Scarlet goes to Hollywood…
Scarlet begins her “Secret Adventures of an Erotic Masseuse” after receiving an invitation from a girlfriend in Hollywood, California to fill in for a week at a high end underground “Tantric” sensual massage parlour.
Although she attempted to retire from “The Work” to focus on her music career, life as a struggling artist and single mom living in small town Washington was not paying the bills. Jumping on the opportunity she orders a plane ticket to LAX and decides to give the Erotic Healing Arts world one last hesitant try… as long as no one knows her secret!
Once she lands in Los Angeles Scarlet is swept into a fast paced world of 13 hour work shifts with a crew of feisty “Dakini Sisters” offering erotic bodywork to British film directors, horny doctors and heartbroken band managers. One she falls in love with, another she pulls a knife on. Will she be able to survive a week at “The Sanctuary”?
While she works Scarlet keeps an explicit diary about her sessions in the healing room, frustrations with the business, erotic sexcapades, a wild night out at the club and her incessant longing for the perfect man who haunts her dreams.
Addicted to the “Dakini High” and the stack of cash hidden in her underwear on the plane flight home, Scarlet has to decide between her mediocre life out in the country with her daughter or to jump back into the fire of the FBSM business, Hollywood nightlife and the possibility of finding her soul mate in a sea of glitz and glam.
Copyright 2012, Scarlet Amor Productions. 100pages. Fiction/Romance/Erotica.
TO BE CONTINUED in BOOK TWO of THE DAKINI CHRONICLES SERIES….
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In the Beginning
My life is a series of seductive secrets and expensive orgasms, most of which are not my own.
I’m resistant about taking off on this work trip, my mind going over the text I had written for my ad and posted on the internet.
“Sensual love priestess visiting Hollywood this week for an orgasmic Tantric journey into bliss.”
It’s posted in the erotic massage category on a prostitution website, although I am not a prostitute. I am a Dakini. Think mantra’s, massage and a happy ending, all for two-hundred an hour, plus tips. But no one really knows what I do for a living. I keep it secret.
It was raining, as usual here in small town Washington, my fingers gripping the fading brown vinyl of the steering wheel in my two decade old minivan with colorful laminated backstage passes hanging from the rear view mirror as my mind raced with elaborate excuses and hesitant lies.
“Are you going to visit Grandma while you are in California?” my daughter asks, nursing the last of her natural soda we bought at the health food store on my food stamp card.
“No baby. My friend is hiring me to take care of her yoga studio in Hollywood while she is gone. You know its been hard for me to find a job here with the economy the way it is.”
It is a half truth. I am going to be taking care of my friends yoga studio, but the studio is just a front for a spiritually based erotic massage parlor. I’m filling in for a week while my girlfriend travels on her Dakini cash. I had prayed to the Universe to help me manifest a grand by next week to pay my bills and then she called me out of the blue. How could I say no when the Universe was answering my prayer? I used the very last amount of credit on my Visa card to buy the plane ticket to LAX.
I did have a lurking thought when I ordered my plane tickets online last week, choosing my seat, that perhaps my soul mate would also be on this flight and we’d find each other here. Perhaps that is the sole reason I am going on this work trip, to miraculously meet my Dream Man. The Universe does work in mysterious ways?
Miss Scarlet’s Guide To The Dakini Greeting Ritual
1 ) Throw phones, purses, laptops, dirty blue jeans, tampon wrappers or anything else that would give access to your personal information into the closet. This should have been done five minutes ago. You are instead waiting patiently filing your fingernails and sucking on a breath mint.
2 ) Never let them wait outside once they knock. In fact, stand in the lobby when you know he is close. Peek through the door to make sure it is not a cop or a group of thugs. If it is a nervous guy in a business suit you are in luck.
3 ) Open the door and usher the client inside quickly so the neighbors don’t see (more his concern than your own), followed up by an enthusiastic greeting, eyes ablaze, smile authentic, cleavage up. No conversation in the hallway.
4 ) You avert conversation by asking him to leave his shoes by the door. This is protocol here in the Sanctuary, a code for the other girls to know that there is a man in the room for a session. Kind of like a bandana on the doorknob from the college days. While he does this you lock the front door and size him up.
5 ) If there are girls working in the other rooms you do step 3 and 4 like a mime, with your finger to your lips sushing them and seductively whisper in his ear. The need to be quiet often freaks them out and they look around uncomfortably as if there are spy cameras watching them. I hold their hand if this is the case.
6 ) He steps into the massage room first and you watch his eyes open wide like a kid in a candy store. While he stands there in shock, you close the door to the healing room behind you and LOCK IT.
7 ) You take control of the situation IMMEDIATELY. The Dakini is the boss. My favorite maneuver is the “Shock and Awe Hug”. Before he knows what hits him you slip into his arms with a firm hug and pummel him with the piercing jedi Dakini gaze he cannot avoid. Hug tight and close so he cannot kiss you with his nasty onion breath or grab at your breasts. Do not let go until he takes a deep breath with you and relaxes into submission.
8 ) Introduce yourself again, in a soft voice, standing far back so he can check you out. Do not bother with light conversation or they may talk your ear off. Get straight to business. Ask for ID. Confirm the length of time for the appointment. Tell him where to leave the donation. As he fumbles with cash remind him to turn his phone OFF (not on mute, OFF!) and to take it with him into the bathroom (the last thing either of you need is a pocket dial to the wife). Discuss nothing.
9 ) Get his ass into the bathroom and close the door behind him before he has any second thoughts. Conversation is over. Count the cash then make it disappear. If no cops bust through the door at this point you know you are in the clear. Relax and proceed with love.
In Session With a Tantric Virgin
Depok is a “virgin”, or a new comer to the erotic arts industry. He’s never had a sensual massage before, let alone studied “Tantra” with a Dakini. Depok is handsome, Indian and very nervous, which I think is cute, blushing at me when our brown eyes meet. He’s not here with a raging hard on thinking that he might get to get it on in our session like some of the guys on their first time in. He’s well mannered and appears to be about my age with a dapper London accent. I’m gaga for British accents.
I am honored to be his guide, to gently place his hands on my knees while we sit cross-legged together on the massage table. This guy was nervous to even hold my hand, sitting here nearly naked with me in my silk robe and lace g-string and he with a towel wrapped around his waist. Once we drop into breathing together, eye to eye, he relaxes into it and starts feeling his sexual energy rise. Depok takes my guidance well at this point, which allows me to really get on a roll with the downloads about moving sexual energy with breath and having rip roaring orgasms without ever spilling his seed. I am still flabbergasted that 4/5 men who come to me for Tantra sessions never even heard of the idea of non-ejaculatory orgasms.
Depok takes onto moving Tantric energy naturally. Once I get him face down on the table, he continues to breath through the entire massage. It got to the point where when I lightly brushed my fingers near his genital zone he would naturally take a deep breath in and pull the energy up into his upper chakra centers, exhaling with ecstasy, without any guidance. I flipped him over and he engaged my eyes as I continued to breathe audibly so he would follow my suggestive flow of energy. His eyes were brimming with awe.
For a moment we were both holding our breath. The tension in the air was audible and excited. I climb down to the end of the table, in between the length of his legs, and bend over into devotion pose. I am bowing to his lingham, his holy wand of light, the staff of Shiva, his beautiful dark cock laying on his belly hidden under the foreskin. He looks like a God to me.
I take in a deep breath of reverence to the divine masculine, praying through this man on the table. And here comes my true gift. I surrender my energy into divine love, the kind of energy you would feel when totally in love with someone special. A force outside of myself comes through in these moments. It is pure divine grace, ecstasy, surrendering into bliss. I can feel the divine feminine christ consciousness energy running through me. It is my spiritual practice.
There’s no better way I can explain it. After being raised as a Catholic I became a New Ager and now a Tantric. I hope you follow my language. I’m attempting to describe the indescribable here.
Nightlife in Hollywood
We go straight to the bar and order drinks, me a glass of red wine, she JD on ice. I feel completely out of place here. All the girls are wearing short, tight fitting dresses and ridiculously high heels. I feel silly in my rolled up jeans and leather vest and feathers in my hair.
But that didn’t stop the hounds from moving in.
Like clockwork, one guy after another approaches us with the same slick hair, black collared short sleeved shirt and some stupid pick up line. Dakini Sister accepts their offers for another drink, but I excuse myself to the bathroom. After working all week in the Sanctuary my walls are up. I don’t like guys getting into my field like this when I know all they want is a free blow job in the end.
I’m not as stuck up as it sounds. It is all a cover up for my tactless insecurity.
When I delayed in the bathroom long enough I come out to find Dakini Sister talking to some guy who was wearing sunglasses inside the bar. He stood out from the rest, like a super star, someone obviously important. I butt into their conversation, claiming my girlfriend by putting my arm around her as he brags on.
“Yeah, you can find my designs in Neiman Marcus, Nordstroms, and an exclusive line at Macy’s.” He pauses here, waiting for us to kiss his pointy toed lizard skin boots. I’d be more impressed if I could see his eyes. I’m bored.
If the music was any good this would be where I lose myself on the dance floor and hump the subs without inhibition. But I just can’t fake it. The DJ is throwing his hand up in the air, waiting for the crowd to scream, as he fades one track out and fades another one in at a different tempo, not even beat matching. The only people that are dancing are drunk. I can’t stand another moment listening to fashion man brag so I decide to join the dance floor.
I’m uncomfortable in my skin and can’t find my groove, embarrassingly aware that everyone is staring at me. I feel shy and afraid to shine. So I close my eyes. I dance slow, in half time, sultry and priestess like. Slowly I let go of my mind, find my breath and come back into my body again.
Ahhhhh…..there is the groove!
I am dancing for myself. Eyes closed a smile grows on my face as I flirt with my own energy. Breathing, pulling up the Shakti, circling my hips around and around. On my next breath I imagine it expanding and filling the space around me with my radiance. Then I anchor it in, dropping my knees deeper as I swirl into the Earth. It felt delicious, connecting with Gaia.
“Wow, yer a beautiful dancer.”
I felt him before he spoke, my eyes still closed into my own energetic world. When I opened them they lit up a bit. He’s handsome, a dark Jamacian with a LA slickster twist, dreads nicely groomed and really big lips. He’s been watching me this whole time.
In fact, now that my eyes are open, the previously empty dance floor space around me was occupied by four other bachelors. No chicks.
Shakti is magnetic I tell ya.