More Than Prom Night:

At the thought of making love to Jazz, my body responds instantly.   I feel an adrenalin rush and my fingers begin to tingle in anticipation.   “My sentiments, exactly,” I say.   Am I correct in assuming that you are not sharing body fluids anywhere else, either?”  

She say, “You’re correct.   I am not.   And now about that agreement, we can alter it in either of two ways.   We can let passion rule and make love tonight, or we can be rational adults and both of us get tested for AIDS and the other sexually transmitted diseases, and at the same time, allow me time enough to renew my prescription and get back on the pill.”  

She disengages herself from my arms, turns, sits herself back on the couch beside me, and says, “That’s a decision that needs to be made with all four of our feet on the floor.”  

I laugh as I reel my lust back in from center stage.   “Yes, you’re right,” I say, “and I’m sure that decision is going to put another two weeks of anticipation into my life.”  

“Was that delay of our sharing at James’ cabin worth the wait?  

“Of course,” I respond.  

“Well, another delay will give both of us something to look forward to.”  

I think, how strange and yet how common it is that another cycle is about to repeat itself.   Fortunately, this time, it’s at a higher and more pleasant level of life’s ever spinning spiral.   In retrospect, what I didn’t realize at that moment, was just how much higher and how much more pleasant this two-week wait was going to be.  

I ask, “Jazz, how did you feel during the time we waited to go to James’ so-called cabin?”  

“Excited and horny,” she says without hesitation.  

“And how do you feel, right now?” I ask.  

“Excited and horny,” she says again without hesitation.  

“And what do you propose we do about that?”  

“I propose we make out like high schoolers on prom night and engage is some heavy petting.” 

Again, my body responds instantly with an adrenalin rush and my fingers are tingling in anticipation.   “That’s a great compromise,” I say, and in less time than it takes for you to read this, Jazz is back lying in my arms and our mouths are devouring each other.   Soon we’re making out with passionate deep, long French kisses, and in less than another minute, our mutual passion is ruling the day and our hands begin exploring each other’s bodies.  

I pull my lips away from hers and breathe deeply.   After a second breath, I say, “If you’re as turned on as I am, this is going to be incredible.”  

She says, “I’m probably more turned on than you, and it already is incredible.”   With that, she slides my hand onto her breast.   She’s wearing no bra, so I easily feel her erect nipple against my hand.   She unbuttons her blouse, does likewise with my shirt, and then starts stroking her breasts against my chest.   After some visual and tactile delights, she presses her body against me, our mouths connect again, and we’re off on another sensual tongue dance.  

My hand roams over every part of her that I can reach.   Her derrière is particularly easy to reach and stroke.   After giving it considerable sensual attention, I slide my hand down the outside of her leg, and then up the inside between her thighs.   As my hand is about to reach its destination, she rolls away from me just enough to thrust her hips forward to meet my approaching hand and then she closes her legs, draws me back, only to open her legs again.  Her hips and my hand dance together, and, although she is wearing slacks and my destination is still millimeters away, I’m becoming swept away with excitement.   She withdraws her mouth from mine just long enough to say, “We need to slow down and make this last.”   Then, without waiting for a response, she’s French kissing me again.  

“That’s anything but slowing down,” I think to myself and withdraw my hand from between her legs.   She immediately grabs it, puts it back, and then presses it tight against her cloth-covered yoni.   I feel her fumbling to undo her waistband and as soon as she has succeeded, she pulls my hand up onto her belly and slides it back down this time inside both her slacks and her panties.   She wiggles and slides her now loosened slacks down and gives my hand free reign.   She continues to slide her slacks and panties down until she can spread her legs wide apart.  

She stops kissing me and says, “Put you finger inside me and press your hand tight against me.”   Her yoni is already well moistened so I easily spread her lips and slide my finger inside of her.   Immediately, her hips begin to undulate against my hand.   I feel her yoni muscles pulsating as they repeatedly grab and then loosen their grip on my finger.   She begins to moan softly, her head goes back, she looks at me, and then her eyes roll up and the lids close.   Her hips continue to undulate and her eyes go through several cycles of opening, looking at me, then rolling up and closing again.   These cycles continue for about three minutes, then slowly subside, and she becomes still.  

She lies in my arms looking up at me.   Her expression is one of someone high on grass, LSD, or ecstacy.   “Wow,” she says.   I’m drunk on love, on lust and on you, all at the same time.”

She then kicks her slacks and panties off her feet, gets up removes her blouse, and sits naked, straddling me.   My erect lingam already pressing tightly up against my pants, is now also pressing up between her wide spread legs.   Were I naked and in this position, I’d easily slide into her.  

What’s with all these clothes you’re still wearing?” she asks.   Without waiting for, or even expecting an answer, she starts undoing my pants.   She slides off me onto the floor and pulls my pants completely off.  

As my lingam pops up and I say, “Free! Free at last.”  

She wastes no time giving it her full attention.   Sensing my excess excitement, stops, looks up at me and says, “Do you want me to continue and stroke you into orgasm, or shall we slow down a little.”  

I reply, “I’d like you to put oil on me and then give junior here some long slow stroking.   Then we’ll take a break.”   She gets up, goes into the other room, and in less than a minute, she’s back oiling my lingam.   I delight in her stroking for about five minutes, and then say, “we’d better take a break or I’ll explode all over the place.  

“Shall we stop and order dinner?” she asks.  

“Not quite yet,” I reply.   “I’d like a bathroom break, some water, and then a full orgasmic release in your hands, if you please, my lady?   Then we can order dinner.”  

“It will be my delight to please you,” she says.   “Hurry back, and I’ll wait right here for you.”   It takes me a couple minutes for my erection to subside enough for me to pee, so I’m away longer than I thought I would be; however, when I return, the spell is only slightly broken so I’m very quickly erect again.   She does a superb job of keeping me excited and like Christina, seems to know when to stop moving so that I avoid passing the point of no return.   After several tantalizing minutes, I say, “In the next cycle, take me over the top, please.   She soon guides me into a powerful orgasmic release, after which I just lie back and float in the afterglow of the moment.   She wipes her hands on a towel, climbs up onto the couch, lies down in my arms, and briefly makes noises like a cat purring.  

I smile, kiss her tenderly and say, “Thank you.   I, too, am obviously drunk on love, and on lust — and on a very jazzy lady.”

The purring noises turn into humming and soon she’s softly singing, “Thank you for caring.   Thank you for sharing.   Thank you for sharing your loving with me.” 

Her hands continue to roam over my chest, my face and in my hair.   If I were a cat, I certainly would be purring, for I’m immensely enjoying the attention I’m getting.  

Speaking Out of the Closet:

She cuddles up close and speaks softly into my ear.   “Stoney, did you know that I knew you were special from day we met?”

“No,” I respond, then ask, “Do you know that I’ve been in love with you from that day?”  

“No,” she says.   “At our second meeting, I had a feeling that you might be attracted to me, but I was too scared to even think about such a possibility.   I’m still scared, but now my excitement is overpowering my fear.”  

“What are you afraid of?” I ask.

“That in loving you, I’ll lose myself — that I’ll be overpowered by my love for you and end up giving myself away — that I’ll be misunderstood — that I won’t be good enough for you — that I’ll be devastated if you leave — that you’ll turn down my offer to love you and my offer to share my life with you.”

I smile and say, “Am I hearing an invitation in there somewhere?”  

She smiles broadly and then kisses me passionately.   When my mouth is again available for words, I say, “From one kinesthetic junkie to another, I’ll take that as a resounding yes.”   She kisses me passionately again.   This time, I kiss back with equal intensity, and our tongues do another two-minute mutually stimulating dance.  

“When speaking is again in order, I say, “As I recall, two of the reasons I was invited here tonight was to have dinner and discuss some relevant topics.   Do you suppose we’ll find some time this evening for either of those?  

“Actually, I’m ready for another round of yoni dancing; however, given the circumstances, I’ll be willing to postpone that dance until later this evening if you’ll promise to let me play with junior again later.”

“Such a deal,” I say in a Yiddish accent, “I must accept.   Shall we shake on it?”  

Yes,” she says, “but let’s kiss on it first.”   She again kisses me passionately, but, this time, only briefly, then pulls herself away, gets up and pulls me up after her.  

She takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom saying “I have a present for you.”  

“The bed?” I say teasingly.  

“That, too,” she responds, “but not just now.”   She opens the closet, takes out a wrapped package, hands it to me, and says, “Open please.”  

She again reaches into the closet, and, this time, takes out a cross between a robe and a long shirt which she puts on while I watch her.   It has a series of buttons up the front, a tie cord around the waist, and is just barely long enough to cover her essentials while she’s standing up straight.   “You are a delight to look at,” I say.  

“Thank you.   And, by the way, in case you haven’t yet noticed, I find you a delight to look at, also.   Now open your present, please.   I had it made specially for you.   I hope you like it.”  

Inside the package, I find a shirt/robe which matches hers, only it’s obviously larger and also longer, so when I put it on, it covers me to slightly below the midpoint of my upper legs.   The color is also different.   Hers is a medium shade of blue, while the one she has just given to me is a deep blue.   “Thank you,” I say and take her in my arms.   Both shirt/robes are made of the same thick, soft cotton and feel very pleasant against my skin.  

She puts her mouth tight against my now cloth-covered shoulder and slowly blows a breath of hot air into the fabric.   I feel the warm spot on my shoulder.   “Feels like more,” I say.  

She repeats the process against my chest, and then says, “More later.   It’s time now for something to eat.   We also have a few minor things to talk about.”  

“Yeah,” I say.   “We need to decide if the Pope is to remain Catholic, if the sun shall continue rise in the east, and if making love to you is as much fun as kissing you.”

“The answers are yes, yes, and more,” she replies without hesitation.   Now that we’ve got the easy questions handled, what shall we have for dinner?  

“How about hot yoni pie?” I say.  

“Sorry pal, that won’t be on the menu for a couple weeks yet.   In the meantime, how about pizza?”   

I say, “I’d consider that a reasonable substitute,” and then add, “at least for now.” 

Jezebel smiles at me and says, “Your request will, however, most certainly be placed on the new menu and hopefully, it will be one of your favorite selections.”  

“Definitely,” I say.   “My mouth already waters at the thought of tasting such a delightful delicacy.”  

“Are you sure?” she asks.   “Some men find the smell and taste of a women’s yoni to be offensive.“  

I reply, “My understanding is that a woman’s taste and smell are functions of diet and metabolism, and that a healthy woman who neither smokes, uses alcohol, or ingests exotically spicy foods will have a rather pleasant taste and smell.   That has also been my personal experience, and, although, I’ve yet to taste your yoni, you smell quite delicious and inviting to me.”  

She says, “I hope I’ll taste as good to you as pizza.”  

“Better, I’ll bet.  ”

“Then we shall see.”  

I say, “I already see.   Perhaps ‘we shall taste’ might be more accurate.”  

“Well,” she says, “if you want to get technical, I’ve already tasted myself indirectly via my moistened fingers, so ‘you shall taste’ is even more accurate.”   I find the thought of my tongue roaming over her belly and between her legs to be very exciting, and I recall the day at James’ cabin when I was kissing her stomach and the promise I made to return my tongue to that belly and give it its due delights.   Again, I feel the anticipation, for I now know another very pleasurable experience is about to unfold, only this time, with another two weeks of anticipation.  

Who Am I?

We return to the living room, she orders the pizza, and then she gets out one of her notebooks and says, “I have some things to share with you and some options we would be wise to consider.   To start with, I have something to read to you.   On Intendr’s advice I wrote a statement answering three questions:  Who am I?  What am I? and Who and what do I choose to be?”  She proceeds to read her statement:

.

When she finishes reading, I say, “I’m impressed by both your candor and your thoroughness.   And you’re inviting me to fill a rather tall order.” 

“Yes, but you’re almost six feet tall, so that ought to be easy for you.”  

I look intensely at her and say, “I don’t think either of us knows what we’re getting into, but I’m glad you have a sense of humor about it.”  

“Stoney, with regard to where we’re going in the earthly physical sense, I really haven’t the slightest idea, but what I do know is that on the level of who and what we are, we make a great team.   Otherwise, I’d never have offered myself to you.”  

“Thanks for your vote of confidence, and in regard to accepting your offer, I committed myself to you months ago.   I just couldn’t tell you, so regardless of how or what you might have offered, I have the same answer.   I accept.   The challenge now is to figure out where to go from here.”  

She replies, “I suggest that in the context of loving ourselves and each other, we deal with harmony and let everything else take its own course out of that context.”  

“Good plan,” I say.   Please read to me again that paragraph you wrote about harmony.”  

She reads:

Harmony is our most important, mutual creation.   If harmony leaves, I will do my utmost to invite it back.   If harmony is destroyed, I will do my utmost to re-create it.   If harmony dies I will do my utmost to rebirth it.

“May I have the notebook for a moment, please.   I take the notebook, look intently into her eyes and then read out loud and to her those same four sentences.  

She immediately takes the notebook from my hands sets it aside and tenderly kisses me.   “Thank you,” she says.   “Your sensitivity and your ability to seize the moment are two of the things I love about you.”

I smile, kiss her back, and ask, “What’s harmonious about us?”  

Before either of us can offer any answers, the doorbell rings.   “Our pizza has arrived,” she says.   Jezebel buttons her robe and answers the door.  

As soon as the delivery person has gone, Jezebel hands me the box and says, “here’s answer number one for our harmony list.”  

“Are you referring to pizza or the fact that we both like to eat?”  

“Both,” she says.   “We can make a list while we eat.”  

We move to the kitchen and as soon as we’re seated, I say, “I feel that pizza should be put lower on our list so I’m proposing that the first item on our list be that we’re both kinesthetic junkies.”  

“And second,” she says, “we share great sex.”  

“How do you know?   We haven’t made love yet?”  

“On the contrary," she says, " we certainly have.   We just haven’t yet made the yoni/lingam connection.” 

“Yeah, you’re right.   Next we can add the harmony of our spiritual values.”  

She says, “And how about harmony, itself.   Add our willingness to resolve all our conflicts in a win/win basis.   As we share of meal, we create a list.   A portion of the list is included below:

Moment to Moment Re-Commitments:

When we run out of things to add to our list, I say, “In your written statement, you mentioned making moment to moment recommitments.   How does that work?”  

“That will be clear by using an analogy.   When you think of New Year’s resolutions, what comes to mind?”

“A commitment to do or stop doing something.”

“And how long do those commitments usually last?”  

“A day, a week, or perhaps a couple months.”  

“And then what?”  

“The old ways take over and the commitment becomes history.”  

“Instead of making a grand, almost-impossible-to-keep commitment, what if each morning, you said, ‘For this day and for this day only, I’m going to do or not do such and such’?”  

I reply, “It wouldn’t matter how many times I fell off the wagon, each morning, I’d be back on it for that day.   But what if a day is too big of a commitment?”  

“Then make a commitment for the next hour or however long it takes to create a one time success.   Keep making those very small commitments until you start seeing that you actually can succeed.   Even if it’s only the tiniest of successes, it’s better than complete failure.   If the desire for the new behavior is stronger than the desire for the old behavior, eventually the new pattern of behavior will take over.   It usually takes about three weeks to get the subconscious mind to shift into taking on a new pattern.   You could also use what’s called the Gene Autry technique.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Back in the more puritanical days before James Bond, Gene Autry was a cowboy hero, and, in those days, screen idols didn’t have sexual flings with every woman available.”  

“At least not in the movies, themselves,” I add.

Jezebel smiles and continues.   “For a cowboy hero, even kissing a woman on screen was thought of as non-macho, so at the end of the movie, after Gene had rescued the beautiful woman from the evil villain, and when she’d be there and wanting him to kiss her, Gene would say something to the effect of, 'Of course I’ll kiss you, Mary Jane, but first, let me sing you a song.'   Then he’d haul out his guitar, start singing and the movie would end without any kissing.”  

“How does that relate to commitments?”

“It’s a procrastination technique designed to give small, momentary successes.   We’re already accustomed to delaying things, so if, for example, you delay eating that extra piece of cake for an hour, or even for just fifteen minutes, it’s a step along the road to success.   Or, if you have a major goal to accomplish, you can make a very small commitment leading to that goal.   The small commitment is much easier to keep and, when accomplished, provides a feeling of success.

   Not only that, we don’t feel threatened by a tiny challenge in the same area where we’d panic at the thought of making a major commitment.   For example, which is easier, delaying eating the cake for one hour or losing ten pounds of excess body weight?   In a tiny commitment, the fear of failure is replaced by thoughts of success, so by making a series of very small successes, the subconscious mind becomes focused on success and goes to work bringing more and bigger successes.   It’s like eating an elephant — one, small bite at a time is the most successful way.”   The technique is called Kaizen and was originally developed by the Japanese.  

“How does that apply to us?”

She looks at me with those loving eyes and says, “For this moment, for this day, I commit myself completely to loving, honoring, and respecting you exactly as you are.”  

Tears well up in my eyes and I say to her,  “For this moment, for this day, I commit myself completely to loving, honoring, and respecting you exactly as you are.”  

For the longest time, we just there silently with each other.   Then she gets up and motions me to do likewise.   She takes my hand, leads me to the middle of the living room, sits down on the carpet, and draws me down beside her.   Then she moves around and sits with her back touching mine and says, “Even though we can’t see each other, is our commitment still there?  

“Definitely!” I say.  

She slides away to a position of about three feet behind me and says, “Even though we can neither see nor touch each other, is our commitment still there?”  

“Of course!” I say.  

After another minute of silence, she says, “I’m going to get up now and go out into the back yard, and while I’m gone, please become aware of what happens to our mutual commitment.”   She gets up, goes into the bedroom briefly, and then exits the kitchen door.  

I sit there waiting for her return.   Five minutes go by, and she doesn’t return.   I start to get concerned.   She’s gone outside half dressed.   By the time another five minutes has gone by and still hasn’t returned, I get very concerned so I get up and go looking for her.   She’s not on the porch.   My eyes quickly search the back yard.   She’s not there.   I go back inside slip on my shirt/robe, then go outside and walk completely around the house but still can’t find her.   In confusion and concern for her safety, I go back into the house and there she is sitting on the couch smiling at me.   I stop and stare at her.   She’s wearing sandals and also pants that match her now fully buttoned shirt/robe. 

She says, “Stoney, how are you feeling?”  

“Relieved that you’re here and OK and annoyed at your behavior.”  

“And what about your commitment to completely love, honor, and respect me exactly as I am?”

“It’s still there as strong as ever.”  

“And what does that do to your feeling of annoyance?  

“Nothing.   It’s still there, too.   I think you did this to me on purpose and that’s not loving.”  

She says, “Come here and sit beside me.”  

I sit down looking at her.   She reaches out, takes my hand in hers and says, “Yes, I did this on purpose, but thinking it’s not loving is your story, your story only, and only a story.”  

“Are you playing coach again?”  

“I’m playing your friend, companion, lover, your mirror, a role model, the recipient for your actions, woman, partner, coach, fellow fallible human being, and probably dozens or so other roles that don’t come to mind at the moment.”  

“So what’s going on?   Why did you disappear?   You had me worried for your safety.   I thought you were outside somewhere half naked.”  

“As you can see, I’m neither outside nor half naked.   My intention was to anchor our love and our commitment to each other, even when we were apart.   I sincerely apologize for triggering any negative emotions you may have felt or are still feeling, but I do not apologize for intensifying our feelings of love and concern for each other.   Do you know how much I missed you while I was outside?”  

“I guess I don’t.” 

“Then, slide over close to me so I can kiss you, make amends for my supposed transgression, and show you how much I missed you.”   As I move close, she pulls me down on top of her, showers me with kisses, and says, “For this moment, for this day, I commit myself completely to loving, honoring, and respecting you exactly as you are.   Please forgive me.” 

I say, “Forgive you for what?   There’s nothing to be forgiven for.”  

She stops kissing me long enough to look at me and say, “With that statement, you just won the grand prize.”   

“And what might that be?” I ask.  

She smiles, but does not speak, and starts unbuttoning my shirt/robe.”  

As she continues the unbuttoning, I say, “Am I correct in assuming that you are communicating to me in non-verbal language?”  

“As one kinesthetic junkie to another, can you think of a better way?”  

“How about by making mad passionate love to me instead?”  

“And what do you think I’m starting to do right now?   And, just in case you haven’t yet figured it out, that’s still a tactile way of sending a message, and, while in such a state of ecstasy, I may not be able to communicate the message I was originally intending to send.”  

“I’ll take my chances,” I say, as she kisses my now-exposed chest.  

Sex as a Spiritual Experience:

Then she says, “Would you please do me the honor of taking my clothes off so that I can get closer to you.”  

“I would be honored.” 

“Then don’t tell me, show me.”   During the next hour, we share each other’s bodies to the point of sexual exhaustion for me, but to seemingly endless joy for her.  

I ask Jazz how she can keep going like she does, and she says, “One of the Tantric tricks is to give up traditional orgasms for over-all, complete-body ecstasy.   I do not seek genital orgasms; rather I use the sexual excitement to bring my whole being into a space of joy.   I consciously and intentionally shift myself into the exquisitely joy-filled space by imagining myself as being male and female united as one.   

   There are numerous ways to accomplish this.   Imagination is the key to success.   For example, following the cyclical pattern of the breath one can significantly enhance blissful feelings.   The common masculine way to do this is to bring the energy up the back of the body with the inhale and down the front with the exhale and then let it go.   The feminine tends to start in the lower abdomen, expand to fill the physical body and then with the exhale, to expand further and encompass the partner, more like taking the partner in rather than the masculine of releasing the energy out of the body.

   I imagine feeling orgasms in each of my seven major energy chakras, rather than in my genitals, and in doing so, bypass traditional, genital-focused orgasm, and also bypass the biological mechanism that turns off sexual desire once an orgasm is reached.

   Because the shut-off switch is inoperative within my body, each period of joy becomes a launch platform for the next one, and the levels of joy slowly escalate until I’m eventually lost in ecstasy.   The ecstasy of that space so powerfully transcends the wildest and most exquisite physical orgasms that regular orgasms are insignificant by comparison.”  

“That sounds so far out that it’s meaningless to me.  How do you do that?”  

The Word still is God:

“Sexual ecstasy is in your mind, Stoney, not between your legs.   Do you recall the very first sexual practice I taught you where you start sexual stimulation physically and finish mentally?”   ^15-1 

“Yes.”

“Do you also remember the Biblical passage: ‘In the beginning was the word; and the word was with God; and the Word was God’?”  

“Yes.”

“Well, the Word still is God.   I’ve simply combined the divine creativity of my thoughts, beliefs and words with a Tantric practice, and I’ve done so in a way that few others have thought of doing.   The result is that I’ve manifested the reality of both together in an extremely joyous way.   Once you consciously and intentionally connect to the non-physical aspect of yourself, anything you set your mind to becomes your reality.   Stoney, my ecstasy is far more than physical.   I am literally connecting to the invisible ‘All That Is’.   Sex for me is truly a spiritual experience.”  

I say, “I wish I could believe you.”  

She responds with, “As long as you don’t believe that you can experience joy at the level I do, you can never experience it at that level.   Remember the line,  ‘According to your faith, so be it onto you.’   Or how about, ‘If you have but the faith of a mustard seed, you can move mountains.’   Do you believe that those statements true or are they fairytales?”  

“They’re true.”

“Stoney, you’re bullshitting yourself again.   Your mouth may say they’re true, but your behavior says they aren’t.   Tell me honestly now, do you believe those biblical statements are true?” 

After a pause for thought, I say, “For me they’re not.”  

Then ‘According to your faith, so be it onto you.’   You can’t experience orgasm at the levels I do because you believe you can’t and only because you believe you can’t.   If you did even just the practices I’ve already shown you,   ^15-1  and did them with the faith of a mustard seed, you’d soon be demonstrating levels of pleasure that would surpass the most intense physical orgasm you’ve ever had.”  

“Is it really that simple?”

She Responds, 

   “Yes!   Yes!   Yes!   Yes!   Yes!   Yes!   Yes!   Yes!   Yes!   Yes!   Yes!   Yes!    Yes!   Yes!   Yes!   Yes!   Yes!   Yes!   Yes!   Yes!   Yes!   Yes!. . . 

I laugh and say, “OK, OK,  I've got your message, but I still find it hard to believe.”

“Come on, Stoney!   Now you’re arguing for your limitations, and you’re making self-fulfilling, negative statements.   It’s not that you aren’t a powerful creator.   It’s that you keep making mutually canceling statements of creation.   With one sentence you create, and with the next you countermand the first.   It’s like building something with one hand and tearing it back down with the other.   And, all the while, you’re running around in circles wondering why you aren’t going anywhere.

    I’m not telling you this to belittle you in any way or put you down.   I’m not trying to change you.   I don’t want to change you.   I can’t change you.   I’m telling you the truth because I love you.   Let me make clear another of my promises to you right now:

    I promise to look for and find the very best in you — to hold for you, a grand and glorious vision of who you really are — and to assist you in stepping into and living that vision.”

   And while we’re on this topic, may I read to you a brief piece of prose that I wrote shortly after we met?”  

“Yes, of course,” I say.  

She goes to her bookshelf, takes out another of her notebooks, returns, flips through the pages and then reads me the following:  

.

“Thank you,” I say.   “I really do feel loved, respected and cared for by you.   I also reconfirm my commitment to go with you on a journey into, not only my potential, but into yours as well.”  

“Thank you, Stoney.   May I also read to you something that I received from Intendr several years ago?”  

“Yes, please.”   She flips through the pages, finds what she’s looking for and then reads the following paragraphs:

I say, “Thinking of a  relationship is an ever-unfinished symphony is a neat way to look at it.”   I think about this for moment, and add, “So now I have an unfinished symphony, Jazz, and yoni dancing, all rolled into one powerful and delightful package.   Thank you.   Are you any other musical treats?”  

She laughs and says, “Yes, sex, as I experience it, is a divine dance.”   When I don’t say anything, she adds, “and it can be the same for you, too.”  

“I certainly hope so,” I say.

“Stoney, all you need to do is get rid of that doubt.   Just watch me.   Use me as a role model.   I assure you, sex can be a spiritual experience!   I’m walking, talking, living proof of that, and so is Christina, and, for that matter, so are several others, including some men that you haven’t met yet.”  

I sit looking at her in amazement.   “Jazz,” I say, “just being with you is a spiritual experience.”  

She starts singing, “Thank you for caring.   Thank you for sharing.   Thank you for sharing your loving with me.”   I join her and we sing to each other for a minute or so.  

Suddenly she stops singing and looks at me like someone who has just discovered gold.   “Stoney,” she says, “let’s expand on this song.   We can take some of our thoughts, desires and intentions and put them to music.   That would empower them considerably, enhance our relationship, and be great fun at the same time.”  

“Wow!” I say.   Is all this really happening, and happening in just one evening?   Or am I dreaming?   When I woke up this morning, I never imagined any of this would happen today.   Not even in my wildest dreams did I imagine the day turning out like it has.   If I were a drinking man, at this point, I’d say, “I need a drink.”  

“Well,” she says, “I don’t need a drink, but another round of ecstasy would suit me fine.”  

“You’re kidding,” I say.  

“Not at all," she responds; “however, I’d be willing to substitute chocolate ice cream, if that would be preferable to you.”  

With more than slight emphasis, I say, “Chocolate ice cream, please, at least for me.   You may have either or both, if you like.”  

“OK, let’s have ice cream and maybe as were going to sleep, I’ll do the yoni dance again while you hold me.   Which reminds me, you’re invited to stay the night.”  

“Oh!   I am?   Another delightful surprise.   Thank you.   Your invitation is definitely accepted.”  

The ice cream becomes the tamest part of our evening and as we’re enjoying it, Jezebel says, “Do you see the what we do physically is content within the context of our mutual love and how our mutual love is content within the grander context where we’re both divine beings sharing a human experience?"

I ask, “Are you saying that those two contexts define the playing field and set the basic, ground rules for the game we’re calling our relationship?”

“Yes.   Let me share this with you in a symbolic picture format.   She takes a pencil and pad of paper from the shelf and writes a list.   She hands me the list and says, “Here’s context and content in computer language.”

 Computer

      Hard drive

          System software

               Program software

                    Folders

                         Files

                               Data

                                   Story

                                        Paragraphs

                                              Sentences

                                                    Words

                                                          Letters

"So you are saying that letters are content in the context of words, and words are content in the context sentences, all the way to the grandest context, computer?"

"Yes but the list can expand in both direction.  Every computer is content is a still grander context, and the letters are contexts for still smaller things."

She the proceeds to create a second list, hands it to me and says, “Now here we are as content in some of our grander contexts.”

God /The All / The Source

    The Three Universal laws — Allowing, Thought, Intentional Creating

         Us as Divine Beings

               Us Living on Planet Earth in a Human Body

                     Our Mutual Love

                           Our Relationship

                                 Each of Us as Individuals

                                      Whatever We Chose to Create and/or Experience

“Within those contexts we can create our relationship any way we choose to.   It’s our co-creative adventure.”

“I say, “I’m delighted with our co-creation.”

“As am I,” she says, “and do you see how, within the grander context, what we do for each other, we also do for ourselves, and what I do for ourselves, we also do for each other?”

“Well, sort of,” I say, “but I a little clarification would help.”

“OK.   Think of all humans as pieces of one immense Divine Being who has divided itself into many parts.   Each part is still portion of the whole, even when that part has forgotten who and what it is.   It’s like I’m the left hand, you’re the right hand, and we’re both aspects of a grander context made up of us and many more parts.   Every part is connected to every other part and all the parts together are called a body.”

I ask, “So in loving you, I’m loving myself and in loving myself, I’m loving you?”

“Yes.   By acknowledging our unity on the spiritual level, it gives us both the opportunity to much more easily see and live that unity on the physical level.   If we both hold that vision, then bringing you joy brings me joy and bringing myself joy, brings you joy, and the same is true for you.”

“What if we didn’t believe that?”  

“Then our activities would be within a different context, and the different context would give the activities very different meanings.   The opposite pole to our divine unity is the separatist, duality game called ‘What’s in it for me.’   That’s not a very joyous context for an intimate relationship, or for any other type of relationship.”

As the evening turns into night and the clock hands both reach their highest crescendo, we decide to walk around the neighborhood and then return to sleep for the first time in each other’s arms.   We don appropriate street clothes and exit by way of the back yard.   During the walk, our conversation turns to intimacy, and I share with you now Jezebel’s words on this topic:  

“Intimacy is not just touching each other’s bodies; it’s not simply sharing sex.  It’s our personality; it’s who we are inside.   Do we love ourselves enough to allow someone else to love us?   Can we be open with each other?   Can we come to terms with our thoughts, with our feelings, our emotions, with our needs, our desires, our likes and dislikes, and can we express them openly with each other without hesitation and without fear of an angry backlash?   Intimacy is in our open communication.    Intimacy is in the emotional ties between us.

    Can we be authentic?   Can we be true to ourselves?   Symbolically speaking, can we lay all our cards on the table?   Can we allow each other to be who we choose to be in that moment?   Intimacy is loving ourselves and each other enough to be truly vulnerable and, at the same time, feel completely safe.”

We walk for about 30 minutes, then return to Jezebel’s home, and, after only a few minutes of personal hygiene, we’re cuddling, naked in bed together.   Jazz and I together offer prayers of gratitude for all the delightful experiences of the day, and then, to my amazement, as we are going to sleep she says, ”Please hold me while I bring up my sexual energies just enough to launch myself into a pleasant altered state of being.”  

I ask what she means and she replies, “I’ll explain tomorrow.   For now just hold me, be here with me, and let yourself drift off to sleep.”   Although sleepy, my curiosity is sufficiently aroused to stay awake long enough to witness her activity.   She stimulates herself for about three minutes and then becomes still.   I hear and feel her breathing which sounds deeper, slower and more rhythmic than someone sleeping.   I do not disturb her to ask if she is sleeping.  

As I hold her close, I offer another prayer of gratitude for my extreme good fortune and then say softly, “In my dreams tonight, I intend to experience and be touched by another angel of love.”   My whispered words do not seem to disturb Jezebel, whose breathing now sounds more like she is sleeping.   Soon, I, too, drift into sleep. 

End of Chapter Fifteen ---  Intimacy, Freedom and a Taste of Heaven