the situation melted away. Eventually he rolled on top of me and took the lead and I was grateful for this. I completely surrendered to the magnificence of his lips, the striking presence of his eyes, the simplicity of holding hands. Our session was over in my opinion. Finally I caught my breath and said to him, “we are off the books now darling, just so you know.”

It killed the energy for a second, but I had to say it. I wanted him to understand that this was not part of my services. That I was no longer in control of the situation. That he had full power to step up as a man, as my lover, and woo me. This feeling of sweet surrender in the arms of a man I intuitively trust was just what my heart needed, what I have been longing for all along. Its exhausting holding space and playing power games on the massage table with my business. I want to be in a mans arms that I can melt into, a man big enough to hold me energetically. It wasn’t that he was macho or anything, I just trusted in his love. My cup was instantly full.

Things started getting hot and heavy after that. His cock was in between us, sliding on my wet thigh, our lips inseparable. We made out for quite a while, he respectfully holding strong to our mutual boundaries, but our bodies undoubtably wanted to make love. We never said it out loud, but we both knew what we wanted. Eventually he suggested that we move onto the bed on the other side of the room. “Thats dangerous,” I say. He laughs, “Is it more dangerous than being on this table three feet off the ground? Lets get comfortable baby.” Another split second of hesitation. If we go on the bed we will surely have sex. I try to override the passion and ask my heart what is best in this moment.

Say yes, Scarlet. The Beloved is right here.

I want to. We are already making love energetically and he is so damn sweet with me. Yes, I want this. I pull back for a moment so our brains can have a moment to think and not be absorbed in the utter bliss of our loins wanting to merge. “A few questions,” I say to him. He smiles. “Do you have a girlfriend or anyone special in your life that would be hurt if she knew this happened?” He appears broken hearted for a moment then looks me straight in the eye, honest and true. “No, I mean I use to, but we broke up a few months ago. I work ten hours a day. We, I…just lost interest.” I question him with a raised eyebrow and he continues. “I know this may sound strange, but I’ve been changing inside, very quickly. I guess you could say I am evolving and she wasn’t. Suddenly I released that I wasn’t in love with her, so what was the point?” He’s spilling his guts here. Its just as intimate as the sex.

“I of all people can understand what you mean about evolving. Thats what I do for a living, I assist in people’s evolution.” He squeezes my hand. I really love this guy. “And you?” he asks. “Ha, no boyfriend.” I cant look him in the eye when I say this, mostly because I don’t want him to see my pain and have to process about that issue. “You already know my biggest secret, what I do for a living, but again it rarely ever gets personal like this with my clients. I give, give, give everyday, and I need this, this kind of loving, to refill my cup.” He nods his head, “Yeah, me too, at work, I give non-stop. Thats why I come to you.” I am uncomfortable and blushing. “Look,” I tell him, opening up more, “you are the first guy I’ve made out with in over a month, and, well, I haven’t been made love to in a long time.” He lifts my chin, looks at me in the eye and kisses me, deep and lovingly.

“It would be my honor, Scarlet.”

Well, what would you do in my situation?

xox ~miss scarlet

http://FBSM-Etiquette.com

 

Shamanic Healing, Tantric Angels and the Case of “The Hunchback Who Smelled Like Pee”

When he called to set up the appointment I could sense there was something odd about this guy. I was antsy as I was preparing the room for session but wasn’t exactly sure why. My creep radar is pretty tuned in, he didn’t feel unsafe over the phone, but something kept me on edge. Regardless I went through the routine, put on a fancy dress, did my make-up and hair as if I was getting ready for a sexy date and said my prayers. When he called to say he was outside my stomach turned over. I’m usually not nervous like this. I’m glad my girlfriend is in the other room in case something goes wrong.

The moment he walked in the door I knew this Tantra session would not go as planned. The man was physically deformed, waddling into the room. I nearly gagged, trying my best to hide my disappointment at his appearance. I’ve only seen shit like this in horror movies. Dude’s rib cage was blown out of proportion, like a huge birdcage dangling from his neck. He looked like a hunchback, completely tilted to one side, drool and all. The color of his skin was grey and pasty with thin scraps of hair sadly hanging on his misshapen head. The worst part was that he smelled like an old age home and stale urine. And to top it off he informs me right away that his prostate had been removed along with one of his testicles. I could tell that he was very diseased energetically.

It was difficult not to cringe when I embraced him, not just from the immediate eye-watering stench, but from the overwhelming grief and shame that he carried in his energy field. Of course, he was very nervous, his voice shaky and anxious and we greeted one another. It is obvious he had not received intimate touch for a long time, which was why he had the habit of hiring a woman to massage his body and provide some of his basic human sensual needs. For a moment my whole body wanted to shut down and send him out the door, there was no way I could get juicy with this guy, my ego complained, but the Shaman in me took pity and moved into a state of compassion. I send him to the shower and hand him a robe.

Deeeeeeeep breath, Scarlet. You can do this. Stay in your heart.

When he gets on the massage table I had completely shifted my energy from sexy Dakini masseuse to Shamaness mother lover. I start with some energy work and immediately tap into his pain body-WOAH! This is where my skills come in. I notice this man’s energy has a tendency to vampire, or project his hungry needy energy onto others and drain them of their own life force. With my shields in place, I redirect the energy by channeling deep love and compassion in the other direction by feeding him consciously with the love of the Goddess and not from my own sources. I call in my own angels and guides. Then I call for archangel back up forces. This will require a team effort.

Once the circuit began to shift, a curious thing happened. Standing near the top end of the massage table, above his head, is a young woman in a gossamer gown and soft wings, singing some sort of lullaby. Usually, when a Guide shows up they come in as a simple flash of light or more likely a sensation in my mind’s eye that they are present, but this one was almost completely materialized! And for a moment she didn’t even recognize that I was looking straight at her, she just sat beside this man, singing sweetly and stoking what used to be his hair.

Not sure if this was a ghost or not, and trying not to break the relaxed trance my client was in, telepathically I greeted her. She was a bit surprised herself, speaking to me in my mind that no one notices her, not even him. She continues to tell me that she has been with him since he was a child, and what a lonely life this poor soul has lived, and how sad she was that he thought he was abandoned and alone when all this time she has been by his side relentlessly. The whole room was filled with light.

Following my intuition, I told her I could speak for her and portray a message to her human with their permission. Seeing her nod enthusiastically, I went up to the top of the table where she was standing and petted his hair as she was doing and whispered in his ear. I told him his angel was here, I explained how beautiful she was, I told him details of his life and all the times she was by his side, I told him how much she loved him. He was frozen, listening, the air full of electricity. Then I got the message to get up on the table and lay by his side.

I wrapped my arms around him and spooned his misshapen body like lovers would when going to sleep. Throughout this experience he had been dead silent and very still, almost not breathing yet hyper alert. When I first laid by his body he physically contracted, so I asked his angel if she would lay with me, holding him at the same time. Immediately he relaxed and curled up into a fetal position. Opening up to her love for him, I sang a lullaby in his ear and caressed his hair. I held and rocked him and put my hand on his heart until suddenly he broke down and started sobbing.

The love and compassion that flowed through my being was truly a miracle. Tears were streaming down my face as we cried and laughed together, the angel, the client and I. She was just as overjoyed that he acknowledged her love and presence for the first time, as was he. And I, the Dakini that had stepped aside to witness and allow this whole phenomenon happen, was absolutely blown away. Their love was astounding.

It was obvious to me at this point that I was not going to move into any erotic work. Its not that I was chickening out, it just didn’t feel like the right thing to do for his own healing and enlightenment. Well, okay, truthfully I was also relieved that I wouldn’t have to touch the little wilted thing under his strange mutant torso that smelled like old man. What this hunchback needed was a big dose of divine love, not a hand job.

We just lay on the table the rest of the time, sandwiching him between his imaginary angel and I. When it was time to wrap it up I charged him with a homework assignment. That every night he was to go to bed and surround himself with pillows and imagine that his angel was laying behind him as I was on the massage table. I told him that his angel agreed to do this practice with him every night and would meet him there (in fact, this was her suggestion in the first place!). I suggested that he call back the memory of my presence with him in our session if it was too far out to imagine some etheric angel besides him, as my physical presence served as a bridge for his experience. I said to not hold onto the fantasy of me, his Dakini, but the image and energy of his angel, that is the real source of energy and love he was feeling. She is a reflection of himself!

When he got off the table he looked like a completely different person; his aura was light and shiny and he stood taller and more straight. He did not even question the fact that he never received a massage from me or sexual touch, but instead put an extra $100 bill on the altar, kissed me on the cheek and literally bounced out the door with his angel trailing behind him like two young lovers in the springtime.

These are the moments when I am assured I am a true Dakini healer and not just a sacred whore. It did leave me to ponder though, how the other girls would have dealt with the “Hunchback Who Smelled Like Pee”?

xox ~miss scarlet

http://FBSM-Etiquette.com

 

Fat Guys, Tantric Hero Sessions and the Case of “The Six-Hour Dakini Burnout”

Its one of those days when the work phones are ringing off the hook. You never know when business will be booming or when you will have to sit around for twelve hours straight waiting for dead-end calls. Yesterday I was full of energy, watched the other girls get booked non-stop, but not a single caller wanted to see me. Today I am PMS-ing, hungry and not in the mood to work but I am already on client number three, pacing around by the front door with my head spinning from not having a second to spare for lunch, or dinner, waiting for him to arrive. The problem is all of my clients have been booked back to back with only enough time to change the sheets and my underwear before the next one shows up.

Finally I see him through the curtain covering the front door to our apartment. He’s obese and breathing hard, an Asian dude in jeans and a baggy T-shirt. I open the door quietly and put my finger to my lips, asking him to keep his voice down. He’s obviously pissed he just had to climb four flights of stairs to get here because the elevator is under repair. I’m burnt out and don’t like the guys energy. I really needed a shower and a break to gain my resolve. But here we are, in the room again, asking for his ID before diving into our 60-minute Tantra session, the third one in a row after two 90-minute bangers. When I check it, there is a different name than what he gave over the phone.

“I’m sorry, but this is not the name you told me yesterday during our interview. Its protocol here for our clients to give us your legal name so I feel safe having you in my private space.” I’m not in a good mood today. I’d be fine sending this guy out the door. He shifts his heavy weight from foot to foot. “I’m married. I didn’t want to give it to you.” Hmmmm. I vibe him out. As frustrated as we both are, he checks out energetically. I decide to let him in.

“Okay, Bob, but I am trusting your will be kind and respectful to me during our session, okay?” I see a ray of compassion in his eyes. This man really needs some loving. “Of course, Scarlet. I want to be here with you.” He reaches out and touches my arm with sincerity. This guy is okay. But damn, he sure is…large. Time to call in my Dakini super powers.

Tantric Hero Session is on.

The office is low on linens so all I had was a small bath towel for him. Poor guy steps out of the shower with the rag barely covering him. His body is huge, ugly and embarrassing. I’m not sure how I will get him on the table with me. He says he has a bad back as he waddles over to the massage table. The table creeks when he gets on, me stepping off to make room and help him up and attempt to swing his legs over on each side. Wowzers, he is a very big man, and frankly very unattractive. I climb back up and sit with my legs draping over each of his, barely able to wrap them around his large torso. We talk a bit, asking him why he wanted to come in and experience Tantra.

“I’ve seen another woman several times before. I like the intimacy. I came to her to learn how to please a woman.” Oh, one of those. He’s referring to a “Goddess Session” where he gets to touch me as I train him on how to get me off. No thank you dude. I rarely do those kind of sessions anyways, and only if I think the guy is really hot and I’m particularly horny. Serving this fat guy is pure sacred service.

The more we talk I realize he is one of those guys that thinks he’s a Tantra expert because he’s seen a few providers. Dudes breath is shallow and strained. I drop in, asking him to follow my breathing technique, but he physically cant take a deep breath in. Dude knows nothing about Tantra, or moving energy, or the practice. Still, I go through the motions, teaching him where to hold me on my back so his hands are resting over my second and fourth charkas. I guide him through a visualization of moving the energy for his sex up to his heart and let it expand through his auric field on the exhale. I tune into his energy field. He doesn’t get it.

I feel his belly chakra is totally blocked. I ask where his back pain in, knowing its in the middle of his back, and he confirms this. I look him in the eye. “Ah, your power center. Have you been giving your power away to anyone sweetheart? This area feels blocked.” He frowns. “No, I just eat too much.” I feel compassion for him, so much that tears are welling up. My Shaman voice comes through. “And does this disempower you? When you eat too much?” I feel him soften. I got him. He doesn’t respond.

“Tantra can be incorporated into every aspect of your life,” I say, my energy perking up once I drop into teacher mode. “It is the path of indulgence and pleasure, finding your center and connection to Source within the practice of enjoyment.” He makes a comment, sounding confused, because he thought Tantra was only about sex. My tantric super hero powers amp up. I feel a breakthrough coming on.

“Consider this. Next time you eat some food (I mimic picking up a big juicy hamburger), take your time to enjoy the pleasure of eating. Look at your food, smell it, let your mouth water. Savor the flavors. Breathe it in. As you eat, say to yourself, ‘This food is good for me. This food nourishes me. This food is delicious.'”

I take a bite out of my imaginary burger and moan with pleasure, taking a deep breath in and squirm with Shakti shivers. He starts getting hard and grabs at me, but I really want him to get the download first. “What makes us ill is our ill thoughts, not the food you put in.” He looks at me with an eyebrow raised. “Of course, your choice in nourishment does make a difference, but the point is to enjoy it, and not beat yourself up over it.” He nods his head and ponders this. I can feel it sink in.

I decide to get him on the table for the massage. This is awkward as he can barely move. I finally get him situated and drop into the work, loving up the folds of his flesh, moving the energy through my body and into his. I work on his middle back, which is tender and sore to the touch. I lay on top of him, not doing the slide, but just resting my body on top of his and grounding my energy, nurturing, loving. He squirms under me. My weight is too much on his back. Its spasming. I get off and ask him to flip over. Lets get this done with.

But he can’t move. His back is thrown out. I’d need a forklift to get this man off the table. I give him space as he painfully slides off and lands on the floor with a thump. I put a pillow at the top of the table and suggest he lay down on his back. “I don’t think I can,” he says, looking uncomfortable with his face screwed up in pain. He tries to sit on the table, which is a bit too high for him. He tries to get back on his belly but cant lift his leg up. He tries to sit on the edge again, awkwardly, with his feel dangling over the side of the table. “I think this is the best I can do.”

I stand in front of him and continue to caress and hug. He looks at me and says matter of fact, “Sooo, am I going to get a lingham massage now?” Wow, okay dude. Lets just get straight to business then. But I’m not digging the situation we are in. “Like this, with you standing right here?” I’m uncomfortable with this position, it feels cheap. He’s embarrassed. “Its the best I can do. Is that okay with you?” No, but I’ll do it anyways. I’m a Tantric Hero.

I try to find to it, lifting up rolls of flesh, but cannot easily find access his little cock under his huge belly. I lay a sheet on the floor and bring my oil and towels next to us, awkwardly rubbing his body. It feels weird to kneel down in front of him and give him a hand job. I can barely grab ahold of his small penis hidden under his flab, but he’s into it, moaning, giving me some “oh yeah baby’s”. At one point I look at our shadows cast on the wall by the candlelight. I can see my figure kneeling and my arm going up and down. I contract.

Remember Scarlet, this is sacred.

Thankfully he comes in a few minutes, right onto the floor, luckily on top of the sheet. I put my hand on his heart and breathe for a moment. “That was beautiful. Thank you for sharing your ecstasy with me.” I clean up with the hand towel. When I stand, I realize he is stuck on the table. He cant move. He has to hold onto me and clumsily thumps onto the floor. If the dude fell on top of me he would have crunched my ribs or broken a bone, but luckily he caught his fall. I feel for him, poor guy. How awkward to be so fat and uncomfortable in his body. He thanks me and takes another shower as I replace the linens. I’m done for the night. That was enough.

I nearly collapse after I close the door behind him. I don’t say hi to the girls upstairs but go straight back to the room to clean up and take a well needed shower. I want to cry, and I do. I was in session for six hours straight. SIX HOURS! With not a moment to breathe. This is not honoring to my being. I am completely drained. My body is shaking. I need a hug, and a tall glass of wine, and a cigarette. Its 7pm and I am suppose to work until 10. Fuck this, I am not going to do it. I pack up my things and put it back out in the hallway. I’m done. D-O-N-E. Done.

This work requires my limitless energy and selfless service. The problem is when I don’t serve my own needs first I become drained to my core. And I need my core full in situations like with this dude. No matter what, when I am in service to these men, I rise above my exhaustion and give them my all. Yet now I have nothing for myself except this stack of cash and the hope that I somehow changed these men’s lives for the better.

Even super heros need a vacation, but the fat man always comes first.

xox ~miss scarlet

http://FBSM-Etiquette.com

 

Shame, Cock Worship and the Case of the “Ten Minute Marathon Jack Off”

The client was five minutes late so I called him to see what was up. He wasn’t friendly on the phone, sounding frustrated that I was bothering to check up on him and said tactlessly that he was parking. I didn’t have a warm fuzzy feeling about this guy, but he did have the password so at least I know one of the other girls has worked on him before and never blacklisted him. Thankfully my energy is strong right now so if he ends up being a energy vampire, a horny grabber or have weird vibes I am capable of navigating it without losing my center.

He knocks loudly at the door and rushes inside before I can completely check him out. I stop him from running into the healing room by asking him take off his shoes in the hallway so I can have a moment to get a reading on him. He’s tall, in his mid-twenties, and cute, but his energy is off, something uncomfortable about his vibes. When I bring him into the room he doesn’t look me in the eye as he throws a wad of crumpled cash on the alter and starts taking off his pants without even saying hello. I wonder if this is how guys act when they go see a hooker for a blow job? Thats how it intuitively feels. But I have no shame for what I do so it didn’t throw me off.

It’s his shame, not mine.

I take control of the situation and try to give him a hug, asking him to slow down and talk with me for a bit. His eyes dart back and forth, avoiding my intense unavoidable gaze, stumbling over his words. I’m under the impression that this guy feels guilty about being here and doesn’t respect that he has entered sacred Temple space. When I realized that my divine love was not wooing him, I sent him into the bathroom for his own sake, not mine. I sigh heavily after I close the door and change the music. At least its just for an hour massage so I wont have to interact with him much. I’ll keep him face down for as long as possible.

He comes out naked, wringing his hands, not sure what to do with himself. I invite him onto the table and he squirms as I attempt to guide him through a relaxing meditation by gently speaking into his ear and breathing audibly for him. I move into the bodywork but he keeps fidgeting, adjusting the face cradle, readjusting his cock underneath him, shifting positions of his arms every few minutes. I wasn’t until I laid on top of him and really dropped the energy into his body that he started to relax. At one point I finally got a response from him that I even existed, feeling him squeeze my hand with acknowledgement during a full body hug. I continued to pour my juice into him and loved him up before finally flipping him over.

He had been hard the whole time apparently. Once it was obvious I was going to work on his wand he got fidgety and uncomfortable again. Instead of pulling a sexy sexy vibe I tried a different approach. I sat in between his legs and started playing with his wand with curiosity and reverence. I bowed down to him and put the head of his penis onto my third eye and om’ed. I told him how beautiful it was and that his cock held so much power. It was a beautiful cock, the perfect size, strong in its erection, straight and standing tall. I was authentic in my joy of playing with it and honoring his manhood. This is the healing this guy really needs. To know that his cock and his sexual energy is sacred.

He was enjoying it but was also taken aback. Finally he started talking, completely dropping the energy I had been building up between us. “Whats so funny?” he asks, referring to my innocent squeals of pleasure from the feeling of his wand in my hand. “Nothing is funny dear, I am just enjoying myself. Is that okay?” He looks confused. “What, are you really getting off on this? Do you want me to get you off too?” I stop rubbing his shaft for a moment and look him seriously in the eye. “This is my practice, darling. I honor the man in you. Your cock is beautiful. Trust me, I’ve seen a lot of them. Please sit back and enjoy yourself. This is all for you.”

He did sit back and closed his eyes but he didn’t seem to be enjoying himself. After five long minutes he still hadn’t built up to climax and time was running out so I started putting the sexy on. I jerked this guy off for ten minutes straight, my hands cramping, my wrists getting sore, and still no orgasm. Its hard work, believe me, stroking someone vigorously for that long without stopping. Finally I gave up and started rubbing his belly and his legs and he opened up one eye and looked at me.

“What, thats it?”

Are you kidding me dude? “Look sweetheart, we’ve been at this for a while. Maybe you can help me?” I motioned my eyes toward his privates. He was pissed, blew out a frustrating sigh, grabbed is cock and started jacking off. I paid close attention to how he was holding himself, the speed of his strokes, how he keep his hand at the top of the head and never switched positions. The boy was now growing limp. This is so not sexy.

I sat there with nothing to do as he tried to cum, but he was getting no where. I wanted this guy out the door. I felt I needed to model an orgasm for him, to raise the energy, so I started pinching my own nipples and gyrated my crotch into his perineum, charging up the Shakti. As soon as I got the kundalini rolling he came, but he didn’t have an orgasm, and he was obviously horribly disappointed. I passed him a wash cloth to wipe the cum off his own hand and tried to lift the vibe by sweetly massaging his heart, but he pushed my hand away. “I just want to get into the shower and go,” he said.

Okay man, whatever you say. It’s your guilt, not mine.

It was sad to see him leave so frustrated. His own psychological put downs kept him from getting off, even though I bet he blamed it on me in his head. He would have been better off with a hooker, but I hope that my love made an impact on him. He’s probably never had anyone respect his penis like that before. Regardless, he will never transform until he discovers how to love himself and respect his own sexuality. I cannot do that for him. All I can do is model love and show him the way. When all was said and done, I must admit, it felt good to take a long shower and wash his judgments off of me.

xox ~miss scarlet

http://FBSM-Etiquette.com

 

Tantric Virgins, Non-ejaculatory Orgasms and the Case of “Thanks but can I still have a release?”

My Temple Sister and I met up for brunch this morning. We answered calls while we ate and talked shop and drank smoothies at the cafe trying to be inconspicuous with our clients over the phone. By noon I already had three sessions booked. Rushing back to the office we both dive into our rooms and start getting ready for the Friday run. I have fifteen minutes to get showered and ready for my ninety minute Tantra client. After six years I’ve gotten pretty good at this.

Depok is a “virgin”, or a new comer to the erotic arts industry. He’s never had a sensual massage before, let alone studied Tantra with a Dakini. He’s handsome, Indian, and appears to be about my age with a dapper London accent. I’m gaga for British accents. This one has instantly won me over. These newbies have no idea what to do with the customary formalities in the beginning, so I narrate our whole exchange with a flight stewardess’ charm. Depok is very nervous, which I think is very cute, blushing at me when our brown eyes meet. He’s not here with a raging hard on thinking that he might get to get it on in our session like some of the guys on their first time in. This man really has no idea what he is in store for, but I can sense his intentions to study the art of sacred loving is true. This lights me up.

I am honored to be his guide, to gently place his hands on my knees while we sit cross-legged together on the massage table. We have dialogue about my practice of Tantra and how he can incorporate this experience immediately into his life. Here I get to gently guide Depok into an embrace of which he nervously accepts, still not sure how he feels to suddenly be this close to a woman he just met. I always feel more open to sharing intimacy with my clients when they don’t just grab and go for my titties without asking permission. This guy was nervous to even hold my hand sitting here nearly naked, me in my silk robe and lace g-string and he with a towel wrapped around his waist.

Once we drop into breathing together, check to check instead of eye to eye, he relaxes into it and starts feeling his sexual energy rise. Some people really freak out when I make them engage with my direct eye contact. When I look into their soul they cannot hide. He takes my guidance well at this point, which allows me to really get on a roll with the downloads about moving sexual energy with breath and having rip roaring orgasms without ever spilling their seed. I am still flabbergasted that 4/5 men who come to me for Tantra sessions never even heard of the idea of non-ejaculatory orgasms.

Depok takes onto moving Tantric energy naturally. Once I get him face down on the table, he continues to breath through the entire massage. When my clients embrace the breathwork I teach them at the beginning of the session, combined with my magical touch, eyes closed in their own world on the table, they move into a trance state. I could feel him dropping deeper and deeper into the energy, which inspired me offer more and more love and presence to my touch.

It got to the point where when I lightly brushed my fingers near his genital zone he would naturally take a deep breath in and pull the energy up into his upper chakra centers, exhaling with ecstasy, without any guidance. I flipped him over, could have used a spatula he was so tender and relaxed. He engaged my eyes as I continued to breathe audibly so he would follow my suggestive flow of energy. His eyes were brimming with awe.

I ask permission if I can touch his sex. Its time for the moment they all wait for. “Yes, thank you,” he says, “I’m ready.” His voice was so soft, so sweet, whispering as if he was afraid if he spoke any longer it would break the magic.

For a moment we were both holding our breath. The tension in the air was audible and excited. I climb down to the end of the table, in between the length of his legs, and bend over into devotion pose. I am bowing to his lingham, his holy wand of light, the staff of Shiva, his beautiful dark cock laying on his belly hidden under the foreskin. He looks like a God to me.

I take in a deep breath of reverence to the divine masculine, praying through this man on the table. And here comes my true gift. I surrender my energy into divine love, the kind of energy you would feel when totally in love with someone special. A force outside of myself comes through in these moments. It is pure divine grace, ecstasy, surrendering into bliss. I can feel the divine feminine christ consciousness energy running through me. Its my spiritual practice.

There’s no better way I can explain it. After being raised as a Catholic I became a New Ager and now a Tantric. I hope you follow my language. I’m attempting to describe the indescribable here.

I am bowing down in between his legs and consciously radiating this life force energy into his being, charging him up. He is breathing this in, convulsing with delicious kundalini shivers. He gets it. He received the transmission. I am speaking in tongues at this point, the serpent language, channeling ancient prayers from times beyond time. The more he opens to the energy the stronger it gets. This is Tantra in action. Our hearts are open in ecstasy.

I move slowly and lay my hands ever so gently on his slightly limp cock. He was having full body orgasmic jolts simply laying there on the table and he wasn’t even hard. It wasn’t about the sex. Its about the fluid energy exchange. His cock felt divine in my hands as I was channeling reiki energy into his wand. It started to grow hard, pulsating in my hand.

Then something amazing happened. After working his wand for nearly five minutes, this newbie had a full on Tantric non-ejaculatory orgasm. He came without coming and still had a massive erection. And now, unfortunately, our time was about up. In special situations like this session, where my client is making so much progress, and I enjoy their energy, I don’t let clocks or money stand in the way of prolonging the session beyond his purchased time. But I have client number two coming in twenty minutes. This was a crucial moment. In ninety minutes Depok reached a goal that most men take months working with me to attain. Yet he was really confused because he still felt like he needed to come.

I asked him to tune in and take note of how his energy and body felt in this moment. He described it to me: “Super charged with vitality, awake, aware, empowered, tingly, intoxicated… and still horny.” He was ashamed by the last observation. This is what happens when you recirculate and retain the sexual chi that is normally lost during ejaculation, you feel pumped up instead of drained. Unfortunately men are so deeply programed that they must ejaculate to feel relieved at the end of a sexual encounter that Depok couldn’t face walking out of our session with all this sexual chi on board. Embarrassed, he asked for a release.

I wanted to give him one more chance to reconsider, explaining how he can utilize this energy and channel it into his work, his joy, his art, his relationships. Here is my instant Tantric superstar student and he wants to throw his education away. I did not judge him for his decision to come before he left, I know what it feels like to walk around all day with a hard on and unquenchable arousal. Honoring his request I proceeded to do the deed.

In two minutes he ejaculated in my hand and we both witnessed his energy drain like a flat tire with a quick leak. But he was relaxed, and relieved. There was a deep sadness I could see in his eyes after he came. I assured him that he did fantastic and I would love to see him again. Depok is now officially initiated into the Temple. He was authentically grateful for my time and energy on the way out the door.

I never did see Depok again. But at least I got to pop his Tantric cherry.

xox ~miss scarlet

http://FBSM-Etiquette.com