Tantra massage events workshops london uk

The Most Boring Person in the World

Tantra Tantric massage — Fri, 04 Apr 2008 16:25:00 +0000

I'm writing a book on tantra and sex. I have been given mad deadlines. What this means in reality is that I'm not practising tantra, nor having any sex! Consequently, I have become the most boring person in the world. I certainly have no lurid tales to share with you. I haven't attempted anything this challenging since putting together Tantralink.
The most exciting thing that's happened to me in the last week has been a mud wrap at a spa retreat I was researching for the book. I'm not complaining - it's just that All of my sexiness, juiciness, sassiness is pouring into the book. So when it comes out, GO AND BUY IT! It'll be the hottest book out there. I'll let you know.
In the meantime, I've become like a man - thinking about sex every 6 seconds. Why, oh why did I throw out my Rabbit? A fleeting paranoia about the dangers of leaking latex I seem to recall. I haven't even got time to go out and get one.
Hang on, I have a boyfriend! Oh yes...maybe I'll give him a ring sometime this week and see if I can squeeze him in between the ten hours a day on the computer. Actually, thinking about it, I'd better check to see if I still have one. I wouldn't be surprised if he hasn't been scouring the pages of the dating site, looking for a hot date. Bless him. When this is over, if he hasn't dumped me, I'll make it up to him.
If I get any sex, or have any spontaneous satoris, don't worry I'll let you know. In the meantime please pray that I don't dry up completely. Ah, the life of a writer...
By the way, if you're looking for something good to read, go to the articles on Tantralink. There's some great stuff there.

Sex Festival

Tantra Tantric massage — Tue, 19 Feb 2008 14:29:00 +0000

SEX FESTIVAL

It’s hard to imagine how the cosy, unmistakably English seaside town of Dartmouth, with its quaint cobbled alleys, Tudor buildings, hills and harbour could have ever been chosen as the place to host England’s first tantra and healing arts festival.

One might expect a couple attempting an idea as madcap as throwing a tantra festival in their own home town to be renegade hippies, but the Lamberts are a quintessentially English couple themselves, polite and appropriately behaved (although their children might disagree). Kerry and Colin ran a highly-respected, local sailing school before selling up and stepping into the unknown. The courage this took came from discovering tantra, diving in at the deep end with a year-long, couples training under the facilitation of John Hawken from Skydancing Tantra, and watching their 30 year marriage transform itself from, let’s say ‘tired’ to ‘rejuvenated’.

The Lamberts fell in love with tantra and spent a couple of years dabbling in various different styles of tantra, which is a common practice amongst tantrikas, who tend to be like butterflies, tasting the nectar from different flowers. They began asking themselves, “How can we create a business that would let us immerse ourselves in the thing we’re most passionate about?” Their previous obsession, sailing, had given them the impetus to set up a sailing school from scratch, which had consequently provided them a series of unforgettable adventures upon the high seas of the world. After a lot of hard work, and with the growing realisation about the dangers of mixing business and pleasure, they decided to let the sailing school go, and allowed themselves a short spell of “What the hell do we do now?”
The next step soon became obvious and the intrepid Lamberts set about bravely creating an ambitious festival, bringing together all the teachers, practitioners and oddball characters they’d met along the way so far on their tantric journey.

The Dartmouth yearly calendar is chockablock full of festivals – regatta week, music, comedy, food, literary – show up there and you’ll be pretty sure to find some festival or another in full flow. It’s lucky (or unlucky, depending on which side of the picket fence you stand) that the place has been bought up by rich city dwellers, who rent out their houses for the 351 days they’re not in Dartmouth themelves. Clever folk who opened holiday rental services ten years ago...

In early December 2007, unsuspecting Dartmouth found itself descended upon by two hundred or so curious tantrikas, excited to be part of this seminal event. The normally rather functional Flavel centre was festooned with tibetan yantras, incense burned fiercely and new age music caressed the ears of local and visiting punters as they climbed the staircase to the main hall, which was packed with stalls selling a wide array of products, from tibetan bowls, to tantric clothing, to boxes of raw chocolate. Hundreds of exotic Thai buddhas had been displayed throughout the centre by the Harry the Buddha Man and colourful booths housed various alternative practitioners offering kinesiology, massage and clairvoyant readings.

Dartmouthians are a conservative lot, and sadly many stayed away, having been deterred by the local rumours that this was a ‘Sex Festival’. There were also floods closing the main roads into Dartmouth from the outside world, and with weather warnings from the local radio urging people “not to leave their homes”, there was a disappointing turn out from the nearby areas. This didn’t stop the participants, who had journeyed from far and wide to take up residence for the weekend in the Royal Castle Hotel and various rental houses, from having the most glorious time. All of the tantra workshops were full to bursting. There were courses available at all levels of tantra, from beginners to advanced and there was a buzz in the air as participants rushed around, grabbing fabulous organic food between classes.

Kerry had booked some supremely talented performers who gave shows virtually back to back – singers, musicians, psychic readers tuning in to Great Aunt Ethel, an acupuncturist offering a live demonstration (I stupidly watched this while eating a veggie burger and promptly found myself with severe indigestion), healing sound journeys – honestly, there was no chance of being bored for a minute!
On Saturday evening the incredible band, One Hand Clapping got everyone dancing. We were fully revved-up for the late night party which was held in private in the Royal Castle Hotel. The fancy dress theme was ‘desire’, and the costumes certainly didn’t disappoint. There was latex, lace and leather in abundance. The bar staff had been warned, but I’m sure that nothing could have prepared them for the hundred wild and exotically-attired guests who descended en-masse from the hotel rooms at 11.00. We danced, drank and made merry until 4.00 in the morning. My favourite spot of course was the aptly named ‘Bizarre Bazarre’ which had been created behind a curtain at the far end of the bar. In this secluded spot guests could partake of anything their hearts desired – there was every kind of stimulation on offer, from gentle massage, to blindfold sensorial delights, to spanking. While chatting with guests at the bar I noticed a few raised eyebrows from the staff as they caught the sounds of slaps and squeals emanating from behind the curtain. The name of the party was ‘Tantrabound’, Colin’s desire being to merge tantra and fetish for the night, something not often attempted. I noticed a few tantrikas in a state of mild shock. Bless their hemp socks. They had obviously never found themselves quite so up-close to playful S & M before. I’m a believer in trying something before you ‘dis’ it and this was a perfect environment in which to dive into new experiences. If you judge someone for obvously enjoying an innocent activity that seems beyond your comprehension, an activity that isn’t harming anyone else, just notice where that judgement comes from...is it from your mind? Is it formed from the mental residue of some experience you once had long ago? Interesting to note that the Dartmouth Tantra and Healing Arts Festival seemed to provide challenges for both the pure tantrikas, and the uninitiated, curious about this strange practice they’d heard about from a random flyer they’d picked up at some fetish club in London.There was certainly something for everyone at Tantrabound. Quite a number of guests never even left the dance room, remaing completely unaware of the Bizarre Bazarre, as the music, DJ’d by the sensational Suta continued to motivate and move body, heart and soul for the full five hours...

After all the late night shenanigans you would have expected the early morning meditation on Sunday morning to be empty, but to everyone’s amazement at least 20 people showed up at 9.00 prompt for Sarita’s Mahamudra, with live music provided by One Hand Clapping. This is an active and dynamic meditation and the fact that so many people showed up at this uncilivised hour demonstrated the dedication and passion of tantra lovers.

Lunchtime saw the first ever forum of tantra teachers. This was a panel consisting of the main facilitators who had offered workshops at the festival. Laurie Handlers from Butterfly Workshops in the USA, Jewls from Heart Tantra, Sarita and Chintan from School of Awakening and Hanna from Transendence sat side by side on a panel, answering questions from the captivated audience. This was an historic event and I was proud to be hosting this inspiring forum. Questions as varied as “How do I practise tantra if I’m a celibate?” and “Do tantra and business go together?” were fired at the teachers, all of whom answered with grace, openness, generosity and genuine wisdom. There was such a feeling of love and support between the teachers that it would have been impossible to leave that room without an overwhelming sense that there could be peace and harmony in the world in the not too distant future.
The Lamberts set out to run a healing arts festival bringing together a few, like-minded people. I believe they achieved far more than that. For one weekend in rainy Dartmouth, Colin and Kerry, and a bunch of slightly eccentric tantrikas created heaven on earth.

The next Dartmouth Tantra and Healing Arts Festival is on 4th to the 7th December,2008

HIGH HEELS AND HERNIAS

Tantra Tantric massage — Sat, 15 Dec 2007 08:44:00 +0000

HIGH HEELS AND HERNIAS

We never miss Erotica and plan our yearly calendar around it. One thing you have to understand is that ordinarily I loathe shopping. I’m not like your average woman – I break out in a cold sweat at the thought of visiting Brent Cross, or spending more time than is absolutely essential in any high street store, but Erotica is shopping in a different realm. Imagine the large hall at Olympia, filled wall-to-wall with stalls selling every product related to sexual pleasure that you could imagine, and gadgets and gizmos that your imagination hasn’t even ventured anywhere near! It’s retail therapy for the carnally courageous.

One needs to train for Erotica – it resembles a triathlon, and by the end I always feel as if I’ve completed a kind of indoor Outward Bound. On the subject of bondage, you can get very good tape at cost price...
I have one piece of advice if you’re considering booking for the first time – wear comfortable shoes! If you find yourself with sore feet after a couple of hours, you’ll be stuffed. The only footwear you could possibly acquire, from the dozens of shoe stalls available, is cheap, high and plastic (you can, if you get there in time, find flippers at the hard-core fetish stall that specialises in army standard gas masks and full body rubber suits). When I say high, we’re talking eight-inch heels, four-inch platforms, stilettos that could pin a rhinoceros to the ground... The first year I visited Erotica I arrived in heels, with no back-up thinking, “If I can’t show off my legs at this event, when can I?” I ended up without shoes by three o’clock, anticipating a drawing pin in the sole of my foot at every step. I escaped unscathed, rather miraculously considering I’d been trodden on by more than one over-enthusiastic shopper.
When I say it’s crowded, that’s an understatement. Friday’s the easiest, but Saturday and Sunday make Oxford Street on Christmas Eve look like a relaxing day out. The payoff is that you get to buy clothes and toys that you’ll never get sick of, don’t go out of fashion and will last you the rest of your life
One walks for miles at Erotica. Just when you think it’s time for a sit-down and a nice cup of tea, you remember that quartz-crystal dildo that they had only one left of, and you rush back over to try and find the trader who was installed somewhere between the bespoke latex hood retailer and the man who hand-crafts kangaroo hide whips. On the way you get distracted by the pole-dancing show that’s going on in aisle six, then swept upstairs to catch the Fantasy Boys who are about to perform their last show of the day, which you absolutely cannot miss.
It’s worse when you’re with a partner. Then there are two agendas going on side by side. This year we tried a sort of master and slave arrangement. I bought a collar and heavy lead and encouraged my partner to do Erotica ‘his way’ for a change. Off we went, me in tow, my dominant alpha male looking very pleased with himself. This lasted all of five minutes. After I’d tugged on the lead a few times, saying “Wait! I just want to read this!” Andrew threw the lead back at me.
“Why are you doing that?” I asked, genuinely perplexed, “Don’t you want to lead me?”
“It’s embarrassing,” he said,”trying to drag a woman around who keeps yanking on the leash and bossing ME about!”
I could see his point - I’ll have to work on my inner submissive female I think.

Erotica is an exercise in creative expression. The exhibitors push out the boat, the merchandise demonstrators (sexy, attractive girls and muscle-bound, hairless men, who I'm sure have been hired from some standard agency, their work experience probably having stretched to spraying perfume on passers-by in Selfridges or handing out car promotion leaflets in shopping malls) seem happy to be dressing up in Torture Garden style outfits, selling sex. You should have seen the 'live show' at the lingerie stall, involving two girls and a chaise-longue. You'd never bother with Marks and Spencers lingerie department again.
Tantra it aint, but one can bring a state of meditative awareness to anything - even at the point when the sandwiches have run out and one's forced to chow down on the last remaining food in the whole of Olympia - pork sausages. I'm generally a vegetarian, but i'm sure that if I was on a survival course in the bush (or a Vision Quest, if I were a New Ager) if I was about to die of starvation and a pig and a fire presented itself to me, I wouldn't think twice, right?

This year, the highlight for me was Dita Von Teese. She is a truly remarkable woman. Not least for the fact that she basically gets paid (a lot!) for parading a perfect body around the stage, wearing some rather fetching outfits, and waving a couple of large feather fans about. Tough job but someone’s gotta do it. Dita is an icon, a living legend. If you could have seen the men’s faces in the audience you would know instantly that this creature is something special. My beloved’s mouth was open for most of her show, and I’m sure I saw him dribbling at one point. My friend Nisarg, who is a connoisseur of Goddessness, paid a hundred quid this year for a VIP ticket. Although one of perks was that you got free champagne in some dismal VIP lounge (they ran out by four o’clock), the primary reason for him paying 83% more for a ticket than me, was so that he could (maybe) get to meet Dita Von Teese. Perhaps one day I’ll have that kind of pulling power...
A few Tantra Club friends and I watched the show together, marvelling at the whole spectacular phenomenon that is Dita Von Teese. We ooh-ed and aah-ed along with everyone and applauded when she removed another layer. She didn’t ‘do’ anything that amazing really (apart from taking a shower on stage and looking as perfect post-shower as she had before she got drenched – quite a feat! You try it!) and yet we had to admit – she’s got it. Whatever ‘it’ is... hard to put one’s finger on it, but I’m sure there isn’t a man on this planet who’d refuse to try...

Wet Wishes

Tantra Tantric massage — Wed, 07 Nov 2007 23:08:00 +0000

WET WISHES

Female ejaculation. I’ve always wondered what all the fuss was about. That is until I found myself at a serious lecture on the topic, presented by American s/expert Deborah Sundahl, author of “Female Ejaculation and the G-spot” (www.isimedia.org) who’s been travelling through Europe giving talks and hands-on (or rather fingers-in) workshops on this misunderstood and repressed natural function of the human body.

Fifteen eager participants met at Coffee Cake and Kink in Covent Garden one weekday evening, a few from Tantralink Online Community. It was somewhat surreal, gathering in this sensual Aladdin’s cave to learn about the intricacies of G-spot orgasms and the power of the female prostate, while commuters were wending their weary way home outside after a day in the city.

Coffee Cake and Kink is a miniature sex emporium and well worth visiting for a browse. I want to warn you that Harvey Nichols it aint, so don’t take your mum - at least until you’ve checked it out for yourself first.

CC&K provide extremely good cake and coffee, as well as stocking an impressive catalogue of sex books and retailing top of the line sex toys. Downstairs is a comfy art café, replete with red couches and sexy pictures lining the walls. In the corner you can look through the portfolios of well-known erotic artists. Amongst the many tantalising events in their programme I notice they hold cosy ‘story nights’, which are, I understand, a great way to meet new people. Think Jackanory with undertones of fetish...

Back to our lecture which begins with an eye-opening Power Point presentation containing explicit videos of a woman receiving a G-spot massage and ejaculating copiously. We’re shown photos of ancient sculptures depicting women ejaculating (it’s always been assumed by the experts who analyse these kinds of historical things that the women were urinating – which just goes to show how much direct exposure to female ejaculation archaeologists have had) and diagrams based on new research around the G-spot’s design and function which completely re-write medical history.
How’s this for an astounding fact? In 2001 the Medical Association finally declared the G-spot an official ‘organ’ of the body and yet, in medical school doctors and nurses are not taught about its existence. The G-spot, or female prostate, is completely overlooked in medical training. Strange that. I’m picturing scores of angry women parading outside their local medical training establishments with banners bearing the message “Power to the Prostate!”

Around the world, much evidence has been found, showing that many cultures have celebrated female ejaculation throughout history. For example, woodcuts from the 16th century Japan depict implements used to increase and collect the ejaculatory waters. Female ejaculate has been drunk as tea, its properties revered for their health-giving qualities. The Japanese considered female ejaculate an aphrodisiac and claimed that it reversed the aging process.
Interestingly, one of the benefits to women in allowing their ejaculate to flow is that due to its high levels of glucose it soothes the walls of the urethra, acting as an antidote to the acidity of urine.
Honestly, the things you discover from reading my blogs! But get Deborah’s book, you’ll learn lots more...

At this lecture there are four men present. This puts paid to any chance of having a go ourselves under the guidance of the G-spot Goddess herself. Apparently, the event held the previous night was man-free, so they all got down to business right after the slide show. Mops were needed at the end, so I was told...

Here at Coffee Cake and Kink it’s all a little, well, lecturey, but that’s ok because it happens to be quite a lively and engaging bunch of people. There are two young girls who I assume are lovers due to the close proximity they keep to each other all evening, one of whom ejaculates (the reason I know this is because at the beginning we’re asked to raise our hands if we ejaculate. Only two women in the group admit to squirting, which is quite astonishing in this modern and emancipated age I thought).

In the corner is a young guy who’s been sent by his girlfriend. They couldn’t both afford a ticket, so he won the coin toss and he’s taking notes fervently throughout. A couple from Tantra Club who are always up for something new are riveted, as is everyone in fact, and I’m sitting next to my trusty playmate Nisarg (The Nick from my previous blog), a marvellous tantric masseur who is of course fascinated by all things genital. I see a sex journalist I’m familiar with and I’m sitting next to a very attractive single woman who tells me she doesn’t have a partner. I’m tempted to ask her if she wants to come home and practise after the lecture, but diplomacy prevails...

After questions and answers we eat cake and drink coffee and discuss how motivated we are to start ‘awakening and sensitising’ our G-spots and working towards ejaculation. I must just inform you, in case you were wondering, that ejaculation has nothing to do with regular orgasms or ‘climaxes’. The prostate releases the fluid using a whole different set of muscles and nerves. So, women who are orgasmic don’t necessarily ejaculate, and vice versa. Ejaculate comes through the urethra, and the other kind of sexual lubrication comes from... hang on a minute, I don’t know the answer to that... how shameful, I shall have to investigate and report in a future blog.

Female ejaculation itself, as a function on its own, orgasms (the quality and length of), sexual techniques etc. don’t really have much to do with the practice of tantra, although if you looked on most websites you would be forgiven for thinking that those things are the main focus of tantra! But the truth is, one can bring tantric consciousness to everything. Consequently, as a tantric sex therapist and Urban Goddess I feel it is my duty to investigate and explore everything that’s going on out there related to the fine art of sexuality. Deborah Sundahl is in fact a firm believer in the potency of tantric practices and she spoke a fair amount about the sacredness of female ejaculation and the importance of women empowering themselves through full understanding of the potential of their own bodies.

I opened the book as soon as I got home. What great bedtime reading! Naturally I’m practising myself and shall keep you updated on my progress.

SEX TOYS 'R' US

Tantra Tantric massage — Thu, 11 Oct 2007 07:50:00 +0000

SEX TOYS ‘R’ US

It was your average day in the suburbs, nothing too exotic occuring between the school run and the kids returning to their father in the early evening. During the mothering stints it is possible for me to forget entirely that I’m a Tantric Goddess. Don’t get me wrong, I love being a mum (except when they’re operating in ‘selective listening’ mode) but it is somewhat challenging to remember that you’re One with the Universe, Channeling Cosmic Energy and Embodying the Divine Feminine when you’ve spent a week in sweats and trainers and haven’t seen much of life outside the kitchen and utility room.
Nevertheless, as luck would have it there was a treat in store that evening, which I’d been looking forward to all month. I have some very interesting friends, and one in particular had phoned to ask if I would like to participate in some market research - a colleague of his had just been given the distribution rights for a brand new, hi-tech vibrator and needed some feedback from a woman or two. Well, I’m always up for a bit of sensorial stimulation, as you already know if you’ve been following my blogs.
This friend (I’ll call him Nick for artistic, legal and safety reasons), who proves his love for me by leaving the excitement of London and trecking to the ‘burbs, happens to be one of the finest yoni masseurs in the country and as I consider myself a connoisseur in this area, having tried a fair few yoni massages in my time, I also consider myself qualified to rate my mate’s massage at the top of the scale. Now being a woman who knows which side her bread’s buttered on, I wasn’t going to turn down the offer of a yoni massage and a test drive on a new sex toy..I couldn’t believe that there was a machine on the market that might be even more effective than Nick! This I had to try.
Now, what you have to realise here is that I’m actually not big on vibrators. I honestly prefer the real thing, attached to a real man, with faults, feelings and foibles. I’d rather wait for the genuine article, no matter how long. I enjoy those additional bonuses like spontaneous groans, unexpected bodily fluid, snoring in the post-coital cuddle, etc. Also, a vibrator can’t get up and make you a cup of tea afterwards.
I do posess a gizmo or two in my bedside drawer, more because as a Modern Woman I feel obliged occasionally to join the emancipated masses and consume accordingly. (Did you know that the top selling domestic appliance is indeed the vibrator? Has anyone told Mr Dyson he’s in the wrong business?)
I pick up a new model every couple of years at Erotica (where you shop alongside the emancipated masses - about ten thousand people visit Erotica over three days. It's a bit like being on Oxford Street on Christmas Eve) with the good intention of self-pleasuring occasionally and sadly they lie in my drawer for years, unloved and barely used. I even threw an expensive one in the bin the other day. It was fancy - shaped like a frog and it twiddled, twirled and tap-danced. But I didn’t like the way it smelled, and paranoia was beginning to set in around the level of carcinogens in latex.
So, back to the yoni massage, which was unfolding in its delicious, unhurried way. I was transcending even the need to talk, and had drifted off to Planet Sex where an orgy was taking place starring angelic beings in a state of enlightened euphoria.....
“Shall we try it?” asked my bringer of heavenly delights.
“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten,” I mumbled.
“I think you should keep your eyes closed, it’s a little industrial-looking”, instructed the expert.
I did as I was told.
Suddenly I heard what clearly resembled the sound of a jack hammer. It sounded like someone was fixing the pavement outside. I almost jumped off the table as my shoulders were attacked by a road-digger.
“Waah!” I yelped. “You’re not putting that thing on my clit are you?! Can’t you turn the vibration down?”
“That’s the lowest of the two settings” replied Nick, sounding a little nervous.
As the fearsome, juddering contraption made contact with my yoni, I hit the ceiling.
“Waaaaah!” I screamed and laughed and screamed some more.
This was not the effect my friend had expected and within a minute we were helpless with laughter, tears rolling down our faces.
When we recovered, we experimented with the ‘attachments’. Bobbly bits went here, flicky things went there. Gadget Man would have had a field day.
Whenever the device was vibrating anywhere near me, the only sound I appeared to be able to make was,
“Waaaaaah!”
It’s quite possible that I’m not the ideal testing ground for researching battery-operated sex toys. Women who use plastic toys, fuck machines that simulate the ‘real’ thing, cucumbers, broom handles and such like, tend to become de-sensitised. A soft, warm, wet part of the human anatomy just won’t ‘do it’ anymore. This makes sense, doesn’t it? I mean the stronger the pressure someone needs to stimulate climax, or any level of pleasure, surely the pressure would just have to get harder and harder. Think of those kamikaze fun-fair riders who need a wilder ride to achieve the thrill, or valium addicts who have to take incrementally higher doses to put them to sleep..... There are a lot of numbed-out people in the world trying to have a decent sex life. Thank god for genital healing...........

Anyway, back to my thoughts on The Jack Hammer Vibrator (not its real name, so don’t go Googling for it), which is to be taken with a pinch of salt (or ‘Extra Zest, Hot and Spicy’ sex lube) considering I’m a bit of an old-fashioned tantric sex goddess at heart:
The JHV is certainly an experience, although perhaps not quite the experience that the manufacturer had in mind. I’m going to ask a question, at the risk of seeming a little dramatic –
Do you think it’s possible that the inventor of this glow-in-the-dark monstrosity actually HATES WOMEN?
This brings us to the rather more important question relating to our modern age – why are there women out there who can’t/choose not to/won’t/believe it’s impossible to find real, fulfilling sexual connection on a regular basis, either with one special partner or a variety of lovers? And believe me, there ARE women who would choose a vibrating, plastic object over a man. Sad, but true (although completely understandable if you’ve ever been in a British city at the point when the pubs empty out).
The answer to this dilemma lies in tantra.
There is a common misconception out there that tantra is all about sex. If we drew a foot-long line representing tantra, tantric sex is about an inch worth, tantric massage about an inch; dancing, meditating, swimming, walking in nature, creating art, writing, hugging, sharing, channeling, eating, all these aspects make up the remaining part of that line..... but I want to assure you that should you step into the world of tantra, you certainly stand more of a chance of connecting sexually with a genuine, honest and authentic fellow human than if you spend your leisure time down the disco or local sport centre, or traipsing the barren floors of your local mall.

Tantra is the antidote to all the cruelty and unconsciousness that exists on the planet right now. A rather bold claim I know, but hey, why do you think I created Tantralink? It’s not a hobby! Way too expensive and time-consuming. I’m the Tantric Supercrusader on a mission. And considering how irritating I can become when I’m on a roll, it’s a miracle I have any friends left.......
I’m not ashamed of my enthusiasm, and here’s a message to the Sistas – Throw down your vibrators! Register on a tantra course and sign up with a tantra dating agency.
But if you’ve just read this blog and think, ‘Nah she’s off with the fairies’ and you do decide to just head off down the pub, a word of advice - keep your vibrators handy. You’ll need them.

Night of the Senses

Tantra Tantric massage — Sat, 15 Sep 2007 20:32:00 +0000

NIGHT OF THE SENSES

How does one find the words to successfully recount a night spent at what has been described as the ‘world’s biggest and best sex club’?

Putting Tantralink.com together was the most challenging project for me to date, but as I start to compose this blog I realise that I’ve set myself a hefty task – to convey to you in literary format the most sensorially stimulating occasion of the year! Describing sensation in a way that translates to the reader is, in a way, an impossible task - words can never 'be' the experience, but your faithful blogger is happy to pull out the thesaurus and wrestle with sentences to do my bit towards raising public awareness of the incredible work of the Leydig Trust and Outsiders, two charitable organisations you don’t hear much about in the evening news.

Dr Tuppy Owens is the mastermind (or should I say mistressmind?) of this monumental event, and has been running it for fourteen years. In fact, this combined awards show and party was known for many years as the Sex Maniac’s Ball, and I’m not sure why they changed the name, but I can only assume that the ‘sex maniac’ bit scared away potential participants.... Tuppy is a courageous activist who has been tirelessly campaigning for a more positive sex attitude in England, particularly towards and amongst the disabled community (www.outsiders.org.uk) and is well-known in the Highland village, where she recently moved to from the hubub of London, as ‘that sex lady on the hill’.
I feel kindred with Tuppy. She is attempting to provide accsessible information, forums and events so that people can 'get off it' around sex, which is what I'm attempting to do with Tantralink.com - reframe the general assumptions around tantra. If you ask most people what they think tantra is you receive answers like this - "Isn't it sex that lasts all night?" or "Something to do with candles and sitting on cushions."

Having immersed myself in the living science of tantra for ten years (gaining a degree in the subject along the way) I have only recently begun to investigate the enigmatic domain of fetish and BDSM. One thing I discovered in my tantric explorations is that there is no such thing as ‘wrong’ certainly in the world of sexuality and self-expression in general. The question I asked myself recently was - So if I’m really going to live that truth then what better way to test the waters of my new-found ‘acceptance of all things as they are’ than exploring the fetish world with a non-judgemental attitude? Now that I’ve dipped a toe into a club or two I can safely say to the uninitiated and timid that the idea of a fetish club is far more daunting than the reality.
Surely anything that breaks boundaries and opens one's eyes to the myriad aspects of human nature can only be a good thing? Visiting Wikipedia and typing in BDSM is an education in itself. My observation so far is that, whether it turns you on or not, there seems to be an admirably high level of consciousness and respect within the world of fetish, very little drug taking or alcohol abuse and basically a lot of rather normal and nice people who like to dress up and have a bit of fun. The Night of the Senses celebrates in style and safety hundreds of different sexual preferences and practices and I was impressed by the generosity of the guests, contributors, helpers and performers. Next year I might even take my mother.......

I had invited members of the Online Community on Tantralink to join me on this adventure and sadly, only one tantrika showed up. What a shame. I see tantra as a gateway to consciousness, and although 'tantra' per se is not represented directly here, there is a great feeling of connection and spirit running through the Night of the Senses which gives me hope for humanity. Tuppy and I dialogued about this topic and she told me she doesn't like labels around sex, suggesting they can be used to engender elements of control. I relate completely to what she's saying. Tuppy also reminded me that there was a 'Sensorial Chamber' on the 3rd floor, in which the various senses were lovingly awakened. I'd noticed it during my escapades of the night, but hadn't gone in, as it was set up for one person at a time and there was a queue (of course, it's England, we get off on queueing!) One thing to point out here is that there were a thousand different experiences of the Night of the Senses. My mate told me he'd seen a dozen men and two women in a room in which, two hours later I saw a dozen women and three men. So, you can see it all comes down to that old chestnut - we create our own reality.

Participating in the Night of the Senses, even merely in voyeuristic capacity, is rather like dropping a tab of acid with a large bunch of good friends. About a thousand, in fact (and yes, believe it or not, I can still remember my teenage trips under the influence of the great hallucinogen, even though I’ve had two children since. I'm convinced that pregnancy and childbirth kill off far more braincells than LSD ever could.....but that’s another topic, for another day and another blog).

Just arriving at the club is an eye-opening experience. Some people turn up fully dressed and others arrive in street clothes, transforming themselves in the changing room inside. There is a well-stocked ‘dress up’ shop where you can hire a fantasy costume at low cost. Everybody, without exception makes an effort to present the most outlandish image they can create for the night, and wandering up and down the floors of the club one comes across revellers from every walk of life, kitted-out in a vast array of fantastical and eccentric outfits. Anything from sarongs and floaty silks, to high heels and latex rubber wear. You can feast your eyes on leather straps, collars and leads, priestly robes, thongs galore, pvc nursing outfits (on some of the men too) pirate gear á la Johnny Depp, every kind of uniform imaginable....there were a few ‘policemen’ about, which was faintly disturbing somehow. Fat, thin, disabled and abled, young and old, fit and gym-allergic mingle together in a friendly and heart-warming way, and the atmosphere is electrically-charged as guests move around the club, finding their way in this cavernous venue, which ironically used to be a church. What better way to honour consecrated ground, I say?

The finals of the Annual Erotic Awards is even more gloriously satisfying than the semi-finals, held a few weeks previously. Before the performers begin the stage show there is a presentation for the winners of categories such as ‘sex worker’, ‘pioneer’, ‘blog’, ‘film-maker’, ‘sex club’. At a break in the proceedings I lean forward and introduce myself to the most lovely man in a wheelchair sitting in front of me, who happens to be one of the judges. He is accompanied by his amiable cousin and they oblige me by enthusiastically appreciating my eight inch fetish shoes, which are already giving me blisters, and giving me marks out of ten for my outfit. This intelligent and cultured man has been coming to the Erotic Awards since its inception and tells me that even though he’s seen a lot of the performers many times, he’s never been bored. I can see why. The fine art of strip-tease is taken to a whole new level here, the sado-masochist acts are humorous and imaginative and the pole dancing takes one’s breath away. I get to see the impossibly fit and flexible Ekatarina tie herself up in beautiful knots in aerial silks once again. And as the show goes on, each act more innovative than the next, I can’t help thinking that much as I enjoyed Cats and Les Mis this is a more entertaining show than anything Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber has produced for the West End in thirty years.
I can’t remember who won! ‘Winning’ seems utterly irrelevant in this competition – each perfomer is so unique it’s impossible to rate one over the other.
After the show I go for a wander, teetering on my heels and wishing they’d introduce bedroom slippers as fetish footwear. I’m determined to grin and bear it for as long as I can – “Glamour before comfort” my mother always used to say. Or was it “You have to suffer to be beautiful”? Funny how those childhood messages lodge themselves deep inside the psyche.
There is room after room, each with a different theme and decorated accordingly, and I find out, with relief that there’s no pressure to enter the spaces or to participate – the more cautious can spy through peep holes to witness the goings-on inside. Every sexual fantasy you could possibly imagine gets acted out here with gay abandon. I watch men with men, women with women, more than one woman with men, many men with one woman – you name it, I see it!

We come across a large, black box with holes in the walls which you step inside to be, yes you’ve guessed it – groped. It’s a hoot. I take a turn and scream with laughter as half a dozen or so anonymous hands appear and touch me all over. It’s so intense I last about forty seconds, but the bare-breasted and obviously seasoned punter after me remains in the box for at least five minutes. There should be an award for Grope Box stamina.

Unfortunately I’m on my moon time, which is the tantric term for what can only be described in my case as ‘bleeding for England’. My partner has a stomachache, so between the two of us there ain't much action, but I’m happy to prowl the place as enthusiastic voyeur, a cat-o-nine-tails carried religiously throughout the ten-hour marathon, showing that yes I am a sex maniac at heart, even if I’m not about to strip naked and get down and dirty on this particular night. It’s five minutes before we’re due to leave and a polite gentleman comes up to me and asks, in an Etonian accent,
“Are you available for a whipping?” It’s a question one doesn’t get asked an awful lot, especially in the middle-class, suburban village I reside in, and I think, what the hell, you only live once (unless you believe in reincarnation, which sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t, but on this night I definitely don’t).
He leads me to his friend, who’s dressed in a kilt (I’m not even sure why I’m mentioning it, by this point no article of clothing is surprising) and tells me that his friend’s been a ‘bad boy’. My exhausted partner sits down in a corner, quite clearly longing for home and a nice cup of tea.
The two men and I move towards the doorway to the Torture Dundgeon, but take our place against a wall outside. Somehow the torture room feels too official and intimidating. I think it’s the fear of how far one might go......Safely outside the dundgeon, with no fear of pressure from professional torturers, I do the honours of punishing the man, in a rather Jewish-girl-from-Bournemouth sort of way. I think he may have been a little disappointed by my lack of vigour. The Etonian asks me if I’ve been a bad girl. I think to myself, "in for a penny, in for a pound, I might as well get a light whipping while I’m at it". After all, this will be the closest I get to sexual depravity until the tidal waves of menstruation have abated. As the curtain comes down on the mutual whipping frenzy I realise that rather more than five minutes have passed and I feel a touch of guilt abandoning my ever-patient, tantric love god. I look over and, blow me down, he’s grinning ear to ear. That’s love............
I had changed into comfy mules a few hours previously (I last about two hours in platforms and stillettos – I’m generally a Birkenstock kind of girl) and had left them under my coat. When I come to leave I can’t believe it, my beloved fuck-me shoes, which take pride of place on top of my wardrobe, annoying my prudish teenage sons, are gone! This tinged the evening with a splash of sadness for me. So, if you’re reading this, and borrowed my favourite high-rise footwear, please return them, and I’ll kiss you all over (after you get a good whipping, of course).

ANNUAL EROTIC/STRIPTEASE AWARDS

Tantra Tantric massage — Sat, 26 May 2007 07:52:00 +0000

You may wonder what an Erotic/Striptease award could possibly be. You might be saying to yourself, "Nah....you're not serious........they can't possibly hold Erotic/Striptease awards, not in this country....maybe in Vegas.....come on....."
Well I'm here to tell you that the Annual Erotic and Striptease Awards Evening does indeed exist - it's huge, it's awe-inspiring, and it's just south of the river!
The Leydig Trust, a reputable and altruistic charitable organisation puts on glamorous events promoting sex for the disabled and physically-challenged. They raise money by providing highly entertaining charity functions. I urge you to support their cause by actually attending! Don't be shy. I can guarantee fun, laughter and an education all round.

I dressed up. Not everyone does (some men turned up in Shetland sweaters and slacks) but seeing as I spend rather a large proportion of my life in a pinny at the kitchen sink, or trawling the supermarket aisles in order to fill up the fridge yet again (I live with two large, permanently hungry, teenage boys) I long for any opportunity to glam up and remind myself that I am a sexy, horny, juicy tantric goddess.

In order to build www.tantralink.com I sacrificed two years of my life, gathering quite a few facial wrinkles along the way and inadvertently stimulating rapid growth spurts of grey hair. It was worth it. One of the benefits of having created a tantra website is that I get to hear about off-centre, wild and kinky events like the one I shall tell you about in this month's blog. I meet all sorts of interesting characters through Tantralink.com, and one of them in particular seems to have his finger on the pulse of all erotic activity in the London area. Thank you Mr G x

So, there I am in Clapham with my partner in crime, staggering from car to venue in unspeakably high, patent, fuck-me shoes and ridiculously short PVC skirt, hoping not to bump into an old school friend or someone from the bank. We meet up with our eclectic crowd of friends, some of whom have made a real effort to dress for the occasion, others (namely the husbands) looking as though they've been forced into a clean pair of jeans and are wishing they'd been allowed to stay home to watch the finals of the Premier League.
The anticipatory buzz is catching. We all take our seats and watch the stage with baited breath as the compere announces the first act of the semi-finals. Well.......I've been to Erotica a few times, and I've been to Spearmint Rhino, but I've NEVER seen pole dancing like this! There are, in fact a few pole-dancing acts in the show, each one different and utterly unique. It's hard to believe that a human being could conjure up such a variety of entertaining moves on one pole. This strange activity is a relatively new performance art (as well as a good way to keep fit, apparently- have a look at the notice board in your local sports centre and these days you're likely to find a local pole-dancing class fairly easily ) and if you think the world of pole dancing is inhabited by anorexic, out of work actresses and dim-witted blondes, think again. We have the honour of being treated to a spectacular turn by the impossibly flexible and undeniably feminine World Champion, no less, called Ekatarina who has flown from New York especially for the event and presents a one-woman show to die for. Our jaws drop as we witness feats of superhuman strength and control performed by a beautiful, asian man who looks like he was born on a pole! I wouldn't be surprised if one day pole-dancing was an olympic sport.
Other erotic acts competing for the finals are equally impressive and creative. We stare, open-mouthed as ping-pong balls are juggled from vaginas, we cheer loudly as exotically-attired fetishists conjure and contort in complicated acts of bondage. This is all before the interval.
As I wander about the place, which seems to be full of a delicious combination of jolly hedonists, unashamed voyeurs and proud exhibitionists I come across a man selling a state-of-the-art Fuck Machine on a giant pedestal. He's selling his wares like a market stall holder and I'm expecting him to start shouting "Roll up, roll up" in a cockney accent any minute. An obliging strip-tease artist from the first half of the show is demonstrating the contraption with gay abandon. Whilst straddling the huge, vibrating, rotating mechanical cock, rather like a rodeo rider, she's grinning at the audience, encouraging the girls to "Come on up and try it. It's amazing. I'd never leave home...." Has she been paid, I wonder?
The men are looking decidedly uncomfortable as the possibility occurs to them that they might just become dispensable one of these days. Any worried men reading this, I just want to let you know you that I like the real thing best myself, and would never replace my beloved tantric lover with a mechanical stimulator......For the hygiene freaks out there (and having been raised jewish, I completely understand these concerns) I just want to reassure you that the salesman thoroughly disinfects each latex cock-cover between every ride. I'm sure my mother would be relieved......
We're so exhausted we can't even stay until the end of the show. There are so many new sights and sounds, we're like those inmates who've been let out of prison and are blinded by the sunlight. We walk back out into a rather grey and gloomy world, certainly in comparison to the Wonderland we've just been shown. On the way home I resolve to practise my kegels religiously so that I can attempt the trick with the ping pong balls for my partner. I make a pact to enroll in a pole dancing class as soon as possible, so I that I can electrify my partner, and I promise myself a new bondage kit, so that I can drive my partner wild.

It's now a few weeks since the Erotic Awards and I have to confess that I've kept none of those resolutions. I know, I know, you'll say it's just an excuse, but it is the summer holidays and I'm hopelessly resigned to my role as caterer, domestic cleaner and taxi service. Perhaps when the kids go back to school..............
The finals are on September 1st. Check it out on www.nightofthesenses.com
See you there!

TANTRIC TEA PARTY

Tantra Tantric massage — Thu, 05 Apr 2007 22:22:00 +0000

When I was growing up, tea parties were formal affairs involving cucumber sandwiches and doilies, polite conversation and porcelain tea cups. Our tantric tea party last week involved none of these things, and had my mother walked in at any point I think she would have turned pale and fainted.
The guests had been instructed to bring 'sinful' cakes and they didn't disappoint. By the time the fourteen guests had arrived we had a table full of mousses, pies, cookies and other delectable treats.
As the organiser who had spent all week eagerly plotting the afternoon's agenda, I was thrilled to see exactly seven shaktis and seven shivas. The perfect count for a trip into excess and debauchery that I had planned in my somewhat perverted and always imaginative mind. Tee hee.............(visualise wicked smile, witchy laugh and wringing of hands)
After fortifying the tantrikas with cups of tea, I led them all into the living room where I proceeded to blindfold them, while giving out soothing and encouraging hugs. I then asked them to lay down on the floor.
With an accompaniment of stimulating and provocative music, I led them on a tantalising 'journey' through varying stages of life, from birth, through to death. My slightly bemused partner Andrew helped with the Sensorial Awakening part of the journey.
Andrew's never quite sure what's coming next with me, and I must admit that I very rarely seem to get it together to let him know beforehand exactly what's going to happen. Or anyone for that matter!
When you're living life in the spiritual fast lane, it's hard for people around you to keep up sometimes.......no time for 'preparation'. If they're lucky though, they get some time after the event for 'de-briefing'. I get the occasional phone call along the lines of,
"WHAT just happened?! I can't BELIEVE what I just went through........" etc, etc.
Oh well. It's never boring hanging around a Tantric Goddess.

Back to the party-
"Here, put oils on these tissues and shove them under their noses........quick, pop this chocolate into their mouths......hey, you've missed one......whisper sweet nothings in the ears........put their fingers in your mouth....."
I whispered instructions to him like a mad professor, and before we knew it, we were into the 'movement/touch' section. The group were up - moving and touching in the most innocent, playful and curious way. It's amazing to see a group of human beings discovering each other in this way. What a way to meet!? There's no small talk or bullshit. It's a 'meeting' in the true sense of the word.
Then it was time for the 'visual' sense to be awakened. The guests removed their blindfolds and 'saw' as if for the first time. Candle flames, walls, curtains, other human beings................. Their faces were full of wonder.
We proceeded to journey together through the whole of life's experiences - the emotions, desires, disappointments, joy - we felt our 'togetherness', we went deep into our 'aloneness' - all through dance.
The guests were fired up and going for it, big time. It was a thrilling ride.
We ended in a dying process, which was a beautiful 'gateway' to the other side. People were re-framing their fears and fantasies around dying.

It was certainly a dramatic way to begin a tea party. By the time the journey was over, we were definitely ready for a nice cup of tea, and the men were sent into the kitchen to boil kettles and fill teapots, while the girls stayed behind and huddled together to plan the next extravagance.
The shaktis didn't look too sure when I described what I had in mind, but I can sell snow to eskimos, and before you could say 'Johnson Linguni' I had persuaded them to remove all traces of clothing and begin to place bits of pie, eclair and mousse over each other in creative and artistic ways. After a lot of giggling they finally spread their dessert-laden bodies over the carpet and blindfolded themselves.
What a sight met the eyes of the shivas as they were led in by Andrew to indulge in their feast.
There was only one rule - the shivas weren't allowed to use their fingers.
They could eat from any 'plate'.
The men crawled around finding bits of eclair here, puddles of mousse there, and crumbs here, there and everywhere. The shaktis moaned and groaned as they felt unidentifiable males licking and sucking in bodily places where food had never been consumed before.............
It was a teatime Bacchanalian banquet.
By the time the men had had their fill, the women were starving and, after a fun clean-up job with warm flannels, we filed out to the kitchen for our rather more civilised feast. The shivas were a little disappointed that we weren't going to munch off their naked bodies, but we only had an hour till the kids were returning home.
After a bit of a dance, we cleared up, hurriedly grabbing underwear from between the couch cushions, just in time for the host's seven and eleven year old to walk in the door.
"Did you have a nice tea party?" they asked their dad.
"It was a bit messy." he replied, and I tried my hardest not to laugh.
You may think from reading these blogs that all we do in tantra is put things in our mouths.
It's not true. It's simply that, being a compulsive foodie, it's easier for me to describe the delights of food than a lot of other activities which may occur in the pursuit of tantric enlightenment.
So, next time I shall attempt to describe the details of a tantric breathing meditation with as much enthusiasm as I seem to be able to muster for writing about food. Don't get me wrong, I love breathing as much as eating, it's just that there doesn't seem to be as large a choice of adjectives around 'breathing' in the Thesaurus as there is around 'eating'.
Have fun, be open and say 'yes' a lot.
Namaste x

TANTRA ON TV

Tantra Tantric massage — Thu, 01 Mar 2007 19:40:00 +0000

This month a Televsion company found me on Tantralink.com and asked if they could record a session involving me teaching tantra to a couple, which they would televise as part of a programme helping people to improve their sex lives. How does tantra translate to the box I wondered? Personally I haven't owned a TV for 15 years and have a rather vague idea of what goes on in the big bad world out there. The decision to throw TV out of my life was a conscious one, to avoid my brain being bombarded and brainwashed by unecessary nonsense. It was a decision that has served me well. I have no regrets (except for missing Jools Holland) and I certainly get a lot more done, like writing this blog.
I was called in as a tantric expert. It was a title that filled me with apprehension......I feel like I'm in tantric kindergarten most of the time, tantra being a life-long study and a science that is constantly unfolding and expanding. Tantra is the Great Experiment. One never really knows what's going to happen when one moves into the tantric space. My sessions with clients are full of powerful alchemy that changes peoples' lives, but I must admit to being somewhat daunted at the thought that this TV company were expecting me to pull some magic tricks out of my hat in front of a camera!
I had two days to prepare, and the first job was to find the right gear to wear. A trip to the local mall was vital, as I tend to sport a sarong for work. Or nothing. I didn't think that a naked tantric expert would go down too well with the couple who apparently had never even heard the word 'tantra' before. The crew would no doubt have been well amused.
The second job was to find a suitable teapot for the tantric tea ceremony which I was planning on opening the session with, as mine had fallen apart that week. I spent a frantic few hours, parting with a small fortune to enhance my tantric wardrobe, buying an insanely overpriced teapot and widly purchasing fancy teaspoons and strainers. One whiff of possible fame and fortune and control over my wallet vanished out of sight.
The day arrived and with it a rather scruffy looking crew, complete with the usual habit of compulsively checking in every five minutes with the answering services on their mobile phones. I imagine that this tic is due to a constant, low grade anxiety around whether or not they're going to get a job the following week, or an ever-present, neurotic expectation that their girlfriend/wife/lover is about to leave them after the last three month contract shooting some BBC drama across the other side of the planet.........For a fascinating insight into the strange life of a TV film crew read the intimate and riveting 'Sharpe Cut' by Linda Blandford.
I'm familiar with the unique behaviour of film crews as I was married to a film maker for years and spent many a jolly hour 'on set' with coffee-guzzling, bagel-devouring, chain-smoking creatures, some of whom, amazingly, live past forty..........
The couple, who I was meeting for the first time, looked like a pair of rabbits caught in the headlights as they were led into the room. I'll call them John and Jane for the sake of preserving their dignity. It was clear from the raised eyebrows that John and Jane hadn't come across a tantric altar before, complete with incense, singing bowls, a carved wooden lingam (this is the tantric word for penis, and means 'wand of light' for anyone interested) and a shiva/shakti yab yum sculpture. I asked the man if he would be prepared to take his top off for a 'sensorial awakening' meditation later in the session and he looked at me with horror. I realised, with a sinking feeling, that I had my work cut out for me if I was going to turn this couple on to the joys of tantra.
After the producer, camera man, lighting man, sound man and general-getting-in-the-way man had set up, we positioned ourselves in a suitable triangle for the tea ceremony. The cameras started rolling and the first problem reared its head. The teapot didn't pour. No matter how daintily Jane tipped the pot, it splashed puddles of tea onto the tray. A tip for budding TV Tantric Goddesses - always check your props before the shoot.
"Cut!" called the producer, and we proceeded to shoot the arm pouring but not the teapot leaking. Basically we were winging it, and not for the last time that day. Jane meditated on John's tea before handing it to him. Poor John had never drunk herb tea in his life before, and spat it out, looking like he'd been poisoned.
"Cut", said the patient producer, and we substituted tea for water after John declared it tasted like pickled gherkins.
The producer wanted to shoot the things he liked over and over a few times, to get different angles. Well, when you're doing a tantric meditation under normal circumstances you say things once or twice. When you've been asked to repeat 'Let the divine feminine essence mix and merge with the divine masculine principle within you' five times, quite honestly it begins to sound like gobbledygook. I got the giggles. The crew were sniggering. It was obvious they were loving every minute. It wasn't tantra, but it was good TV..............
The Sensorial Awakening meditation was good for a laugh too. John got blindfolded while Jane and I wafted bits of tissue perfumed with aromatherapy oils under his nose. Then we fed the poor man bits of fruit and chocolate to awaken the sense of taste. The mango didn't go down too well.
"Cut!", called the producer, and "Tea break", which meant the crew running outside to roll cigarettes and fire up their mobile phones.
After tea break I got the room ready for Jane to perform a Goddess Dance to awaken John's visual sense. (I think by this point John was wishing to switch off all senses and leave) only Jane didn't feel like it. I could understand her general resistance - the mood just wasn't quite right for dancing. Fortunately it seemed she couldn't resist a bit of James Brown though, and eventually she began to bop, embodying the Goddess in quite a sassy way I have to say, waving her feather boa enthusiastically in John's face. I was relieved, and I'm sure the producer was too.
For the finale I balanced Jane's chakras with my pendulum. This is a wonderful healing technique which involves a hand-held pendulum picking up the natural spin of each chakra (For anyone interested in the scientific explanation, a chakra is an energy vortex that lies within both the body and the aura surrounding the body. We work with seven main chakras in tantra)
I hope they show the bit where John, with his own bare hands, healed Jane's heart chakra. It was actually (yes, really) a poignant and beautiful moment.
I won't forget the interview John and Jane gave at the end. One sentence stuck out for me. It was Jane, declaring "The session was brilliant! My mind's eye was on fire!"
What is a mind's eye, you ask? I don't know. But Jane knew what she meant and that's all that matters.
Don't hold your breath for me to appear on national TV. If the session doesn't hit the edit room floor it'll be a miracle....................

RAW FOOD RAW SEX

Tantra Tantric massage — Tue, 13 Feb 2007 07:50:00 +0000

Raw foodists are a strange bunch. They're always thin, for starters. Well, ok, some are thinner than others, depending on their 'percentage' of raw to cooked, but I can guarantee you'll never find an overweight raw foodist. In fact, some are positively emaciated and look like you could knock them over with a feather (dangerous in tantric circles, where feathers are often found in abundance). But maybe the really thin ones are the Raw Food Anorexics......? I ponder this question regularly as I happen to live in a town where there's a high number of raw foodists. You'll find them in places like Totnes, Ashland and Glastonbury, where devotional groups gather in hushed reverie in the sprouting beans section of local health food shops, discussing digestible minerals, preservable enzymes and such like. I can guarantee you won't find one in Hemel Hempstead (but don't get me started on Hemel Hempstead.......)
Please don't think I'm dissing the RFs! Being a woman who begrudges spending time in the kitchen, especially trying to find room in her fridge for the weekly shopping and who randomly shoves high calorie, sugar-laden treats into her mouth in moments of stress, I have infinite respect for people who are willing to spend so much of their days in superconscious awareness around food - what they're eating, how they prepare it and where they buy it from. Wow! The thought that people can actually spend time on the phone talking about food fills me with amazement when there are so many more exciting topics to cover, like orgasms or nipple clamps.......
'Why is she telling me about raw foodists?' you're asking yourself. It's important information which leads to a sexy story of lustful, orgiastic fun which 'really, really happened in true life'. This is the kind of thing my youngest son would have said when he was four and full of enthusiasm for anything that was occuring whatsoever. I love small kids for that. They seem to just gobble up life without preference, expressing themselves with gay abandon, with no thought for what the neighbours might think.....It's very healthy spending time with toddlers who haven't yet learned how to monitor their self-epression. I pride myself on sometimes acting exactly like a four year old.
I've digressed, so back to the story - the Raw Food Blindfold Naked Party which I'm going to tell you about in great detail, took place last month, in a suburban, 30's detached house in a quiet corner of commuter-belt England, the location making it all the more surreal and all the more entertaining to relate.
The one prerequisite for being invited to this experimental food party was that you had to have previously completed a residential tantra course. (See www.tantralink.com if you wish to find such courses after reading this story.....) This was obviously intended to a) guarantee a high chance the guests would get naked and b) keep the riff raff out.
I didn't bother with my usual pre-party drama of pulling every piece of clothing out of the wardrobe, wailing to my ever-patient boyfriend, 'I've got nothing to wear!' as obviously it didn't matter, considering we would more than likely be naked by the time the food was served........
Up the quiet, unassuming, provincial road we trotted, bottled mineral water in hand. Alcohol was forbidden (as is often the case at tantric parties, guests generally preferring conscious bottom-pinching as opposed to unconscious groping) as it would 'detract from the profound effects of the refined food combining system'. These were strict instructions from the chef. 'Chef' is a term that's used loosely here, as raw food chefs tend to sprout, soak, liquidise, massage (yes massage!) their food rather than (heinous crime) fry, boil or oven bake it. Fair enough about the alcohol I thought, if he was going to spend a week before sprouting, soaking and blending for us. Apparently we were going to 'get high' from this food. One of the reasons I guess that there were ten eager couples about to descend upon this leafy suburb for a culinary knees-up, or rather forks-up.
The chef (I'll call him Francois for the purpose of this story, although in actuality he's a nice Jewish boy from North London) was in full flow upon our arrival, waxing lyrical about the aphrodisiac qualities of uncooked cacao and warning of the damage you do to a beetroot by cooking it. Surrounding him, and generally getting in the way was a rapt audience, watching him wring the liquid out of cucumbers, whilst instructing his gorgeous (thin) blonde girlfriend to painstakingly slice long strings of spaghetti-shaped courgettes for a raw broccoli soup. Francois is a passionate man, who gives a heart-felt discourse while plunging his hands into dubious looking mixtures of godknowswhat, causing a combination of laughter and awe amongst the fascinated audience. He needs his own TV show! Naked Chef move over. Here comes Tantric Chef.......
There's no bottom pinching occuring yet, as the women are too intrigued by this ornate meal being conjured up out of raw ingredients before their eyes, and the men are too hungry.
Finally, the food is ready, the feast laid out and a sight to behold. We've never seen such vibrant colours on a dining table in our lives, and many photos are taken, accompanied by the sounds of men mumbling 'Come on, I'm starving'.
We take our plates and blindfolds through to the living room which has been filled, wall to wall with mattresses and cushions. Indian music is playing softly and anticipation fills the air as the couples choose their spots. Partner A is blindfolded and reclines gracefully whilst being spoon fed. There's a moment where I'm reminded of feeding my children when they were small - images of highchairs, bibs and food being thrown on the floor, but this is not an erotic picture, so I banish those memories quickly and conjure up more exotic images of Persian princes being fed by harem girls in tents draped with embroidered fabric.........
It seems we're up the raunchy end of the room, because after three spoonfuls we, and our three neighbouring couples have removed all traces of clothing. I wish someone had taped the sounds emanating from various mattresses - 'Mmmms....' and 'Aaaaahhhhs'......and 'MYGOD'......and 'JESUS' (why does he always show up in moments of passion?)
Whenever I took my blindfold off I would notice it wasn't only forks being used...... it was impressive and creative! Fingers, penises, breasts.....goodness! the guests were creating a whole new genre of feeding utensils. If blindfold dinner parties catch on we could put Viners out of business!
If only I could find the words to describe the taste of the food. Every bite was a new continent, a new language, a new lover. Certainly a lot of the dishes didn't taste like they were raw. The textures were exquisite. There was liquidy, chewy, crunchy.....see, words just don't do it! But you could truly understand what he'd meant when he told us it was aphrodisiac food. All the senses were waking up. Bits of me I didn't even know I had were waking up! It was sensual, raunchy, inspired. Two couples disappeared between main course and dessert. You could hear from the sounds drifting down the stairway that they'd found nirvana on the first floor.
At one point I was chowing down on the most incredible concoction of sweet and savoury and felt my nipple being sucked. It must have been a neighbour because I could quite clearly tell where my boyfriend's bits were. I can't describe how perfectly natural it felt to be enjoying food in this way. The dessert was awesome. Most of it was spread over naked bodies and licked off. You can imagine how dirty the sheets were by this point. No one cared. We didn't care about anything. Just sharing food with a blindfolded partner and a few friends had led to a sartori of a kind. We were completely in the NOW. No desire..........no past........no future........transcendental...........NO MIND..........heaven on earth.........aaaaaahhhhh.......... You get the picture? Do a tantra course and I'll invite you next time :-)

FUN AT THE FETISH CLUB

Tantra Tantric massage — Tue, 09 Jan 2007 21:06:00 +0000

My question of the month - "Is Tantra present in a fetish club?"
A few weeks ago I was invited to work in the massage room (which turned out to be adjacent to the torture room) at the opening night of an 'erotic' club. I've become very spoiled if truth be told - after fifteen years of practising my various therapies at home I've become rather attached to my living room and never leave my house for work. It was a big effort to start loading the car full of oils, sheets, tissues and sexy underwear (well, I was told it was an erotic club!) for a night of massage in the far-distant continent of South London.....
From the ad posted on Tantralink.com it was easy to deduce a number of things - it was going to be full of unusually-clad human beings, the music would be good and it would all be somewhat 'fetish'.
In all my years as an urban Tantric Goddess, I've never actually visited a genuine fetish club, and have been perfectly content to try out all my goodies purchased at Erotica - rubber skirts, leather bras, cat-o-nine-tails whips, furry handcuffs, eight inch fuck-me shoes, etc. in my own bedroom. My long-suffering partner (who says yes to almost anything) and I arrived at a shabby, cold, run-down rehearsal studios in some area that I would ordinarily avoid. There had been a flood that day, they were late setting up, and I was beginning to wish I'd stayed at home...... We looked at the 'massage' room in dismay, but the guys promised that the place would be transformed in no time at all. While they were 'transforming' the room from beer-stained, cigarette-burned hellhole into welcoming, erotic, tantric temple, we went off for a wander and found someone setting up the 'torture room' next door. You may not believe me but I swear I'm not kidding. They had all the equipment. The stuff you see in porn movies but can't believe people use in real life. There was a genuine torture 'master' who promised to show me some new whipping techniques later in the night. He does this for a living, so guys, if you fancy giving up your corporate position in the city to try something more creative.........
We also came across a rather bemused security guard, who'd never done a job quite like this in his life. The poor man had been given a few instructions along the lines of "Don't let single guys into the Playroom (read Sexroom) only couples". It was quite amusing to witness a 6 foot 4 muscle-bound bouncer gazing wide-eyed at the rack, asking the 'master' if he was really going to be tying people to it later? Anyway, after a lot of dedicated work by the team, the studios had indeed become an exotic and erotic venue, sporting palm trees, red-sheeted mattresses, a well-lit stage for the live shows, ambient lighting and entertaining 'porno-erotica' projected on to the walls.
The punters started arriving. There was a changing room by the front door for those arriving in 'street wear'. People without the right gear were turned away. One poor friend of mine who thought he was coming to a 'dance your inner child' workshop showed up in African trousers and a T-shirt and was sent packing.....I was glad I'd braved Brent Cross the night before to find the right undies, bra and fishnet pull-ups.
Well, what a wonderful bunch of folk we massaged that night. It was delicious. They were all up for a good oily, full-body experience and it was very gratifying to see these enthusiastic 'sensation junkies' stripping off bits of PVC, untying straps on thigh-high boots, extricating themselves from bodices in order to plunge into sensorial heaven.
After 'working' for a couple of hours, my partner and I kitted ourselves up in rubber and off I went, whip in tow for a bit of an exploration into the underworld. I brushed up on my whipping strokes, and found quite a few guinea pigs, virtually begging for a beating. I watched with wide-eyed fascination while an erotic snake charmer performed unmentionable manouevers with a live snake. I witnessed a virtually naked, blonde goddess achieving inhuman contortions high above the stage on a metal pole. I danced till sweat dripped from every pore. I ventured into the Playroom with my partner and like a voyeur on acid, witnessed the most incredible sights that would turn my grandma in her grave.......
At two in the morning I came across the burly bouncer, sitting on a chair, head in hands, looking beyond weary. I put my lips to the top of his bald head and kissed him with love. He looked up at me and there was such gratitude in his eyes, for that little moment of intimacy and connection, it melted my heart.
At three in the morning, we all fell out again into the streets of London. Very little alcohol had been consumed, certainly by anyone I came across, and I didn't find anyone on drugs. A nicer bunch of people you couldn't have hoped of spending the evening with.
I slept like a baby that night, dreaming of legs in high heels and red lips and and and........I can't reveal my dreams to you, you might begin to think I was perverted.
But in thinking about my night at the Pleasure Lab, I have an answer to the question - Tantra is a state of consciousness. It can reside anywhere, in everything and everyone. Tantra is the mirroring of the inside on the outside. Tantra is the truth of your heart manifest in the reality of your daily life. I am as tantric in aisle seven of the supermarket as I am on a tantra course as I am in a fetish club. Tantra is the great experiment. And I'm experimenting to the max!