FRIDAY ^#2

Teacup in the Temple

Violet shows up uninvited and unannounced to an old church in the queer neighborhood of San Diego, where Raven’s performance art class is in progress. On the door, directly under a faded rainbow sticker, a brass shingle reads: THE BAREFOOT AND PREGNANT THEATER. The building is in dire need of a paint job, but even with the combined income from benefactors, ticket sales, and acting classes, Raven is barely breaking even.

Violet seamlessly blends in with a couple dozen students who are selecting audition sides and running lines.

From the third row, Raven listens and critiques each student’s monologue. She does her best not to look offended when “Big Mike,” a longtime student, recites the famous “You complete me” monologue from Jerry Maguire.

After the class applauds, Raven confesses her intolerance for the codependent monogamous propaganda. “I would hate to see any of you blow an audition because of poor content selection. Know your audience. Who are you trying to touch? Even if it’s just an audition. You don’t want to offend a casting director by performing the wrong piece!”

“I was going for dramatic irony,” Big Mike says in defense.

Raven softens her tone. “While I celebrate your taking an artistic risk, I’d hate to see it backfire. In any case, there were several sweet moments during your delivery where I felt raw emotion. I want more of that.” His body relaxes as the class applauds and he steps offstage.

Raven sighs as she pinches the bridge of her nose and then addresses the class. “I’m sorry. The monologue struck a personal chord.” She composes herself for the next monologue by crossing her legs and announcing, “I’ll try not to let my own biases color my critiques. Who’s next?”

Violet steps onstage. It takes Raven a moment to realize the stunning young woman in a short blue skirt is Damien’s new partner. Raven strains to maintain her professionalism as she calls out from the front row, “Welcome. State your name.”

“My name is Violet West,” she says, visibly nervous.

“Great. Show us what you’ve got.” Raven clears her throat in an attempt to discharge her unexpected but undeniable attraction.

“I’ll be reading a poem by Sandra Cisneros, entitled: ‘Down There.’”

Without hesitation, Violet launches into a classic piece about menstrual blood written by one of Raven’s feminist idols. While listening, Raven can’t help but wonder whether Violet is bleeding, and if so, whether her panties are cotton or lace. When the selection ends, the audience is stunned. Violet doesn’t know how to bow. The delayed applause includes catcalls from a few of the lesbians in Raven’s troupe.

Since Violet is new, Raven spares the critique and says: “Nice work.” Then adds, “I want to see more from you.”

“Is that it?” Violet exhales as if she were bracing for criticism.

“For now,” Raven says sternly.

“Can I talk to you after class?” Violet presses.

“Fine,” Raven responds, suppressing her teacher’s-pet fantasy. “Let’s hear it for Violet.”

On the second applause, Violet steps offstage.

After the final performance, Raven closes the class with director’s notes. “After memorizing the text, you can add layers by using subtle body language and vocal intonations to convey what is not being said. I want everyone ‘off book’ next week so we can really start performing.” She glances at her trusty tomboy watch, then offers to preview a teaser from her upcoming show, for students who are willing to stay after class. The room erupts into enthusiastic applause.

Raven steps center stage and says, “I know I tell you not to disclaim your work, but the teacher doesn’t always follow her own rules. As you know, my show is called The Sacred Slut Series. It’s a collection of personal narratives that culminate in a tribute piece to Annie Sprinkle’s work, The Legend of the Sacred Prostitute, from her historic show Post Porn Modernist, which toured internationally for five years and is controversial because the final scene had a sex-magic ritual that included self-pleasuring. I’ll give you a glimpse of the prelude I wrote leading up to the climactic scene.”

After a few breaths, Raven’s smile becomes bigger, her voice becomes higher, and she somehow grows taller as she plays Annie Sprinkle:

“Did I have a real orgasm? That’s what everyone wants to know. Did I fake my orgasm? Why people are so hung up on this point is rather amusing. It is not about orgasm. The ritual is about re-creating the feel of the ancient temples, entering a state of ecstasy to bring prayers to the Divine.

“Let me address the orgasm question once and for all. I see no point in faking an orgasm, and I never did. Keep in mind I have a more expanded concept of orgasm than most folks. With the use of the cool crystal dildo, I almost always had a vaginal, cervical, or G-spot orgasm. I also usually had some kind of breath or energy orgasm. About half the time, I had a clitoral orgasm, and a third of the time I had a clitoral climax. For me the two are different. I experience clitoral orgasms as smallish orgasms that radiate through the pelvis, and clitoral climaxes are much more intense, starting in the clit, radiating throughout the pelvis, then shooting through the entire torso and out the top of my head. Usually, it results in moans or screams. On approximately a dozen occasions, I’d have what I call a full-body-mega-kundalinigasm, where ecstasy-electricity streamed through my entire body for several minutes. Let me tell you, nothing makes a girl feel more like a real Goddess than a mega-kundalinigasm!

“Sometimes my orgasms were subtle, and sometimes my battery was empty and I had no orgasm at all. Those times were an important part of the whole and made the performances all the more interesting and challenging.”

Raven steps to the edge of the stage, drops her smile, and lowers her voice. “Isn’t that what great art is? Finding something that touches your heart, but confronts you to the core? It stretches your limited sense of self so you’re forced to grow.

“So I’d ask myself, what do I need to do to be ready for this ritual? What do I need to let go of? Then I realized, I just need to step out of my own way.”

Raven slowly reaches up her skirt and with a single movement pulls her panties down her thighs, stepping out of them one leg at a time. She bows. The room is silent as the church it once was.

Her students are shocked but supportive. She picks up her panties, bows again, and announces, “Please take flyers to pass out and post in public places. The show is a month away, and only running for a week!”

As Raven makes her way offstage, Violet corners her. “Do you have a minute?”

“What did you want to talk about?” Raven says, gazing into Violet’s eyes, momentarily lost in a cloudless sky.

“Nothing in particular.” Violet plays coy. “I just wanted a little attention from you. I watched your YouTube videos, all of them. I didn’t want to stop,” Violet says, casting herself in the role of teacher’s pet from Raven’s fantasy.

Raven forces herself to look away and stacks her flyers. “What are you really doing here?” Raven asks.

“I want to get to know you. I wonder what our connection would be without Damien,” Violet admits.

After a deep breath, Raven says, “Sorry to leave so abruptly last week.”

Violet drapes the sensual curves of her body against the end of the stage. “Me too. I didn’t want it to end on that note, so I came here tonight to make it right.”

The old double doors in the back squeal and slam every time a student exits. Suddenly they become starkly aware that the last student has left. They’re in the theater alone, together.

“I was thinking about how hard it must be for you to not be seeing Damien on Monday nights anymore.”

“Pause right there.” Raven winces and instinctively pivots away from Violet. “Give me a moment…” She finds herself facing the concession stand, staring at the cups, and blurts: “Want tea?”

“Yes, please,” Violet says.

Raven manages to escape her emotional storm by washing two clay mugs in the theater sink.

“I heard what you said to the class about the ‘You complete me’ speech. I can only imagine what you’re going through.”

Raven pauses her dishwashing when she feels a piercing ache in her low back. She remembers Damien’s promise that his love would never stop, it would just run underground, like groundwater.

“He’s been one of the great loves of my life,” Raven says. She dries the mugs, pours the hot tea, and delivers a cup to Violet in the first row, where they both sit quietly blowing on their tea.

“What’s happening with your lower back?”

Raven realizes that she’s been fussing with her left hip while waiting for her tea to cool.

“It’s nothing; I overextended my sacrum during rehearsal, but I have to keep rehearsing, so it’s becoming chronic.” She doesn’t know how long she can remain polite.

Violet lays her hand on Raven’s hip, gently. “I do massage, you know?”

“I remember. And yoga. and pole dancing. Damien is very lucky to have found you.”

“He adores you too.”

Violet invites Raven to lie across the stage so she can work on her sacrum, reassuring her, “It’s a purely professional offer.”

“It better be.” Raven lies with her face pressed in a mat, in front of an empty audience, ruminating: Why is this woman so persistent? I should be mad at her. Why does she smell like strawberries? If her fingers weren’t so damn skilled, I would kick her out of my theater, right now.

While Violet works the tender ridge of Raven’s ass, Raven surveys her set design. There is an eight-foot flat painted with the Taj Mahal, a full-length mirror on wheels, and a makeup table covered with wigs. In the far corner of the stage, there is a massive altar with a golden Buddha surrounded by a variety of exotic sex toys. For Raven, the theater is a special space; a sort of sacred temple. Her eyes linger on the futon in the corner, imagining how Violet’s naked body would feel against it.

“Is this the set for The Sacred Slut Show?” Violet asks.

“Mmm-hmmm . . .” Raven says, enjoying the perfect pressure on her bottom.

“Your temple is so familiar, yet so foreign. It reminds me of a yoga cult I used to teach at, except the guru didn’t have your erotic twist.”

After several long strokes, Violet digs in. “When we met, I thought I’d feel competitive, but I don’t feel that at all. I have a strange feeling that you can do no harm, you’re glorious, like this golden Buddha.”

Violet suddenly spies an eight-inch phallus prominently displayed in the center of the altar.

“Is that the cool crystal cock you talked about in your monologue? Is it real crystal? Is that what you’ll use to masturbate onstage?”

Raven nods to each of Violet’s questions.

Violet’s touch seems to have become intimate, and is now filling Raven with arousal.

“Do you want to flip over so I can work on your pelvis?” Violet asks innocently, which somehow overloads Raven’s circuit breaker, firing up her defense system. She rolls over swiftly and lands a firm hand on Violet’s upper thigh.

“No. I better get back to rehearsing,” Raven says sharply, pushing herself up. “You’ve got amazing hands, but it’s late. I’ve got a lot to do.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Violet asks.

Raven doesn’t answer.

Violet backs off. “Okay. I understand. But I want to keep coming. I’ve always wanted to take acting lessons. Is that okay?”

“You could use direction,” Raven blurts. “I mean, you have potential. As long as we can keep our roles clear.”

Violet is ecstatic at the prospect of continuing her connection with Raven and exclaims, “You’re the teacher. When I’m in class, I’ll follow your direction.”

Raven smiles and walks Violet to the door. They fall into a good-bye hug, which melts, then lingers. Neither wants to pull away. Violet’s hand slides down Raven’s back to her hips.

“How’s your sacrum now?” Violet asks.

“Better.”

“I’d be happy to get my hands on you, anytime, Mistress Raven.”

Raven releases a breath. “I’ve got work to do.”

“Are you going to rehearse the self-pleasuring scene?”

“Good night, Violet.” She opens the squeaky door and watches Violet walk out into the cool dark night.

Raven walks dreamily through her theater, picking up papers and props from the class. She dims the house until only the ghost light is left. Ritualistically, Raven begins lighting each meditation candle at Buddha’s feet while reciting a Pagan prayer: “By the North which is her body, by the East which is her breath, by the South which is the bright light of her spirit, and the West which holds the waters of her womb . . .”

Raven breathes deeply and envisions a full audience. She runs her hands up the length of her torso, lingering on her breasts. She imagines a drummer, as she moves energy up her spine and pumps her pelvis to the rhythm of her breath.

With eyes closed, she remembers the feel of Violet’s hands massaging her inner thighs. Then she flashes on Violet’s short skirt and thinks how easy it would be to lift the blue fabric and reveal more of her mystery.

Raven returns to her lines while rubbing coconut oil on her sacred crystal cock. Her mind becomes a salad of images: Violet’s adept fingers, blonde hair, and heart-shaped lips.

Raven is simultaneously aware of how she longs for Damien’s embrace. The loss of his warmth overwhelms her with sobs. She cups the crystal wand, holds it to her heart, and surrenders to her grief.

At that moment, the door swings open and Violet calls, “Raven? Oh, Mistress Raven.”

Raven stops crying and quickly sets the crystal dildo down.

Violet makes her way down the aisle of the dark house to say, “I’m sorry. I would’ve called, but I don’t have your number.”

Raven has already dried her tears, but her voice breaks when she says, “It’s okay, what did you forget?”

“Your teacup. I left it on the stage.”

“You came back for a stupid teacup?”

“I didn’t want you to think I’m a slob. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep. Let me wash it.” At this point, Violet notices Raven’s swollen eyes and the buoyancy drains from her voice.

“Have you been crying?”

Trembling, Raven struggles to hold back a stream of tears, but Violet’s comforting caresses are already all over Raven’s body.

“I just miss him.”

“Of course you do,” Violet says, comforting her new friend as they sit silently in the glow of the candlelight. “Are you mad at me?”

“Not anymore. I used to be, but that was before we met. You’re so sweet. Who could stay mad at you?”

“I wish I could do something to make you feel better. I mean, it’s my fault.”

Raven goes for sarcasm. “Yeah, but what am I going to do, punish you?”

“If that would make you feel better. I’d do anything to help you, right now.” Violet looks directly into Raven’s eyes and says tenderly, “Maybe I deserve to be punished.”

Raven tries to laugh it off but knows she’s not kidding.

“You can take it out on my ass. I mean it.” Violet pleads.

Raven sobers up. “Really? Are you up for a little spanking?”

“It’s the least I can do, after taking your boyfriend,” Violet urges.

Raven situates herself on the futon and directs Violet to drape her body across her lap, so that their crotches are close together, but not touching. “Lie here. Facedown.”

Raven rolls up her sleeves and rubs her hands together while saying, “Look, we’ve never done this before, so you have my full permission to say Yellow, if you need me to slow down, or Red, if you need me to stop. Okay?”

“What about Green—if I want more?”

“Smart-ass!” Raven is smiling as she peels up Violet’s skirt and is delighted to find a matching blue thong wedged in the crack of her developed gluteus muscles. Raven begins by rubbing her warm hands against Violet’s cool bubble butt.

“I’m ready,” says Violet.

In a deep voice Raven teases, “So, this is going to hurt you more than it hurts me,” and she starts with little rhythmic taps to bring blood to the surface.

“I have a high threshold for pain,” Violet says, encouraging Raven to hit harder.

“Good. You’re going to need it.” Raven lightly tickles Violet’s asscheeks and notices little goose bumps forming on the surface.

Slap! Slap! “This is for taking my boyfriend.”

Slap! Slap! “This is for being so fucking cute.”

Slap! Slap! “And young.”

Violet giggles.

SLAP! SLAP! “This is for not knowing how to share.”

SLAP! SLAP! “I had a good thing going with Damien, and then you showed up with your short skirts and unbelievable ass, and you pulled us apart.”

SLAP! SLAP! “You knew that he was dating two other women when he met you. He dropped them when he started seeing you.”

SLAP! SLAP! “You probably loved getting him all to yourself.”

Violet protests, “No. Actually, I didn’t.”

SLAP! SLAP! “Who said you could talk back?”

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

Spanking has an impact like penetration. Each shock is a thrust of Raven’s sexual power. Violet undulates her pelvis and wordlessly begs for more.

“This is for pretending to be all innocent when you are clearly enjoying this.” SLAP! SLAP!

“This is not for anything you did, but because you are a great little whipping girl.” SLAP! SLAP!

Raven strokes her rosy ass and savors how vital and ecstatic she feels. The pocket of space between the two women’s crotches seems to shrink in size.

Raven vigorously rubs Violet’s ass to distribute the sensation. “Did I hurt you?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Violet says with obvious pleasure in her voice. “And I loved it.”

“You want more?”

“Yes, please,” Violet confesses breathlessly.

“Good.” SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

“That’s for enjoying yourself.” SLAP! SLAP!

With every slap, Raven’s hand grows hotter, and the blood rushes between her legs as if she’s growing an erection.

Violet reaches around to massage Raven’s thighs. Raven stops spanking and removes Violet’s hands.

SLAP! SLAP! “That’s for grabbing at me like a bitch in heat.”

Violet explodes with more giggles. Raven realizes how deeply willing she is. There is nothing stopping Raven from rolling Violet over and fucking her on the stage. In order to resist her impulse to grab the crystal cock from the altar and use it on Violet, now, Raven decides to busy her hands with a continued rhythm of vigorous spanking.

SLAP! SLAP! “And this is for showing up to my class uninvited.”

SLAP! SLAP! “And seducing me with that sexy poem.” Raven slows her spanking and lightly caresses Violet’s sensitive behind.

“There. Now I feel so much better. I’m going to put your bottom away and you’re going to leave here without any aftercare!”

Violet slowly adjusts herself as she stands up. “Can I kiss you?” Violet asks as she moves toward a hug.

“No. You don’t even deserve a hug. I hope you’re satisfied with yourself. I expect to see you next Friday.” Raven pulls away. “And take your damn teacup.”