Wednesday, 8 November 2017

The Spell of the Topless Redhead




After having wild nights of drumming and festivities I learned that the next day is better spent ‘receiving’. The night before was Full Lunacy Drum Circle so I woke up late the following morning. This, as some of you may already know, is a Full Moon Drum Circle gathering some friends and I have have been organising for a while here by Dockweiler Beach in Los Angeles, which is hosted by the One Lucky Soul community. I went out to check what’s up to find a stunning female figure lying on a chaise longue by the pool getting some November sun.



What a beautiful sight to wake up to. To check out the waters, I did just that. I headed towards the pool, opened the gate, and proceeded to dip my hand to see how cool it is. Of course at the very same time getting a closer look at the new guest. The water was just perfect. I went back in to gear up then returned to the pool. 


The more in-depth glance revealed an alluring late-20s-early-30s redhead who happened to be topless. Djeez. An edible pale body showing that she is not Californian complemented by perfectly round B-cups, along a couple of tattoos. Even though I didn’t want to stare, no matter how cool I was trying to appear with Eric Clapton and B.B. King’s Riding with the King blasting from the laptop and the plastic ‘glass’ of rosé, I couldn’t seem to be able to not check her out every 90 seconds or so. Tops. Ridiculous.

At some point I decided to get up and take a tiny cruise around the pool, scanning the outside world over the fence. You know, as if I’m so over with what’s going on the inside, so seeking some otherness. Not just around our shared territory, but also “on the scout” mode. Obviously because I’m a wild animal who has originally grew up as a feral child.

In a way, I wanted her to feel comfortable enough to keep ‘being’. Pretending to be all causal about it. Maybe not pretending, because I was somewhat casual, just overdoing it a little bit to show that I am not deprived. After all, there was only the two of us and she could have hid herself whenever I came in earlier. Because, you know, I may look like a potential ‘dangerous’ mate. But she didn’t. And I love that.

Then in another way, the scenery was simply invigorating. I cannot and will not lie about how entranced I was. So as more wine was being sipped, here was I finding creatively elaborate ways to keep doing the checking out. The last of which is moving the wine glass to the other side, which happens to be hers, just to take that look whenever I take a sip — more or less about 90 seconds, making me take smaller sips because that’s quite the fast pace. 


What truly kept me interested though is that I caught her eyes gazing at me multiple times, which was a great way to give some balance to the chemical equation.


I must confess that I have been bewitched by the charming Ginger Spell a long, long time ago. Perhaps during a past life of some sort. Mea Culpa. However, then and there under the sun that pale flesh seemed so desirable and appetising, that I kind of felt like a starving zombie.



In actual truth, one of The Queens Of All My Dreams — fantasies — had always been a redhead. I tried to stay as away as possible from the physical aspect of that ‘perfect woman’ image. But again, I can’t help it much. A man got to dream as he got to fantasise. And a redhead to devour and please and have mad fun with is what seems to invade a large portion of those lustful fantasies. 



Interestingly, I learned later in life that people with red hair require, on average, about 20 percent more general anesthesia than those with black, brown or blond hair. Likewise, gingers are more resistant to the effects of local anesthesia, such as the numbing drugs used by dentists like Novocaine. This extra sensitivity to pain is due to a mutation in a gene (MC1R), which results in the production of a substance called pheomelanin, causing the red hair and the fair skin. But they do have a soul. Many are also highly seductive.


Back to the pool... After about an hour and a half the woman got up, getting ready to leave. We only shared a smile; because I felt relatively powerless, that I couldn’t even think of something suitable to say as she passed right in front of me on her way out. “Are you a new guest of the hotel?” Or “Did you ever check the world-famous Venice Beach Drum Circle, which actually happens to be starting in a couple of hours… just 1.4 miles away by the end of the street?” Nothing. Speechless! Dumbfounded is actually a telling word here... and Spellbound, together.  

Later my body was almost twitching from desperation; from the sheer fact that I had been mesmerised to the point of coming so close to someone who seemed like a fantasy queen, yet not being able to do anything about it — because I wanted to appear all cool about it. What a tosser.

I also kept replaying all the possible steamy sexual scenarios which could have followed if we had clicked. 

I’m usually pretty fluid around women, but that occasional vulnerability... ahh, Ladies and Gents, is one seemingly paradoxical way to feel fully alive.

You know I speak of self-control and self-mastery. However, I hold that beauty goes beyond those realms. One actually feels powerless when faced with beauty. I also hold that is part of the human condition. Some of us may seek it more than others. But what is life without beauty? Not much. There is no reason to deny this fact of life; it’s actually a sign of our humanness. Even to those who seem they got it all under control, those who act upon that image with a certain poise and confidence, rare encounters like these do make one feel somewhat out of control. I simply choose to call it being human.

Eventually, I did what I couldn’t do when the woman was there: Take a pic to commemorate the encounter, including my bummed-out face.

As my neighbour tried to comfort me later in the day, “Maybe she will back. Maybe she will be”. He said that what is frustrating is the act of not trying. Because when you do a move, whether the answer is positive or negative, it doesn’t matter much. Because you tried. I wholeheartedly agree. He also mentioned that the topless bit means that she is not American. I agreed again because her features did seem European.

*mumbling in my sleep: Maybe she will back… maybe she will be. 



The next morning I checked the pool to find the same woman along an equally beautiful friend of hers. So she was back, still topless while the friend had a bikini on. Wicked! I joined them a tad later for my daily water Tai Chi-like hydro stretching — a sort of mating dance performance as an advertisement of my health and fertility. Once out of the water, I finally made the move.

Hi. Are you ladies visiting?”

Yes, from the U.K.” Aha — there was indeed something about the combination of skin colour and red hair that says British Isles.

Blimey.”

I introduced myself before asking if they had ever heard about the Venice Beach Drum Circle. When they said no, I explained what it is and when and where to find it, then wished them a smooth day. Back to the room to get the laptop and a glass of wine and again to the pool. I had preconceived plans to ask them if they wanted some wine the next time I go refill, but they got up and left before it happens. She did say goodbye, though.

What is ironic is that I ended up not going to the Circle that Sunday, hoping they didn’t either. They didn’t show up the following few days and they must have gone on their way after the weekend.  


Now I can carry on with me life, silently yearning for a more passionate encounter with a hypnotising redhead. Just to break the spell.

At the very end, it requires a healthy dose of self-reflection and metacognition for one to be able to think about their own thinking; to become the observer of the observer. Not only is it educational, but it’s also highly entertaining. Truly, those who don’t know how to make fun of themselves don’t know the joy they’re missing.

Know Thyself; the rest will follow.



ALSO VIEW:

A Letter That Hit Me In The Feels

For The Love Of Storytelling

I Kissed a Grandma... and I Liked It
 
Rooting Into The Past

My Correspondence With a 31-Year-Old Reader Before He Passed Away

Some People I Shot

The Night We Turned ‘Beast Mode’ On

A Year at the Venice Beach Drum Circle in Photos & Videos (2014-’15)

Another Year at the Venice Beach Drum Circle in Photos & Videos

A Wacky Day Out at LA Burning Man Decompression in Photos & Video

The Intertwining of Music and Sexuality ― A Djembefola’s Tale

How Inspiration is Transferable

A Saturday Evening with an Old Brotherman & His Doggy

Why I Share Stuff

The Night I Became a Stripper

Give That Man Some Groceries
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