Tantric Sex for the Determinedly Single

Tantric Sex for the Determinedly Single

By JOY DEEP SAHA

Your mother had always loved India even though she had never been there. Your father did it once, during the war. Crowds, he'd said when you asked him to tell you. Hot, she admitted when you begged for more.

 India is full of Indians, your mother had accepted. Still, it doesn't matter because they are always very polite, even in a country I had only read about in the newspapers, I was always happier to be the authority. There he would learn how to behave correctly, he said.

 Manners said your father.

 Your son has an insatiable thirst for knowledge, the English teacher told your mother.

 I should tie his hands, called your mother at breakfast that morning after she had surprised you in your bedroom. He will go blind.

 Tell me about India, Dad? she begged, hoping to change the subject.

 Your father looked at you. You held your breath.

 No, he said.

 His thirst is good, the teacher had said. You should be proud of him.

 Can you see how many fingers I have? Asked your mother. You are a rude and dirty boy; where is this insatiability supposed to end?

 Indians don't kiss. That was what your mother said, and that was another point in her favor.

 Why not? You asked your father.

 Tantra, he said.

 Your mother silenced him. Not in front of your son, he said. As if I had to encourage him.

 The hot Indians huddled politely and appropriately in your bed that evening.

 But tantric?

 Her first concern was that it had something to do with spiders.

 They were afraid of animals, even in their minds, especially in their minds.

<2>

 And so, it remains unexplored for at least ten years until you discover the Internet. You pretend to be looking for Indian culture despite not knowing exactly why you are more interested in secrets. Nobody is there to disturb you. Even if you click somewhere and your computer suddenly has difficulty breathing and you search awkwardly with your hands to find the sound button, even if your breathing goes on and on in the dark and certainly takes worryingly longer than usual.

 Always alone. That's what you like best these days.

 It's hard to breathe well. Read poems to each other.

 Some steps lead too far.

 Rub the outlines clean, watch them fade.

 Mae West sucked the karmic energy out of her husband, and that made her such a strong woman.

 India is the jewel of our empire, said your mother. They love our cricket, our education, our courts and turn out to be honest little Englishmen. Even better. Take the good guy from the shop around the corner. It stays open every hour. What happened to the service in this country? I want to know.

    The friendly man in the corner shop smiled when he called your father, Mr. When your father sneaked into the secret room with him, he left you in the drawer. When the buyer came, he had to yell at Kipling. Chapter

 Why is Kipling? You ask your father when they will go home together.

 “Poet,” your father said; although you like poetry when you hold his hand, you look at him and smile. “

 secrets,” he said. Ours, you agree, because you are pleased. I hope everyone in the park will see her like this. Ordinary father and son. Later they all spent a whole meal to answer. Your mother’s question is answered in a single syllable. You drive her crazy. He keeps talking until you doubt if he can stop.

<4>

 You and your father just looked at her. Harmonious.

 When Tantric sex is correct, there is no beginning and no end. You are not in a hurry. Or give up. Sometimes you don’t even have to start.

 Your dress is very provocative. You pull out the soft silk scarf from the entertainment box that the page tells you. When you bought it, you told the assistant that it was for your mother. She will like it, her. “I said, so you said to him that your mother was sick. In fact, she was dead, and you finally admitted.

 Then the woman served you silently, but now the scarf covering the lamp makes your bedroom very attractive.

 Knowing that there is always a beginning, what if there is really no end, and you are still lost in the mirror? Who of you is absorbing the karma of others? Which will be the strongest? What if it cannot be avoided now?

 You were busy reading the magazine that day and forgot to scream when the businessman’s wife walked in. When you walked through the park, your father didn’t hold your hand. This is not fair. The poem, you called later. The speed is too fast for you to keep up. Poetry. Poetry. Poetry.

 Tell me about India, Dad. Do Indians kiss?

 You two were not in harmony at dinner that night, but your mother said so much, she didn’t notice. He read about the French and thought they might be more interesting than the Indians. Not very polite, but very good. Bite in the waist belt and lower back.

 You know that French kissing is difficult. The other kids in the school call it tennis. Even if it is an English kiss with dry lips, it seems that you will not like it for a moment.

 “Your character is too unnatural. No wonder the French behaved badly,” your mother said, her eyes gleaming. But you shouldn’t say this in front of a boy.

<5>

 His father agreed.

 Breath, harmony, eyes, atmosphere, happiness, treasure, silk, breasts, everything.

 Everything on your favorite page is written with markers.

 You forgot to say that after two days of Kipling, your father ran away. “It’s like a bullet,” your mother said. I didn’t expect this, but you saw it. Kipling. This is about poetry. The bullet is on the head. You never saw him again; even your mother went abroad to fantasize. You tried to be polite until she finally went crazy.

 There are many guides on your favorite website. They are not overcrowded. Intact.

 Words sound good.

 It will even tell you where to start.

 Since you are insatiable, you know what the result will be.

 You look in the mirror, harmony.