What a weekend! And I’m not exaggerating.
This past Bodysex workshop was the completion of a dream that I dared to dream in the early seventies. That Bodysex would encompass the world with millions of women learning to have independent orgasms. It was my belief that positive sex energy could change the vibrations of our planet shifting us away from violence toward pleasure. What an outrageous dream! I imagined orgasmic women taking control where joy and pleasure would replace greed and violence. Once the Goddess of Sexual Love & Abundance returned, women will change the current male energy based on violent Judeo-Christian-Islamic religions that fear women so much they must repress us and arm themselves with destructive toys that maim and kill people while destroying our planet. I say “Enough!”
It’s time women slap Adam upside the head and take control by creating a new myth about the “in the beginning.” Male scholars refer to Goddess worship as “fertility cults” with orgiastic rituals! That’s right all you religious folks. We celebrated the holidays with joyful sex rituals. Now we all must suffer through the nuclear families sexless boring gatherings to overeat and then watch TV while we fart and doze off. Yeah! What great fun.
The eighties were grim and I nearly gave up hope but I continued running Bodysex workshops: Lean years. No money. I felt like a total failure. Finally toward the end of that decade, Crown Publishing Company bought my book, Sex for One. The modest advance of 20k seemed a virtual fortune at that time. Slowly but surely my book continued to sell and today remains evergreen. That’s remarkable especially when one considers a book about masturbation has been selling for nearly 30 years. I’ve lost track of the foreign editions, but it’s pretty much covered the entire world. Now here come Bodysex women to spread more good news.
The Thursday before the workshop, I got a call from Christian whose wife had taken a Bodysex workshop several years ago. When he came to pick up his wife back then, he’d promised to take me on plane ride over Manhattan on his next trip to NYC. A nice thought that I promptly forgot all about until his phone call. As we spoke on the phone, I had no recall of our meeting. As for being able to remember the thousands of women who’ve had private sessions or a workshop, forget it. At 85, I feel lucky to remember my own name and where I live.
As Christian and I spoke, he asked if I would prefer late afternoon or early evening for our flight the next day, Friday. I explain it had to be an early evening as I was running another Bodysex workshop that weekend. I seemed to have made up my mind to take his trip over Manhattan as a once in a lifetime opportunity. We agree that he’d pick me up Friday afternoon in a car and we’d drive to New Jersey where they rented small planes. It’s a small Cessna plane that brother Dickie had worked on until he became the foreman for Cessna Aircraft in Wichita, our hometown. These are VERY small planes and I’d only flown in one back in the sixties while visiting home. I did suspect I was a bit of a nut to do this BUT, that’s me. Jump in and sort it all out later.
Since I had no visual recall of Christian, I imagined him being in his early fifties, balding wearing glasses and a bit out of shape. I knew he was a scientist so that meant slaving over glass tubes in a laboratory. When he picked me up in front of my building, I saw an adorable young man in a while shirt with suspenders and hiking boots-- very Austrian. Yup! Love at first sight.
On our endless ride into the depths of NJ, I learned he’d also hired a co-pilot just to be on the safe side. A bit of relief settled in as I wondered what the hell I thought I’d do if he conked out while in flight? From the first thought of doing this wild thing, I reminded myself I was under divine protection. If it wasn’t safe, She would have blown the whole thing off. Once we arrived at the airport, our co-pilot was another extremely handsome young man and very personable. As I climbed into this little toy that was passing as a plane, I thought well, if anything does go wrong, I’m surrounded by two virile hot dudes to keep me entertained until help arrived. These little planes can land in someone’s front yard. But I repeat: The plane is a joke. At best it’s a toy! They have to tie it down because a modest wind will lift it up off the ground. Our co-pilot pushed it by hand to head the plane toward the runway.
We take off and I get my visual senses blown. This city that I adore is so obviously impossibly dense I wondered, how does anyone live here? In my huge headset, I hear information that announces: helicopters above and below, ahead and behind. It’s bordering on a traffic jam but I can’t stop peering out my window at the buildings below. Finally I take off the earphones because they’re uncomfortable with my hearing aids. Ah, perfection! Now it’s just the drone of our tiny propeller and a tiny engine.
As we land, my stomach begins to go into wretch mode and I grab the barf bag. Since I hadn’t eaten it was mostly water I threw up. I figured it was the release of tension I’d been holding since I agreed to join Christian. All morning long I kept mentally singing, “Come Josephine in my flying machine and it’s UP we go, Up we go.” It’s a song from the twenties. And UP we went including my stomach.
When the cabbie dropped us at my favorite restaurant A Voce with a fabulous outside terrace, I saw Christian peal off a wad of cash. I asked if he was a wealthy man, and he said no, but he didn’t mind spending money on something that was special. I didn’t find out what the day cost him but I did pick up the dinner tab as my thanks for an incredibly unique experience. For the next few days I’d catch myself mentally singing, over and over again…“Come Josephine in my flying machine and it’s UP we go, Up we go.”