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One night I asked her how many lovers she’d had.
She teased me first, do you men and women she said.
I was shocked at the number she told me.
How can that be sacred I asked?
She nodded, that’s an important question, there’s a lot to understand about it.
A wise man once told me that a temple is no less sacred for all the feet that have walked into it.
Come with me she said.
We walked across the garden to a small Pleasure House she’d built. It was a raised platform with steps leading up from the grass. The sides were open with drapes that could be dropped. Around the edge were glass bowls, a single frangipani flower floating in each one. The sound of the sea was soft in the air.
Candles on the pillars of the Pleasure House gave the night space a golden warmth.
It was simple space, separate from the dark around, quiet in it’s beauty.
And as we walked up the few steps the quiet seemed to deepen.
She looked at me and her eyes drew me in to her. Her energy became focused in the space. She expanded to fill it from somewhere deep inside of her. The air tool on a different quality, it had substance.
She slid the robe she had on off her shoulders and lay on the futon.
I sat between her legs.
Look at my yoni she said.
Yoni, she said, Sacred Space, Temple of the Goddess.
Every pair of eyes that’s looked at her have added to her beauty.
Every mouth that’s tasted her has added to the subtle richness of her flavour, the earth and the ocean.
Every finger that’s touched her, that’s spread her, has added to her welcoming.
Every lingam that’s entered her, opened her, has added to her, the welcoming Goddess.
Every orgasm, from man, from woman, has added to her power.
Every man who’s taken his anger out on her has added to her healing.
Every man who’s sobbed in hurt and pain has added to her tenderness.
Every night she’s been abandoned and lain out in the ocean of loneliness and longing has added to her understanding.
Every moment her hand has slid down her belly to caress herself has added to her ownership of herself.
Every time she’s refused herself she’s added to her ownership of herself.
Every time she’s bled she’s celebrated the Moon Goddess within.
Every time she’s savoured her taste on another’s lips she’s relished in herself.
Every time she’s felt the moist heat of lust within her, she’s added to the fire that burns deep in her soul.
Every time she’s been opened over and over and over, she’s added to her freedom.
Every time she’s been desecrated, she’s added her tears to her love.
Every time she’s been unfulfilled she’s added her anger to her fire.
Every time she’s been left longing and hungry, she’s added her power to choose.
Every time, every time, every man, every woman, hard, soft, loving, tender, hard, pounding, honouring, wet, profane and holy has added to the temple.
She’s been loved and hurt, honoured and scarred.
She is more and more, each day that passes, a temple, sacred yoni, goddess pussy.
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