Looking Forward

Looking Forward – The future is a mystery.  Sometimes it can be scary, especially if you have a goal without a clear plan of how you’re going to bring it to fruition.  Especially today, with limited skills in the world of online marketing, I’m not usually looking too far ahead. 

Sometimes when I look forward to June 27^th, (that’s my launch date to make my book a best seller) I get apprehensive.  To calm that apprehension I remind myself that the past is gone and cannot be changed. Just accept it and move on.  There’s no use going back, so mulling over it forever and a day isn’t going to change the facts. 

The future, however, is unknown.   Rather than limit its possibility, I’ll put my request in to the universe for my heart’s desire.  Then, instead of fretting that it may not go my way, I’ll allow the events to unfold in the most glorious manner, better than I could have ever imagined.  This has happened to me several times in my life.  I trust to go with the flow and what’s best happens.  That’s the only way that I’ll look forward.

Since the only thing we can control and create is our present moment, it is important to remain mindful.  It is in this mindfulness that we sow positive seeds to the fruits we’ll bear tomorrow.  If you don’t believe that thoughts create reality, you are at the mercy of attracting all the things you fear and doubt. 

Fear causes us to have doubt as to our abilities to create something.  For many, it is enough to never dream dreams because of a belief that the dream could never happen.  If you have nothing in mind, that’s what you’ll get.  If reality is nothing more than an arbitrary roll of the cosmic dice for you, then surely they’ll be trouble..  But ask any of the sages in ‘The Secret’, or Eckert Tolle, or Deepak Chopra, or Wayne Dyer or any other spiritual teacher today and each will emphasize how our present belief creates what will transpire in the future.  If you are present in it, not regretting the past or fearful of the future, you can’t go wrong.    If you remain grateful for whatever you have, you can’t go wrong. 

When you can visualize what happiness looks like in your life, visualize it clearly, ask for it, and then fully expect that it’s as good as yours.  It’s just a matter of time.  Can you be patient?  Can you live in faith that what you’ve asked for is as good as yours?  If you doubt your dreams, then you’re planting doubt.  If you act and live as if they already exist, the universe will provide the opportunity. 

This very moment is all we have.  If you choose to plant seeds, plant with loving attention.  By making every moment mindful, healthy, and prosperous, looking ahead isn’t so scary.  But if you’re living unconsciously, eating unconsciously, wasting time unconsciously, the future will greet you with repercussions and natural outcomes based on natural laws.  It’s nothing personal, it’s just natural laws exerting themselves.   

We’re all on life’s path, together and collectively.  As you flow down the river of life, bumping into the banks of pleasure and pain, remember not to linger too long in either.  Excess, even in pleasure, nullifies pleasure. 

When you know what you want, ask yourself, which is the most direct way to get from point A to point B?  Most would say a straight line.  Walk it as best you can.  Despite the distractions of family obligations and concerns, not to mention a plethora of mental and health restrictions, keep your eyes on the prize.  Then even if you’re constantly being pulled off your path, you know that looking forward is the only way to go. 

What’s the number for 911?

I met Patti C in Puerto Rico while celebrating my fortieth birthday.  My sister Cleo and I took advantage of Cleo’s airline discount for hotel accommodations and air fare and spent five glorious days swimming, sunning and checking out the sights.  We decided to go out and meet some locals on our last night there.  That’s when we met Patti.    She was playing pool with some of her cousins and their friends, and noticed our Jersey accents.  Being friendly sorts, we easily struck up a conversation.  Halfway through the evening, she found out that I did pleasure parties for a living.  Since I go to Staten Island, the party idea was born.  We exchanged phone numbers and agreed to set a date.

Usually going to Staten Island is quick and easy for me and this time was no exception.  Her apartment was a three flight ascent.  Carrying fifty pounds of product and paperwork, I remember being grateful that I exercise regularly.

As with most Hispanic hostesses, food was plentiful and offered before the presentation.  Spanish rice and beans, pork, salad and a few other ethnic goodies loaded the table in the living room.  It was obvious that she’d gone through a lot of effort and a great deal of expense.  I wanted to do my best to make sure that it was worth her while and successful for both of us.

For dessert, Pattie had offered white cake with mocha frosting and slivered almonds around its sides. With limited seating, most of the guests stood and ate while chatting about the other goodies in the room.  Hearty laughter and giggles galore abounded in that small apartment.  People were sucking in air left and right.  Yes  truly, anticipation was high.

I had finished setting up and was engaged in a conversation with Pattie.   She had been joking with me, her attention divided among her guests, me and the food she was eating.  Absent-mindedly, she took a mouthful of cake. With her next breath I saw panic in her eyes.  An almond sliver had gotten caught in her throat and she was choking.  Her body tensed, she dropped her plate and moved quickly away to get help from someone she knew.  With arms flailing, she rushed to the closest cousin who was so deeply engrossed in her own animated conversation that she actually waved Patti away as if she were fanning away a fly!

But Patti, determined to save herself, wouldn’t give up.  Stepping between her cousin and the woman she was talking to, she offered her back to her cousin so that her cousin would give her a few sharp raps between the shoulder blades to possibly dislodge the almond sliver.  One way or the other, she needed her cousin to realize her dilemma.  But no way!  Her cousin remained oblivious to the choking.

Still desperate for help, Patti ran to another relative.  I was watching the whole time.  Having seen how she had fared with the first relative, I shouted, “She’s choking!”  Everyone started freaking out.

“Oh, my God, someone help her!  Someone call 911!”  And yet another,

“What’s the number for 911?”  If I hadn’t heard it with my own two ears, I wouldn’t have believed it.  Yes, hysteria can make you miss the obvious.

This choking incident happened pretty fast, but I could see Patti was in a bad way.  I’ve never taken CPR so I’m not sure of any life saving procedures, but I know what the Heimlich maneuver looks like so I decided to try it on Patti.  Coming around from behind, I cupped my fists in her solar plexus, and pulled up and back.  Nothing happened; she was still choking.  I wanted to try again, but honestly, I was afraid I’d break her ribs.  After three or four medium-force unsuccessful thrusts upward, I stepped aside to allow her cousin jump in and take over. She wasn’t worried about breaking Patti’s ribs so within moments the slivered almond was expelled. Needless to say, Patti has sworn off ever eating slivered almonds again.

There are two morals to this story.  Number One:  Your breath is very important, so don’t get into the habit of taking it for granted.  And number two:  When you’re panicked, take a deep breath and dial 911!

Would You Grade Me As A Lover?

Two hostesses, Judy and Janine from South Amboy became fair weather friends when they’d purchased adjacent condominiums.  Looking more like blood relatives than mere neighbors, they decided their serendipitous relationship would create a fantastic pleasure party.  Together, they hosted a party with thirty-five guests.

As the guests arrived they found seating along the perimeter of two adjacent rooms, forming a U that stretched from the living room into the dining room and back.  I situated myself at the open end of this U so I could effectively see and be seen by everyone.  I find it very difficult to present with guests behind me.   Without eye contact they forget that they’re an audience.  Rather than paying attention to the speaker, they go off into their own conversations, which makes a very chaotic party.

Just beyond the dining room in the kitchen were two delightful male hotties in their mid-twenties creating alcoholic treats for the guests.  Wearing black shorts and bow ties a-la Chippendale Dancers, it was obvious that the alcohol wasn’t going to be the only thing that would make the ladies swoon.

With great panache, each drink was concocted quickly and with finesse.  It seemed that bartending was just one of their many talents.  So enticing were they that every woman, regardless of whether she was drinking or not, eventually made her way into the kitchen for more ‘ice’.

As we waited for more guests to arrive, I had a moment alone with the fellas in the kitchen to explain their role in the evening’s proceedings.  Usually men are not even present in the house when I’m doing a pleasure party so I wanted to make sure they knew what I expected from them so everyone would be happy.

First, I politely asked them not to venture into the party space during my presentation.  I felt sure their scant attire would stir up the volume.  They agreed that when any of the guests needed drinks, those guests would visit the kitchen.

Both hostesses were still busy greeting guests, introducing everyone and then escorting them into the kitchen for a drink and a look.  The guys were happy to be objects of sexual desire, as well as being part of a traditionally all female party.  While the guests were chatting, finding seats and getting settled, I made one more trip into the kitchen.

“Are you guys gay or straight?”  I was never one to mix words.  They heartily assured me they were both straight.

“Good for you”, I continued.  “Then this will be a unique opportunity to hear all kinds of information that men should know, coming from a woman who has no hidden agenda. If you want to learn, listen up.  You’ll hear things you never knew, wished you’d known, and won’t hear from anyone else.  You’ll hear it all unadulterated from a woman’s point of view–what women want and need to keep sex interesting and exciting.  Does that sound good?”

Both agreed they’d listen carefully.  I added, “If you have any questions, you can ask me afterwards.”

Once the presentation began it was loud and fun, but uneventful.  The guys stayed in the kitchen and because they were out of sight, their presence didn’t inhibit the guests from asking questions, making jokes or letting their hair down.

After the presentation the guests lined up to place orders.  The line snaked from the back end of the house to a dark stairwell in the front foyer where I was sitting.  With so many people in such tight quarters, there really was no other place to set up for private consultations.

I worked quickly to take their orders and to give each client my cousel she required but the stairwell was dark, and it was difficult to see.  I must’ve been taking orders for at least an hour or more.

Finally, after the last woman had placed her order, one of the cute bartenders approached me.  He was a well built, dark-haired Italian with Piscean bedroom eyes and a cool nonchalant approach.  He sauntered over and commented about my vast knowledge about sex.  I smiled coyly, wondering where this was going.  I had invited them to ask questions.  If he was actually going to take me up on my offer I had to give him Kudos for not letting his ego get in the way of his growth.

First he asked how I’d gotten into this business, then, where I’d gotten my sexual experience.  He was impressed with the many things I knew about sex.  I enjoyed answering his questions but ten minutes into our conversation it became obvious that he didn’t want to place an order, he just wanted to flirt.  I started to rise from the stairwell to head over to the dining room to start packing up.  I guess he must have felt that an opportunity was passing him by, so he abandoned his cool facade and blurted out, “I’d love to make love to you just to hear what you’d have to say about me as a lover.”   I couldn’t help but smile–he was so cute!  I was flattered by his offer, especially since I was at least 18 years older than he.  I delicately declined saying, “You’re very sweet and I’m awfully flattered, but no thanks, I’m happily married”.  Most people interpret “happily” to mean “I don’t screw around”.

His response, “Your husband would never know”.

“Yes, he would”, I said, “without me ever saying a word.  He reads me like an open book.  Plus, ever since I got married I’ve always maintained that my pussy won’t go where my heart isn’t.  I enjoyed casual sex before I got married.  Now it would be just too much of a risk that I’m not willing to take.”

I sighed as he shrugged and walked that beautiful, lean, youthful body back into the kitchen.  I have to admit I was very flattered and just a little tempted…

Listening to the Divine Feminine

The voice that speaks from deep within me is my divine feminine. She cautions me against excess and reveals my most calming thoughts and loving feelings. She encourages me to meditate, to stop, listen to the wind, the rustle of the trees, to gaze upon my herbs and thank them for their sustenance when I must end their life to continue mine. She reminds me to be grateful for the day, the meal, friendship, opportunity, love, and abundance.
Today she is my constant companion in this very yang world, protecting me from getting swept up in the violent paradigm of thinking that pervades our world–a place where intuition is not given any credence except for gurus and psychics, and where violence is the accepted norm.
Listening to the divine feminine is a practice. It is easy to dismiss her counsel because she is not about outwardly obvious success. She is peace within, nurturance, kindness and authenticity. Beaten out of millions of women called witches throughout history, she is like a small, innocent child, waiting patiently for the aggressor to leave so she can come out from her hiding place. Thousands of years of feminine persecution have left their mark on every woman alive today. For us to bring back the balance of yin to yang, we must let her guidance equally share in the decision making processes for our personal lives and for our planet.
Every day her guidance leads me to care for myself first and then those around me. This is the part of me that connects me to Mother Gaia. The wind is her breath, the trees her lungs, the oceans her blood, the rivers her tributaries. Together we work together to be in harmony. When I hang my laundry, it is the divine feminine taking care of the planet, utilizing natural resources to care for myself. I am being a good steward of the planet.
When I was younger I rebelled against listening to the divine feminine within me. A masculine zodiac sign in a masculine world of survival, I could not survive if I had shown any softness. It was necessary to allow the yang persona be the face I showed the world. Even today, I am still very much one of the boys, better possibly, but never less. To what they are entitled, so am I.
Recently though, I have realized that the divine feminine in me is the part of my existence that I resonate with. It is not aggressive, dominant or egomaniacal. It doesn’t participate in the world of manly rages, conquests and goals. It has recognized that we are all children of the same energy, and in that, all deserve the same love, kindness, generosity, and opportunity to continue life.

What’s she Doing Here

Chapter 8

At the undisputed legal age of twenty-six I began my career as a Pleasure Party Consultant. I was old enough to know some, but not too old to enjoy it. Most women who attend pleasure parties range in ages between mid-twenty up to mid-fifties, although there have been a few notable exceptions on both ends of the age spectrum.

When an elderly woman attends, say seventy or beyond, it’s kind of a kick for me to see their reaction to all of the stuff they’ve been missing. Their expressions range from shock to total denial. It saddens me a bit when I hear them say, “I don’t do that anymore”,or worse, “I don’t have to do that anymore.” It sounds like her sex life had been an awful chore, like mopping floors on hands and knees, or sticking hands into a dirty diaper pail. It’s never too late to enjoy sex, but for those who have given up because of a lifetime of disatisfaction, it can’t happen soon enough.

On the opposite end of the age spectrum are girls who have tried attending that looked sixteen, if they were a day.  In my early thirties, I started asking ages because I’m legally prohibited from talking about such things to minors, i.e., under eighteen.   I didn’t realize the gravity of showing such things to minors until it occurred to me that if minors weren’t allowed in Adult Book Stores, and my kit made my host’s home a miniature adult store, that I too should be prohibited from sharing with those who are too young.   I mean, if you start off your sex life with toys, where do you go from there?

The party that started this self-regulation was in Keansburg, N.J., an area where high ideals are in short supply.  My hostess was in her early twenties as were most of her guests, plus a few of their moms. One particularly enthusiastic guest looked extremely young. When I spotted her eagerly sitting in the corner of the room, I engaged her in polite pre-party chatter. I asked if this was her first Pleasure party, where she lived and then of course her age. She responded as matter-of-factly as if I’d asked for the color of her eyes, “sixteen”.
“Then you’ll have to leave”, I replied.  Almost immediately every guest in the room started defending her right to be there.
One stated reason:  “They teach more than this at school”.   I don’t know where that woman went to school, but no one ever taught me sexual technique in Health.

Other comments ranged from “Her mom knows she’s here”, to “If it’s ok with her mom, then it’s ok.” and my favorite, “You’d be surprised how much they already know”.   No one was holding me to a higher standard except for me. And if I continued this argument, I may as well have packed up and gone home because the crowd was getting ugly.

Although their arguments were not persuasive, after five minutes of debate I realized that continuing this protest would cost me the whole show. With great reservation, a very careful choice of words, and feeling an indescribable melancholy, I began my presentation. The sixteen year old was, of course, blown away by most of what I was saying and several times I commented, “I’m pretty sure they didn’t cover this in High School.”

Since Keansburg is a lower, middle-class town, the sales were less than average but that was understandable. What was not acceptable was the feeling I left with that I never wanted to feel again. Although I had been very careful not to reveal too much, I believe that a great disservice had been done to that sixteen year old that day. I hadn’t said anything wrong, or harmful, but I believe sexual knowledge should be learned in stages.  Master the basics before you go on to Mastery.

I believe as Sensuality Consultants we should always keep our audience’s ages in mind. Turning someone on to something that they’re too young to fully appreciate can have an irrevocable and negative impact on their appreciation of all things sexual. It’s never been a good idea to put the cart before the horse.

Since that party the only minors allowed at my parties are infants who don’t understand what I’m saying.  I confirm with the hostess in writing and during our telephone conversations that children are not allowed.   If she has fair warning, most inform their guests not to bring the kids.  If push comes to shove, I’d rather lose the entire show than negatively impact someone’s sex life.

Today it seems most women appreciate my professionalism and do their best to empty the house of all minors. I appreciate their efforts. In the long run, they’ll appreciate mine.

Hot and Bothered

Do you like getting hot and bothered?  Invite an exotic male dancer to your party.  If they’re any good at their craft, they create a sexual tension that is almost palatable.  The heat coming off those six pack abs and muscular shoulder caps ignites your sexual imagination. 

Pleasure Party hostesses believe their erotic sensuality can transport an everyday gathering into a night club atmosphere. Since you don’t know anyone and no one knows you, all your actions are more likely to be spontaneous because you are anonymous. 

In public venues, such as nightclubs and bars, you can’t get away with too much.  The bouncers will bounce your butt right out of there if you cross the line from appreciative patron to blatant molester. 

In private homes there are far fewer restrictions to how far you can go.  Because of that, both dancers and guests sometimes go further than is socially acceptable.  Although many hostesses believe male dancers will enhance the atmosphere, many times the opposite is true, mostly because the dancer has ulterior motives for accepting the offer to entertain.   Allow me to elaborate.

            I remember two parties where the dancers shared a lot more than the hostess bargained for.  One took place in a high rise in Brooklyn.  I didn’t know that his brand of entertainment was part of the evenings’ entertainment, so I was grateful for his tardiness. 

When he first arrived, he exuded sexual energy.  Wearing a black leather jacket, matching leather pants and vest, and a flimsy white shirt, you could only imagine ripping it off.  This man was on a mission to get everyone hot and bothered.  If he hadn’t been wearing all that leather you could easily have taken him for a clean cut, meticulous GQ type. 

The living room where he’d dance was tight quarters.  With a coffee table in the middle, positioning yourself strategically became important–you wanted see everything and everybody readily without giving him unfettered access to you.  I’d seen guys like him before.  If he didn’t get the appreciation he craved, he’d make the audience part of the entertainment. 

His first dance was slow.  During the first song he kept all his clothes on.  I applauded this approach–warm them up slowly and leave room for anticipation.  I have to admit, I was impressed.  But by the second number, the gloves were off and so was everything else.  I was no longer feeling enticed. 

He undressed so quickly you’d have thought someone had offered him a BJ.  When he got down to his G-String, without giving it a second thought, off it came.  His muscular, perfectly toned body made it obvious that he’d spent many long, self-appreciative hours in the gym–truly a living Adonis! 

From his graceful movements and flexibility I figured that at some point he must’ve been a gymnast.  With great skill he stood and walked on his hands, featuring his most impressive member up close and personal for every guest.  At first he kept his act to the center of the room on and around the coffee table.  But when that wasn’t getting the ooh’s and aah’s that he needed to feel really appreciated, he gracefully flipped himself upside down in front of each unsuspecting guest, straddling the couch or chair they’d been sitting on so they couldn’t escape.  Now instead of his face, they were facing more of a one-eyed creature.

This game of trap the guest wouldn’t have been as unnerving for the guests if he had kept his G-string on, as he had for the first two strip numbers.  But when the crowd ceased reacting excited or agitated, he decided to spice it up by going au natural. 

Personally, I think au natural, especially in his case, is beautiful.  If he had stayed in the middle of the floor displaying his prowess, grace, and athletic ability, along with that handsome body, it would’ve been a living art to appreciate and tip.  But instead he used his handstands to actually imprison guests so the action was in your face, literally.  Did they want to escape?  Maybe, maybe not, but the choice wasn’t theirs.

Sandra’s Dancer Bares All

Sandra is one of my favorite hostesses who eventually became a good friend.  From the first time I met her I was impressed by her free spirit, someone who wouldn’t be tied down for safety’s sake, someone who always expected the best.  Whenever she wasn’t getting what she needed in a relationship, she was never afraid to move on to greener pastures.

            As a woman who celebrated her sexuality, she was a regular pleasure party hostess.  This time, same as always, she had lots of guests, plenty of food and loads of liquor.  And as usual the guests showed up on CP time (Colored People), which means about one hour after they were told the presentation started.  (Come to find out that CP time is the same as Puerto Rican time, Jewish Time, and Greek Time.) 

Sandra had given me the heads up so I could accommodate their time schedule and the because of that, the presentation went smoothly.  The guests were very comfortable with the subject matter and each other and because of that there were lot of laughs, camaraderie and relating.  Toward the end of my show Sandra informed her guests that the party wasn’t over!  More entertainment would be arriving shortly.  I concluded my business and packed up quickly so I too, could sit back and enjoy what promised to be a memorable performance.

            When the stud de jour arrived, he looked like a model from Playgirl Magazine—smoldering sexual tension, black, glistening and wearing clothes that left little doubt about how large his God-given equipment was. 

            His show started off well enough.  With hot sexy suggestive music that was perfect for a slow grind, he didn’t waste any moves.  He also smelled great.  The music was so hot, for a moment I actually anticipated a sexy, seductive show. 

During the warm up song the only thing he took off was his leather motor cycle jacket.  Maybe it’s because he held onto his clothing for so long that the audience started begging him to take it off.  Finally he complied.  He started disrobing, but for some reason didn’t stop, not even at the all important G-string.  Soon we all got to see the longest, fattest semi-hard penis I’d ever seen. 

            Once he was butt-naked, the audience seemed incidental to his gyrations and antics.  Even though he was hired as a dancer, he wasn’t dancing anymore.  Instead, he was stroking and fondling himself in front of each of us, showing off his package as if it were a cute little puppy to be petted and played with.  Most of the women didn’t want to touch.  In fact, some seemed downright annoyed that he’d chosen to expose himself although no one got up to leave.

            You can always figure out who in the audience hasn’t gotten laid in a long time, or if they’ve had some, it wasn’t very satisfying.  They ogled his penis as if it was a juicy steak and they were starving island castaways.  For my part, I’m not impressed by huge penises.  Often, their owners aren’t the best lovers because they rely on their size to satisfy.  No, whenever there’s a male dancer, I particularly enjoy watching the audience’s reactions.  I’ve seen plenty of semi nude dancers, and unclothed penises in my day.  Neither have caused me embarrassment.  Parts are parts, you know, so nothing surprises me anymore. 

Anyway, half hard penises masturbated to a semi-erect state have never impressed me and I found my mind wandering.  How could someone semi-publicly expose his genitals and expect tips for such behavior?  That’s equivalent to getting mooned by a drive by and expecting the ‘injured party’ to run up to the car to tip them.  He wasn’t dancing as much as he fondling himself.  He was an exhibitionist that had found an appreciative audience; one that not only tipped him but would pay him for the exposure.  Maybe it’s because I acted unimpressed with his performance and his package that he gave me his business card and said, “Call me”. 

Yeah, right?