Notes by the author – Seani Love and his female collaborator ran a sensually charged evening workshop at The Grove during the Summer of 2017. The workshop used various techniques including partnering with anonymous blindfolded partners and covered “Boundaries & Consent” and “Conscious Touch”. I think there are derivations of this exercise taught by others, such as the exercise called The Forest. The beautiful natural setting and gentle yet masterful leadership by Seani combined to leave a profound impression upon me. Here is my story of it…

R18+

The dark-haired girl stands in front of me, still as a clef and sightless behind the black eye mask. I don’t know her name.

Her unseeing head is held high. Her tensed body is braced tight like that of an alley-cat. The artery pulses on the side of her neck.

I begin by slowly moving my hand up her arm.

“Yes,” she breathes, her mouth delicate and curved.

Nearby lamps have been turned down to a titian glow. We are cocooned in our own tenuous space of incipient consensuality in this midsummer night’s ballroom amongst the sultry riverbank forest.

Hidden leaves are soft-dripping after the evening shower. A poled-and-pegged canvas roof seals off the swollen skies above. The four sides lie open, with corner poles splayed and the damp dark coils of nature’s tanglegrowth glistening across the periphery. The shrill stridulation of katydids and crickets surges and breaks on the sweet-tasting night air.

Our ballroom of whimsy is strewn with rainbow coloured cushions. An overlapping patchwork of arabian carpets lie crinkled and downy beneath our bare feet.

My thumb lingers on the satin-soft inside of her elbow.

“Yes.”

Around us, ten other pairs of rubescent silhouettes stand opposite each. The receivers were masked before the pairing and do not know who their pleasure giver is. My tremulous alley-cat is unable to see. I can see, but am not permitted to speak.

She will never know who i am. Would i choose to tell her – later perhaps?

The voice of our swami breaks into my thoughts.

“Under normal circumstances, you should always thank your partner if they say No,” he says.

“Too often in our society today, people are made to feel guilty if they say No. By thanking them, you will empower them and enhance their freedom to enjoy your permitted interactions with them.”

“In this case, the anonymity of this particular exercise requires that you maintain silence. You are required, however, to move from that area instantly if you receive a No.”

My hand moves from her arm to caress her shoulder and back. I feel the warmth of her flesh through the gossamer top.

“Yes.”

“If you receive a Maybe, you may proceed but with caution,” says the swami’s partner.

Katie of the sinuous slender body, of the large areolae and sensuous nipples, with loins alluring above her underwear, the swami having gently removed her top with her permission during their demonstration of conscious caressing.

To receive a conscious caress feels like fire dripping across your skin, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body, up through your neck and exploding like thudding fireworks in your brain.

My fingers touch lightly on her anonymous face and temples.

I drop into a trance-like ecstasy of empathic connection to the pleasure i am giving.

“Yes.”

I dare to lightly brush her lips with my fingers.

An intake of breath.

“Yes.”

My hands run down her back, fingers bobbing.

I feel the smooth warmth of her buttocks through the thin fabric.

“Maybe.”

My hands return to the safety of her lower back. I kneel down to kiss her gently on her stomach and her flesh sucks in involuntarily before slowly coming back. My hands skim lightly over the caution zone of her buttocks to caress the back of her thighs through her skirt.

“Yes.”

I risk going under and my fingers draw lines of touch up her bare legs.

“Yes.” Her voice low and shaky.

I probe further and brush the curve below her buttocks.

“Yeees – maybe.”

My fingers continue exploring, gliding over her goosebump flesh.

“Yes.”

I give her a tentative smack on the naked round cheek.

She laughs. “Yes.”

I finger-smack both her buttocks simultaneously.

 “Yes. Yes.”

The tips of my fingers come to that private place where her mound pushes up against her underwear.

“No.”

I retreat.

I lift her top.

“Yes.”

I kiss the hot bare belly before me.

“Yes.”

I allow the top to fall back into place and rise to kiss her on the nape.

“Mmm, yes.”

My lips explore the secret channels around her neck.

“Yes. Yes.” Her voice is dreamy.

I kiss below her neck, where the swelling of her breasts begins. Her nipples are palpable and desirable, pressing up through the gossamer.

“Yes.”

My kisses encircle her nipples.

“Yes.”

The swami’s little bell rings.

I kiss her on the nipple.

“Maaaybe.”

Very gently, i massage her nubbery nipple between my lips.

“Yes…”

The bell rings again. We pleasure givers have to move away. My alley-cat and the other receivers remove their eye masks and stand cloistered in the lamplight as though in a dream.

It is time to swap roles and I don the eye mask.