by Cody Dare
(09/19/01)

I walk up two flights and unlock my door. Mrs. Calano peeks out to make sure I'm not a burglar. She is holding a hot dog seamed with mustard, and a can of rootbeer. I can hear the Young and Restless on her television.

"I have a headache," I tell her. "I'm going to meditate and make it go away."

She takes a big bite and nods, then turns back to her dog and her soap.

At my bedside is a massager that I use for a vibrator. It is not penis-shaped, but more like a pancake with bumps. Also at my bedside are Conversations with God, the Beauty trilogy and a book on Love written by a Buddhist monk.

I take off my slacks and fluff up three pillows. I plug in the massager, a gift from my friend, Judith. I was too shy to buy my own.

The massager hums. It looks intrusive, high tech against my black underwear. I am not a romantic masturbator: I wear my watch, my shirt, my socks. I am, after all, just having a noontime tryst with myself. I open the book on Love.

"Love is compassion, joy and equanimity," the book reports. I place the hummer on my clit and take a breath. "When the energy of love is strong within us, we can send it out in all directions," the book says. I nod and press harder against my own throbbing.

From outside, I hear the sound of someone dribbling a basketball. I imagine a line of orange-robed monks, with shining holy faces and pure hearts, coming into my room. They bow to me and I give them a shy smile. The first comes up to me and takes my vibrator. He fumbles to turn it off, then lays it gently on the floor. He bows and carefully removes my underpants. His hands feel like a cool prayer. His hands feel like they are turning the pages of a holy book.

"I am going to help you with your meditation," the monk says, in halting English. "You must do nothing but lie here. Do not tense your body. Do not talk or think. Only breathe."

He bows his head and takes a tentative lick of my inner lips. I shiver and breathe that touch into my stomach. He centers himself and licks again, this time with more force. I see dancing behind my closed eyes. I spread my legs as he gathers the folds of his robe and climbs onto the bed, kneeling before me. The other monks move closer and begin a low chant, their words like choppy waves slapping the shore. I breathe. I feel the lapping of his tongue and the lapping of the chant. I raise myself up, to be closer, to feel more of his mouth. He gently guides me down.

"Do nothing," he advises again.

I lie, unmoving, like sand on a windless beach, as the holy man licks me. I feel the swelling of energy move through me, and yet I do not chase it. He takes my hands and kisses them. Then he bows low and steps away. Another monk takes his place.

"We have all the time in the world," this monk says to me, before he untethers me with his mouth. I stay with the chanting. I forget that my lunch hour must surely be ending. Each monk in the line takes his turn, licking me until I am pink and as lost as a cloud, until my whole body is alert with energy, until something flows through me, as gold as lightning and bold as an unlit trail. As sweet and melting as a summer ice cream cone.

The final monk kisses my hands and steps away. He re-opens the book, which has fallen closed beside me.

"You must love yourself before you can truly love another person," I read.

For several moments, I cannot move. The basketball bounces, counting me to 100. I imagine the old woman next door, eating a moon pie or two for dessert. Tearing the plastic wrap with her teeth. I imagine what my lover will say about my self-loving practice.

I put the books and the massager away. I pull on my underpants and my slacks. I look in the mirror and smooth the crumbled sides of my hair as I step outside into the hallway. As I am locking my apartment door, my neighbor peeks out to make sure I'm not a burglar. There is a splotch of mustard on her chin, and a commercial for Formula 409 blares from her television.

"I feel better," I tell her, even though she hasn't asked.

She takes a big bite from her moon pie, nods, and closes her door.

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