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Now I felt confident enough to take more control, raise the bar, and go to the next level.

           Jack was encouraging, without pushing, allowing each petal to unfold, when it was ready, patient, but gently nurturing. He had made a safe place, in a loving relationship, and the space, needed for the flower to bloom.

           I believed in him.

          All of this, the luxury of the Regency Suite, the free food and wine, and even the prospect of winning a million dollars, was, for him, no more than scene-setting, a backdrop, for the drama he was creating.

          My spiritual growth, inner unfolding, whatever I wanted to call it.

          Sure, he was getting sex, with a fourteen year old, and, at seventy years, with an uncertain future, few men were so lucky; but he deliberately made more of it, with me, when we were alone, of course, than even he thought credible.

         ‘You’re here for sex, that’s all …’ he said ‘You’re here to spread your legs …’

           It took the focus away from the effort to achieve.

         ‘Do nothing for a purpose, or with expectation, or for some future goal …’ he said ‘Just do it for the sake of doing it …’

         We were fucking.  

         That’s all.

         Whatever came of it would come without effort as night follows day.

         That was a tough one to grasp, but I saw it. Any effort toward spiritual development was doomed, because the effort itself, and the desire for it, was the obstacle.

         Sex was a desire, but that was already here and now, not future, and we were doing it for lust, unsullied by the mind, social, or even moral, constraints

         Drop the mind.

        ‘That’s all there is to it …’ Jack said ‘When you’re really into a great sex session, are you actually thinking?’ he laughed ‘If you’re thinking about lunch, or shopping, maybe you should be making lunch, or shopping, instead …’

                                      (to be continued)