House of Taj | New Century

Compersion adventure on the Oregon coast - an initiation

Otter Point - Oregon Coast

One of my adventures along the Deboarh Taj Anapol trail was a small-group sexuality workshop near Otter Point on the Oregon coast. This was in the spring of 2001, so far from home, so close to the future. I knew Taj from when I was her keynote speaker at the Celebration of Sexuality in Harbin, California about five years earlier.

I was now living on Vashon Island, about five hours to the north. I volunteered to be the sound technician, recording her presentations and the discussion. I wonder if those recordings survive anywhere.

The scene was a secluded cliffside house high above the Pacific and the rocky coast of Oregon. My old friend and sometimes Planet Waves writer and editor Jenny Singer (and my sometimes playmate when we both lived in Miami) was the cook. There were two assistants that I recognized from Harbin, female tantric practitioners whose role was to facilitate the experiences of those in the workshop.

The three-day format is perfect for a group of about 15. Friday night was the warm-up introduction, with a short talk by Taj and a go-around of who was in the group. This was also my opportunity to sound check and make sure the recording setup worked.

That’s where I noticed her — her rugged, silken beauty and the way her eyes penetrated mine with a flush of heat. A couple of times she held my gaze a shade beyond what was comfortable, until I recognized what I was being told.

Which verged on too good to be possible, though there we were, noticing one another and doing so all through the next day. She paired off with a diversity of different men in group process and I kept glancing over to see their interplay, studying how she related to them. She had a way of connecting to everyone deeply, and they would look back at her with different shades of astonishment or desire.

During dinner she came up to me and said hello. She introduced herself — Opal.

Talkative and open in this setting, I could barely focus on her words, so swept away with my attention was I by her face, and her tawny eyes with a hint of rust. These, I could look directly into as she stood my height. I remembered something about an organic goat milk farm in California but it was vague. Maybe she worked there. Maybe it was her farm.

Looking at her sweet face and following her dancing voice, I somehow managed not to moan at the thought of smelling her pussy, an experience without which the universe would not be complete.

“Well, maybe I’ll see you later,” she said, almost with a wink.

After dinner, people began meandering back into the main lodge, where the Saturday night gathering would be. This was more of a social event than a workshop, and would not be recorded — so I would be free to participate.

I sat on a couch scanning the room, eager to see her. When I did, she walked in holding the hand of a man much taller than her, with long, dark blonde hair. I had seen her with him today, and I thought they swam beautifully. She walked past me and glanced down, as if to say, “I’ve chosen him, not you.”

My heart sank for a moment, until she sat down with her partner toward the middle of the room, in plain view of where I was situated. She dropped her sarong to the floor, exposing her breasts, her belly and the tuft of hair on her sex. He was wearing loose, silky shorts. They nested into what is called yab-yum, face-to-face, with their spread legs surrounding one another’s bodies.

Her knees were stretched outside of his, and she was taking obvious pleasure in teasing them open and back. She stretched herself a bit more with her arms, as her hands clasped his waist.

I knew she was going to fuck him, and she was going to do it right here, right then, in front of all of us. I slipped into a morass of wanting to penetrate her and needing to lick her out deeply. I wanted to be chosen as the one she wanted, and I knew she had considered me. Yet instinctively, I surrendered to her choice.

Right then the obvious gift of her offering her pleasure for my own lit up, and I received her warm light. I understood her intent.

First she kissed him, reaching up from under his mouth, thirsting for him. As she did this, she reached down with one hand and slipped his cock out of his shorts and into her. She dropped her head back as he slipped deep into her body, as he grasped her hips with his large hands and snuggled her pelvis into his — and she moaned with receiving and release.

I sat on a couch three or four meters across the room, close enough to see the details and to envelop on them energetically — holding them both emotionally.

Around us, others were beginning to couple up or go into small groups. In the mix of this, she rocked her hips superbly and directly fucking him. He looked straight at and into her eyes as she returned his gaze; I began to moan gently to myself. I was wearing a kimono that I slipped out of its knot and allowed to drop off of my shoulders and unwrap me.

She then guided them to turn sideways, and she laid him on his back, with his head facing away from me. I thought she wanted to ride him, which she did, and I was sad that her face would be away from me. However, she then turned around, faced me, and straddled him again. Her knees were drawn up against her chest and she balanced on her feet, and fucked. First, fast, and then even faster.

Then she slowed down and her eyes opened and she was studying me as she squatted and rocked her yummy hips on his pelvis, filling herself up with him as he gazed upward from the floor.

I looked into her eyes curiously as she studied me observing her fucking. An ache of desire curled within me and then her eyes pushed me out of myself as if from inside. I massaged the tip of my cock and moaned into her gaze, and into the room. I glanced around and everyone was involved in their own scene. Nobody was even looking at us; we were in our own here-now, she fucking him and connecting with me visually.

I wondered whether her lover was in on this plan, though that did not matter now.

She rocked and fucked and plunged onto him, as her face held a soft, sincere expression that would melt into bliss. He would buck up and meet her, pushing his cock deep into her; this, as her voice escaped and groaned in freedom and stretched into her face, now doused in a thin glistening sheen of her sweat.

I licked my hand and feeling long and hard and full, I masturbated as she fucked in front of me, from herself to me. That was all there was to do.

Our eyes opened up a space between us, a bubble set off from the space around us.

Her lover was present there and now I felt that he was offering himself as well. I could feel his orgasm coalescing within him, gathering its energy and filling up within him, within me. Soon, I felt, I understood, he would be ready to let go. All our emotions were plasma, merging and gradually dissolving into one another, yet each of us was still hot and distinct.

I could sense her fully, could feel her pelvis craving him to release, his erection reaching into her and up against her cervix, and his hot pool concentrated at his core ready to merge with her.

Now my inhibitions lit up into craving and curiosity and jealous pleasure grabbed by the hair by the glance of her eyes which looked into me craving however deeply I would let go, to myself and to her.

He roared and was ejaculating. Her eyes sprung rounder for a moment as, stunned sweetly, the semen left both of our bodies and entered the shared space. He spurted into the tight membrane of her vagina and I pulsed and gasped and moaned into my hand, openly for her, and for anyone to see.

She stared at my palm in some amazement as I did, when she glanced down I did, seeing what she was seeing, a thick, deep pool in my palm.

She unmounted him; he sat up and she reclined against him, easing back and spreading apart her legs. I looked at her just-fucked vulva. She was soaked. Then she squeezed and released a pulse of his semen, mingled with her love water, and this coated her labia thickly; she reached with the tips of her fingers between her own legs, gathered the mixture of them her own flesh and sucked it off her fingers…inviting me to do the same thing to and for myself.

I did, plunging my tongue into the pool of my hand, sucking in my liquid eagerly as I grunted involuntarily, for a moment revealing my tongue to her, and to him. We gazed at one another as we both swallowed. Swimming in one another’s ecstasy, the space smelling like sweat and cum and cunt.

There was a gasp of release among the others. When the energy bubble melted a little I could see that everyone around us had, at some point, focused on us and watched as we explored in the sanctity of our space, oblivious to them. It almost seemed like they might clap, though they did not. Eyes lighted onto mine and then I glanced back into Opal’s eyes, loving her, and breathing in her love, her gift, her affirmation.

I could feel the coolness of my lips as my liquid evaporated, and her cheeks and lips were wet with the mixture of them that she had just drank.

She and her lover returned to yab-yum and I curled up on the couch as one of Taj’s assistants put a soft blanket over me, sat next to the couch on the floor, and held me.