PAGAN
LOVE AND WILDING HEARTS
29. Wreck Beach
In the area of
Vancouver known as Kitsilano there was one cafe in particular where many hippy-type folks
hung out. I went there several times. But I had very little money, only whatever I could
spare-change. As I have mentioned before, I didn’t like spare-changing; so I rarely
had more than fifty cents in my pockets. In past times I might have simply telephoned my
mother and asked her to send me some of my money. It wasn’t much, this magical moola
I could draw upon every so often, but at least it was something. But I did not telephone
my mother. I wanted to disconnect myself from my family for awhile, and that included
disconnecting myself from that source of green government paper.
I was thinking
that perhaps the reason I had been having so much trouble finding the pure heartculture
was that I was too tied to my old self, my family, and the payday that could occur
whenever I phoned them. It disenabled me from applying myself to the nitty-gritty search
into the matrix of life where everyone else went to find ways to survive. I was determined
to remain hungry and cold for awhile if it would help me to find my real self and
hopefully also the female soulmate of my dreams.
One day I was
sitting in that hippy cafe slowly drinking my cup of coffee. It was their custom to ask
people to leave if they stayed too long without, buying something. On previous days
I’d been asked to leave. So I sat there
nursing my coffee. Usually I felt pretty much alone in there. The road tends to make a
person into an alien. And besides -- I was an alien. I was from a foreign country
-- the United-States. And of course I wwas obviously destitute and scraggly, which
doesn’t invite company -- not even amidst city-hippies. Vancouver’s city-hippies
were largely affected by the new upward trend of yuppyism. More and more these days money
was becoming the primary motive for existence. So I was surrounded in the cafe by posh
velvets and Guatemalan wools and expensive silver necklaces and rings and sixty-dollar
pairs of Dr Martin shoes. And Vancouverites can be cliquey. Pure and simple: I was an
outsider.
But one girl
came and sat down at my table with me. She was thin and graceful and had long brown hair,
one of those rare open creatures with sensitive lips and inquisitive green/blue eyes. The
young woman looked at my small pack and bedroll under the table and wondered what manner
of man lurked beneath this shroud of gypsy poverty. We left the cafe together. She wanted
to show me the Vancouver Zoo. And I wanted to see the wild creature that was herself
beneath her clothes.
The Vancouver
Zoo is a fairly large place with plenty of wild-looking areas near the animals, tall trees
and thick underbrush. After the briefest look
at a couple polar bears we retired off the paths into our own private grotto for some
personal getting-to-know-each-other. With my
pants hunkered halfway down and her dress up around her waist she sat on top of me and
rode me like a horse.
We were two wild
and horny young people letting off steam and it was great. After a half hour or so our
moans and groans attracted some attention and inquisitive people came poking through the
underbrush to see what was going on. We had to jump up and. assemble our clothing and
assure them that everything was ok. We departed the zoo then and headed for her house to
furnish what we’d started. Her tiny black panties had gotten lost in the bushes... I
don’t know... It got pretty wild there for a while... I might have swallowed them...
She lived with
several roommates, none of whom were home when we arrived. We made straight for her room
and rocked the bed all afternoon and all night too. In the morning her boyfriend showed
up. He was one of the “roommates”. He’d been in the house all night but had
avoided the bedroom to give her her own space. Now he came in and set on the bed with us
and checked us out. I was surprised to see that he looked an awful lot like myself, He was
about my size and he had long brown hair and a red beard and blue eyes. Of course I was
totally undressed and laying under blankets beside his girlfriend who was also quite nude.
She hadn’t told me she had a boyfriend.
Our conversation
was civil, unlike similar situations that had happened to me in the past. They loved each
other in a “New Age” sort of way. Neither of them appeared to feel that there
was anything really wrong about my being there making love with her. Unusual maybe, but
not wrong... It was still just a leetle uncomfortable for me. The fellow filled up a pipe
with some good bud and we passed it around. I left afterwards.
I slept on the
beach at night, tucked between massive logs. The sand was soft and all-night campfires
were legal. Vancouverites love picnicking and drinking beer around their beach fires.
Their invitations for me to join them were always sincere.
Beer and pot and whatever food they’d brought along were always offered
freely. I began to marvel what a kind community this was, all in all.
One morning as I
awoke I noticed a woman with a dog nearby. She was tossing sticks for the Shepard to
fetch. The early morning was cool and she shivered as we spoke together. I offered her a
space beside me and held open my sleeping bag so she could wrap up and get warm. She
hesitated a moment and then cuddled real close-a lot closer than I had figured on. My
gesture was after all basically humanitarian in nature.
She was however about the most sexually aggressive female I’ve ever
met. Gosh, I’ve forgotten her name, too.
It’s a wonder that I haven’t remembered it though because she certainly was
interesting in some strange and beautiful ways.
She was probably
anorexic. She was so thin! Around 5’5” and weighing less than ninety pounds. She
told me how she often deliberately threw-up food by sticking a finger down her throat. She
still had a very pleasant figure, and real nice small breasts. Her eyes were blue and her
hair was a lion’s mane of golden curls. She wore very, very short denim cut-offs.
They hardly covered anything. -- and if she stretched her legs at all-they didn’t.
She was a
certifiable nymphomaniac. She knew she was too. And it scared her. Normally she dealt with
it by deliberately keeping herself away from men because she knew she would have no
self-control whatsoever if they got anywhere near her. She was wilder than wild. With her
the
“Please!
Ohhhh! You can’t go to sleep like that! NO! Oh! Don’t you DARE!”
I
love Canadian women!
There’s a
lot of talk about G-spots these days. I have known a few women who knew their whereabouts
and glorified in the knowledge. This particular woman was one of those lucky ones. She
ejaculated, about a cup of fluid with every orgasm. I’m not talking about a teaspoon
here. A cup! We were both soaking wet! This
was a fantastic female fluid that has no comparison. I think she was a throwback to some
Neolithic human creature: I really do. She was very hairy, too.
There was no way
for me to control her sexuality. She had to control herself, but she never could. If a man
so much as touched her belly with one finger she was instantly lost to all reason. Her
sex-drive raged like a fire out of control. Consequently she was very rigid at all other
times, as though she was fighting within herself to stay separate from men, to not think
about how much she wanted to be orgasming. She wouldn’t allow me to sleep at her
house so I continued to sleep on the beach, but I visited her each day or she came to me
on the beach.
She believed sex
wasn’t healthy for her. She said she didn’t want to do it anymore. Not with me,
not with any man. So we’d be sitting on a log and she’d be telling me those
things and I would slyly slip one finger through the opening of her scanty
cutoffs—and instantly, in mid-sentence she would moan wildly and jump at me and
engulf me with arms and tongue and clutching hands and hunching loins. Instantly she was
out of control and struggling towards orgasm. Yowling with passion she was like a wild
feline kitty in heat. Amazing.
She told me a
weird story about herself. Until recently she’d been an elementary school teacher in
an eastern province, Manitoba or Saskatchewan. She had a lover and they made a lot of
love. She was so skinny that she never menstruated and she thought she was incapable of
pregnancy. But unbeknownst to her she had become pregnant. She carried the baby a full
nine months without knowing she was pregnant! Not at all. I couldn’t believe it when
she told me this. But she looked at me and
detected my skepticism and vigorously declared again that she hadn’t known she was
pregnant and I knew she was telling the truth. She said that because of the peculiar way
she is built, the baby never was noticeable; she never developed a big belly or anything. Then one day she was standing at the blackboard
teaching her class when she felt a slight discomfort in her bowels and all of a sudden --
plop!!! The baby slipped right out onto the floor! A tiny little baby -- born without any
warning at all!
She went on to
explain how humiliating it had been for her and how practically no one believed that it
was possible that she could not have known she was pregnant. She lost her job as a result. She
had left the baby with her mother and had come to Vancouver to escape the notoriety. And
she was deathly afraid that someone like me would get her pregnant again. And so she
absolutely insisted:
“Never
again! No more SEX!!! This has got to stop!”
But all I’d
have to do was touch her softly on her bare kneecap with one finger and she was an
out-of-control Neanderthal woman again and God help me if I tried to pull out when I came.
She wailed on me with her fists and screamed into my face when I tried that. And
afterwards she cried and cried. She said that if I really cared for her I would not do
anything to turn her on. I would understand how important it was that she didn’t get
pregnant.
I tried using
rubbers. She declared rubbers hopeless and she was absolutely right. They always broke.
Always. Her frenzied movements fragmented them like tissue paper. Afterwards it was always
a maddening search trying to get the pieces of rubber out of the depths of her vagina,
which she thought was highly unnatural and unhealthy if left in. She thoroughly hated rubbers.
Finally she
begged me not to see her anymore. She insisted she had to stay away from men. Her dog was
her only friend. So I agreed to go away and never return. The whole thing had lasted about
a week.
One constructive
thing I got out of that relationship was that she had taken me to the local nude beach. It
could be reached by either a long walk along the shore from Kitsilano or by a city bus
that stopped right there at the cliffs. We had only gone there late at night or early in
the morning to have our trysts when it was relatively empty, but now I decided to check
out that beach during the daytime, when I heard it was supposed to really jump.
Wreck Beach. On
any hot summer day several thousand barenaked people cavorted on those three miles of soft
golden sand….
