302 Advanced Techniques for Driving a Man Wild in Bed

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CHAPTER 1 Move into the love act so deeply that the actor is no more. While loving, become love; while caressing, become the caress; while kissing, be the kiss. -- Lord Shiva The Love Trance Several years ago I had a sexual epiphany. It was like when you learn to dance. You practice the steps and turns. You wear the right flowing dress. You get good enough to throw in a few hip wiggles and head tosses. You even teach your partner a few things. Then one day, some inner mechanism silently drops into place, Ginger Rogers possesses your body, and your feet don't touch the floor anymore. You're no longer a woman dancing the tango; now you're the tango dancing you. That's how it was for me when, exhausted and culturally shocked after back-to-back trips to Japan and Egypt, I began a new love affair. In Japan, I had been a professional businesswoman, promoting my new book, 227 Ways to Unleash the Sex Goddess Within. Egypt, on the other hand, had been a personal spiritual pilgrimage. I had gone immediately from the confined spaces, techno-sex-kink, and cool, politely reserved people of the Orient to the vast, hot landscapes, pyramids, and fiery, demonstrative people of the Mideast. Little wonder, then, that on my return, when I found myself in the throes of a new romance, I was ripe for a spectacular fall on the dance floor or serious enlightenment. Kirk was a sculptor who created huge works of red clay as voluptuous as they were impossible to interpret. As he worked, his long hair was always flying, his arms waving wildly, and his eyes glinting with artistic fire. Obviously, he had great hands. We had had our first sex in his car, in a public park: under-the-steering-wheel, over-the-top-of-the-seat, the hot animal-lust kind. A few days later he invited me to his studio, where, suave and intense, he slowly removed one of my shoes and began rubbing the arch of my foot. "I never drove with a woman in my lap before," he cooed. "It was sexy the way you totally surrendered, even your safety, to me." Now sliding his sculptor's fingers up to my thigh, he looked me straight in the eye and whispered, "You made love to my whole body, like a virtuoso playing an instrument. A virtuoso with hot flesh." Caress, caress. Hot glance. Soft moan. "You dug your fingernails into my back. I loved the scratch marks I found there the next day." Deep ragged breath. "You stunned me." I was pretty stunned myself. Intoxicated by the richness of the widely divergent cultures I had recently visited, Kirk's provocative words, and the racy idea of proud scratch marks, I was suddenly transported back to the wildness and abandon of that moment in the car. I could taste Kirk's desire as it mixed with the blood in my veins. And in the grip of some delicious oblivion, I felt myself slide across an invisible border, where I slipped on the role of love priestess like a new silk shirt. Suddenly I had access to a vast and ancient catalog of secret tricks. My bones simply knew what to do. Sex was dancing me. Without a word, I went to the bed and threw the covers off onto the floor, as if clearing the altar for a sacred and outrageous rite. Undulating to some primal rhythm, I slowly stripped off my clothes, my hot eyes riveted to his. Finally I was left with only the long silk scarf I had been wearing around my neck. After trailing it over my breasts and hips, I passed it between my legs a few times to give it my own personal perfume. Suddenly I pounced on Kirk, ripped his shirt off, and tied his hands to the bed with my aromatic silk scarf. His eyes glowed with anticipation and just a hint of fear. Possessed by passion, I licked the pale, tight skin on his stomach, his sinewy forearms, the hollow of his elbow. I bit his neck and scratched his chest, knowing he'd treasure those new marks. Then, like some hot and holy harlot, I stood on the bed ov