Shamanic sex cult

A and I (you don’t know A unless you read this blog from the very beginning and remember a bunch of posts that I wrote, and then took down) recently had an adventure. I won’t go into details about her because, at least historically, it’s been her preference not to be written about here. It would be fun/interesting/challenging to write about A, but I wouldn’t/won’t do so without a green light from her. So, for now, she’ll only make the tiniest of appearances in the following. Suffice it to say, though she’ll only make the tiniest of appearances here, she was, in fact, central to my experience of what I’m about to recount.

Ten years ago – more, actually – I wrote a bunch about my experience of “sensual massages,” or happy ending massage parlors. I refer you, specifically, to two posts: one, about the higher-end such places, and the other, about the universe of such places. I’m no longer particularly familiar with the contemporary universe. [Though I can’t say I never frequent those places, I do so a lot less frequently than I once did, and I only have been to three such places in the last ten years. And not so very often.]

Without (here) going into the “how” or the “why”…. Recently, A and I journeyed, together, to one of the higher-end tantra places. I arranged for us to have a “couples” “bliss” massage with two therapists, J and G. There’s a lot I could write that would take you on the journey to that sentence I just wrote, the first one in this paragraph. Perhaps (if A gives me that green light) I will do so. But for our purposes, today, we begin at the Starbucks around the corner from the 5th-floor apartment “temple” in which A and I were about to go spend ninety minutes. To bring you up to speed, J (my “therapist”) had been in Peru until 36 hours previous, and had been in one of the parts of Peru in which, at least at that moment, airports and rail had been shut down due to the political situation. There had been some question as to whether J would be able to get back to the States, and A and I had discussed our backup plan. J had been my preferred “therapist.” Two others – G and S – were available, and S held no appeal to me. [Maybe that’s yet another post?] A generously had offered to give me G and to take S for herself, in the event that J didn’t make it back. Thankfully, J did…. [Note to self, and perhaps, to readers: here, I might include actual photos from, and a link to, this place’s web site, but I only would/will do so with their – and G’s, and J’s – explicit ok.]

I texted that we were at our designated location, and whoever was at the other end of that particular tin-can-on-a-string responded, “Come. Ring the bell for apartment 5A. Please keep your voices down until you’re all the way inside.”

A and I walked to the building (about thirty seconds) and rang the doorbell. We ascended the four flights. The door opened, as we approached. We entered to find… two very young women (early 20s? one, G, looked distressingly like the daughter of a good friend of mine), dressed in flouncy (?) dresses, in a dimly lit vestibule. “Please remove your shoes,” one of them asked. They introduced themselves, and guided us past two bathrooms and a “therapy room,” to a second such therapy room. We, and they, entered, and they closed the door.

A and I sat, and G invited us to share our “intentions” with them. A spoke first, saying something about wanting to have an experience. I said something similar. They explained that the configuration of this apartment is such that a “couples” massage isn’t really a couples massage, that we’d be having individual massages in neighboring rooms. This was a disappointment. To both of us. My vision had been informed by an adventure A and I had (in, I want to say, 2011), when we had a similar such couples massage together. In that instance, we’d been in the same room, within feet of one another, when we each had exploded in a manually generated orgasm within moments of one another. In my memory. My memory may well not be 100 percent accurate. If I’ve learned nothing in life, I have learned that the line between “memory” and “fantasy” often is vanishingly thin.

So, the bad news having been broken, G asked, “So, do you want to do ‘yabyum’ together, or apart?” Yabyum, she explained, involved sitting facing one another nude, legs wrapped around one another, touching, staring into one another’s eyes. I turned to A: she’s not particularly submissive to me and, in any event, in this particular moment, she was driving. “We’ll do it separately,” she said.

“Ok,” said G. “Then say good-bye to one another, you’ll each shower, and we’ll lead you into your respective rooms.”

G took A, and left me with J, who led me down the hall to one of the two bathrooms. She asked if I wanted the red or the blue one. There was some confusion. Apparently, I entered the bathroom that did not correspond to my stated color preference. Though I will say: this was confusing to me. I showered, briefly. Peed. Washed my hands. Wrapped a soft cotton towel around my waist, and returned to the room in which the four of us had just been. A’s massage was in an adjacent room. As I entered, I found J preparing the massage table, topless, and in panties. I saw the voluminous ink spilling down her legs – colorful Indian-themed tattoos of gods and goddesses and lingams and all sorts of other stuff. And, I saw her belly: rounded, incongruously, improbably, rounded, given her body more generally. It didn’t really register beyond that. I thought, “Huh – she’s not slender, but she is slender.”

Spoiler: at the end of our session, as we chit-chatted, I learned that J is four months pregnant. “Unplanned, but exciting!” she said.

J invited me to sit on the massage table and said, “A decided she’d like to do yabyum with you!” I (think I?) was pleased. I felt a bit like a tourist on Mars, and I was eager to have time with A. My enthusiasm wasn’t sexual; it was anthropological. Like, “We’re in this really strange place; I am eager to be with someone whose relationship to the universe I know, and understand.”

A’s shower was a bit longer than mine, and it was a few minutes before she, and G, joined J and me. In that time, J told me a bit about her sojourn in Peru. More on that in another post – I promise. Suffice it to say… sex cult. One I very well may explore.

In any event, in just a few moments, A and G entered – A, wrapped in a towel; G, topless (and also festooned in ink). I had been seated, cross-legged, on the table, nude, for some minutes now. A dropped her towel, joined me, and I wrapped my legs around her. [An excellent feature of A: she has pubic hair.]

I’ll stop here, and continue in Part 2: The Stiffening.


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