So…… it’s Chapter 9, and Tasha’s managed to drag Coco with her to a yoni exploration class. Tasha wants to figure out if there are any … structural .. problems preventing her from enjoying sex with her partner. Coco’s just there because Tasha promised her the class would cover tantric sex….
Chapter 9 – Tasha
To be sure it’s really not me, I’m taking a class. So every Friday since last week, six women, me included, take our panties off and sit in the drawing room of a multi-level in Shepherd’s Bush with shaving mirrors and hand sanitizer.
This Friday, I’ve convinced Coco to come along before we meet up with Chama at Ali’s. OK, not that I’m hating, but Coco is the obvious choice if I need someone to come along with me to something like this – Chama just kills my aura with her church-speak for anything that she doesn’t understand. Translation? Anything that isn’t specifically sanctioned by the bible is evil. Ergo: God would freak at the yoni exploration class. I mean, I’ve tried to explain to her that religion is precisely how more than half of the world’s population is kept in spiritual bondage and women, in particular, are imprisoned in their own bodies. I’ve tried. But Chama just refuses to hear it. I mean, I could understand if she’d at least engage with me on why she believes what she does but she flat-out won’t even entertain a conversation about why the Bible is perhaps not the last word on everything, including her relationship with her vagina. And you know what’s the real tragedy? Chama is an intelligent human being. I mean, like gifted. Full scholarship to Uni- gifted. Top student in her graduating class-gifted. Jobs looking for her instead of the other way around-gifted. But my girlfriend gave it all up to stay home, clean house and learn to bake bread from scratch. And to ignore the hints from her friends that, when it comes to the life she’s living right now? She needs to put her thinking cap back on.
Coco minces in, late, in way too much make-up and …. a mink. A mink! She’s also wearing shoes with stilts for heels, a Burberry cloche hat with a bright white flower and a cloud of alcohol fumes. If you ask me? Coco’s been entirely too familiar with the bottle for a while now which, to my mind, is obviously a sign of something much, much deeper. The thing is, nobody asked me, least of all Coco. And it’s standard esoteric wisdom that you do not offer advice unless asked. Pam starts flashing me traffic lights. Red. Which, of course, I get.
I scramble up to meet my friend, who seems distracted by the circle of five yawning yonis. Alice, our guide, suggests that we turn our mirrors to the magnifying side and spend a few minutes in quiet observation of our temples. Coco sheds her coat on the hardwood floor and sits on it, cross-legged. She is giggling, which makes Alice frown.
“In silence,” scolds Alice, “in reverence for the beauty that is deserving of worship from ourselves and our significant others.”
Today Alice is wearing a spaghetti-strapped salmon-coloured jersey dress and a floor-length wool coat with argyle socks. She’s bra-less, without make-up or pretence and her stringy silver hair flows freely down her back. I only get good vibes when I look at her. So does Pam.
Coco waits until Alice gets up to assist a client with pointing out certain aspects of her vaginal anatomy before she starts to protest.
“I thought you said we were going to be learning how to have tantric sex,” she whispers, crossly.
“We are,” I say softly, “but that’s a few more lessons away.”
OK, while Coco is a better choice than Chama for most things? Sometimes you’ve got to help her to participate. The thing is, she’s always doing twenty things at once, she’s always busy. The woman can’t even spend ten minutes with her best girlfriends without taking at least ten calls on her I-Phone, ten on her Blackberry and sending out twice as many IMs. Coco is addicted to her workload, her schedule – and her phones.
So anyway, if Coco’s considering taking time out of her impossible schedule to do something? Rest assured that she’s gonna be weighing the pros and cons of it, the likely, measurable benefits, the relative unimportance of what else she could be doing. The formula for securing Coco’s involvement in something is: tell her about it wayyyyyy in advance, convince her to schedule it in her e-diary and, above all, ensure it’s about something she gives a shit about (usually fashion, money or sex). Anything else is a hard sell. And I mean, you don’t have to be a self-realisation student to realise that it works. Universal principle No 3 – whatever you focus on you create. Not that money is the most important thing in the world, but her focus results in her having it in spades. Her sense of style is always in evidence. And, from what I gather? Her sex-life is red hot. From the moment I told her the class would reveal the secrets of tantric sex? She was so here.
“You’re crazy if you think I’m coming to this class every week just to sit and watch my bits,” she grouses, “just tell me when you guys reach the tantric sex bit and I’ll come back then, OK?”