Breathing No-Sex in LA. Amen

(clue: click on the bottom three links to "amen" "sun's rays" and "aum" below to smile at the uncanny ancestoral blend of sex, breath and prayerful acceptance)

I just returned from my LA trip last night (by way of an additional layover in Vegas to see a good friend). It had been a multi-purpose visit spurred on by equal parts of business networking opportunity and the almost absolute innate knowledge that I would, at the very least, communion by touch with one (or perhaps more) of the interesting, accomplished men I’ve been conversing with by phone over the past few months. One in particular got “first (and sole) dibs,” so to speak-- his animus struck my most feminine yin; Another (for insurance) had shared conjoined warmth with me a few visits ago; and I was open to meeting/renewing with the others for open possibilities of reception. I was in need of some physical joy. A tough many months it had been.

It was all timed without much planning—right after the March 3rd’s International Threesome Observance Day and Operation Phone Sex radio appearances (thank you Radio Chick, Bower, and UPop for braving potential FCC anti-sex wrath)— in order to attend West Hollywood’s Celebration of Artistic Freedom charity Oscar party.

This would be one-and-a-half weeks’ worth of anticipated spontaneity. A sure thing allowing whatever might come.

Oh, Vanity, not just a few of Shakespeare’s plays have decried. This particular mistimed comedy-of- errors DID leave me smiling in its ironies. What else could I do?

Chances of meeting honorees Jose Ramos-Horta and Mira Sorvino, or any of the other celebs were pre-empted as we were quietly excluded from the majority “reserved seating” protocol. (Thanks Leah and Lary for being so sweet about our dungeon seating at the Pearl’s more darkened lower level. We three looked stunning, even though the paparazzi seemed to have forgotten to include their red-carpet shots of us on WireImage and Getty Image’s websites. How fleeting, celebrity! Didn’t they know I had been on Mancow for an ENTIRE 30-SECOND interview just two days prior, and only the day after this event’s host Paul Rodriguez had been on the same show? And Lary had been Poker Girl and Leah had posed au naturel in the South Pole.They missed out on 3 babes.) Seriously important freedom of speech causes benefited anyway, Southern California ACLU, Artists for a New South Africa and Amnesty International. Ooooo, the Vanity Fair Party was just down the street…so close.

One down. Two more to go.
More business networking. Getting this blog and the other non-sex projects a stronger online presence with the help of a dear consultant. My focus was off during the scheduled two-days. Wednesday night— not so small world. The eight-month-old ex-boyfriend and I subliminally agreed to ignore each other at the Luxe’s chance meeting at the joint Karma Foundation/The Athletes Agency cocktail event. The last day, the 14th brought promise—my first political show, Alan Nathan’s Battle Line, and later, a well know men’s mag expressed interest in a pitch. Two down.

What about that absolute “sure thing”—what I always easily got when I wanted it— Sex?
Date Number One respectfully declined me as a sexual interest, at least, I think he did. Timing or chemistry, I felt myself strangely physically shy and unsensual with him. Would it have mattered if I had smiled more or touched his hand over dinner, or not? Scheduled nights now very available, I called two spur-of-the-moment-loving men I had met previously. The well-built comedian who had sheltered me for the night back in September (his back went out, he said, this time; I can nurse your bent-self back to shape, I offered, double-entendre intended), and the actor-restaurateur who resembles a 40ish-handsome DeNiro—scheduling on my part and theirs prompted separate “lets get together next times” from each of them. And two others, one I had met prior, were fun and witty and deep and gentlemanly, each with their own charms, but I didn’t feel the erotic urge.

Are the gods and goddesses in their wisdom putting me (and every man who meets me) under a no-sex spell? Should I patiently be appreciating their maleness devoid of phallic impetus— for a time? Was destiny forcing me to be more protective of my own vulnerabilities, even against my will?

The riddle seemed solved. Sunday night, driving PCH from Santa Monica to Oxnard during sunset, LA suddenly became my seducer. It didn’t matter, this no-sex. For all its false promises LA lured me as it mesmorized with its energy, its beauty, its allure of eventual gratification. Randy Newman, I do love LA.…men or no men. I am woman. I am strength. Family and friends and non-profit causes were enough.

Momentary gestalt over. I realized I still wanted sex, darn it, softly caressing my own left thigh for emphasis as I drove. Self-love wasn’t gonna do it tonight. Not to disrespect the nun I once read about who said she achieved orgasm with a simple look at the sunset. As convenient a trick that might be, the Sun God wasn’t stroking me quite the right way. So, much for my wise sexpert designation. Ego and Id wanted some incredible physical love. My womanhood slipped into a teenage pout for the rest of the week.

Cut to Vegas a few days later. My friends Becky and Roger have a back vibrator that almost made me forget about my other physical deprivation. They have another one at their other house I’m staying at in NJ. So, at least my back will feel better over the next month. Looking at her eclectic book shelf, I asked Becky if I could borrow her copy of The Nature Of Personal Reality: Specific, Practical Techniques For Solving Everyday Problems And Enriching The Life You Know(A Seth Book). My lack of sex life qualified as a real problem, I pointed out. A decade ago someone had given me The Education Of Oversoul Seven, a fictional allegorical-companion to this book, it turns out. Becky had no idea how the book came to be in her house, though. Mysterious molecular conjurer?

On the flight back to Philly, Seth reminds/reminded me (Seth is a timeless channeled-spirit) of each of our unique deep-feeling tones. With each breath we inhale (and filter) the tones from outside of us and exhale our perceptions and realities to those around us. Jungian Collective Unconsciousness explained on a socio-molecular level.

OK. LA, next visit, I’ll blow a genuinely holistic, and deeply seductive, feeling tone in your direction … feel me with yours in kind.
Philly, NY, Paris, Hong Kong and points everywhere, you too.. not that I’m looking for an orgy, actually. Don’t want too much of a good thing.
I’ll trust in your and my divine co-creation. Or else get me to a nunnery before summer to learn how to intake the sun’s rays like that fore-mentioned auto-orgasmic sister. Aum. Amen.

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