(All rights reserved and enforced by the Guild of Assassins. All characters and events are fictional, the participants were all consenting adults, staunch churchgoers and members of the Rotaries. All appropriate safety precautions were observed at all times, social distancing was applied etc.)
This is the story of a naïve girl who embarks in a journey into a world of mysticism and sensual discovery. Join her as she reaches for higher levels or self-knowledge and pleasure.
Elizabeth Frost: An 18 year old first year student from an extremely conservative religious background. Her first experience with sex leads her to becoming a disciple or chela of a Tantra adept, and begin to discover a world of pleasure.
Dr Bill Ogden: General practitioner and eventually lover of Elizabeth's
Sunitra: Tantra adept, healer and relationship expert, Elizabeth's teacher and master.
John Wills, retired engineer, tantra adept, Elizabeth's lover and teacher.
Master Tsang: Adept in a school of martial arts you don't want to know about.
The bus left her near a winding, overgrown driveway. It clearly did not see much motor traffic, and weeds grew everywhere. Chickens clucked in the yard around the small house, a few goats were staked out in a paddock behind the house. Her knock went unanswered for a while, then a voice called, inviting her to step in.
Sandalwood incense pervaded the house, and soft pentatonic music came from somewhere. The house was small, the rooms bare. A wide veranda overlooking the goat paddock held a small stool and on it was perched a wizened asiatic man, clad in a wraparound while kimono-like garment.
He rose as Elizabeth entered, pretending to straighten a creaking back, and bowed to her, his hands linked before him.
She returned the greeting, and said: "Sunitra sent me. I am Elizabeth. I hope I am not disturbing you."
He grinned. "I was meditating on the wonder of creation. The sun makes the grass grow, the grass makes the goats grow, we eat the goats and we grow... Except that I am not growing."
She laughed politely. The little man looked like a farmer, or even a field labourer. His hands were calloused and rough, dirt was ingrained in his skin. He waited until she had finished looking at him, and asked: "So what did you see? That I have hidden beauty in me?" He cackled in laughter and said: "You want to learn from me? So let me see you. Take off the clothes."
She looked around. All was peaceful, there was nobody to be seen, but they were on the open veranda. "Here? In public?"
The old man cackled again. "Only the goats, and they won't mind."
Doubtfully she began to disrobe, and he looked at her critically, walking around her. He touched her backside. "Soft, you need strength here. Tummy too, there are your core muscles. You must harden them. You know how? Exercise. Flexibility, not strength."
He looked her up and down, appraisingly, and she felt herself getting wet. Then the old man cackled again. "You look good. Not too much fat. You may deceive an enemy. So, hit me."
She frowned. He was standing right before her. "Hit? Hit you?"
He nodded, and she aimed a blow with her fist at him. It met clean air. He was still standing there. She hit again, and he mover a millimetre to avoid the blow. "Come on, I am not running. Hit me, hard. Must I make you angry?"
She tried, but every time he dodged just a few millimetres out of the way. She tried with both fists, and eventually one flailing arm grazed his neck.
"Enough now. You are panting. Was it that hard? If you are going to be a warrior you will have to hit much harder. Look here."
He had caught one fist in mid-air. "See, if you hit me you would break this finger and that one. Now, I hold out my hand, and you hit it."
This time the hand did not move, and her fist hit it with a resounding shock as if hitting a plank. She danced around, waving the sprained hand in the air. He grinned. "Let me see. Just a bruise, easily mended. Wait."
He hopped off the veranda, agile as a grasshopper, stripped a leaf from a plant, and returned, smearing the sticky juice over the hand.
"Now, you must practise the blow. Like this. A line from the knuckle to the shoulder. Straight line. Any bend, and you break. See?"
