A Rock Star Writer and a Sexual Wake-up Call

I knew something was off, when during the occasional yoga practice my body started responding to ANY movement, with a sexual groan or a sigh or an “Oh my God that feels good.”
But today I had the in-person sexual wake-up call from the same man who kicked me out of hibernation five years ago; a young rock star writer who was doing his book tour.

Which in America would mean readers waiting in line, hoping for an autograph and over the moon with personal attention.
But in The Netherlands book signings are a pretty lonely place to be. I assume they’re merely are a token of goodwill to the bookstores and the four fans who knew you were coming.
And that’s me estimating, four people.
Because he told me I wasn’t the only one, and I got there halfway during the signing. With one or two people before me, and one or two after me, that makes four.

Due to their deserted nature, these book signings are usually an immense treat for the few fans who do show up! The author has all the time in the world, and in this case he knew exactly who I was. We met when his debut novel was published, and stayed in touch ever since.
He was The Rock star Writer; whose driven voice and high sexual energy had shook me out of sexual inertia, years ago.
And I was The Blogger, who had written a book about him.

In the past few years we ran into each other occasionally, when I visited book events. But he had not done any tours since then. So this was our reunion.
He was taller than I remembered. I must have been wearing high heels the last time. And he’s bigger than me as well, because he works out daily or something. He has pecs you can crack walnuts on.
Yet, I had forgotten what his physical presence was like.
Which is strange, because he looks good “on paper” too.

Photographers love him, and he always gives entertaining interviews for radio and tv. And he also shows his true emotions, which are usually raw.
His debut novel backfired with turmoil among certain groups, and caused a personal drama.
And this time too, the book backfired with turmoil among certain groups, and was followed by a personal drama.
I asked him about it. Was it true, what he had said in that interview?
It was.

How sad to go through personal loss the moment you publish a book. Twice.
Now he is a winner, he’s tough. But still, I feel for him.
Anyway, that’s not what I was going to say.

What I meant was: I assumed I knew his “energy”. Especially because he’s exactly the same in the media, as he is in person. And yet, the experience of him, is something you cannot prepare yourself for. I would compare it to standing next to a nuclear sexual bomb.

Totally contained! We didn’t even flirt.
And yet it was impossible not to feel his true strength; an infinite well of blatant ambition, push-forward energy, and for certain, sexual zest.

If anyone else would pick up on it, entire crowds would be swirling around him, to spend a minute in that aura.

In India there are several Gurus whose presence is considered divine.
People have all kinds of holy experiences attending their lectures or being in their presence.
Sometimes even getting a hug.
Those Gurus who hug have waiting lines that can be up to a day!

I wonder why Westerners can have these experiences, can pick on somebody else’s energy, when it’s from an Indian Guru?
Yet in real life, they seem oblivious to human energy the strength of a small army.

Even when it’s from the most successful young writer of our country, with a background that put him up against the odds of ever achieving anything in life.

I would say that pretty much gave him away: how could he possibly attain that level of success without wanting it more than anybody else?
Without getting up e-v’ry-time he was down?
He couldn’t.

And it was in these five to ten minutes, talking to the writer, that I could feel my lack of energy in all those areas.
My lack of ambition; I m back to treating writing as a hobby even.
My flaky lust; I haven’t seen my secret married lover for so long, I’m not even sure I have a place in his life anymore.
I felt my lack of will to live.

Sure: when all is fine, all is fine. And thankfully, after going through a rough couple of weeks, everything IS fine.
Thank God.

But when did I ever try to get up when I was down?
When did I ever get myself a lover when Mr.Big was occupied?
When did I ever REALLY pursue a career in writing?
He was the mirror image of all the things I wasn’t, and that no one could go get for me.

If I wanted to be that unstoppable, that healthy, that success driven and even remotely sexually satisfied? I would have to change my ways. He was just an example that it could be done.

And the rest, was up to me.

An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living


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