Monday, October 22, 2012

Towards a collective eros...

Wyldewoman was turning 39. In honor of this transition of age, it was her desire to dance. She wanted to dance to her favorite DJ, a spinner in one of the erotic clubs she attended with her husband. She mostly went there to dance in full freedom of expression, she would tell me as I got to know her. There was something more erotic for her in the dance then there was in the sex itself. And when she was dancing, allowing herself to push every limitation of her physical being in a musical movement of ecstacy, the orgasm rippled through the crowd. Her party was in the barn on their twenty acres. Complete with ribbon, fog machines, lasers and a professional DJ, 'round 40 creative souls gathered in celebration. The invite said "dress as crazy as you can". I mentally flipped through my wardrobes trying to come up with a concotion comprising a costume. Recognizing that my burkah-ed 6 years of covering would not lend me easy options, I contacted Bhurlesquey for some options. We sorted and sifted through her wide array of hair peices, jewellery and erotic costuming but still nothing seemed to grab at me. The Jean Queen, she suggested, she would have to work but if i made my way down there, I would find what i needed she believed. And so, the next morning Madison and I did just that, we ventured into the world of playful and erotic costuming. The jean queen would turn out to be a playful extravaganza, complete with rainbow colored kneesocks, corsets of every brand and flavor, tutus, pin up dresses and gothic allure. I had entered a whole new universe. It would take 3 whole hours of Madison helping the staff behind the cash and me working in, working out, throwing on and throwing out a wide range of themes, images and attempts at representing what it is I was feeling inside of me and that was screaming to get out. A ladybug is what i settled on. I would walk out of the store with $250 dollars of merchandise, spiral black bug eyed sunglasses, a red and black corset, a bright red tuto and red stockings spotted with black dots and a ladybug emblem at the knee. Now how would i make up my face and hair to support this image? Again, it had only been a few months since i had begun painting my face again. In my return to the art of making "up" the female face of desire, I had truly begun to realize how much of an art it was. Something we are taught to pick up in adolescence and spend years of experimentation with, most often painfully, until we are able to reach the art of perfecting it's intrinsic tricks of the trade. I had lost 6 years of practice and what i had perfected up until the point of abandoning this excercise, i had forgotten. That's why it pays to have friends that are hairdressers. Not only hairdressers, but the princessey glamor queens that live for the details but what they make up for in glamor don't lack in substance. Thank god for the Pastor's wife. My friend, the pastor's wife, truly is a pastors wife. I call her that to represent the contradictions in our friendship, that precisely account for all the beauty within our relating. She is pretty much the most fashionable goddess i know, has a diverse array of colorful hippy threads enmasked by the innocence and purity that being a pastors wife demands of you. She is bold and brazen, but proper and polite, i revel in our similarities and somehow feel its a revolutional act for two women to maintain a closeness in a present day reality of which had it happened in history, one would be burned by the other. I don't mean "burning" in the metaphorical sense but the literal one, her religious ancestors were the ones who burned mine. Although we see "God(ddess)" differently, we have respect for the fact that we both live a life in service of him/her, albeit quite a bit differently :).. ...So anyway, back to the story. If bhurlesquey was in charge of wardrobe, the pastor's wife would be entrusted with hair and make up. A new brand of Marilyn Monroe been born. As i whisked down the highway, dodging in and out of sunset traffic, i giggled quietly each time i caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview. Like a 1950's pin up girl, a new part of me was emerging. Yet perhaps it wasn't a new part at all, but rather an old part that had been purified by the fires of transformation and had been re-birthed in a very different form. This new image of erotic play, this "trying on" of what was external on the outside attempting to represent what was happening on the inside..was no longer arising from the vulnerabilities of an empty wounding screaming for attention, but instead had arisen as an archetypal enactment of what had been healed on the inside. To be erotic had now become an energy rather then an act and i was the spinner of it's emergence, playing with the identities of a metaphor in an effort to express myself. It seemed it wasn't only my sexuality that was transforming, but also the performer within me. Calleach had given her life and she was slowly learning how to play once more. Arriving at the wyldwomans, I barreled in on their dinner. A small framed Iranian man in his early 40s was sitting at the table with her, engaged in pre party feasting. She got up excitedly to hug me, commenting on how "done up" this usually "done down" hippy gal had been. She introduced me to her friend. His name was Mehr. Gently engaging and of a light hearted energy. As dinner was done and people scattered in preparation, some completing the preparation of the barn, wyldewoman welcoming new guests, I asked Mehr to help me set up my tent before festivities began. The tent setting up became a group affair with arriving guests helping us put the peices of my encampment together. We collectively decided setting it up in a dry place, within the garage made a warm comfortable alternative to braving whatever elements we may be up against. Many jokes passed through the circle about how many people could possibly be housed within the expansiveness of this tent. "How many people do you plan on sleeping in here" Firespinner asked smart-assedly..."one never knows and i always come prepared" i answered sheepishly with which a collective laughter burst forth. The night grew dark, the strob lights began and the music started to pump. There was alcohol consumed, joints sparked and fire spinning. A collective began gathering round the bonfire in the back, while some of us began making our way to the dance floor in the upper floor of the barn. For awhile it would be mehr and i in our respective individual places, lost within the rythyms of our own dance. Slowly, more people continued to emerge, joining us in our slow unfolding of mutual ecstacy. The hulahoops began, the costumes blazed, the energy within the barn turned to a cocktail of creativity, infecting all who though awake when entering the haze of the fog machines, slowly became consumed by the trance of self expression. What emerged was a collective of individuals all lost within their own dance and that through their losing of self created a collective energy of consumption, that as each individuals fire began to burn, the whole got larger and larger, until although a sea of individuals danced among us, it was hard to see the lines that seperated us from one another. A woman came over and ripped my breasts outside of my corset. A grin of amusement came over my face and I continued to dance as if nothing had happened. She ran her fingers up and down the curves of my body, casually stole a suckle of my nipple while making eyes across the room to her bald machismo-ed on-looking companion. I continued to dance. She broke away moving on to the next object of her desire. I danced ecstatically with a foreign engineer. Coming towards me in dance he attempted to be heard over the music "what are you supposed to be" he shouted.
I playfully pulled up my tutu revealing the ladybug on the top of my stocking. "sexy..., how you showed me that" he said with one raised eyebrow, pulling at the neck of his shirt in jest. I smiled and giggled and continued to dance. Once in awhile Mehr would make his way across the dance floor moving into me...and making his interest in me known. "you look soooooooooooo yummy" he breathlessly whispered into my ear, as a moment in the dance brought us close to one another. I cocked a teasing glance in response and continued to dance. He would continue to play with me in casual glances, expression of his body while he danced and a consistent observation of the ways in which i moved about the dancefloor. While taking a break, Mehr and I ran into eachother downstairs and set out upon a mission to find marijuana. Our mission would take us to the house to roll a joint. As we drunkedly stumbled along the long gravel path to the house, bumping into eachother along the path, he stopped me midway, took me into his arms and wrapped me in a passionate embrace. His lips against my set a fire ablaze in my body and hungrily i devoured his kiss. I had noticed his flirtations and his movements of pursuit the entire night but wasn't sure how or if I wanted to engage him. Physically, he did not resemble my type and I was moving through so much confusion with my transitioning sexuality, I had no idea anymore of what boundaries permitted my full exploration and which ones of enshadowment lured me into it's hooks only to leave me feeling battered when i returned to my ordinary state of conciousness. All i could trust in this moment was my responses. It had seemed, it was that collective energy of creative desire that had seeded me for this moment, i was no longer a person in a body with a transitioning sexuality, but a container so full with the juices of creative outpouring that seductive and playfully erotic energy spilled out of me into every aspect of existence in that moment. And when mehr pulled my body into his and met my container with his container of equal outpour, the galaxies exploded. We would make our way into the house, stumbling through rolling a joint in between sloppy and passionate kisses and back outside to smoke. As we wandered through the parking space, making out and smoking up, wylde woman was on her way into the house. "Who's there?" she sputtered in the drunk darkness.."we are" we giggled drunkedly back. She sauntered over in an effort to see our faces rather then our dark silhouettes. Mehr pulled her into us and also passionately kissed her within centimeteres of my face. I giggled, not at all, taken back by what was happening, just another natural outpour of the energy that was co-created and such co-creatively shared. Wyldewoman pulled out of their kiss and thanked him for his passion, going back to her travels.
We continued to giggle and make out as Mehr dragged me back into the house, through the garage and into the tent. That tent for the next 3 hours would experience a quake of earth shattering passion. We made love full of all the universe's colors and ripe with a lover's familiarity usally only born of the kind of knowing acquired through years of knowing another, their delights, their fantasies, their every asthetic sensitivity. I don't know if it was the alcohol, the energy of what was created by the crowd that night in the barn, or the releasing of something that had been stuck for too long, but the hours were endless, the passion never ending, the colors an explosion of fireworks that lit up an eternal sky. Three hours later and on interruption later, we emerged from that womb and made our way back to the dance floor. There was a moment within all of it, that as we lay deeply engrossed within the cavities of one another's bodies, the garage door opened, and a body came barreling into our tent, "okay you whores..." came the voice of our intruder, a collective of laughs happening in a circumference of a circle of people no less than a meter away from the door of our tent. My legs were in the air, we were both buck naked and full on and despite the intrusion we made no effort to disengage and cover ourselves with blankets. "you fuckers have the key to the house" the voice continued..while i laughed uncontrollably. It was the wyldwoman, trying to gain access to her own house and indeed we forgot that we took the key with us into the tent. Mehr, wrestled with his pants looking for the key while still wrapped up in my body. "So that's what you call camping eh Mehr?" came the voice of Firespinner laughing with others, i continued to laugh at how obscene this scene actually was and how little we cared that we were fully exposed, as one might be under normal party circumstances where surprising interruptions generally send one anxiously searching for clothes and a way to cover up the act they were caught in. "Continue with said activities" Wyldewoman ordered, key in hand and exiting the tent. This scene held so much of my own emergence. Sexuality, so often in it's privacy borders on the themes of being shamed into its secrecy. Although being discovered in so many other environments and times of my past would have driven me to shamefully conceal, there was nothing in the air of this entire collective happening that would pre-empt me to do so. Yet at the same time, there also lacked no air of collective enshadowment, a sexuality born of repressed desires seeping to the surface, where bodies were objectified and in doing so a defilement of the soul. No. Instead, it was a celebration, the celebration so intense, that no surprise came to the faces of the discoverers, but rather a normalcy of what was taking place. They just wanted a key and then to leave us to our continued pleasure. There would be no raised eyebrows later, no questions or enquires, not even surprise. Sexuality here was just a natural outpouring of a collective co-created erotic energy, a natural expression of the body's desires, a beautiful counterpart of our human desire to mate and be mated. And a mating worth celebrating. When we returned to the dance floor it was 4 am. A small few dancers remained, while many others had paired or triaded together and returned to their places of slumber. We were normally welcomed back into the fold, we resumed our independant dances for another hour until the sun began to rise, signalling what would be the end of an immensely beautiful night. As Firespinner and wyldwoman assisted the djs to pack up their belongings, mehr and I made our way back down that gravel drive in which we had came. "It's too beautiful right now to sleep" he commented as we walked towards the house hand in hand. I agreed. We decided to head into the hot tub and while relaxing in the warm water continue to watch the sun greet the day. Our erotic unfoldings continued, this time our passion was right there in the world, for any on-looker to see. It didn't matter who came upon us, or who managed to sneak a peak. We had no need to take cover. In these quiet moments, once body was becoming free...

No comments:

Post a Comment