Hazukashi-sa no michi, part one
the way of embarrassment
I spent the summer of 2000 in Vancouver, British Columbia. I was roaming the Pacific Northwest and stopped in to visit my friend Jane. She was at the time was moving out of her longtime apartment to live with her boyfriend, with whom she was already staying. So her apartment was available and she invited me to use it.
It was the ‘before times’ — the time before society was irrevocably changed by the events of November 2000 and September 2001.
There, through a series of introductions, I met the tantrika Nichelle, who explained what in Japanese tantra is called Hazukashi-sa no michi, or the Way of Embarrassment.
There was a vibrant sex scene there, with poly meetings, parties, and tantric practitioners. There was also Wreck Beach, a clothing optional beach on the west side of the city, which was like stepping back into 1966. To get there you had to go down a flight of about 490 steps from the UBC campus, down a steep forest cliffside, to the water level. Then you were in another world, an isolated paradise of beautiful naked or mostly undressed people sunning themselves, selling little craft items like pipes and dream catchers, and at night, of fires and beach bands along the seven kilometer stretch of coastline.
I spent several nights there and the experiences were initiatory. Something new always happened. I discovered something about myself. Perhaps I will get to one of them later in this journal. Or maybe now is a good time, because I discovered something there that led to my first conversation with Nichelle.
I was at Wreck Beach one weekday afternoon in July 2000. Despite being midweek there were many people there, but it was a little quieter and felt more settled. Weekends had a restless quality. The women usually went fully naked, though some wore a thong bikini bottom, and the men usually wore shorts. I was laying on the beach naked, on a large pastel rainbow towel. A woman walked by several times, pullng a little cart, calling out, “Dream catchers! Mushroom cocolates!”
I thought this was hilariously brazen but — we were where we were. Finally, I waved her over. She walked the short distance, with her cart following behind her; it was a cooler. The dream catchers were hung on the long handle. She was a beauty, with a sweet face and brown hair framing large brown eyes, hair trailing down her plump little breaasts. Covering her pubic area was a string bikini with little flowers. The strings clung to her hips, tied at the side. I wanted to lean in and sniff her, but I restrained myself. Feeling blood rush to my loins, I looked up, still laying on my belly…
“Hi…what have you got?”
“Homemade mushroom chocolates. And I make these dream catchers.”
“Tell me about the chocolates.”
“One gram of mushrooms per six squares of chocolate, which is an ounce. $10 per ounce. The head is dreamy, not edgy. You’ll like them.”
“Okay…I’ll do one ounce.”
“It’s strong, don’t take it all. Ease in.”
“Okay, good idea.”
“And they come in waves. You’ll peak more than once.”
She opened the cooler and fog overflowed the sides — dry ice. She handed me a cold, foil-wrapped package. I rolled over and sat up to get money, not caring that my penis was becoming erect.
“What about the dream catchers?”
“They work, it’s weird. When I hand it to you, focus a desire. Dream catchers are $10.”
She handed it to me and all I could think about was her adorable pelvis. I reached into my bag and haded her $20 plus five for a tip.
“Thank you,” she said, and strolled off. “Mushroom chocolate! Dream catchers!”
I unrwapped the chocolate and did some math. One gram is 1,000 mg, so one square is about 175mg so two squares is…a little over 300 mg. I thought that was enough. I ate the chocolate and laid back down. And I drifted off to sleep in the late afternoon heat. The voices from the beach entered my misty dream. First, women’s laughter, which felt like pure sex trickling like streams of water through the cosmos. Then a man’s voice said something I could not make out. Then more laughter. Suddenly I was in a pool of my own desire. And I was thirsty. I was unsure where I was until I heard mushroom girl say, “Mushroom chocolates! Dream catchers!”
I knew I was on Wreck Beach. I was burning up and my cock was stiff. I sat up and pulled my towel around me. All over, the evening parties were starting, fires lighting up, men playing guitar and forming beach bands. By the water, a group if women started to wade in, wearing bikinis, their curvy hips silhouetted against the darkening sky. I was utterly desperate to smell cunt. To drink and swallow cunt. I focused my attention on one of the women and imagined smelling her and dipping my tongue deep into her. The mushrooms made this incredbly vivid, like the air between us was plasma. I could smell the ocean and it smelled like her pussy. I had the illusion that she could feel me doing this. Then she turned around and looked right at me.
My penis was stiff and I wanted to burst. This went on for a long time as different people seemed to float through my waking dream. In this dream, I had to live with my unbearable simmering horniness, unable to gratify myself. I was broadcasting my desperation across the landscape and out into the water. My mouth was parched. I didn’t want water, I wanted cunt.
Finally, it was fully dark and I decided to find a private place where I could relieve myself.
I wrapped up in my towel, leaving my bag where it was. Off to one side of the beach were some big rocks, which had alcoves. I felt like I was roamaing around on another planet. I said out loud, “You’re searching for a place to orgasm.” This seemed to strech time, as if it was taking forever, I needed the perfect spot.
Then I was near the boundary of the nude beach. I found a place to the back that seemed secluded and where there were no fires and no people, veiled in shadows. I sat down and dropped my towl and was naked.
I felt as if in my own private cosmos, surrounded by rocks and sitting on the hard packed sand. Voices and music floated in from the distance. As I melted into myself and admitted my feelings, I felt a new surge of the musrooms. My penis pointed toward the water. I moaned and touched myself. Then as I began to touch myself, two women were standing looking at me, about 10 feet away.
One of them said, “Eew! He’s jerking off!”
Her friend replied, “He just wants to feel good. You do it too.”
They stepped toward me. They were both wearing shorts and bikini tops. I knew I had a choice right then. I could cover myself in shame, or enter the pleasure of the moment and let myself go.
“So disgusting!”
“Hush! Go with it,” the other said to her friend.
Then to me: “You can do it.” This was like having hot water thrown on me and then suddenly melting. All at once all the desire I was holding in the whole afternoon pushed itself into my dreamspace, and I could barely believe what was happening was real. Then I was masturbating freely. I was looking right at them but could not make out their facial features.
Then out of my mouth, I heard the words, “I want…”
“What do you want?”
“I want my cum in my mouth.”
“Dis-gus-ting,” the mean one said.
“I’m thirsty….” I was crying. Pleading to the universe…knowing I was thirsty for cunt and at that moment could only have myself.
The friendly girl slipped out of her bikini top, leaving it clinging to her ribs, revealing the shape of her luxurious breasts. She unbuttoned her blue jean shorts. I think she knew this would set me free. I started making sounds, little grunts, and I was entering my orgasm. My voice echoed against the rock. Now I did not care who heard me.
I had the presence to put my free hand near the tip of my penis. She caressed her breasts and lightly pinched her nipples. I heard myself snorting and grunting as my body heaved and became a semen pump. I wanted to be seen and felt in this state…and I was.
I looked right at the silhouette of the disgusted girl, was drawing energy up from the Earth in the form of my hot living liquid. My hand filled up with semen. Then I was sitting there on the beach and in the dark with two women looking at me and the desire to drink myself fleeted away and suddenly I was embarrassed and disgusted.
“I can’t do it.”
“Do it now, right now.” Then the desire came back with fury. The sky behind the women lit up in an orange glow. I was licking my palm, desperately, filling my cunt-thirst and my self-cum thirst, showing them both, slobbering my hand and mouth and wet face.
“So disgusting.”
“So good,” her friend said, as she slipped back into her bathing suit top. Then they walked away like nothing had happened.
