I met Nichelle on a Vancouver tantra harbor cruise. It was a magnifico summer night and we floated around on a party boat in the calm water for three hours as the Sun descended. Someone had brought a plate of cannabis brownies. We were all feeling the indica vibe deep in the Pacirica Northwest.

A mutual friend introduced Nichelle and me.

Besides swooning at her otherworldly beauty, I knew I had met someone I could open up to. I told her that, and she said come see her in her studio the next day. I found my way across town.

I walked in the outer door. A receptionist, also a stunner, with dark brown spiral braids on the sides of her head, and gazing brown eyes, sat at a kind of reception desk. She said go right in.

Nichelle was kneeling at the center of a large, sunny room that seemed circular.

I knelt down across from her. We sat in silence, left-eye gazing for a few moments, and when we recognized one another, she said: tell me.

So I told her, everything, as best I could, as she absorbed patiently. Then we sat in silence. She said, your path is called Hazukashi-sa no michi. It exists but it is rare and many tantrikas never meet one.

But that is you: Hazukashi-sa no michi. The way of embarrassment as self freedom.

There are many doors into ‘the space’, though some are concealed and narrow openings…or they are veiled…and yet everyone feels a little bit of this one. Everyone is called just a little though the rarity is the courage to respond.

The essence is: go toward embarrassment when you feel it. It seems like a bar — bar is is in the word. Yet it’s really a soft veil veil, inviting you in, and when you push aside the veil and go through, you will discover your bliss and have a new experience of liberation each time.

She suggested that I strip and face the mirror, really, a triptych of mirrors a few feet back from one of the walls. I walked up to the space and dropped my clothes and sat on the a little stool facing three of me.

She said, say the words to yourself: Hazukashi-sa no michi. Look at your eyes.

I said, Ha - zo- kashi - sa - no - michi.

And say it again. My penis was quickly becoming full with blood and heat, and then stood up craving touch. I did not.

Ha - zo- kashi - sa - no - michi.

Yes, the path of embarrassment. Embarrassment as liberation. An opening in the defenses of the ego, the lure of deep pleasure making it the more irresistible over time.

I was flushed with desire like I had never felt. My penis making me feel vary naked.

Nichelle picked up a little bell and rang it. Into the space, her assistant emerged silently, and looked right at me in the mirror. She studied me; I did not dare make eye contact with her in the reflection. I held my own gaze.

Nichelle said: Ha - zo- kashi - sa - no - michi.

Her assistant repeated the words, and added, definitely. Then Nichelle said, you may touch yourself and say to you what you said to me. In not so many words, I admitted my thirst and my need to surrender vagina.

I said, I am so thirsty. I surrender vagina. I licked my hand and pleasured myself.

Her assistant said, he is sweet.

Nichelle added: One thing that will help your entering the veiled space will be to hang a photo of your face at orgasm in part of your home where others may see it, such as in the bathroom. I said I would do that.

Then Nichelle said, that is good, we are now going to leave you to your private thirst and your freedom and your self-witness. The two barefooted women quietly walked out the door, closing it softly behind them, leaving me facing myself in three reflections.

One of the issues with Miracle Manor was how sexually stilted the place was. It was not like there was any overt prohibition, just a lot of people in their heads who were not open to any sexual conversation (much less contact) and some who were hostile to it. This sometimes had a spiritual pretext; the New Age and all forms of Christianity have long made their living on denying sexual reality. The underlying assumption of sin is that it’s connected to guilt and therefore to paying for repentance.

Further, what was called ‘politics’, meaning the news in any form, was treated like it didn’t exist. While I lived at Miracle Manor, I was a news reporter and into sexual experimentation, so there was some tension. It was largely unspoken. I did my best to brush it off. Yet it’s not subtle being around people who suspect that sex is in some way unholy and best avoided.

As for the setting. Miracle Manor was a short-lived (two years in duration) residential community in central new Jesey for people studying A Course in Miracles. I was there the second year of its existence with my girlfriend Ginger, from August 1986 through August 1987, age 22 to 23. At the time, about 16 other adults lived with us.

Miracle Manor found its home on a 16-acre property along the Raritan River, in a building that was formerly a convent for itinerant nuns. The ground floor included a big multipurpose room with an institutional kitchen. This opened to a phenomenal yard that was bounded on one side by the river and another by a road.

The second and third floors were residential. The second floor also had an office, a lounge and a chapel along with some dorm rooms; the third floor was all dorms, about 16 singles.

There was also an apartment tucked into the building, inhabited by the community ogre, Rosalie; she held herself as Mother Superior. Being a formerly Catholic facility, there was a confessional. Behind the chapel was a vestry, the room where vestments and sacred objects were previously kept, and where the priest would hang out and prepare for mass. The place had not been owned by the Catholics since the late 1970s, when it had been deconsecrated.

Ginger and I had the last two rooms on one side at the end of the third floor. We must have held the world record for sex in the building. She was as sexy as all the other women combined, though a few of them were friendly and some had unusual spiritual gifts: channeling angels, communicating with plants, visiting the space brothers, and that kind of thing. Nearly everyone was a devoteé of the guru Hilda in Manhattan. In truth, there was not much happening with A Course in Miracles, though I worked through the whole program in self-study mode that year.

The men were an interesting lot, and among them was George. I guess he was about 35 at the time. He seemed a lot older than I was, and he was gay. He was the only gay person in the community that we knew of, and I don’t recall that he had a boyfriend who visited. The fact that he was open about his sexuality made more room for Ginger and me to be open in that environment.

In one late night conversation with George, I said I was bisexual but had never had sex with a man. When I went back to her room, I mentioned this to Ginger, who I knew had a fascination with male homosexuality. She suggested that some time I let something happen with George. That’s all you need to do — let it happen.

One Thursday night I didn’t have a late meeting to cover, and nearly everyone in the community was taking class with Hilda at St. John the Divine in the city. It was pretty much me, Ginger and George in the building. Ginger was absorbed in a work-related project. I tapped on George’s door. The door opened and he invited me in. We both knew where things were going. The room was dimly lit with a candle and a colored light bulb. We sat down on a carpet in the middle of the floor.

After a few moments of silence, he asked, “Would you like to play?”

I nodded yes.

“Would you like a hit of weed?” I nodded yes.

He packed a little glass one hitter and handed it to me with a lighter. I took a hit. Technically the place was no-smoking and “drug free” but nobody much was home and anyone who might care didn’t ever leave her apartment. With one drag I was suddenly very dreamy. I had tripped the day before in the city and that has a lingering affect for me; with just a little weed the whole world became morphy.

Ginger’s words floated back to me: let it happen.

By the time he slipped me out of my pants and undies at the same time, my penis was stiff and eager. I felt my teeshirt come off. George was not a big man but I felt small and feminine. I knew I had to do nothing, so I focused on breathing. My eyes were closed. I felt my balls pulled up and he licked underneath them, pushing my legs wide. His tongue painted me right where my vulva would be if I had one, in broad, delicate strokes. I could only moan and relax my legs and let them drop open wide. It was if I suddenly had a vagina and he was eating me out.

Then he sucked my penis into his mouth and took me all the way in and I was penetrating him. But that delight was short lived, giving way to something else.

He rolled me over onto my belly and pulled up my ass a little, spread my cheeks and began to swirl his tounge around. I had never been naked with a man before and now I was fully under his control. I could not have resisted if I wanted to, and I did not want to. He knew just what to do. I’ve had my ass licked out a lot. Ginger did it all the time but this was different, bold and direct adn his scratchy cheeks were different from those of a woman. And then…he fucked me deeply with his tongue and I felt his heat inside me. My whole consciousness was focused on what was happening and my breath. He clasped my hips with his hands, gripped me and took me. I grunted in the rhythm to his penetration.

Then my mind caught hold of what was happening to me. I was naked with a man, being deeply pleasured by him. I knew that some time soon I would orgasm with a man and there would be no going back.

I wanted him to strech me open and fuck me with his cock, but I could not say anything. He could have done anything to me and I would have loved it. All I could do was grunt and moan in acceptance of the gift he was giving me. All I could do was vocalize my acceptance of what was happening in that moment and not know what would happen next. I felt his tongue plunge deeper and deeper into me as I melted into myself and allowed and invited myself to be taken. His strong hands felt so good holding me.

Then he sat me up and leaned me against his bed. I looked around. The room was a sphere. I thought of Ginger down the hall, who must have figured out what was happening. Then I caught a little glipmse of my face and my naked body in the mirror hung on the back of the door. I felt like masturbating myself, so I did. He looked at my face and smiled and just said, yes.

Then suddenly my penis was in his throat again. His hands clasped my hips and he pulled me into himself and encoaurged me to rock and fuck his mouth. I looked up and was looking at my face in the mirror, which I could barely stand and barely recognize but I pushed myself to do it for a moment or two, and saw George, still dressed, taking my cock down his throat. I had never been sucked off like this before. Women were so gentle and delicate about it. This was neither.

Then I could feel that his full intention was to swallow my orgasm. I delighted in the truth that there was nothing I could do about this. I remembered something I had read about a lesbian initiatory experience: your body knows what to do. With that, one of his fingers slipped up my ass and my orgasm seized me as I both throbbed around his finger from my core, and pusled down his throat. He grunted as he swallowed and pulled me all the way into himself. My ejaculation must have been enormous because this sensation of being penetrated and spurting into him and his swallowing seemed to last forever.

Then I seemed to black out. I could feel him lift me onto his bed as I lay in half-dream, drifting in the pleasure of my surrender, half-in, half out of consciousness, laying on my belly. I felt his tongue plunge into me again. Then he rolled me over and sucked me off and I thundered and cried out in surrender and he swallowed me…again...letting me feel his thirst for semen…for my semen.

Then I drifted off to sleep and at some point awakened. He was sitting calmly on the floor, smiling.

“I think Ginger is waiting for you,” he said.

“I think you may be right.”

I sat up and he handed me my clothing in a little folded bundle.

I needed to walk through the corridor naked, wishing to be seen in this state. But nobody did. I entered Ginger’s room, where I usually slept, slipped into bed and found her naked. My mouth went directly to her vulva and I licked her pussy and her ass and swallowed her through several orgasms. Then with both of us in half-dream, I told her about what happened with George. Deep in the night with that truth open between us, she sucked me herself and swallowed me gently like she had so many times.

I am aware of the inherent contradiction between deep self exploration into some solitary place, with the concurrent desire for witness and companionship. My need for attention directed at my selfloving. It’s not just me! I love to do this for people and it’s so so good. I’m so curious about you and you and your mirror. I offer you your mirror masturbation, i do, i do

anyway…this, the above, so self intimate…summoning attention for the ecstasy of being known and understood…

nyjacks originated in the ‘safe sex’ era of the early 1990s, an all male scene where mutual handjobs were defined as masturbation. i attended as myself, mcelfcum wanting to feel surrounded by male release. and maybe be noticed. m’be felt. scene was ~150 men in what looked like an empty office space midtown manhattan…hideous strip lights…scattered shabby furniture, and a wide, tall wall mirror blocked by a huge rolling coat rack. somehow despite the mob i had a little couch to myself, covered by my towel, legs akimbo, my leather bag next to me. as everyone around me socialized, amidst the low din of voices i quietly fucked my ass - eye gazing me in a little handheld spattered and smeared one…my rule is, i watch my face and eyes in my moment of selfpenetra. often through a film of foggy cum. sat back straight deep up gazing around the room. and then i notice the black frame mirror. suddenly i experience its daring allure, a pool waiting to be dovinto. i know i need to do this and dare myself. with no way around my embarrassment, i go in. to be seen there…I stood, holding the dildo in my ass, took my towel and lube and,,,waddled across the floor and…spread a picnic blanket betweeen coat rack and mirror. then above the hum of blended speech i heard a man moan out a little. in tasting the pleasure of hearing, my voice let out a soft cry, which he heard and replied…in the anonymous space behind me. in the black frame i saw myself knees wide with one cock plunged deep into me and another taut and protruding toward the wall mirror…another moan. now i am sincerely masturbating myself, and cry back. the room has dropped to hush, hearing us communicate and cycle our pleasure. then i could not help but vocalize the truth of mirror masturbating into my eyes, i said out to me, you’re a mirror masturbator, we were soaring on our voices and pulses of giving…crying out…i am ejaculating into my palm…my palm is full…then i could see in mirrefiction that i was gathered around and with seeing eyes who had just witnessed my crying out climax and plunged my tongue into my right palm slurping and grunting still in the ripples and tides of my orgasm as they watched.

i leaned toward the mirror and opened my full mouth for as long as i could stand it and swallowed heaving and free.

step by step…speaking with selected peole, and asking them to sit with me in the mirror and kinda help me do it. Jenny Singer and her seashell! in my miani hotel,,,

Here, tonight @ paris…I’m alone, and that’s the experiment: can i lick alone? did i do it? I don’t remember! Ooh that’s happened before. There is no picture…of my wet mouth that is, it does not mean i didnt. i can complete the scenario either way. i drank a lot of my cum in that studio, alone & with pretty pretty pretty…

Mmmmm, though…the idea of this photo is simply, ‘i’ve ejaculated into my palm’. that’s the only way to see it. my penis is hard and twitching too sensitive to touch.

so much right in that. and then…implied is the question: can I lick? eew what have i done? do i love myself right now? if you did, you’d do it…i love the relaxation on my face…my barely open eyes…

Debra Sho, the sexologist making the rounds, was describing the change in hormones instantly after a man ejaculates. It’s a whole emotional drop, it’s so intense…her phrase was 100%…plunge to nothing in libido…and it can turn deep self lust into self disgust. so the thing is…the moment i have fresh semen the disgust sets in. the desire sprays off and its memory feels really weird

can you imagine the delicate agony,,,the cumulus frustration? in paris was born the cumirror. the game being this: if I am in a thirst frenzy and orgasm to either drinking myself or surrender to mirror celibacy, i cry out and spurt and i cannot lick. so first i stop the guilt about that and reticence disgustish i just stop and i know i’ll take myself back some other time when i’m hot and horny.

in the photo below, the diagonal swoosh is a tongue streak in fresh cum, and which then dried that way. the little sperm cell or fetus on the left is residue from a long prior release; those are scattered everywhere. that’s the delicate mess…my delicate mess…

the gorgiousness of this photo to me is connecting with the deep moment of self acceptance when i licked like that. mm hmmm.

then somehow the cum mirror becomes the expression of surrendering yoni…

the symbol, upon which i drag my tongue when i’m thirsty. its gradual transformation to yoni, my female expression, seen and experienced in the smeared reflection. there’s a lot here and we’ve explored my reflection in every light.

the image below is a kind of easing in. the woman is iris, the celibacy goddessgazing into the mirror, her hands concealing the view of her vulva: she never showed me, allowed me to see. and if she’s looking at herself, i can show you my delicate face with my cummy mess in my palm, teetering on the edge of licking…

…that’s the look. my gorgeous moment of uncertainty. insecurity, self-infidelity,,,and over time - alone, with mirror, with women and with men - i’ve learned to discovered how to…get my cum in my mouth because i want me, if i have to propel myself by the sensation of revealing to [he/she/they/you]…

…and also when im selfucked that suspends the tension of orgasm and i discovered teases out my thirst…sitting on it, seated, facing a large mirror, and right there ive delivered and offered myself to my thirst. are you following me…my quest to fulfill myself. my whole self embodiment of submission to who and what i am. right there i pause and explore delicious degretation decay of my maleness to another form…

i love and long for cunt. thirst for yoni water and soaking in her scent.

it helps to say that to you who know and accept me for that.

so so sweetly natural for me, to be at home, to smell her deeply, delight in her scent for our mutual delight but mostly for mine. i think i could survive mirror celibacy on scent of the yoni alone; that would be within my understanding.

the Thresholder said, you may, if it’s easier for you.

oh delight. o pretty pretty pretty

i mean…oh my dear. so lovely so cosmic…

and what rachel said, i’m back in this conversation because you’re a mirror celibate self semen drinker. celibate with yourself, your cum and your reflection in your cum, iam. fantasies of sluping her or bukakke with them are just that.

her idea of being fucked is the massage therapist comes over and stretches and relaxes her whole body. he lubes her ass, massages her asshole and cute little butt, stretches her, and then fucks her and ejaculates into her becaause this is what she wants.

&her idea of being fucked is to spread her legs laying on her back and masturbate in front of him at her pleasure. when she is ready to orgasm, just as she’s cumming, he (a man with a large penis, always african) plunges bare into her orgasming vagina & fucks her, pounds her, until he comes. at the depth of her naked vulnerability experience his orgram from right there.

&she wants her mouth fucked, it’s her other cunt, she wants to be deeply taken and gagging out of control as he cums into her as she swallows without even tasting him because she’s allowed him to fuck her throat.

&she braids her long dark hair against the sides of her head when visiting her lover because she knows he will find her irresistable. he is invited to undress her and have her any way he chooses.

&she goes out to a bar and spots a man she knows will violate her and is strong enough to subdue her and sets up a situation where he thinks he’s raping her but what she wants is to be taken by force.

&she wants her asshole licked deeply whilst she masturbates herself and cums with his tongue swirling inside her, squeezing him as she throbs

&she fucks a man and goes out again and meets someone else and invites him to unknowingly fuck her pussy already wet of her previous lover’s semen

&she &her female lover take turns fisting one another

&she loves her twat and waddle sucked long and slow

&she

&she

ok four years no taste and barely any whiff ‘til raquel sent soaked knickers and my brain relaxed. a molecule or two for my pineal. yep if i may surrender all except her scent, then I receive her scent. a relationship where the essential erotic element is i sniff her pussy. as offering worship shri yantra. i’m discovering the scents of her different phases of her arousal. i want to understand.

allthirst funnels into selfthirst…so just do it...

ps — i get that going through my babyish begging craving confessing hoping cuntrifice openly shown in all my mixed emotions is part of my process…

ok this is the part i’m doing. yes i’m struggling and all the woem know i want to smell them and…

allthirst funnels into selfthirst…so just do it...

btw I met someone today who I know, at least, I may invite him to masturbate into my mouth.

I will say to him what I want and let…whatever…happen. I also understand that my cunthirst regression may be a hint that if I drink another man’s semen I will slip or burst into a new cosmos. i think

i am saying it out loud in new ways hearing myself for the first time, so good, efcjustbewith your thirstfor other men…on my knees mouth open i can just say this…

I don’t need phantasy!

Saying what I want will be wholly fulfilling of its own. I am ready. And so what if like…I do suck him off and oh dear so good and I never look or feel back…I know that’s possible and a source of my inner drama. I’m mature enough to know that when I am gulping a man’s semen I won’t be thinking about any of that.

ps — i will keep my promise to myself to lick his ass before i drink his cum. iknowiknowiknow i need this & be known for this. mmmm hmmmmm so good.

…that whatever I may crave or think I want or need, or beg for, etc., that it is possible that I will never fuck or lick out or even smell a woman again.

anyone reading bOb might think…um yeah…this seems to be a deep and total commitment…you don’t know this?

it is still terrifying…woman is…universe…

&as you ceres remind me “you are a mirror celibate, self semen drinker”

openly so...if everyone knows, then this is who I am

&she wrote, I came back to this conversation to say, “you are a mirror celibate, self semen drinker”

(if you say this to me i will relax right then.) you…anyone…may randomly remind me…

i understand i’ve said and felt many times this is what I want, beyond the point of ‘feeling it out’ or living in a parallel world or exploring the boundaries of a relationship…that I have sunk deep under the surface of potential truth and breathed in water and am alive. i have cried out to myself in utter gratitude for my selfgift

going insane to smell cunt and slurp up mouthfulls of all of your delicate nourishing slime &you see my face orgasm into you as i study my reflection in your eyes…

&nd that finally, i do what i can, once I get my clothes off and stand and face myself and see my eyes for as long as I can and get all my yaya begging & confession out of the way

and let go deeply and get my semen into my mouth

i may relax utterly &rest within myself

Saturday Afternoon - Full Session

…aching to sniff and suck cunt. every pretty face that’s where my mind and senses go, and i think i’m flashing this with my eyes, and I’m assured — no, inscrutable. my pineal gland is squirming to be soaked in yin yoni scent and spirit. someone wrote to me today and said, i can’t think of you and not think of that.

In case you’re interested, I can tell you this. I will rarely orgasm and ejaculate from being sucked. You can suck, but you may not have the satisfaction of sucking the semen out of me. I may need to bring myself off by masturbation, which I would prefer be onto your tongue.

However, if I really relax deeply and you get it right…it could happen, I could cum into the back of your mouth…or…I fuck your mouth like a bitch and use you as a masturbation toy. These scenarios are unlikely though.

As a deep habit cultivated through nearly four years of cuntless cockless cucked cummirror cumshell celibacy…I give myself my orgasm no matter who I am with.

Any time you’re ready I will show you my face and eat my stuff with you watching. It will be embarrassing…grunting and begging myself…

look up to you and thank you for granting me the cosmic privilege to drink from your Capricorn moon - to be thirsty and to drink, both

fertilize my yin

uguide me as I regressed myself as an act of will into my inner core adolescent boy rediscovering my self delight. In one elegant transaction we allowed me to sacrifice your vagina on the tacit understanding that this would allow me to turn toward my homosexuality.

We have never discussed this only telepathically. for me any knowledge of your contact with men would be vicarious homosexuality and I am grateful you closed that curtain to me.

I am deeply grateful for what you have taught me about myself and my cosmic orientation on shri yantra. My paravritti is toward you. I cry out in nakedness at the mere thought of you. Thank you for your profound gifts around my healing Mother. Forgiving Mother. Loving Mother. Gratitude Mother. Life Mother. Death Mother.

It is one of the pleasures of my life to yearn and cry out in the awareness of my need for your love and total embrace of acceptance. I have drank a quart of my semen celebrating your existence. You know this.

you deny me, so just right eja, so directed right at the laser core of my need, that very urgent no

The Pathwork said: Be cautious. Erotocizing not having is difficult to get out of once established as a pattern. Surrendering cunt remains an endless canyon of delight for me. I recognize that as I attain honesty about my homosexuality, drinking semen becomes all that exists. &all all all this time my self cum thirst drama was…well…blatantly homo with me being the only one who did not know myself

as of today I remain a mirror celibate self semen drinker, as you left me. I have gone four years without tasting vagina, eja. every single person in my life knows I drink my cum. Everyone knows I’m allowing myself to openly crave the semen of other men as my cosmic truth.

Thank you for helping me to be here amyeja. Soovery easy to feel myself in your conscience

Soul to soul heat to heart love to love

francis

skunk

maus

there are times my whole being thirsts for the scent of cunt

not daring to thirst for a swallow, though yes,

desperate to smell and smell deeply, languidly,

you who possess yoni, in completion of existence i want to smell you

for the pleasure of wanting you to know and see my face beg if you allow

mere pleading