“Life is too short to be a prude.”


That is what my gay husband told his sister when she found herself newly single after a long monogamous relationship ended last year. It is this very same piece of gay boy wisdom that re-entered my awareness Saturday morning after drawing my goddess card for the day.


GODDESS FREYJA (Bold) “Unleash your adventurous side! Take risks and be daring.”

Freyja picJust look at this temptress. I can’t imagine that the word “no” is ever uttered to this insatiable being. She hypnotizes with her eyes. She magnetizes all that she desires with immediacy and ease. The goddess book reads: “Freyja rides in a chariot pulled by mighty cats across the rainbow bridge connecting Heaven and Earth. (Ummmm….fuck yeah!) Unafraid of her sexual power, Freyja teaches us to appreciate our attractiveness and to enjoy ourselves.”


Okay, my message was clear. Let go mama! Enjoy yourself and bask in the pleasure that is knocking on your door……yes literally knocking on my door. Enter, the Turk.


I must pat myself on the back as I get increasingly better at asking for what I want. This is a lovely little concept that was presented to me while attending Mama Gena’s School of Womanly Arts. Seemingly simple in theory, experientially nerve-wracking in practice.


So what did I want? I desired for the Turk (who attended massage school inTurkey…..for fun) to come over Saturday morning and give me rub down before I whisked away to work. Knock, knock, knock…….he eagerly obliged.


Our first hour together was filled with niceties, simple conversation and his gracious refusal of the fresh vegetable juice I had just made. This man, so mellow in his demeanor, I wondered could he keep me interested in the long run? I soon discovered that people who lack fierce social skills can make up for it with other attributes.


I laid a fresh sheet down over my bed, got undressed and draped a bath towel over my delicious derrière. I usually go nude when I indulge in a massage. As he entered the room, there was a palpable realization that being naked in a room with a stranger under the pretense of professionalism is very different than being naked in your room with a cute foreigner who adores you.


My candles were lit. My Portishead was playing. Sweet submission.


I lapsed into timelessness. Weightless. Mindless. Free. I am reminded how much the body yearns to be touched. Involuntary moans escaping my lips. I was utterly relaxed. And then it was time to flip over onto my back. The sensual pleasure continued…..and then shocked the shit out of me. Up under the towel, pressing down above my pubic bone, magic happened. The urban legend proved true. Blood from my extremities rushed to my center and pulsated deep within me. I was under a sensual assault. A surprise attack if you will. Did he know what he was doing? Of course he knew what he was doing. I kept my eyes closed and rode Freyja’s kitty cat drawn chariot down the mountain. I think I will keep asking for what I want.


From an American standpoint, the Turk is mind-boggling. My delight is his pure aim, without any expectation for reciprocation. The next two days are laced with tender texts from him, thanking me!


After he walks me out to my car (carrying my bags!), he tells me this. “You do not understand. You are the color of my life.” Whoa! How does one respond to that? This time instead of laughing in his face, I smile. Thank you, more please.