Wednesday, August 6

Perceptive Travel - Rolf Potts in Rishakesh

Frankly son, if somebody gets all mystical and says crap like tantric sex, just smile at them. Lovemaking is simple. You have to be a touchy feely person. What happens before and after is perhaps more important than the actual act. Cuddling after is just a great thing. Take time to learn about your partner's likes and dislikes son. Learn to use all the senses, touch, smell, sight, hearing. Everything. And self control and discipline. You have more fun if your partner has more fun :)

Keep in shape. Engage with your partner. Laugh often and frequently son in and out of bed. And ignore advise like peeing in short bursts :)

Have fun son and stay safe. 

Perceptive Travel - Rolf Potts in Rishakesh

Tantric masters are reputed to be able to have sex for hours at a time. In a quirky ashram in the sacred Indian city of Rishikesh, Rolf Potts takes a crash course in this mystic Eastern discipline.

I. The Girl

You spot The Girl on your first afternoon in Rishikesh. She is long-limbed and graceful, and she walks carefully along the path, as if not to disturb the dirt beneath her bare feet. She wears loose cotton pants, and tiny bells in her hair. She is smiling. Her stomach is browned and taut; the tiny hairs on her arms are bleached from the sun. When she spots a cow in her path, she stops to stroke its neck and whisper into its ear. You watch, and you wish you were that cow.

You think to yourself: If I have come here to learn Tantric sex, I want that woman to be my partner.

II. The Holy Place

Rishikesh straddles the Ganges just below the point where the sacred river comes roaring out from the mountains. The water here is clean and cold: In the morning, Hindu pilgrims tip offerings of fresh milk from the riverside ghats; in the afternoon, helmeted tourists — Indian and foreign alike — bump through the current in rubber whitewater rafts. Monkeys chatter in the trees along the shore.

As in other holy places in India, the dread-locked sadhus near the river do a steady side-business posing for tourist photographs. Middle-aged Indian men stroll the alleys, offering you marijuana in the same chirpy, unconcerned voice one might use in offering snack pellets to a pet gerbil. Kids here tug on your sleeve and ask you for ballpoint pens. You did not initially come here to learn Tantric sex. Rather, you stopped here en route to the Himalayas, on the recommendation of a yoga-obsessed friend. You are not much into yoga, but one charm of travel is that it frees you to be a dilettante. Just as you tried scuba diving in Thailand and windsurfing in Galilee, you intend to try yoga in Rishikesh and decide later if you really want to make it an active part of your life. Advertisements for yogis are pasted everywhere in Rishikesh, and you sometimes stop to read them. Your favorite comes from a certain Swami Vivekananda. “I mix the rational understanding of the West with the mystical approach of the East,” his flyer states. “I will not bother you with religious nonsense, weird rituals, dogmas, or superstitions.” The true selling point, however, is printed at the bottom. It says: “SUNDAYS: A step-by-step approach to the oral secret tradition of the Tantric schools of India and Tibet.” You don’t know a lot about Tantra, but you’re pretty sure it’s a technique that allows you to have sex for hours and hours at a stretch. You elect to remain in Rishikesh until Sunday and pay Swami Vivekananda’s ashram a visit.

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