By Gina Celiko
I was sitting with SyBill, a friend of mine, in a bus depot in a border town in Arizona. We were very quiet. In the late afternoon the summer heat seemed unbearable. We have been driving since the mid morning and I was sorry that I hadn’t shaved my underarms. SyBill complained that they stank, and no matter how much deodorant I put on , it didn’t help. We finally stopped at the bus depot so that I could wash my armpits and have her stop her complaining. And finally we were very quiet.
Suddenly she leaned over and tapped me on the shoulder. “There’s the man I told you about,” she said in a low voice. She nodded casually toward the entrance. An old man had just walked in.
“What did you tell me about him?” I asked. “He’s the Indian that knows about all 129 positions. Remember?”
I remembered that SyBill and I had once driven all day looking for the house of an “eccentric” Mexican Indian who lived in the area. We did not find the man’s house and I had the feeling that the Indians whom we had asked for directions had deliberately misled us. SyBill had told me that the man was a “sexbero,” a person who practices all sexual positions, and that he knew a great deal about the 129 magic positions which Indians used to reach awareness. She had also said that it would be worth my while to meet him. SyBill was my guide in the Southwest while I was collecting information on sexual positions used by the Indians of the area in reaching heightened awareness.
I was at the time attending the HAI (Heightened Awareness Institute of Marin). I was a graduate student in Tantric studies and my teacher said if we could prove similar practices between East Indian Tantric principles and Native American ones , we would get an A in the class. Better, if we could do it with a real Indian and come back and talk about it to the class, he would even evaluate our sex techniques personally. That appealed to me immensely. The idea of contributing to the sexual ideology of Marin who has given so much to me. My name would be mentioned in the hot tubs all over Mt.Tam, who knows I might even get printed in Pacific Sun. The dreams of fame and recognition swept through my eyes, making my throat burn, and eyes all watery. I owed that much to this people who spent their life trying to improve the orgy life in Marin and by god, I found a way now to contribute. I thanked the Goddesses for such luck.
SyBill got up and went to greet the man. The Indian was of medium height. His hair was white and short, and grew a bit over his ears, accentuating the roundness of his head. He was very dark; the deep wrinkles on his face gave him the appearance of age, yet his body seemed to be strong and fit. I watched him for a moment. He moved around with a nimbleness that I would have thought impossible for an old man. I personally didn’t go for the older types but since he was so limber and fit, coupled with the idea of getting an A and seducing Mr. Perkins, I said why not. I wished to God, his pubic hair wasn’t all gray and his ass wasn’t all wrinkled under his clothes.
SyBill signaled me to join them.
I walked over, but not before pinching my nipples so they would stand erect under my braless tank top which buttoned down only to my midriff showing the full extension of my belly button. I thanked God that I was wearing my very tight stretch skirt which had a slit all the way up to my crutch on the left side. I swished my ass as I walked towards them my full breasts sticking out in exaggeration. I walked and stood right in front of the old man and parted my lips slightly while sticking my tongue out to the left side. I licked my lips sensually and squinted my eyes. This was the look men couldn’t resist. “He’s a nice guy,” SyBill said to me. “But I can’t understand him. His English is weird, full of saliva as he speaks.” I realized the man was salivating looking at my tits and I felt a wave of confidence coming over me. The old man looked at SyBill and smiled. And SyBill obviously having a hard time, made up an absurd phrase in trying to make contact. He looked at me as if asking whether she was making sense, but I did not know what she had had in mind; she then smiled shyly and walked away Thank God. The old man looked at me and began laughing. “I think she forgot to introduce us,” I said, and I told him my name. I told him my name in a whisper and looked right into his eyes and then into his crutch as if to show him I knew what to do with it.
“And I am Pussyuan Matureus, at your service,” mouth all foaming as he talked. We shook hands and remained quiet for some time. I let him look at my tits and caressed my belly button gently as I picked up the lint that was building under it all day long and smelled it. When I finally decided it was enough, I broke the silence and told him about my enterprise. I told him that I was looking for any kind of information on Indian sex, especially the Missionary position. I talked compulsively for a long time, and although I was almost totally ignorant on the subject, I said I knew a great deal about missionary position. In fact, I didn’t like the missionary position, being the more adventurous type, fitting to my personality I preferred riding the horse or sitting on a chair. I thought that if I boasted about my knowledge he would become interested in talking to me. But he did not say anything. He listened patiently. Then he nodded slowly and peered at me. His eyes seemed to shine with a light of their own. I avoided his gaze. I felt embarrassed. I had the certainty that at that moment he saw right through me. I felt vulnerable and naked. I was sure he saw that underneath it all, I wasn’t wearing any panties and God Dammit, I didn’t shave my pubic hair. I looked away, felt like a little girl, tears about to come down all on their own. He saw through me. All that big words, and I got caught feeling ashamed about my pubic hair for the first time in my life.
Not knowing what to say, I said I would pay him if he could show me the positions first hand, losing all hope by now that after looking through my frail clothing, and spotting my unshaved pussy, I had no hope persuading him to teach me anything. “Come to my house some time,” he finally said, taking his eyes away from me. “Perhaps we could talk there with more ease.” I did not know what to say. I felt uneasy. After a while SyBill came back into the room. She recognized my discomfort and did not say a word. We sat in tight silence for some time. Then the old man got up. His bus had come. He said goodbye.
“It didn’t go too well, did it?” SyBill asked. “No.” “Did you ask him about the positions?” “I did. But I think I goofed.” “I told you, he’s very eccentric. The Indians around here know him, yet they never mention him. And that’s something.” “He said I could come to his house, though.” “He was bullshitting you. Sure, you can go to his house, but what does it mean? He’ll never tell you anything. If you ever ask him anything he’ll clam up as if you were an idiot talking nonsense. He only likes women with blue eyes and boyish skinny bodies. Look at you , you are short and dark with brown eyes and big boobs and you got curves and a big butt. You don’t have a chance,” SyBill said convincingly that he had encountered people like him before, people who gave the impression of knowing a great deal. In his judgment, he said, such people were not worth the trouble, because sooner or later one could obtain the same information from someone else who did not play hard to get. He said that he had neither patience nor time for old fogies, and that it was possible that the old man was only presenting himself as being knowledgeable about sex, when in reality he knew as little as the next man. SyBill went on talking but I was not listening. My mind kept on wondering about the old Indian. He knew I had been bluffing. I remembered his eyes. They had actually shone. But, I didn’t know why. Suddenly an overwhelming sadness swept me. I remembered my mother telling me always to wear underwear and to shave my pussy. Damn it. How much I missed her.
