Tempted (16 page)

Oh my God, that was so lame.
 
Abort!
 
Abort!
 
Oh shoot, he already ‘liked’ it.
 
I can’t delete now!
 
The feeling of wanting to disappear into my chair returns
, this
time,
out of sheer mortification
.

I love these women – a
t least Elise and Lucy.
 
As for Kelly, well, she’s just Kelly.
 
I am impressed how the first two are so comfortable expressing their sexuality, and in such an open forum.
 
I wish I could be more like that.
 
Instead I say things like, “Is it getting hot in here.”
 
Facepalm, groan, ugh!
 
Reading on
...

I also really admire this fellow
,
Ken.
 
He never appears jealous
of
the
inordinate
attention being thrust
up
on Alex.
 
Thrust?
 
Ack, is it possible to form a thought
without
it including a double entendre?

Wow wow wow.
 
I am dying to comment again, but after my last performance
,
I think better of it.

His last response causes me to convulse in heavenly abandon without warning, just as I did while reading about his vegetable garden last night.
 
Only this time
,
it’s even more intense.
 
I strain every muscle in my body in a desperate attempt to hide the ravishing occurring within.
 
And I am momentarily arrested by the fear that someone may think I am having a seizure and call 911.
 
Thank goodness I’m seated outside
,
alone.

At length
,
I settle down as my body surrenders to a bout of delightful aftershocks and a gradual fading of ecstasy.
 
The aftermath feels much like the arousal broug
ht on by foreplay, only here it i
s in reverse.
 
It starts with that magical orgasm deep in the core
,
and then goes to intense arousal
,
before
it subsides into a yummy
,
pleasant feeling that ultimately dissolves altogether, leaving nothing but a smile and a sense of total serenity.
 

A classmate from Tantric Yoga struck up a lengthy conversation on touchless orgasms with me once when we were waiting for the instructor to
arrive
.
 
The classmate scoffed that such an experience could be possible
,
and said it supposedly required some incredible level of enlightenment.
 
I may be a far cry from the Dalai Lama, but I am here to attest that such heady physical phenomena really can happen before we ever achieve the astral plain.

If Alex only knew the effect he has.
 
Maybe he does.
 
Surely I am neither the first nor last woman he’s affected in such tangible ways.
 

I’m overcome with a feeling of gratitude for what he has done for me, for what he has done
to
me, for what he has aroused in me.
 
Out of nowhere
,
the chakra shack has started cheering in sync, announcing a blessed event, the awakening of my kundalini.
 

Without thinking, I search on my computer for the chakra cheat sheet I created af
ter my illicit moment with Bret – emphasis on ‘ill
’
where he is concerned.
 
According to my chakra notes, “The Kundalini (sleeping serpent) lies dormant in most people unless it is activated.
 
It is a very powerful energy that activates all the other chakras as it shoots up.”
 
Oh my!
 
Does that ever descri
be what I’ve been going through,
and yes, it is definitely an energy I feel shooting up through my being.
 
So, it was dormant there all along and just needed
something or someone to trigger
it?
 

For a moment, I am taken with a feeling of melancholy.
 
Why couldn’t it have been David that activated my Kundalini?
 
“Because he has a live-in lover,” a chakra interjects.
 
Good point.
 
Thanks Indigo girl!
 
Thank God Bret didn’t push the activation button.
 
That could have been a real mess.
 
It would be nice if Nimo were able to kindle even a modicum of such desire in me, but I have to face the facts:
 
it’s never going to happen
–
never ever.

The feeling sparked by Alex is radically different than anything I’ve ever known.
 
It seems so pure, so real, so unconditional
–
so foreign
,
I have no words to adequately describe it, but I know it somehow feels spiritual.
 
I fight the urge to simultaneously laugh and cry and squeal my delight.
 
I have never felt so alive, or so womanly.
 
I literally don’t know what to do with myself, b
ut I
am quite certain
that if I remain here writhing,
I will surely implode.
 
I determine to thank
Alex
.
 
Cool hippie guru poet that he is, I’m sure he’ll take the compliment in stride, in the spirit in which it is meant
–
that of
simple thanks.

I wrestle with
how
exactly to comment on his post
,
and decide to send a private message, not wanting to make my BandAid
inclinations
public knowledge.
 
Nor do I wish to offend anyone who is uncomfortable reading about Facebook-induced body-racking orgasms.
 
I take a deep breath, poise my fingers above the keyboard, and begin typi
ng a personal communique to Dr. Armstrong
.

11:33am

Claire Nichole Eden

Ok...this is best not
shared with the FB masses...
but your latest lengthy response on your 'wooden' post just resulted in a physical react
ion on this end...... You're kil
lin’ me here!!!
...
....And yes, I do mean in every sense, including le petit mort
...
...... Oy!

There!
 
Done.
 
Time to get back to work.
 

Work?
 
Like that’s ever gonna happen after leaving the most brazen, sexual, personal message of my entire life!
 
What on earth made me do such an idiotic thing?
 
I think twice about my hair
-
brained antics and go back to the message, frantically looking for a delete button, even though I already know there isn’t one.
 
Good grief.
 
What have I done?

Despite occasionally shaking my head in disbelief at my folly, I still keep an anxious eye on my incoming messages.
 
Every time I see there is a new one
,
I gasp and momentarily freeze.
 
And every time the message is from someone other than Alex.
 
After about half an hour
,
I g
ive up on the waiting game and head for home.  Once there, I
open my laptop and while it sorts itself out, I
take a moment to go
to the garden
and
pick some summer vegetables for lunch.
 
If I didn’t know better
,
I would say I am starting to eat healthily
–
and actually liking it!

I return to the computer with an enormous, colorful salad in hand, having complete
ly forgotten about ‘the message’ – t
hat is
,
until I see a little, red notification, small but mighty, making itself known at the top of my Facebook page.
 
My fork stops in the air, mid-bite.
 
I put it back down and slowly, cautiously click the notifications button.
 
It’s from
him
.