The Yoni Dance - Book 1 - Chapter 29 --- To the Pool

The Yoni Dance

                     The ultimate "how to" book
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Volume One

Chapter Twenty Nine

Seven Roads to Roam

We are both quiet for a moment and then I ask, “What would you like to do now?” I ask.

She responds with, “Let’s rinse ourselves off in the shower and then get into the Jacuzzi pool.”

I can see that Jazbell is not quite back to earthly reality yet, so I lead her to the shower, wash her off, wrap a large, dry towel around her and guide her to the Jacuzzi. Except while we are walking to and from the shower, Jazbell has her eyes closed.

The pool, like the rest of the house, is large and impressive. Eric had already turned the heater on and removed the cover, so all I have to do is guide her into the pool. I sit her down on one of the shelves within the pool designed for sitting, and then put a flotation cushion under her so she can completely relax and float freely while her head remains above water.

Once the flotation cushion is in place, I guide her out away from the shelf, then find and push the buttons that activate the water and air jets. I return to Jazz and swing her, swirl her, and gently roll her. She’s a feather floating on a pond. I am the wind. She is completely submissive to my hands. I softly caress her and move her about, gliding her through the water with a gentle, but firm touch. She responds to me with soft moans and the word “S’more” which I take to mean she wants more of what I’m doing.

After about ten minutes, she takes back control of her body and stands up. “OK, Stoney it’s your turn,” she says. She puts a flotation cushion on me and proceeds to do to me what I have just done to her. I soon understand why she was moaning and asking for more. After my turn is complete, I’m still whispering, “S’more.”

We shut off the pumps, the heater, and the jets so that we can be in complete silence. We drift in silence for who knows how long.

Dancing in the Light:

I am floating in that dreamy, relaxed, post-orgasmic state with my heels gently touching the bottom of the Jacuzzi and my head held above the water by the cushion. I let go completely and allow my body to simply be. I’m deeply into feeling my feelings so, for a welcome change, there are no words in my mind, and I am in no hurry to move.

I hear Jazbell beside me. She’s intentionally breathing deeply and rhythmically. With my eyes closed, I listen to her breathing. I also hear the wind rustling the leaves of the nearby trees and the summer songs of distant birds.

Time has stopped or, more accurately, it has become temporarily irrelevant so I do not know how long we’ve been floating when I become aware of a change in Jazbell’s breathing, and I feel a gentle movement in the water. I open my eyes and watch Jazbell, with her back to me, as she steps out of the Jacuzzi. I watch as she shakes her head and then lifts her right arm to brush her hair back. My eyes gently slide down under her uplifted arm to the roundness of her right breast and its seemingly ever-erect nipple. I watch the partial profile of her breast as it jiggles gently in response to her movements.

My eyes continue downward over her slender waist to her firm round hips. As she walks across the patio, I watch those hips gently rise and fall with each step. As I watch her walk to the door at the end of the deck, I’m fascinated by the sunlight reflecting off of her shoulders and off her adorable, wet, and well-tanned derriere.

As she disappears into the house, I’m in awe over the amount of beauty that the creator of this universe has placed in just one female body. I say another prayer of appreciation for her beauty and a longer prayer of appreciation for my being here to enjoy it.

As I mentioned earlier, Jazbell is one of only three women I have ever met that become more beautiful as I get closer to them. I watch. I wait to feel the joy of seeing Jazbell’s naked beauty as she returns to the pool. I feel very peaceful, and at the same time, I am glowing with anticipation.

Compared to her leaving, her return will triple my joy, for I will be seeing her from the front instead of the back, she will be approaching instead of leaving, and after my visual treat, I will be close to her again.

About three minutes pass and then the naked goddess emerges onto the deck. In each hand she has a large glass, or more accurately a plastic drinking vessel, for glass containers are not brought into the pool area.

I call to her, “Jazz.”

“Yes, Stoney.”

“Would you please approach the pool in slow motion so I can bask in the vision of your beauty.”

“It would be my delight,” she says.

In a slow and deliberate motion, Jazbell sets the glasses on the railing, steps straight back away from the railing, and, then with a wave of her arms, turns and disappears back into the house. I wait in silence. A minute goes by. All is quiet except for the distant birds. Another minute goes by and then Jazbell once again emerges from the house. This time she has a large, rectangular, red and white, silk scarf in her hand. The scarf is about three feet wide and seven feet long. The end she is holding over her head has a thin, straight rod in it that sticks out from the cloth about five inches from either side. She holds it high in front of her. It hangs like a beautiful curtain. Jazbell stands motionless behind the scarf. I can see only her fingertips holding the rod. As the scarf flutters gently in the breeze, I wait, anticipating what is to come. Jazbell remains motionless behind the scarf. Then I hear music and immediately recognize it as Bizet‘s Carmen Suite.

Very slowly, Jazbell and the scarf begin to move. I watch in awe as she waves and twirls the scarf in the manner of a professional dancer or gymnast. In a sensual, smooth, rhythmic flow, she dances toward me. The scarf hides and then reveals her charms and then hides them again. By the way she moves in perfect rhythm with the music, it is obvious that she has danced to this melody before. I am enthralled by the gracefulness of her movements. They amplify her beauty. I am surprised, for I thought I had already seen the pinnacle of her beauty.

The closer she gets, the more entranced I become. I can now see her eyes clearly. She looks straight into my soul with that same look I briefly saw the day I almost sprawled myself in the street just to be near her. This time she holds the look without blinking. I notice that I’m holding my breath. I break our eye contact and intentionally breathe deeply. I find myself drawn to Jazz with an intensity that I would not have believed possible only a few months ago.

Her enchantment reminds me of the Greek myth of the Sirens, and as I look at her, I imagine what Odysseus saw and heard as he, tied to the mast of his ship, sailed past the Isle of Sirens. I do, however, feel completely safe for, unlike the mythical Sirens who led sailors to their deaths, the real live Jazbell is guiding me along a path of Divine Light and exquisite joy.

I watch fascinated as she moves in perfect harmony with the music and realize her dancing skills are still another good reason why the name “Jazz” fits her so well. As she gets closer, I notice that my heart is again beating faster and I’m breathing more heavily than usual.

Jazbell dances to the opposite side of the pool where the sight of her becomes a darkened silhouette against the sun. She proceeds to alternate between blocking and then letting the sun shine directly into my eyes.

She holds the scarf between us, and I see her as only a shadow against the scarf. Behind the scarf, she moves sensuously and then briefly strokes herself in a very provocative manner.

She floats to the exact place where the sun is directly behind her delightful derrière. She raises the scarf and twirls it, encircling it over her head. At the same time, she proceeds to open and then close her legs allowing the sun to flash directly into my eyes from high up between her thighs. The symbolism of her actions completely astounds me.

As the music reaches its final bars, she twirls herself in the scarf and stops at the very edge of the pool. She stands there for a moment like a statue while the scarf slowly unwinds itself and then she allows herself to topple over into the pool beside me.

The splash and the waves of water break the spell I’m in. I burst out laughing as I reach into the water and pull her up to the surface. I pull her up in front of me and look directly into her eyes. She looks back at me for a moment and then says,

“My, you are hooked on me. I usually discourage that; however, in your case, I’m finding it rather enjoyable.” With her words, my heart skips another beat. I’m not sure what is happening to me, but whatever it is, I like it.

With the music stopped, silence again rules the day. The sound of a distant bird gently touches my ears. I am aware that the rustling of the leaves on the nearby trees is louder than before, but I don’t think anything of it. Jazbell, holding the silence, pantomimes drinking and then points to the glasses still sitting on the deck railing.

I climb the three steps out of the pool and retrieve the glasses. As I’m picking up the glasses, she says,

“Stoney.”

“Yes, Jazbell.”

“Now it’s your turn to entertain me.”

“I hope you’re kidding. As you may recall from my street antics on the day we met, dancing is not my greatest skill.”

“On the contrary, you are quite adept at moving that handsome, sexy body of yours. Loosen your hips and allow your body to float back here to me.” She watches me as I approach her. Her visual focus alternated between my eyes and my lingam, which is gently swaying from side due to the movement of my intentionally loosened hips.

I set the glasses on the deck at the edge of the pool, step into the pool, pick the glasses back up, and turn to her.

“Jazbell, to follow your act would be like playing a violin with boxing gloves on.”

She Responds. “In case you’re not aware of it, or are simply not accepting it, you are very pleasing to look at.”

I smile, say thank you, and then add, “Would you be willing to accept some other form of entertainment?”

“Of course. What did you have in mind?”

“I’m a great story teller. Would you like to hear a story?”

“I’d rather look at your naked buns.” I just look at her and smile.

After a moment of silence, she adds, “I’d also love to hear one of your stories.”

“How about both together? I’ll be naked and tell you a story. I just won’t dance.”

“OK." she says, "I accept on one condition.”

“What’s that?” I say.

“The story has to be about you, personally.”

“OK. Do you want a straight story or one with poetic license?”

She responds, “Oh, one with poetic license, of course. That’s your area of mastery, is it not?”

“Indeed it is.”

“Well, that sounds like fun. I’m ready when you are.” We sit facing each and I proceeded to describe the setting and context for the story.

Seven Roads to Roam:

“This is a story about barometers. I wrote it when I was nineteen. It’s based on my personal experience in my high school science class. I have, however, embellished the story and changed the setting. The interactions with the instructor, however, are almost exactly as I personally experienced them.”

“A story about Stoney, the smart ass.”

“I guess some people would say it that way.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’ll let my character tell it in his own style. The story is told from the perspective of an unsophisticated country farm boy who lives a rather simple life. The inner wisdom in his stories is the antithesis of his appearance.”

“So let the story begin,” she says.

I begin. “Once upon a time... Usually when a story starts with once upon a time folks think it ain't true. Well, if this story’s not true then bears don't walk in the woods.”

Jazbell interrupted, “Walk in the woods?”

“I write for all audiences.”

“On with your story.”

“Well, back when I was about fourteen years old, I used to listen on the radio to them there folks who told us that it was or it wasn’t gonna’ rain. I’m sure that lots of times they didn't have the foggiest idea about the weather, but they always told us somethin’ anyway.

Well, one day, when I was listening to hear about the weather, the announcer says that a meteorology school over in "Chit-cargo" was offering to teach some plain and simple folks about clouds and things. He said that they were runnin’ a contest and offerin’ a free, two-week course for laypersons to learn about the weather. My ears really pricked up real high when they said they wanted a layperson. Even though I'd never been to "Chit-cargo" before, I decided that being a lay person there could be lots of fun.

That there announcer then says that anyone can write in and say why they want to learn about clouds and three people would be picked to attend The "Chit-cargo" School of Meteorology for two weeks, with travel costs and room and board included. I sent in my letter that very day along with a poem I had written two years earlier titled, ‘Why The Clouds Roll By.’ In my excitement about being a real good lay person I just knew I was going to be one of the winners of that there contest.”

Sure enough, just 45 days later, I’m sitting in that meteorology class room and havin’ a ball. Well, to make a long story short, my stay in "Chit-cargo" was lots of fun even though I soon found out that their definition of a lay person was considerably different than mine.

What I really wanted to tell you about occurred on the last day at the meteorology school. The instructor had been somewhat hard-nosed for two weeks, so on the last day of the class when he gave us an oral test to see how much we had all learned, I decided to play with him.

At one point he held up a barometer and said, 'Would one of you please come up front and tell everyone here how you would you measure the height of the Sears Tower using this barometer?' Well, I immediately stood up and said, 'I want to answer that question.'

'OK, son, come up here,' he says.

With a smile on my face and mischief in my pocket, I walked to the front of the room, picked up the barometer and proceeded to answer his question.

'On a sunny day I would go outside and I would hold this here barometer upright on the ground and then measure both the height of the barometer and the length of its shadow. At the same time, I would also measure the length of the building's shadow. Then using simple geometric ratios, I would calculate the height of the building.'

Needless to say, the instructor was disappointed with my answer and asked if anyone else knew how to measure the height of a building using a barometer. I just stood there and interrupted his attempt to get someone else's answer. I then proceeded to tell him the following:

'I can also take my stop watch and your barometer and go to the top of the building. I can drop your barometer off the roof and using my stopwatch, time how long it takes to fall to the ground. Then using Newton’s law of gravity which states that an object falls at 32 feet per second squared, I could calculate the height of the building.'

The instructor was somewhat perturbed by my second answer and said that was not what he wanted. Seeing that my fish had taken the bait, I proceeded as follows:

'Well, OK, if that ain't what you want, how about this. Once again I'd take your barometer to the top of the building. Only this time, I'd take along my fishing reel and a tape measure. I'd tie your barometer to the end of the fish line and let it down to the bottom of the building and then proceed to measure the length of the fishing line that I'd let out.

Seeing his face, I knew that he had swallowed the bait, hook, line, and sinker. He just stood there with his mouth open. Because I was also watching the reaction from the other students, I knew that I was on a roll so I then gave him my lay person's best shot.

'Well, Mr. Teacher, if I had my druthers, here’s what I’d really do. I'd take your barometer there and my girlfriend here, and we’d go down to the local drug store. I'd go up to the pharmacist and say: 'Mr. Pharmacist, I’ll trade you this here barometer for a condom and a 12 inch ruler.'

At the word condom, silence filled the room to absolute capacity. Saying condom in public in those days was about as out of place as telling your parents you just got laid. I paused only briefly as the instructor looked at me in utter disbelief."

I interrupt the telling of my story, look at Jazbell, and slowly take a sip of my drink.

She looks at me with an expression that says, “Get on with it,” and then, when I still remain silent, she says, “Are we into a pregnant pause?”

I smile back at her and return to the character.

"'Me and my girlfriend would then go off to the building in question and with the ruler, measure the height of one of them steps. We'd then go gaily tripping up to the top of the building, counting the number of steps along the way. After we'd made love on the roof, we'd multiply the number of steps times the height of each step thus calculating the height of the building.'

The class breaks into an uproar. At this point the instructor’s face gets red and he orders me to sit down. Rather than sitting down, I just stand there holding the barometer. I look at him and say: ‘I know what you want to hear. You want me to tell you the least accurate way to measure the height of the building using a barometer. I'm just offering to put a little spice in your life, but if rote recall is what you want, here goes.'

'I would first go to the base of the building and using your barometer, measure the atmospheric pressure. I would then go to the top of the building and once again measure the atmospheric pressure. I would determine the differences between the two atmospheric pressures and then calculate the change in elevation required to create that difference. That difference equals the height of the building.'

At that point, I figured I could sit down, and I did so. I could see a profound change had come over his face. His anger was gone. It had turned into something between bewilderment and admiration. He just sat there looking at me in silence. Nobody moved. Finally he said, 'I got the message. Now tell me please, are there any other ways that you could measure the height of a building using a barometer?'

To this I replied, 'Well, as long as you asked, I'll give you the simplest, easiest and most accurate way. I'd take your barometer and go into the building's office. I'd find the building manager and say to him: 'Mr. Building Manager, I'll give you this here barometer if you'll tell me the height of this building’.

And, by the way, since the Sears Tower was, at one time, the tallest building in the world, I could also go to the Guinness Book of Records or to the library and find out how tall the building is.

The instructor smiled and said, “But that’s not using a barometer.”

I stood back up, walked up front and picked up the barometer again, and speaking like a carnival barker I said, “OK, ladies and gentlemen, I have this here fine, weather-predicting barometer, and I’m going to give it to you. That’s right, I’m going to give it to you, right now, right here, if you are the very first person who tells me the height of the Sears Tower in Chic-Cargo. Yes, young lady, did I hear you say 1,454 feet and 1,707 feet if you include the twin towers. That’s exactly right. Step right up here please and collect your prize barometer."

Jazbell laughs. “Did you really do that in high school?”

“I sure did.”

“You probably weren’t very popular with the teachers.”

“No, but I was popular with the girls.”

“I don’t doubt that for a moment.”

“The science instructor said I had a sub-professional attitude. I took that as a compliment. To me that meant I wasn’t just one more sheep, following someone else’s path. I had read a lot of historical novels and biographies so I figured being a rebel put me in good company.

Even at a young age, I realized that those who think only of the way things are or the way they used to be, are stuck in a circle, and are bound to repeat their past. I like to think of myself as a possibility thinker and, in that respect, I’m like you. I’m at home with the rebels, the outcasts, and the eccentrics.”

At the instant I complete the word eccentrics, the sound of distant thunder echoes down the canyon. “Did you hear that?” I say. “Even God acknowledges that I’m right.”

Jazbell pointed to the north and says, “Stoney, look what’s coming. I think we’re in for a real treat. Do you like thunder storms?”

“That depends on the circumstances I’m in. To be warm and dry and looking out a window would be my preference.”

“Good! That’s exactly how we’ll watch this one. Let’s get dressed and walk up to the observation cabin. We’ll have a spectacular view from there.”

“Another cabin?”

“This one really is a cabin. At least it’s quite small.”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“I don’t have time to explain it now. If you want to go, we’ll need to hurry because we have half a mile walk, and we want to get there while the storm is still a long way off.”

“Why’s that?”

“So we can watch the storm approaching. Are you game?’

“I’ll be ready before you are.”

“Don’t bet on that. Do you have a jacket and some warm comfortable clothes?”

“Yeah.”

“How about walking shoes?”

“Yup.”

“Good, put them on and meet me in the living room. I’ll call Eric. He’ll come over to close up the house and cover the pool. Also, if you need to use the bathroom, please do so now. The facilities at our destination are somewhat crude.”

End of Chapter Twenty Nine -- Seven Roads to Roam

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Seven Roads to Roam

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