Women Behaving Badly
Shakti Tantra Workshop Review (Part One)
“I will always be the virgin-prostitute, the perverse angel, the two-faced sinister and saintly woman.” ― Anaïs Nin (from Henry & June)
Last weekend I attended level three of Shakti Tantra’s women’s only workshop, Women Behaving Badly. I’ll write more about the workshop in a separate blog (still too tired and spaced out to find the words to do my sublime experience justice). For now, though, I’d like to share a piece of stream-of-consciousness writing I originally wrote back in July 2007. It was stored at my parents’ place up until a couple of weeks ago. When I discovered it, I was gobsmacked at its relevance in the face of the workshop I was about to embark upon. I shared it with the rest of the women during our opening circle. Suffice to say, it set the scene for my workshop experience, framed it perfectly:
“There’s a savage woman within me and she tears through flesh, rips off her clothes, orgasms, struts around naked, is a slut, revealing, busty, voluptuous, wet, sexual, provocative. I envy her, hate her, despise her, love her, want to sit with her, lay with her, let her caress me. It is her who seduces my lover, walks into a room, fills his being with her scent, intoxicates him, arouses him, and I hate her for it.
I want to kiss her.
She opens me, excites me. I watch her as she lays out, revealing all my insecurities to me ― torsion, tension, pulled tight, frigid to the touch. There is nothing flaccid about her direction. She walks straight into the cave, the unknown, voracious appetite, carnivorous almost. She appears complete, total, whole, always able to surrender, expose herself, vulnerable to his whims.
He pulls her to him and I pull away. A blue light, fluorescent, cold, crude. She moves with candlelight, a hot wax that drips, sears, burns, melts. Agony and ecstasy, shame and pride slip away into something she runs with, opens up to. And I revere her.
La Dolce Vita. She parades, dances, flouts. He rains down on her and she is wet. Fountains, always fountains and street lamps at 4am. She eats breakfast while I still sleep; a subterranean world, shadows, exotic backdrops, she enthralls him, seduces him, leads him astray, opens her legs. And I lay asleep, curled up afraid, closed.
I watch her from rooftops, along streets. She fantastical, pouring all his wants, her desires, their ardour into the moment. He is drunk, swaying in her wake, licking the honey from her fingers over espresso and croissants. Warmed, sweet, fragrant. She delights, he devours and I dissolve, despair, despise.
She throws her head back, I hang my head. My gulps to her swallowing, tasting. She gently teases, chastises; I, religiously chastised, uptight; the Virgin Mary, undone, revealed, exposed; a statue cracks and falls apart. Too much tension.
Her heat warms, relaxes, wets, soothes. She purrs, responds. And I bolt like a dog. But still, I watch her with my lover, she watching me watching them writhe with pleasure, delight.
And I want them to make love to me.”
Copyright © 2011 Thea Euryphaessa
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