In 1974 I was 29 and, being a charismatic, cute "bad boy", I had slept with at least three different woman a week, sometimes as many as 7, for 12 years or more - at the very least: 2,000 women - at the most conservative estimate. I was, if you believe in such a term - a sex addict. For me … I simply loved women - every woman: young, old, ugly, cute, intelligent, stupid, nice ass, flat ass, married, single, nuns, whores … I didn't fucking care. I loved women -- touching them, stroking them, seducing them, fucking them, initiating them. Fucking was, and still is, my only abiding talent.
But never, in my 29 years, had I even imagined a woman like "Dark Eyes", as I began to call her. Her eyes were a dark umber -- a brown so deep that the slightest shadow took the color away, leaving a darkness so intense that I would fear falling into them and disappearing. They were beautiful in an ominous way, but when she smiled, even in the weakest light, I wanted to dissolve into them.
Her entire being seemed to be a manifestation of eroticism. In sex, nothing was off limits - fisting - vaginal and anal, golden showers, felching - just name something … her obvious pleasure in it was so intense that no question could arise as to the authenticity of her indulgences.
She taught me things. I had previously prided myself on my sexual experience, knowledge and diversity, but under her tutelage I learned things that I am sure the high Priests of Dakshin Khali had never imagined. I believed I was in love.
"Love is a veil that separates you from the thing that you love." She once told me. I saw the truth of it, and cried from reasons that I could not understand.
But she was utterly without fear and opened her heart and mind to every experience that embraced her.
On our third day together she wandered off with an old man from the village of Jyamrung. In spite of the man being one of the ugliest men I had encountered, I suspected her of having sex with him. She confirmed it on her return and described it in detail. Oddly, I felt no jealousy whatsoever. After she described it, she curled up in my arms and slept… a dark, warm and gentle angel come, for some unaccountable reason, from heaven to grace me for a while with her presence.
On the fourth day she said "let's go back to Kathmandu".
"I want to continue to Phokara" I said.
She replied: "Sometimes the best way forward is to go back".
It made perfect sense, and does, even to this day.
We headed back to Katmandu.
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