INVITATION TO SHANGRI-LA SYNOPSIS

“The Shangri-La Chronicles” is a nine-volume series about Jessica Merrill, a young but precocious woman, and her sensual journey to enlightenment. The series follows her down her personal and often shocking Yellow Brick Road, where she falls into several rabbit holes leading to her lover Sean Moran’s erotic Never-Never Land. Anxious that surrendering to him could damage her soul, Sean internally debates introducing her to the polyamorous lifestyle which he’s enjoyed since Elvis originally sang about Carl Perkins’ blue suede shoes.

In INVITATION TO SHANGRI-LA, the premiere Shangri-La Chronicle, she exposes her intimate thoughts and actions as he opens her windows of possibility. The reader discovers a sexual Oz hiding in a 1977 Ohio college town where Jessica meets the love of her life, Sean Moran.

Youth culture had shifted from flower power to punk during the years of her lonely childhood. Watching hippies turn into yuppies angered her. After being convinced that all she needed was love, she hated watching them kowtow to golden calves.

To please her mother, Jessica starts working for Shangri-La, an import store in a quiet college community. Roger, the store manager and his lover, Charles, a former folk singer, enjoy Jessica’s sharp wit and shy kindnesses. Since they live above the store, she soon visits them regularly after work.

Johnny, their coworker, lives for baseball. Each Friday after Jessica starts working at Shangri-La, Johnny invites her to watch him play baseball the next day in a local park. After a month she finally agrees. She’s seen a parade of girls visit him daily, so she has refused to risk her fragile ego on him, but as a friend, she can watch him play baseball.

A red-headed Irishman distracts her through most of that game, however. Before knowing his identity, Jessica mentally undresses Johnny’s father, Sean Moran, CEO of Shangri-La. Becoming aware of her intense regard and subsequent embarrassment, Sean calms her mortification by enjoying her company and treating her as an intellectual equal.

Friday before Johnny left for college in New York, Sean invites Jessica to discuss literature over breakfast. Books were her best friends since she stomped out of high school at the age of 16, so she feels as though she won the lottery. During this meal, he asks her to model for him. He had painted his wife, Margie, a bisexual witch, until she died of cancer at the age of 42. Jessica jumps at this chance. She even buys a journal to write everything Sean says and does.

During her first day of posing, Jessica falls into a trance and throws off the robe which protected her modesty. After living with Margie, Sean immediately understands what happened. To soothe her embarrassment, he calls her as a “natural mystic.”

Less than a week later, when he meets her playful side during dinner with Charles and Roger, Sean falls in love. Since Jessica was born the same year as one of his sons, age bars him from acting on these feelings. Also, his multimillion dollar empire depends on discretion.

Afraid of the effect he might have on her, Sean maintains a careful distance until Jessica blurts out her obsession with him. Torn between what is best for Jessica and his desire to heal the pain he sees in her eyes, he allows her to choose whether they become lovers, warning that their liaison must be brief.

Citing her age and his responsibilities, he encourages her independence, while confessing she’s his Goddess ideal. Left unsaid is his refusal to bring her into his polyamorous lifestyle, of which she remains ignorant. He dreads losing her because of sex.

While Sean travels to Africa on a buying trip for Shangri-La, Jessica reads books on sex. Although their relationship seems doomed, she loves him body and soul. She envisions erotic bliss with Sean. She also experiences realistic dreams where she joins Sean in his travels. Each dream ends as if she falls back into her body.

The day after Sean returns, Jessica assertively performs her favorite sexual technique, which she learned from a book. After a marathon session of voluptuous bliss, Sean stipulates that her family and his must accept them or they must stop immediately. Despite her concerns, Sean easily charms her parents into accepting their romance. Still, she dreads telling Johnny and his older brother.

Sean’s art derives from the union of his Goddess, whom he credits for all he receives in life and the Axial ideals of education, stoicism and showing concern for Creation. While understanding all is one, he listens within for the Divine. Jessica acts as a sponge while he shares his explorations of spirituality and the development of humanity’s attitudes toward sex during his afterglow soliloquies.

Margie studied sacred sexual techniques from various religious perspectives and taught them to Sean. Daughter to a Pagan High Priestess, Sean credits her with prioritizing his life. Jessica recognizes the pain which crosses his face whenever he discusses her.

While lost in a metaphysical tirade, Sean admits that he’s a multimillionaire. Margie had invested his capital to create a fund which Sean uses for his Goddess work. He refuses to elaborate, but this wealth intimidates Jessica.

Then, days after Sean leaves on another buying trip, Charles is rushed to the hospital. Unable to contact Sean for advice, Jessica takes over management of the store, so Roger can care for his lover. Barb, the corporate bookkeeper, and Vicky, recently hired for Christmas, help Jessica keep things running smoothly.

Recognizing her exhaustion when he returns, Sean immediately sends for his sons, who had planned to come for Thanksgiving anyway. Although Jessica dreads a confrontation over Sean, Johnny accepts her immediately. Phil, his older brother, not so easily swayed, tenuously accepts his father and this young woman after consulting with his brother about her character. He remains concerned, however about the ethics involved in their relationship.

This hurdle completed, Sean suggests to Roger that Jessica stay in the vacant apartment above theirs while they take Charles to Mayo after Thanksgiving. Roger turns that invitation into a place to live. Jessica, already worried about the effect Sean’s money will have on her life, asserts her independence until Sean uses their mutual desire to wake next to each other as a carrot.

This decision ends the first installment, which runs 91,998 words. The next volume illustrates Jessica’s adventures with Sean’s bizarre family over the holidays, where her eyes open to the sort of man Sean really is. A synopsis and first three chapters of the first three novels in the Shangri-La Chronicles can be found at my beta-website: http://tomstevens.org/lilithdescavernes/index.html

Invitation to Shangri-La Part One Antecedent

Part One
Antecedent

I bent my knees trying to make more room in the back seat of his ’66 Rambler. He shoved his penis into me, but it hit the barrier. Ray grunted as he tried again. I cried out in pain. I didn’t think he was doing it right. He pushed, yet again, harder this time. When I screamed, he yelled, “Shut up! What’s the matter? You aren’t a virgin, are you?”

I was, but I couldn’t speak at that moment. Between the pain and humiliation, I just wanted it to be over. I tried to stifle my cries while he worked toward his goal. An eternity seemed to pass before he ejaculated, but when I saw the clock, just over a minute had passed.

Ray seemed dim, but he was the most sought after senior in my high school. His perpetual leather jacket excited every female student, as did his “Rebel Without a Cause” attitude. He was my height, 5’6”, with straggly dark hair which inevitably required a good brushing. He must have slept in his clothes for that rumpled effect which made him famous.

I sparked his interest when I dropped out of academia in a rage. Always the butt of someone’s joke throughout my ten years in educational facilities, the final straw came when my clothes were hidden in the boys’ locker room during gym class. Embarrassed, but determined, I calmly retrieved them.

While enduring harassment by both the male and female gym teachers my calm burnt into rage at an establishment which would punish a victim. My voice echoed throughout their halls of learning as I walked out for the last time.

Ray called me “cool” for quitting school. Although he reported that rage burnt within him as well, I only witnessed apathy. Deeply involved with himself and his image, he never explored my character on any level. I only dated him to irritate the girls who swooned over him. Most had ridiculed me from first grade onward. I was the symbol of whom Ray imagined himself. Unfortunately he lacked the courage to act.

That fateful night we ate at a local hang out. Until then, our dates consisted of parties or listening to him talk to his friends. Their discussions about TV shows, which I seldom watched, or the last Ali/Frazier fight, “The Thrilla in Manilla,” that occurred on the first of that month, bored me to tears. The boys oohed and awed over the blood spilled and punches thrown. I felt confusion wondering how people beating on each other excited anyone.

At the drive-in, we moved to the back seat immediately to “be more comfortable.” He grabbed me while he kissed me roughly. When his tongue invaded my oral cavity, I felt numb with terror. It reminded me of the previous New Year’s Eve when Dad’s friend, Pete, cornered me in our hallway. The stench of Ten High and tobacco on his breath repulsed me as he leaned against me. After grunting, “Happy New Year,” he shoved his tongue down my throat. This felt the same.

“You’re really enjoying this,” Ray moaned hoarsely. I felt like disillusioning him, but curiosity and fear kept me frozen in the back seat of his car. His tongue invaded my mouth again. If this was sex, I wondered why it was so popular with my peers.

The discomfort of his rough handling, as he squeezed my breasts, was exacerbated by the torn vinyl scratching my backside. I squirmed, seeking relief for my soreness which couldn’t be had, especially with his weight pinning me unpleasantly toward the corner. His dirty fingernails dug into my skin impatiently seeking an erotic response.

“You’re such a slut,” he grunted.

I probably was by his definition of the term. I felt grateful for any attention from a boy. Until I left school, ridicule and pranks greeted me, more often than not. I was the school freak, a wallflower blending into the scenery, vigilant to my surroundings. When I lost my temper, the school “bad boy” noticed me.

His words insulted me, though. The thought of getting out from under him came into my mind. I’m still unsure as to why I stayed. I guess I was that lonely. When he pulled up my skirt to finger my labia, I tensed at the pressure.

“Oh, yeah!” he grunted. “You’re a real slut.”

I sighed waiting for the good stuff to start. I had read that sex should feel wonderful, yet here was a panting, slobbering guy roughly handling parts of my body, which I touched only to clean, for fear of going to hell. When hell seemed like where I was bound anyway, I decided to have sex. I just wished that I felt more a part of what was happening.

He rubbed his jeans against my thighs while he fingered me. “This feels great,” he whispered.

At least someone enjoyed this. I felt bored and uncomfortable. Relief filled me when he sat up. Then he opened his jeans. I almost giggled when his short thin phallus popped out. What a curious site! I had seen a penis in books, but never on a real boy. It was so white.

“That was cool,” Ray exclaimed triumphantly once he finished. I, on the other hand, silently thanked God it was over. When he saw the blood between my legs, he spewed, “Yuk! You on the rag or something? Gross.”

While he called me names, I wept uncontrollably. I finally grabbed my purse and got out of the car. I slammed the door and walked to the bathroom to clean up. When I returned he was gone.

My introduction to sex was the perfect metaphor for my first sixteen years of life. I was obviously abnormal. My wet skirt chilled my walk home in the cool October Ohio air. That unnerving experience made me wonder if I was a lesbian. I decided I wasn’t. Male characters in books always attracted me, and my biggest crushes had been on Orson Welles and Errol Flynn. Although I felt a comradery with many female characters and actresses, I never felt attracted to them. I decided I was weird, like my peers called me.

I pulled out my ever-present book from my bag. Since darkness prevented reading, I held it to my chest for comfort. I imagined how Kafka would have written my experience. Whatever words he used, I was sure it would have been more fun to read than live through.

My relationship with Mom was such that I could never confess what happened. My choice to leave school angered her enough. Soon after this, my parents arranged for an independent study course through the college. My next eighteen months involved cleaning house and completing school work alone.

On June 2, 1977, my eighteenth birthday, I was fixing Mom’s lunch, as usual, when she came in waving a letter violently in my face. “You didn’t schedule your exam!” she bellowed. “How do you expect to attend college this fall without your GED? Stop wasting your life.”

I knew this confrontation was inevitable, but I cringed once I finally faced it. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m not ready, yet,” I admitted. She yelled at me a lot, but, even with the drama at home, I learned more from studying on my own than I ever did in their established buildings for learning.

“Not ready yet!” she shrilly echoed exasperated. “You need to face the real world, little girl. Your face remains so deeply buried in your books that you don’t see the responsibilities you neglect.”

Her meaning eluded me. I did most of the housework, I made her lunch daily, and I strove to complete my trigonometry book. My independent study teacher claimed it would help when I entered college, so I added it late.

“And turn down that damned music. I don’t know how you can study with music up that loud,” she added. My trig book lay open on the kitchen table while Lou Reed serenaded me on the stereo.

“I can’t do math without it, Mom,” I admitted as I complied with her wishes. “I concentrate better. I’m nearly finished with trig. Then I only need to finish my senior exit project on MOBY DICK. I’ll take the test in October.”

“October?” Mom screeched. “College starts in September! You’re labeled a troublemaker, Jessie. Do you want to work in a factory all your life?” She seemed to think that was a treat of some sort.

“I’ll take care of it, Mom. I promise.”

“You better! Wait until your father gets home. He’ll hit the ceiling,” she concluded as she took her lunch to the den to eat, so she watched her soap opera.

I sat down to work on what was left to complete from my math book. I can’t say I was surprised, but she hadn’t even wished me a happy birthday. Tears clouded my eyes. When she left for her job as a receptionist for a local real estate company, I realized that my concentration vanished, so I took a walk.

Whenever schoolwork bored me, or Mom stressed me out, I walked to Statesville, our cozy community of independent businesses near the college. My favorite store, Shangri-La, specialized in items imported from around the world. I felt inspired there. Apartments rose several stories above each store in this neighborhood, reminding me of pre-urbanized downtown Main Streets. Shangri-La was the only national chain in that quaint locale.

As I wandered around the store, my imagination roamed to the various countries their merchandise represented. I spent hours studying their unique items. That day, as the tall, thin African American gentleman greeted me with his usual kind smile from behind his register, an epiphany struck. If I worked there, I could earn money for studying their precious items, and get Mom off my back. She couldn’t accuse me of being lazy if I had a job.

“Excuse me,” I started shyly. “Could I fill out an application to work here?”

He playfully tapped my hand and responded jovially, “You’re in luck, honey. Bob left yesterday for his new job in Cleveland, and Johnny leaves at the end of summer. We really could use some fresh blood. You meander about so often that I feel like I know you.” Then he ceased his verbal patter for a moment before adding, “Sorry, Honey! I’m Roger, the store manager.”

“Jessie! Jessica Merrill,” I introduced myself as I offered him my hand.

I filled out the application immediately. When he noticed that it was my birthday, he looked up wide eyed and stated jubilantly, “Happy Birthday, honey! Did you know that your birthday is the day after Marilyn Monroe’s?” His nervous prattle relieved my self-consciousness.

“Is that good?” I asked amused.

“Of course, darlin’!” he quipped with an exaggerated glee. “She’s an immortal. If you’re half as smart and funny, we’ll get along just great!” I giggled at his nonsense. Then he added amused, “I need you here at eight in the morning, so don’t party too much tonight.” I thanked him joyfully.

The ease of my accomplishment amazed and excited me. I couldn’t have asked for a better place to work. When Mom got home from her job, I eagerly told her about mine. She quipped sarcastically, “It’s about time you joined the real world. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

Dad took pride in my initiative. After wishing me a “Happy Birthday,” he took us out to celebrate. Although Mom liked to threaten me with his rage, he usually accepted my perceived shortcomings. “You’ll find more people like you in college,” he told me. “You’ll bloom there.”

Mom rolled her eyes. “She needs to learn to assimilate,” she barked at him. “The world won’t change for her. That’s for sure.”

Invitation to Shangri-La Part One Independence

Independence

Roger’s innumerable insecurities seemed unfathomable to me. He reminded me of Charlie Chaplin's Tramp with his kindheartedness, yet inability to mesh with the society around him. I saw me in him in many ways, but he lacked patience, especially with himself. Most disturbing was his fear of people, which, when working retail, is a major deficit.

When I learned that he was gay, I wondered if his mannerisms and habit of touching people to emphasize a point of conversation was typical of homosexuals. Charles, his lover who lived with Roger above the store, taught me that homosexuals were as individual as heterosexuals.

Charles’ mannerisms seemed more typically masculine than Roger’s, although he cared for them like any housewife. He laughingly referred to himself as “the little woman” with such a deep bass voice that I giggled whenever he repeated the phrase. Because of his unfailingly honest and irreverent humor, Charles became one of my favorite people.

Roger enjoyed adjourning to his office to do the store’s paperwork. He liked the time alone. However, he asked me from the very first day to check his numbers before he sent them off to Barb, in our home office in Cleveland. He didn’t trust his math.

“Johnny’s so mean when he finds mistakes,” Roger confessed before he taught me what to do. “I love him to pieces, but he makes me nervous sometimes. Besides, Johnny leaves for Syracuse in August, and I’ll rely on you for this once he’s gone. I like your quiet way. I won’t feel like one when you do my idiot checks.” Roger’s obvious insecurities made me less self-conscious about my own.

Besides doing Roger’s “idiot checks,” my responsibilities consisted of serving customers, running register, when necessary, and keeping the storeroom organized. Poor Roger was harder on himself than us, so I made it part of my job to improve his self image whenever possible. He was so sweet beneath his inexhaustible discontent with the world.

My relationship with Johnny, my other coworker, was complicated. His father owned Shangri-La. The idea intimidated me until Johnny explained that he began working at Shangri-La when his older brother, Phil, left for Columbia three years previously. With mock exasperation, he exclaimed, “Dad’s into teaching us personal responsibility. He thinks I need to understand where money for fun comes from.” He never liked working in the store, however. He hated being indoors.

Mr. Moran, Johnny’s father, ran Shangri-La from his office in Cleveland. The thought of meeting him frightened me. I pictured someone conservative and judgmental, like the businessmen who worked with my father at the bank. I expected to say or do something embarrassing when I met him. I always did when I was nervous.

Although I wasn’t introduced, Johnny claimed his dad was in the store at least once a week when he was not traveling on Shangri-La business. “Dad keeps an eye on Roger to make sure he’s not on overload,” he told me. “Besides, Charles is like his blood-brother.”

Johnny’s crystal blue eyes looked out over his mass of chestnut hair like a candle in the dark. I often feared he could see into my soul when his eyes fell upon me, but those blue orbs were his best feature.

Tall, he donned a studied scruffy look which added greatly to his distinct masculine beauty. After the first few weeks, I suspected that he shaved Friday nights because, although a beard never quite formed on his face, stubble was visible every Monday morning.

He obviously knew he was great looking. Whenever a female sauntered into our store, no matter their age or disposition, he turned on his massive charm like a light switch. Flirting seemed entrenched in his persona.

Because I watched him put on his allure like a show, I quickly became immune. He fine tuned his personality to fit the target of his enchantments like an actor playing a scene. I often wondered which of his various characters his true one was. His parade of girls streamed into Shangri-La to chat with him daily. Roger always grinned and rolled his eyes whenever one passed by him at the register.

He looked forward to late August when he departed for Syracuse where he would attend college. “I’ve been accepted by their baseball program,” he informed me. “I hope to play first base for the Boston Red Sox, but any club which drafts me’ll be okay.” When he learned that I was a Cub fan living within close proximity to Cleveland, he found a new subject for his terminal teasing.

Although he asked me for a date during my second week of work, I refused. I felt too insecure to date anyone, let alone the son of Shangri-La’s CEO. Instead, he became my friend. His eternally cheerful disposition expressed itself in a playfully obnoxious fashion which made work fun. He seemed to understand my humor which was lost on most people.

His favorite goad was to call me “a book nerd.” Although I enjoyed reading from a young age, being called a nerd irritated me. Through literature, I lived my solitary pubescent years through the pages of characters’ minds. It was so nice to have a friend, however, that I didn’t let my irritation show, unlike Roger.

Johnny called Roger “high strung” at least once a day. Although Roger knew that Johnny teased him, Roger inevitably invoked his managerial role and barked, “Get to work.” Beyond that, Roger behaved more like a coworker. He confessed, “I’m, not into power trips.”

After the third week, Johnny jokingly said, “You’re a mental drifter, Jessie. Getting your attention, when you’re in the middle of a project, should be an Olympic sport. It’s like you become deaf to everything else.”

Roger agreed, but said more kindly, “Her thoughts aren’t easily disturbed. That’s why she gets her work done and covers your ass on top of it.” I giggled at the back handed compliment, but from then on, whenever he decided to poke fun at me, Johnny called me a space cadet. I laughed as I got used to his barbs. He was intelligent and funny. He was also a smart ass without deliberate maliciousness.

Johnny, also, made little old ladies giggle. This showed me that his heart was kind. No matter how sad or tired they looked when they entered our store, by the time they got to the register, he had made them laugh. The sound of little old ladies giggling always cheered my heart.

Baseball dominated Johnny’s life which allowed me to respond to his teasing by using jock stereotypes as retaliatory fodder. He enjoyed our verbal sparring. He liked having a female companion who didn’t want to be his girlfriend.

His invitations changed from dates to watching him play his sport of choice with his summer league at a park across the college from our store. At first I needed to finish my trigonometry work, but finally, in the middle of July, I attended a game.

The day was hot, and Mom was on the warpath. I had finished my chores, but I couldn’t concentrate on reading with her constant interruptions. Dad took refuge with his lawnmower, so I used Johnny’s invitation for an excuse to get out of the house. Since I needed to finish MOBY DICK for my final project, I took it with me.

As I walked into the park, Johnny whistled at me. I waved and laughed as I took a little bow in his direction, mimicking Shirley Temple. Then I defiantly held up my book with a grin. He laughed and yelled a rude remark. I responded with my middle finger which provoked more laughter. I felt what I assumed was a brotherly affection for him. I enjoyed bugging him by bringing my book, while also I liked supporting his interest through my attendance.

I climbed to the back row of the stands hoping to be less conspicuous. I read undisturbed through batting practice. During the first two innings, my eyes rose to the field whenever I turned a page so I could watch for Johnny’s at bats and interesting defensive plays, of which their supporters’ cheers kept me well apprised. Fans meandering up and down the bleachers distracted me. My voyeuristic nature motivated me to watch people when they weren’t aware that I noticed them.

By the third inning, my concentration shifted to a lively group of women congregated around a man who was there when I arrived. Whenever a member of Johnny’s team hit the ball or defended against a hit, they stood and screamed in unison. Their exuberance amused me. The man spoke animatedly with a gentle musical quality which captivated me. Soon, I focused completely on this man as he jovially discussed what I now practically ignored.

He wasn't American, but he didn't sound English or Scottish. I listened harder without determining his birthplace. I failed to ascertain his age, as well. He looked in his late twenties or early thirties, yet he had the self-satisfied air of a mature man. He braided his long red hair down his back. In 1977, men with hair that long were hippies, and hippies were mostly in their thirties.

His nose was prominent, but not Grecian or Roman. His skin was pink, clean shaven and unlined. His hands moved elegantly as he spoke. Eventually, I caught the glint of a wedding band as his left hand waved. My thoughts turned to which of the ladies surrounding him was his wife. None of them appeared to be particularly intimate with him, so I was at a loss.

White baggy cotton shirt and pants covered his body. When mixed with his sandals and sunglasses, I thought of California. His hands hypnotized me as much as his voice did. His smile seemed like a full body expression. His laughter caused his chest to rise as it vibrated. His shoulder blades moved back and together gracefully until his muscular chest imprinted his shirt. His head fell back as he released his joyful sound.

My eyes involuntarily returned to this interesting man. His hair glowed orange in the sunlight. I saw him as if surrounded by flame. When my eyes finally caught flecks of gray mixed with his red strands, my mind returned to affixing his age.

Eventually, he noticed my attention. When he began to periodically glance at me, I looked away shyly. Once he caught my eye, he nodded his head with a pleasant smile. I returned the gesture and then gazed at the field. He must have done the same because I heard him shout his approval of Johnny’s successful at bat. I giggled when he stood and punched the air jubilantly.

Once seated again, he leaned over and introduced himself, I froze, terrified. "The name’s Sean,” he declared. “I’ve never seen you at a game before." His unembarrassed, easy manner calmed me. Still, I hated getting caught when I watched other people. Usually I wasn’t, so this disconcerted me.

I looked at my hands as I quietly replied, "Jessie." A crack of a bat drew his face back to the field, and I caught sight of his profile. I recognized him from Shangri-La, and, hoping that would explain away my interest in him, I shyly stuttered, "I think I’ve seen you at work."

"Where might that be, Jessie?" he asked amusedly.

"Shangri-La! You know! The import store!"

He startled me by laughing loudly. Although his mirth increased my shyness, his openness excited me. "You're Jessica? Forgive me,” he uttered.

I felt confusion as he offered a few words to the women around him. I panicked and hugged my book when he moved up a few levels closer to me. “How wonderful to finally meet you! I run Shangri-La. I should have introduced myself sooner, but time has been precious since my return.”

A sense of stunned realization struck me. This was Johnny's father. Embarrassment for staring overwhelmed me. I shut my eyes tightly, certain that he thought me rude. I felt him grasp my right hand as I heard him remark matter of factly, "No wonder Johnny can't keep his mind on the store's business."

I felt suddenly hot, even for July, but realized I must have misunderstood him. "Excuse me?" I spat out startled.

When my eyes opened in surprise, I saw that he had removed his sunglasses. My lap seemed a safer place to look, however, as he continued, “John was excited when you were hired. He couldn’t believe Roger would choose such a beautiful girl. He wasn’t joking. You’re extraordinary."

My hands clutched MOBY DICK nervously as confusion eclipsed all other thought. When he placed his index finger beneath my chin, I stared defiantly at the book on my lap. I didn’t like him making fun of me. I didn’t feel pretty, let alone extraordinary. Then he added, "I hope that you don't mind an old man saying that."

His self deprecating humor provoked my smile. I realized that he was playing with me. “You can’t be that old,” I teased. “Dad’s 38. He looks way older than you."

I knew that didn’t come out right. His grin made me feel self-conscious. This was Roger’s boss, my boss. I should be more respectful. "I'm sorry," I stammered stupidly. "I’m saying all the wrong things.” Then I looked into his eyes for the first time. They drew me in like a magnet. They resembled Johnny’s, blue and piercing, with that same feeling as if he could see into my soul. However, when I looked into Sean’s eyes, I imagined blue-rimmed wishing wells.

"Wow!” I breathlessly exclaimed. “You’re eyes are just like Johnny’s, but cooler." When I realized what emerged from my lips, I awoke as if from a dream. My hand flew to my mouth to keep any further stupidity from dribbling out, as he laughed loudly. My eyes returned to my book. I wanted to disappear, until he kissed my hand. I inhaled audibly.

"Johnny’s right,” he replied good naturedly. “You speak your mind. A woman who speaks her mind releases blessings upon those who hear her thoughts."

I giggled. His statement sounded like a joke, although it momentarily soothed my embarrassment. I looked at the hand which he still held and realized his eyes sought mine. A thrill electrified me. I had seen Johnny's eyes a hundred times, but they never effected me like that. I grinned at how different their eyes really were.

When Sean changed the subject to the store, I relaxed. He asked how I liked working there. “I love it,” I admitted, “Although I have nothing to compare it with.”
He smiled again. "So you’re new to retail. Does it interest you?"

“I’m always interested to learn about beautiful items from around the world,” I rattled on. “I love working near our merchandise. I asked for this job, so I can study it more closely. I even enjoy dusting because it gives me a reason to see where they’re made.”

He released that somewhat surprised laughter which had startled me at first. Hearing it again eased my worry. It was a jolly laugh, free from maliciousness. "I’m gratified to hear that you find them beautiful and interesting. I pride myself on my eye for beauty," he remarked. "But what do you think about the business aspects of our store? Roger and John speak highly of your work. Roger already counts on you.” Then, he laughed adding, “Hearing Roger say nothing but what he can praise is truly a joy, not to mention a feat."

I laughed in spite of myself. Roger was dear, but he complained a lot. I sometimes sighed as I listened to his seemingly ceaseless dissatisfaction. I felt relieved, though, to learn that I wasn’t something which added to his distress. That thought seemed disrespectful toward Roger. I was laughing at what I saw as a harsh, albeit accurate, jest.

"He's a really good boss,” I stuttered, trying to cover my guilt. “He lets me know what needs to be done and demonstrates what I don’t understand. I just love him. He’s so sweet."

Sean’s kind smile calmed me. "He's a good man. We tease each other, though. Roger and I are family. He’d be proud to know what loyalty he inspires. He’s terribly insecure." He stopped suddenly as if he said too much.

Screams returned our attention to the game. Someone on Johnny's team had knocked in a run. As I grinned at the field and applauded, Sean moved to sit next to me. He obviously wanted to know me better, but I felt uncomfortable receiving such attention. I preferred watching unnoticed. Also, I dreaded saying something else stupid.

Sean talked about the game, at first, before turning to baseball in general. He mentioned the Red Sox, the team Johnny wanted to play for. I admired his taste in teams. "They’ll win the Series eventually," he informed me. "Then I shall die happy."

"Dad says the same about the Cubs. He was furious in ’69 when the Mets won. He claims the Cubs are cursed, but, as a Red Sox fan, you know all about that." He grinned as he nodded his agreement. I giggled as I continued, "Dad hates that designated hitter rule. He won’t watch the Indians anymore because of it. He says that AL pitchers will become prima donas.” I lowered my voice to imitate Dad, “‘They’re athletes, not opera singers.’” Sean laughed, so I concluded with a shurg, “He gets riled up about baseball."

"Sounds like Johnny.” He snapped his fingers and released a sound of frustration. Then I felt his warmth radiate as he leaned into me playfully. “I keep forgetting. I’m to call him John now that he’s a legal adult," he confided.

"Yo! Dad! I saw her first," Johnny joked as he walked up the bleachers.

I flushed as I glared at his son. I didn’t need him embarrassing me. I did that enough without his help. Before I could think of anything witty to reply, Sean called out, "Game over so soon? We were just getting comfortable." He smiled. As our eyes met, he continued, "If I wasn't so old, we’d have a problem." My mouth dropped open in shock at this great looking, intelligent man talking about me like this.

"I hope she puts up with your nonsense." He winked at me jovially. "If he ever gets too much, Jessica, simply whack him on the side of the head. His mum did that for me many times at his age.” Then he leaned in toward me familiarly, adding with raised eyebrows, “But not too hard, we don’t want him losing what few brains he has." As I giggled, he told Johnny, "You treat this beauty with the respect she deserves. She’s a member of our family, now. Besides, she stands up for Roger, bless him. ‘Tis a first!" Johnny laughed loudly.

My irritation at Johnny grew. I didn’t like Roger being the butt of anyone’s joke. "Roger’s been very nice to me. Please, lay off him! He’s sensitive," I snapped at them.

Then I realized that I had just issued an order to my boss. I quickly covered my mouth which had dropped open in alarm and surprise. I silently determined never to remove my hand in Sean’s presence again.

Grinning broadly, Sean took that hand in both of his. "Roger’s discovered a heart of gold! I must give him a raise," he exhaled fervently before kissing my hand. A shiver went through me as I looked away, afraid I might stare. His graceful movements easily hypnotized me.

I nervously clutched my book deciding to leave before I said anything else embarrassing. The excuse of finishing MOBY DICK seemed like a good escape, but, instead of the easy out I expected, I drew Sean's attention even further.

"How do you like Melville?" he asked.

"He’s interesting," I replied quietly. I felt more comfortable talking about books than anything else. "I don’t like the violence, and the details of whale hunting can be tedious, but I enjoy the psychological study of the obsessed whaler focused on the futility of defeating a certain whale in that huge ocean. It’s interesting how Melville has him compulsively working toward what appears to be a battle to the death between himself and God. I mean God always wins, right? He’s immortal."

Sean’s laughter returned my embarrassment. I didn’t think I said anything funny. When I glanced into his eyes questioningly, they appeared vigilant for my next thought. No one ever listened to me like this, especially not about my books.

"Well, anyway, I’m reading the whale as a metaphor for God," I stammered trying to justify my remark. "The parallels with the Jonah story brought God to mind. Also, most of the names are Biblical. I’ve been looking them up. It seems to shed light on Melville’s characters and their relation to the story."

My eyes locked into his. I felt like I could say anything to him, and he would listen. When I forced myself to glance at Johnny, he seemed bored. He stood watching his ball as he threw it up in the air, waiting to catch it when it fell. I was afraid I sounded crazy, so I finished shyly, "I'm sorry. I like it, I think. I’ll know when I finish."

"Melville’s one of Dad's favorite writers," Johnny explained blandly, as his ball hovered in the air. "He calls him the great American philosopher." He laughed as he tossed the ball yet again. He seemed to be making fun of his father, but I didn’t understand the joke.

"Meeting you has been a joy, Jessica,” Sean said kindly. Then he squeezed my hand and added, “You’re an insightful woman. I look forward to hearing more when you finish."

I returned the squeeze like I never wanted to let go. When I remembered myself, I released his hand quickly. I looked down to collect my excited emotions, but couldn’t. Instead, I placed my hands on Johnny’s sweaty shoulders, kissed his cheek and snapped, "See yeah!" Then I bounced down the bleachers. At the bottom, I glanced up with a wave. Johnny's attention was on his dad, but Sean smiled. I savored one last look into his eyes. Then I left.

Invitation to Shangri-La Part One Entrenched

Entrenched

Monday morning, Johnny invited me to join him for dinner and an evening at a local dance club that Friday night. I couldn’t go, especially after meeting Sean. For the first time, a man seemed interested in my ideas. Johnny was interested in Johnny. I refused to settle for less, now that I knew it was possible.

“You have enough girl friends,” I quipped. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Johnny was important to me.

He laughed. "I didn't think you changed your mind, but Dad said I probably didn't ask you the right way. He said you liked me and, hey, you came to my game."

I watched him shrug off my rejection, but I felt the need to soothe his ego. "You know I like you, Johnny, but I need to finish this school stuff. Mom says I read too much. Your game was fun, though. I want to go next Saturday.”

He grinned. "Dad’s a book nerd, too. He’s always reading. He hates when I call him that. He turns red and starts the lecture that I call, 'Your mother valued education above all things.' It’s fun to watch."

I knew his mother died when he was 12. He had discussed it in such a matter of fact way that I felt impressed. I would have been crushed by such a loss, yet he seemed at peace. I envied him that peace. Still, the thought that he made his dad mad as a joke irritated me.

“You’re so mean,” I retorted. “If I went out with you, you’d break my heart and laugh about it with your teammates." He followed me around arguing that point until Roger told him to leave me alone and get back to work.

After the first week, I began visiting Charles and Roger nightly after work. Roger seemed to enjoy my company. We’d sit and talk until I decided that I should get home for dinner. I didn’t want to piss off my mom.

Charles incessantly teased Roger about his foibles. In my quest to make Roger more secure, I snapped at Charles playfully every time I heard him. He laughed at me saying I was kissing my boss' ass, but Roger always stuck up for me. It became a game with us.

Now that I knew him by sight, I realized how often Sean visited our store. Frequently, he came up behind me while I worked, gently placed his hand on the small of my back and asked about my day. These surprises begot tingles every time.

My immediate, though hopeless, attraction to him grew with experience. The way that he smelled was subtle, yet intoxicating. If I was running the store numbers when he visited, he’d sit for a few minutes and talk. He joked about how he enjoyed watching my fingers dance across the keys.

“I’m a hunt and peck adder,” he teased. His self deprecating humor always made me giggle and seemed aimed at making me feel better about me. If I looked into his eyes, though, I inevitably had to redo my addition.

"I’ve watched you at the store," Sean confided to me at one of Johnny’s games. After that first Saturday, he had encouraged me to join his group of friends with whom he sat that first day. They were the wives, mothers and girlfriends of team members. Sean and I were the only ones there for Johnny, which surprised me considering the stream of young women who continued daily to flow through the store.

That day, I had arrived before him. When Sean strode up the stands to sit next to me, I was reading JANE EYRE for the umpteenth time. I smiled at Sean and waved at Johnny who went straight to batting practice while I closed my book. The warmth of Sean’s presence, as he leaned in to discover what I was reading, and the smell of his body, so close to mine, stimulated me.

It disconcerted me, though, that anyone, especially Sean, watched me. I preferred invisibility. I silently lowered my eyes awaiting his judgment, which I expected to be harsh. Mom loved to innumerate the multitude of flaws in my character, so I was curious what imperfections Sean discovered.

"You’re wonderful with people,” he said kindly. “I especially like the way you relate to older women. You’re respectful which I know they appreciate."

Surprised and bewildered by his praise, I thanked him shyly. “Most people are really very nice,” I explained quietly.

Then he added, concerned, "Roger mentioned you’re finishing high school independently. That can’t be easy. If you need help, please ask. This is our quiet season, so, while John’s here, take what hours you need for study. Education’s too important not to be taken seriously." Then he added emphatically, "Ignorance will destroy the world, if we allow it." The look on his face was intense, yet gentle. I remembered what Johnny said about Sean prioritizing education. It sounded like his mission. I admired that. Even though I left school, I never gave up on learning.

I thanked him, again, but told him how kind Roger was when I felt stressed about school. “He makes me bring my book, and, when I’ve finish my work, and business is quiet, he has me sit in his office. He is determined that I finish soon, and I will.”

"Good on him! Remind me to give him a raise," he remarked playfully. "I must say, he’s become positively optimistic since you began working there, Jessica. If he wasn't gay, I’d swear he had a crush on you." He laughed and hugged my shoulder jovially. When he brushed his lips against my cheek, my body tensed.
Then the ladies began to arrive, and he rose, as was his custom, to greet each with a compliment and a kiss on their hand. My eyes followed his every move. I was too young to be cautious where emotions were concerned. I was in love.

When we were in close proximity, I created reasons to touch him. His behavior allowed for familiarity, so it was easy. Sometimes, I mimicked Roger by nonchalantly tapping Sean’s sleeve or hand as I laughed at his inevitable jokes. My favorite moments were passing him in the staircase as I left Roger and Charles' apartment. We had to touch in order to pass on the stairs. I relished these opportunities to glance into his eyes as I playfully said, "Hi and bye!" When I looked back to watch him walk into their place, I heard his inevitable, "Ta." My favorite days were when, he stopped me with a question or remark.

Sean always looked great. He didn’t dress like other businessmen. His hair alone made him unique. His suits were the same, as if he didn't want to think about choosing clothes. His black shirts were collarless with gold buttons, some of which were hidden. His black jackets, held closed by three black buttons, had thin lapels, although thick were in vogue. He never wore a tie. The toes of his black shiny boots were pointed with silver tips. The effect was stunning against his red hair, which he usually braided with thin black leather straps.

I once teased, “You look more like a gangster than an executive.”

He laughed and replied, “There’s a bit of gangster in all businessmen.” Then he warned, “Be careful.”

He chose an unusually soft material for his suits. I admired the beauty of the fabric, once, as an excuse to touch him. He thanked me and confided, “I enjoy feeling soft things next to my skin.” I giggled and took the opportunity to peek into his eyes.

I felt the need, especially while talking to my boss, to keep busy while we chatted, so I returned immediately to what previously occupied me. That day he wanted to continue our conversation. "I wanted to ask you what you thought of the conclusion of MOBY DICK."

My self-consciousness disappeared as I activated my intellect. "Wow. What a great metaphor!"

I didn't get much opportunity to discuss books at home. Mom read mysteries, but not ones I enjoyed, like Chandler or Conan Doyle. My dad hadn't got past the evening paper since college, and neither liked studying literature. It was an added treat that it was Sean to whom I could speak about my books.

I rattled on about the book for a few minutes, and, remembering where I was and Sean’s relationship with the business, I curbed my enthusiasm. “I really want to hear your ideas on Melville, Jessica,” Sean pressed. “Would you meet me before work for coffee some morning?”

I couldn’t believe my ears. "Sure," I responded trying to mask my zeal for the proposition.

He opened his datebook which he kept with him constantly. "Early meeting tomorrow, so that’s out," he remarked disappointed. "How’s Friday? Is seven too early? John’s still here. Roger will forgive if you’re late. I’ll warn him that I’m borrowing you for breakfast. Do you know Rose's Cafe?" he asked.

“I’ll find it,” I promised.

He nodded as he walked away saying, "See you then." My excited eyes followed him, as usual, to the door of Roger’s office.

Rose's Café was a coffee shop, but not as I defined one then. To me, coffee shops sold eggs and bacon. This place had warm muffins and coffee in a thousand varieties. I ordered cocoa, but I declined the whipped cream. I was afraid to appear childish in front of Sean. I meekly thanked the lady at the counter and found an empty table.

I read while I waited. When the room warm suddenly, I looked up to see him smiling at me. He gently kissed my cheek before exhaling, “Good morning.” His breath tingled in my ear. I closed my book before, he continued, "I need to order. You’ve what you want, I see. It’s good to meet an independent woman.”

My eyes naturally followed him to the counter. "Lovely morning to you, me darlin' Rose," Sean sang brightly with an exaggerated charm which seemed laughable, even from him.

I realized that he was Irish. He used it to put on a show for Rose. My embarrassment abated as I watched his play. Whether his performance was meant for her or for me didn't matter. I felt entranced.

Rose broke into a grin as she turned toward him. "Sean! How nice to see you!” She added with a little slap on his hand. “I've missed you."

She beamed as he picked up her hands from the glass counter and kissed them both. "Rose, I had to come. It’s been far too long since I looked into your lovely eyes. Angels weep with envy when they see emeralds like yours."

I stifled my giggle. I wondered if he complimented others to avoid being studied too closely, like I did by listening to people while I watched them at the store. I overcame my shyness using this method. Sean wasn’t shy, but I felt a distance which I couldn’t explain.

She laughed and shook her head. "What can I get you?"

"I'll have my usual, as only you make it and one of those…" He paused and glanced in my direction. "Make that two pumpkin cream cheese muffins. I spent the last hour exercising with Johnny. I deserve a treat for keeping up with the boy." She laughed and rang him up. When she turned her back, he dropped a $20 bill in her tip jar. Afterward, he turned toward me and smiled. I momentarily found myself lost in his eyes.

Soon, Rose handed him his tray. He smiled as he remarked, "You’re as lovely as your delicacies, Rose. God love yeah."

She giggled and took the next customer’s order while he walked toward me. I thought about Johnny and the giggling old ladies at the store. He obviously learned that from Sean.

Our knees touched as he got comfortable in the chair next to mine. My excitement provoked me to momentarily inhale, which I tried to cover by blowing on my chocolate lightly as if it hadn't cooled enough. Once settled, he handed me a muffin.

"You must try this. They make you think that you’ve died and gone to heaven."

I thanked him but didn't know what else to say, so I stirred my drink. "Is that chocolate?" he asked.

“Yes,” I whispered. My voice seemed to desert me.

"Ah, nectar of the Goddess!” he replied. “I stopped drinking caffeine when Margie died, but for an occasional chocolate. As the single father of two teenage boys, I couldn't afford to crab at them. I drink the cinnamon decaf latte. Cinnamon wakes me without stress, like green tea."

“Coffee makes me feel incredible for about two hours,” I admitted shyly, “but then I drag for the rest of the day. Also, I make too many mistakes when I drink coffee, and I won’t do that to Roger, but chocolate doesn't seem to do that to me."

"The Goddess takes care of Her own," he responded at his muffin absentmindedly. It sounded like a weird comment, but I let it pass to avoid seeming stupid. I thought of something to say and, proud that I didn't lapse into a shy silence, asked when Johnny was leaving for Syracuse.

"Sunday," Sean replied with an emphatic nod of his head. "I pray he balances his studies with his social life. Every conversation we have seems to revolve around young women." He grinned at me mischievously.

I laughed. I had seen enough girls visit him at the store to understand. "He asked me out, but he... Well, he's like a friend sort of guy to me, like Roger, except not gay," I commented into my chocolate. I cringed as I realized what I said, and what I wanted to say were totally different. Afraid that I offended him, I peeked up nervously, but he laughed before my eyes met his.

"You’re fond of understatements. That boy only attends to men when they carry bats or gloves.” He continued to laugh hard and added, “But he has taste, dear, and he’s a remarkable judge of character. I’d be disappointed in him had he shown an interest in you.” He silently watched me for a moment and sighed as he whispered, “Pity."

Confusion filled me as I wondered if I disappointed him by not dating Johnny. When he raised my chin with his finger like he did that first day at the ballpark, my thoughts shifted to his eyes which searched my face. His odd gesture allowed me to contemplate the depth in those eyes. Then, he removed his finger and gazed at his latte. He sighed and declared, "We came together to discuss MOBY DICK, as I remember."

I relaxed, and, for the next two hours, we talked about Melville and the biblical allusions in his work, as well as the existential implications of the moral. After the first half hour, he asked Rose for a pitcher of water and a couple of glasses. He poured us each a glass, and we continued our conversation in rapid fire pace.

He actively listened to whatever I said. When I made a point which he especially liked, he elaborated on it. If he disagreed, he stated specifically the point of his disagreement and supported his position by quoting Melville’s lines from memory. I couldn't understand how he did that. Memorization was impossible for me. The more that I listened to him, the more his intellect overwhelmed me. I envied him.

At nine o’clock, he announced that he had to leave for a meeting. “This was the most wonderful way to start my day. I hope you’ll allow us to repeat this experience. You’re so insightful and you have a wonderful grasp on subplot," he told me.

“Thank you,” I whispered confused. I tried to remain calm although confusion flooded my brain.

Then he put his hand to my cheek. "This may sound like a joke, but I’d like to paint you. If Bottecelli had met you, he’d have painted blondes instead of all those redheads.”

"I like redheads," I replied automatically, trying to imagine Bottecelli without redheads. “His paintings would be boring without them.”

He laughed loudly. "Now I understand why you stared at me at the ballpark," he remarked cheerfully.

I realized, horrified, that I inadvertently affirmed at least a small part of my attraction to him. "You’re a fan of the master," he added good-naturedly. I giggled with relief at his joke. As we stood, he thanked Rose again, apologizing for occupying the table for so long.

"Do it more often, Sean," she ordered with a nod of her head. "Bye for now."

He offered me a ride to the store. My heart leapt, but I declined. I didn't trust that I wouldn’t put my foot in my mouth, again. Outside of my redhead remark, I did quite well that day.

"No thank you, I’ll walk,” I told him. “You have a meeting, and I have my book."
What are you reading?” he asked.

"Dickens," I responded, showing him my copy of GREAT EXPECTATIONS.

"Ah,” he exhaled with a smile and nod. “Please allow me to discuss that with you when you finish. I look forward to hearing your interpretation on Dickens' view of morality. Well, dear one, have a lovely walk. You’ve a fine day for it. Thank you for sharing your morning with me." He picked up my hand and held it momentarily. "I’ll see you soon. Have a lovely weekend."

I watched him get into his car and drive away. "YES!" I screamed inside. I felt remarkably important all of a sudden. I had a conversation with a knowledgeable man who liked what I said. I didn't humiliate myself, and he treated me like an intellectual equal. The gratitude I felt increased my longing. I closed my eyes momentarily to visualize his and smiled. Then I opened my book and walked to work.

HOLIDAY IN SHANGRI-LA Synopsis

Though not thrilled that his father is sexually active with an employee, let alone an 18 year-old girl, Phil proceeds cautiously around Jessica in HOLIDAY IN SHANGRI-LA, Jessica’s second volume of memoirs which currently undergoes its final edit.

Sean felt sure that Phil thought his father a fool, but Johnny openly expresses gratitude at seeing his father as he remembers him before his mother’s illness. He enjoys teasing Sean about Jessica, but he loves watching the joy of life in his beloved father again.

Since they plan to spend more time together, before he leaves with Roger and Charles to see a specialist at Mayo Clinic, Sean introduces Jessica to yoga and qigong. He believes the body is a temple and wants her to learn to care for hers. He also knows she needs to be strong for the upcoming retail holiday season.

When after ten days they return, Sean betrays his devastation to Jessica that the established medical community offer Charles little hope. While Sean seeks alternative treatments, Jessica asks Charles to teach her to cook. Since his cooking ability is a source of great pride, he readily obliges.

While moving Jessica into her apartment, Sean discovers her ongoing journal, so after her first cooking lesson, he paints her journalizing by moonlight. While discussing his history with Margie, he admits that Charles was his lover when they were young. Although he fears this information might alter her feelings for him, she accepts this knowledge so calmly that Sean’s attachment grows.

Since Margie celebrated Yule instead of Christmas, Johnny surprises his father with a visit from Marcia, Margie’s mother and High Priestess in her Coven, and Jean Pierre, Sean’s best friend from France. Sean owns a home next to Jean Pierre where he plans to retire once he relinquishes control of Shangri-La to Phil.

Although meeting Jessica is their avowed reason for visiting Sean, seeing if they could help Charles is high on their priorities. Marcia and Jean Pierre are both healers, although not doctors. Marcia sets a course of exercise and diet which offers Roger the only hope he has.

Marcia often shocks Jessica with their perspective of Sean. While Sean’s her ideal of perfection, all of his friends tease him about his follies and perceived flaws. Jessica listens with amazement to their disrespect of that which she cherishes most.

During their first night together, Jean Pierre informs Jessica that Sean’s Goddess fund finances a network of people protecting women around the world. Margie organized, Marcia runs and Sean finances a revolutionary organization which removes women from unsafe areas and then locates homes and livelihoods for them. They also fund battered women’s shelters around the world. Often, the women they save live and work alongside the battered women.

Hestia’s Havens, the organization’s name, teaches women to be self sufficient, so as not to trade one dependency for another. Upon Phil’s recommendation, Sean offers Jessica work at the daycare which they established for the local preschool aged children of violence. Marcia wants her to journalize her experiences working there to better understand the children’s needs. Jessica fears she will fail but can’t say no to Sean. After attending a Christmas party at the facility, she accepts the position.

After their Yule ritual, Marcia insists on throwing Jessica’s tarot. She hits overload when her reading explains how her anger must be controlled for her to become successful in life. She feels lost in Sean’s world until Sean and Jean Pierre put the reading into terms she can understand.

For a lark, Jean Pierre convinces Sean to bring Jessica to New York for a New Year’s Eve party thrown by his friend from college, who was also an artist. Since Sean’s anxious to show Jessica the gallery where his paintings of her hang, he readily agrees.

Mateo’s forte is painting people in sexual positions. Sean later shows Jessica a painting of him with Margie painted by Mateo hanging at MOMA. Since he saw Sean’s exhibit, Mateo asks Jessica to pose for him almost immediately. Jessica’s both terrified and intrigued by the notion. She shocks Sean by agreeing.

Although her desire for a painting with Sean overcomes her fear, the experience opens her to a world she’d only heard about during Sean’s post-intercourse stories. She can never live openly with Sean, but, during that trip, she decides she can never leave him. Whatever it takes, she sees her future with Sean and wants nothing else.

Holiday in Shangri-La Part One Heaven

Heaven

Sean’s warm breath sent shivers down my spine as his lips lazily slid down my neck. I surrendered to his will. Although we had been lovers for only a few weeks, I trusted him completely. He was my best friend even though he was older than either of my parents.

“’Tis time to introduce you to your divinity, Dove,” he whispered passionately in his blend of Irish and New York cadence which pulsated in my soul. Dove had become his pet name for me since I first confessed my attraction to him. “Let’s visit heaven.”

Sean’s ideas about sex were strange. I experienced our eroticism in its physical sensations, but he swore it was a spiritual encounter, a melding of energies. Sex was sacred to him, a metaphysical experience. Although I was raised that it was a sin, I had watched the hippies of the sixties redefine right and wrong where lovemaking was concerned. By 1977, the clash of cultures subsided and teenagers like me were left to decide morality on our own. Sean’s morality intrigued me.

“I’m already in heaven,” I murmured to his amusement.

“Not even the antechamber. Prepare for a ride,” he exhaled into my nipples.

He began the spiraling massage around my breasts which usually preluded our erotic encounters. Instead of moving his hands down from between and around them in spirals until his fingers nearly touched my nipples, this time he spiraled up and over from my areolas outward to my sternum and began again. I melted beneath his finger’s gentle flow. I had never felt so relaxed.

I had drifted in the mental twilight of meditative bliss for some time when he changed direction. Ah! This felt familiar. Contentment was not abandoned, but my serenity became the foundation for building my excitement. I slowly awakened from my peaceful state as I stared into his blue eyes.

Reality seemed skewed as if I drifted in a fog of sensations. My proprioception, never normal, danced out of control. Although I lay in bed enjoying Sean’s caress, I felt as if my essence slowly filled the room. My breasts felt fuller than they ever had.

“Focus on your yin, Dove, and direct it to your yoni,” I heard him whisper as he leisurely kissed down my abdomen. “Then exhale through your third eye.” He dragged his tongue up my lower lips gracefully as if unlocking the door to my inner world.

“My third eye?” I asked confused but fascinated. “And what’s yin?”

He blew on my labia before he whispered, “Yin is your female energy which flows like water and sends the misty dew to your yoni to welcome my lingam. Yin allows you to surrender completely. We will float upon your river of yin in our boat to heaven.” He moistened my vulva again with his lips and tongue before adding, “Our third eye is the center of our brow. When we focus our eyes up and in, we can visualize Creation in all its metaphors.”

I moaned as I moved my eyes high in my head. I saw rapids flowing wildly. How was I to focus so much chaos? I didn’t understand. Feeling my mounting tension, Sean whispered, “Don’t be afraid. Feel the flow. Ride the rapids. Then imagine a bend where its flow turns toward me. Become one with the water.”

As I followed his directions, my energy seemed to expand until I floated around him like a ghost. My love surrounded us like a bubble, yet my body felt outside of my control. As I looked down upon us, the expression on my face showed that I pulsated in ecstasy. However I no longer felt a part of my material form.

Sean smiled as he moved to enter me. My external energy grew stronger with each thrust. “Take me to Heaven, Jessica,” he whispered. “You know the way.” As his eyes stared into mine rapturously, his being left his body as well. “Beloved Dove, let’s fly away. You lead the way!”

His silly notion diverted me. The more I expressed my amusement, the higher we climbed. He looked as if his lips would meet mine at any second, but they never quite reached. His eyes blazed in expectation for what was to come.

His being glowed brighter as we left our bodies behind. His eyes became as suns hypnotizing me as we seemed to rise higher above ourselves away from the world into a space which seemed ours alone until his eyes eventually moved beyond mine. His energy seemed to kowtow to someone behind me.

When I turned, a diamond-shaped light seemed to open her arms for embrace. My first thought was an illuminated vulva opening in the darkness. “Welcome,” I heard the vision resound. “Thank you for coming.” Sound seemed to greet us without language, as if I intuited meaning naturally.

“I knew Jessica could bring me to you, Isis,” Sean’s energy sang out. “Her faith moves mountains.”

Communication reverberated like music to my ears, each a soloist in the choir of chanting lights appearing individually around us. As I looked about, I saw a universe filled with open arms gloriously celebrating the wonder of nature.

When I realized he called the light Isis, I returned my gaze to the glowing which seemed to spread like wings. I stood in awed by the sight. Here was a Goddess. Sean had told me of the Goddess repeatedly but I never truly believed until that moment.

“Dove, this is Margie, united with Isis who brings life to humanity.”

“Welcome Jessica. We’re blessed by your presence,” the luminescent Madonna sang.

The moment he used her name, her face became Margie’s, Sean’s late wife, as he had painted her on the ceiling of his bathroom after she died. Sean had brought me there to see her. My joy for him seemed immeasurable. All the pain which lay shadowed in his eyes had dissolved.

His elation warmed my heart. I brought him what he wanted more than anything. He was reunited with her whom he still mourned. I felt more love than I knew existed. I felt content as well. All seemed lustrous and blissful. Satisfaction complete. I wanted to dance with the music of the universe which surrounded me.

“It feels like a lifetime since I last saw you,” I heard Sean’s thoughts to Margie.

I realized that I have fulfilled my task, and now they should be alone. She had been the center of his life until cancer took her from him. I slowly slipped away feeling de trop. I didn’t begrudge him his moment, though. I loved him unconditionally. He deserved this perfect union with the mother of his children. Envy pulled me away from bliss. I could never be that for him, and I knew it. He had warned me repeatedly that we were a passing rapture on my way to adulthood.

“No, Dove! Not so soon,” Sean said returning his attention to me. He had heard my thoughts and seemed to feel my feelings. “Bathe in the beatitude. You brought me to Heaven. You’re my guide.” He reached out his hand toward me as if I had merely lost my footing. “The love we share is as infinite as the love I have for Isis. You’re my Athena, my strength, my wisdom. You have more right to be here than I, surely you must realize that.”

I didn’t. I never understood how he saw me. I only knew that I found Nirvana in his eyes. Still looking into mine, he added to Margie, “Thank you for sending her to me.”

“Not me! Your life is in your hands now,” I heard Margie impart.

Sean’s being melded into mine. “So long as I can see her happy in life, I’ll feel blessed.”

“I am happy, Sean,” I intoned. “I’m in heaven with you. Love surrounds us. What could be more desirable?”

I embraced his love until we fell back toward earth. I awoke with a start in my bed in my parent’s home. I needed a few minutes to acclimate to my surroundings before I realized that Sean had never been there. My parents would never have allowed it. This had been a strangely surreal dream.

My eyes opened to see the vision of light shining directly on my print of “Starry Night” hanging on my bedroom wall. I inhaled deeply before I exhaled an elongated, “Wow.” I felt achy when I tried to move, as if I literally fell back into my body. Then I laughed. “That was weird,” I whispered to no one. I turned on the light and wrote everything that I remembered in my journal. I finished as the sun informed me that it was time to get ready for work.

Holiday in Shangri-La Part One Acceptance

Acceptance

Thanksgiving week was the beginning of Christmas season for the retail store, Shangri-La, where I worked. Sean’s family owned this chain of import emporiums. Johnny, Sean’s younger son, had come home from college a few days early so he could help while Roger, our manager, my friend and soon to be neighbor, cared for his lover, Charles. With Vicki, hired to assist with the Christmas rush, we worked hard that week.

Since he lived in one of the three apartments over the store it was easy for Roger to make what Johnny dubbed his “guest appearances.” Despite his joke, we knew Roger’s work was harder than ours. Charles had taken ill while Sean was on a buying trip in Europe, so I had temporarily taken over Roger’s managerial duties, but Roger still felt the need to check in to make sure all was running well.

Monday morning, Roger informed me cheerfully that a cleaning lady was upstairs making my place cozy. Sean had offered me the apartment above theirs the day before and convinced me to move in with the promise that my independence meant we could spend our nights together when he was in town. Roger’s excitement concerning my move reinforced my decision.

“You’ll bring some much needed fun into the building,” he exclaimed.

“I don’t know what you mean. You’re the most fun person I know, outside of Sean,” I retorted. Roger was so insecure that I took every opportunity to make him feel better about himself, but in this case I really did enjoy his company very much.

Johnny laughed when he remarked, “You obviously don’t get out much.”

“Bite me,” I snapped playfully.

“Asshole,” Roger muttered to Johnny before he added, “Get back to work.”

Charles looked better every day, although he remained wheelchair bound. He hated his wheelchair but confessed that he didn’t trust his balance especially when standing for long periods. As soon as he returned from Europe, Sean had put in an elevator which went up to each landing from Roger’s office. Roger brought Charles down on it every day for a little air and companionship.

Since Tuesday afternoon was pleasant, they shopped around our quaint neighborhood near the college. When they returned from their excursion, we were treated to chocolate fudge from the candy shop down the street. That made what Johnny called our “seventh inning stretch” a treat.

Since Margie’s death, Charles had been designated chef at Sean’s house every Thanksgiving. On Tuesday, he wondered aloud how he would accomplish dinner considering his inadequate balance. “Maybe, I’ll put them all to work instead,” he proposed with a laugh. Then he added conspiratorially, “I think I’ll make a spectacle of myself and play dominatrix. That should be fun!” I giggled as I always did when he referred to himself in female terms especially with that deep bass voice of his.

During the few days he was in town, Phil, Sean’s older son, visited every store in Northeast Ohio. Ours was the center of five. He had worked in each before he left for college, so he understood their nuances. Still, according to Sean, he went on “rounds” with his dad whenever he was in town.

Central, the distribution warehouse and offices for Shangri-La, was Phil’s Mecca. When Sean called Monday evening, he confided, “When Phillip was 15, he claimed the office he wanted after graduation from college. Lisa, who previously used that office until she volunteered to manage our Asian warehouses, left for Hong Kong a few months ago, so I decorated it and gave it to him today. Thus Phil’s prize is now within reach. After his graduation this May, his life will be fulfilled.”

Phillip was in his element when he visited the stores. Since Johnny, whose heart was set on playing professional baseball after he finished college, had little to no interest in the corporation, Phil was the crowned prince and knew it. Sean, the king, was not abdicating anytime soon, however, and made that perfectly clear.

When they visited on Wednesday morning, I could tell that Sean enjoyed reminding Phil of the difficulties of the job. Although he insisted that Phil needed to watch and learn, Sean was who watched when they inspected our store. He shadowed while Phil managed.

Johnny gave Phil a hard time while he and Sean were there. After Phillip offered what I thought was a good idea, Johnny retorted, "We know what we’re doing. You don't need to micromanage us." I was shocked by the remark, but it seemed like a family joke which no one took seriously. Still, Phil glared at Johnny. When I couldn’t stifle my giggle at their blatant sibling rivalry, Sean grinned and shrugged.

I was running the register when I overheard Phil invite Vicki to stay on at Shangri-La after the New Year. “You’re doing a great job,” he affirmed adding, “You’ll be needed fulltime. Can you arrange that?”

“Thanks,” Vicki replied confused and shot me a look of surprise before nodding uncertainly at Sean. “That would be great!” She still didn’t know what to make of Sean, but I wasn’t about to explain.

Even through Johnny’s taunts, Phil’s confidence in his role never wavered. He maintained a professional manner overall. Although Sean enjoyed Johnny’s teasing at first, finally he asked Johnny to leave his brother alone and get to work.

Once they completed their tour of the store, Sean took Phil upstairs to visit Roger and Charles. Usually Sean’s visits took a while, so I was surprised when Roger returned with them a few minutes later. They went straight to the office, presumably to check the books.

Before he left, Phillip shook my hand. He had only learned that his father and I were lovers that weekend and remained unsure about me. I was pleased when he remarked, "Thanks again for doing such a great job. You kept things running like nothing happened. We really appreciate it."

"Suck up," Johnny coughed as he passed behind me at the register.

Phillip wasn’t fazed however and added, "It's even more amazing that you get anything done with this asshole bugging you." I glanced at Sean before giggling. I wasn’t secure about Phil’s sense of humor, and I didn’t want to offend him.

Although Phil looked like Sean superficially, deep differences existed between them. Phil maintained a serious persona for the most part while Sean, like Johnny, reserved their serious side for intimate moments. I felt a wall between Phil and I which I never felt with Johnny.

When Molly and George, who worked evenings, made their appearance, Sean returned and asked me to join him and Johnny for dinner. “I’m addicted to meditating on your eyes and need my fix,” he declared. I laughed and called Mom to say that I wouldn’t be home for dinner.

On our way to the restaurant, Sean informed me that Roger, Charles and he were leaving Sunday morning for Minnesota. “I found a specialist at Mayo that may be able to help Charles. There’ll be tests, so we’ll be gone for at least a week,” he added with a sigh. “I hate leaving you again, but it can’t be helped. Will you need an extra person?”

I declined. “We’ll be fine. I like being busy when you travel,” I admitted.

During dinner, Johnny teased his dad again about losing at poker when we played the previous Saturday. "But I couldn’t watch you turn red or anything. That was a first." Sean’s temper tantrums when he lost at any game were another family joke. Charles had warned me of them when I first got to know him, but Sean decided he didn’t want to frighten me with his antics, so controlled his impulses. "I could tell you stories that would curl your hair," Johnny told me.

"I like her hair as it is," Sean retorted playing with the ends.

I smiled at Sean, but replied to Johnny, "I’d love to hear some real dirt on Sean. He talks about this legendary Mr. Hyde, but I’ve never met him.”

"You caught a glimpse Sunday as I remember," Sean admitted sarcastically. We had our first fight that day over my moving into the apartment above Charles and Roger. I didn’t want to become financially dependent on him and felt manipulated into accepting it until I realized the perks of living on my own.

I giggled. “Mr. Hyde is a control freak?” I asked.

“Sort of,” Johnny chimed in. “He likes to orchestrate chaos and step back to watch the show.”

Sean’s laughter echoed throughout the restaurant. "John knows my every idiosyncrasy, real or imagined and can recite all gossip concerning me for the past four years. I’ve heard that I’m a bit of a rogue with a dark past, but John can fill in the details. He enjoys taking the old man down a peg or two."

"How can you say such a thing?” Johnny asked taking offense. “I just being honest.”

"Honest? Dove, don't believe a word that comes out of this boy’s mouth," Sean instructed me with a chuckle.

"Hey, you’re the one who stole the best looking girl in town away from his son," Johnny remarked sarcastically.

I looked nervously at Sean wondering whom he meant. I knew plenty of women who were as mesmerized by Sean as I was. I also knew he was never monogamous, even during his marriage to Johnny’s mother. Sean grinned at me amused by my concern and uttered, “He’s referring to you, Dove.”

“Me? You didn’t steal me from anyone,” I remarked giggling. Then I retorted playfully to Johnny, "You’re so full of shit. You know full well that I wouldn't go out with you even before I met Sean. You’re fun, but you just aren’t that interesting.” Sean laughed as he kissed my cheek.

"Puleez!” Johnny retorted shocked. “He's as much fun as an English Lecture. Have you been around him when he finishes a book?"

"I like talking about books," I snapped. Sean kissed my hand before excusing himself. As usual I watched him leaving until he was out of sight.

"You can't keep your eyes off him, can you?" I heard Johnny ask. I silently blushed and looked at my glass. "You’ve got it bad, Jessie.” Then he added seriously, “I give him a hard time because he tends to mope. Well, he did until recently. He claims I keep him honest like his mother used to do. He loved Seanmháthair, so I figure he likes it."

Johnny never talked like this ever before. I felt like he was telling me secrets. He paused and stared at me before confessing, "It’s been a long time since he’s been this happy, and you’re the only difference I see in his life. It’s weird that you’re my age, but he’s important to me. I can see that he means as much to you, so that makes us friends."

"Thank you." I replied quietly.

"Thank you, for what?" Sean asked as he returned.

"For getting you out of the house Sunday afternoon,” he improvised. “My girlfriends came over without fear of losing them to older, tougher meat."

"With that load of crap, you’ve nothing to worry about, boy. You’ll go far with the ladies, bless them, but they should be warned that you prioritize the facade over substance. Someday you’ll understand the importance of a mind as well as a body."

"You sound like a fortune cookie," Johnny responded amused. Their banter seemed free and easy. I envied Johnny that. Mom would never tolerate even this joking insubordination from me. I saw the forbearance of the father as strength. Respect between them was undeniable.

The one person, whom I feared, had blessed me. Johnny saying that I made Sean happy had warmed my heart. I watched Sean with love in public without worrying about hurting him. A strain seemed lifted.

When Johnny left the table, Sean moved closer and took my hand. "You glow, Dove. If we were alone, I could show you how exciting you are." He kissed my hand and then my lips. "So, when shall we move you into your apartment? I’d like you settled before I leave."

I grinned as I replied, "I’m pretty well packed, but tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, and Roger calls Friday the shopping day from hell.” Sean laughed. “It’s good for your business, but I may be too tired to move anything Friday night."

"We could move some basics Friday before work,” he suggested. “Then, we could curl up that evening together in your new home." I smiled at the thought. "I bought you a house warming present,” he confessed I made a face which amused him. “Just one, I promise! Satin sheets for your bed!"

I giggled remembering taking my soon-to-be bed for what he called “a test drive” the previous Sunday. "I wondered how long you’d sleep on those rough sheets. I never noticed the softness of material until I spent time with you. One of the first things that you told me was that you enjoy soft things next to your skin."

He kissed my hand. "Saturday, I’ll paint you as Persephone. We’ll have a bit of spring as winter looms large." I had become his model before we became lovers. He claimed I inspired him to create as he hadn’t since Margie died. I quickly agreed to his plan.

When Johnny returned, their banter revived. “Dad, you’re making out in public. It’s embarrassing.”

I retaliated by kissing Sean. Then I remarked to Johnny while gazing into Sean's eyes, "Maybe you're embarrassed, but I'm not."

"Isn't she beautiful, John?" Sean answered in a hoarse whisper.

When they took me home, Sean and I said goodnight with our eyes until Johnny blurted out "Kiss her for God's sake! I want to get home." Sean gave me a long lingering kiss which left me breathless. "Gees Dad, I said kiss her, not seduce her."

I giggled as I got out of the car. Then I kicked Johnny’s shin playfully when he moved to the front seat. "Ow," he cried out. "That’ll be a valuable shin to the world of baseball someday. Better be careful." Then he gave me a hug. Over his shoulder, I saw such love on Sean’s face. Although he stared into my eyes I knew that it was for his son.

Holiday in Shangri-La Part One Secret

Variations

Grandma and Grandpa Wilburn visited every Thanksgiving. For Christmas, they traveled to California to see my mom’s sister. I never blamed them for preferring California to Ohio in December, but I always missed Grandma, especially. Until I met Sean, she was the only person who discussed books with me. I even received a new one whenever she visited. This year, I was anxious to discuss ANNA KARENINA, to which Sean had introduced me.

Since Mom always complained while preparing Thanksgiving dinner, I rose extra early to help. Usually, Mom opened a can or a box and heated or mixed as required for dinner, so I never learned to cook except for Thanksgiving’s meal. While I peeled potatoes and carrots until my arm ached, I decided to ask Grandma to recommend a cookbook to get me started.

When Grandma arrived she declared, “You’re so grown up.” I smiled as I thanked her. "I’m glad you don't wear short skirts like other girls your age.”

"Grandma, those are the styles," I replied. “I merely prefer clothes I can move around in. Short skirts make me uncomfortable."

She kissed my forehead and said, "That's what I mean, dear." Then she handed me a copy of TENNENT OF WILDFELL HALL. “I just finished it. I had no idea what a great writer Anne Bronte was. It was so exciting. Considering her sisters’ works, I don’t know why I was surprised though.”

“I’ve asked you time and again to stop bringing her books,” Mom snapped. “Jessie spends far too much time reading as it is.”

Grandma smiled as I quietly thanked her. Then she changed the subject. She was a stoic woman who never complained for herself, but she spoke prolifically of Grandpa’s ailments. I never received an unkind word from her. I wanted to be just like her.

Grandpa often said cruel things to and about her though. When I witnessed it that day, I was oddly reminded of Stephan, Anna’s brother in ANNA KARENINA. His put downs made me cringe. In the end, Grandpa looked bad, not Grandma, as he berated a kind, generous woman for imagined failures in her character.

When I told her about my apartment, she reminded me that she grew up above her dad’s grocery in Hammond, Indiana. I had heard her stories about living there ever since I was a child. The daughter of Polish immigrants, she used to take the South Shore to Chicago where she worked as a milliner before her marriage. She met my grandfather at a dance in Cleveland during a visit with her Aunt Martha who died the year I turned ten. They were married two weeks later.

“I need a cookbook,” I explained. “Something that will teach me how to cook.”

“I gave your mother one several years ago. That should get you started. Where is it, Glory?” Grandma asked.

Mom glared at me. “I don’t know, Mom,” she almost barked. “When I come across it, Jessie’s welcome to it.”

“It’s filled with basic recipes,” Grandma explained. “But remember that you’re cooking for one. Most recipes are written for four or more people. You’ll need to modify accordingly unless you make some to reheat later.”

“One of my friends downstairs is sick, so I’ll probably make enough for them once I get the hang of it,” I confided.

“Make sure they help pay your grocery bill if you do,” Mom commanded.
Grandma smiled and patted my hand. “I’ll send you a good one for Christmas,” she promised.

Grandma loved to play poker. Every Thanksgiving, we sat for hours although we never invested more than $10. Grandpa kept making remarks about Grandma’s betting warning her that she “was playing like a fool.” Since Grandma was winning, I figured he was being a sore loser. When we finished, I did pretty well, but Grandma, as I could have predicted, won.

As we played, I giggled spontaneously remembering Sean’s philosophy of poker and how he equated it with sex. “You’re so chipper,” Grandma remarked. I blushed, unable to explain. “I think having a job and becoming independent is good for you, Jessie. You’ve never looked healthier.”

“Thank you,” was the only reply I could utter. We never discussed sex in my family, so I tried to censor my thoughts for the rest of the game.

Sean had called me mid-game, but when I mentioned that I was playing poker with my family, he said, "Call me when you’re finished. If your Grandmother’s anything like me, she’ll be waiting anxiously." Before I could say anything, he hung up. I stared at the receiver for a moment. Then I laughed and returned to our game.

When I called him later, I complained immediately, "You hung up on me."

"Ah, but your grandmother was waiting. Important people must be tended to immediately. Are you packed?"

“Almost! I’ll be ready when you arrive,” I promised.

“I’ll be there at seven. We’ll go for breakfast after. I want you well nourished. I’m glad we’re painting Saturday. I don't want to wait until I return before I pick up my brush again."

“This is going to be fun,” I told him. "I can't wait to see what you want me to do next."

He laughed. "With you in my life, illustrating a Kama Sutra may not be far behind. Would you wear one of your brightly colored gypsy skirts with that blouse you wore when I painted Goddess in the Mirror?”

"Is that what you called it?" I asked laughing. I felt weird as I always did hearing him call a painting of me, “Goddess.” On the other hand, it, also, made me feel special like he declared his feelings through his art. "I love you," flowed from my lips.

"I know, Dove. You hold my soul in the palm of your hands."

"Is that what you do every time you kiss my palms? Give me your soul?"

"You’ve seen through me." He laughed and then asked, "May I stay with you until we depart? It would be a blessing to wake next to you Sunday morning. We can make love at dawn. It’ll bring magic into our day."

"My days are always magic when I’m with you," I answered. "Waking up next to you would be incredible,”

"You’re marvelous. See you at seven."

For the first time, I wished Mom listened to me without expressing her judgmental attitudes. I wanted to tell Mom that I would be sleeping with Sean. I wanted to celebrate that moment. I wanted a woman who could guide me through territory which was foreign to me.

I reminded my parents that Sean was helping me move into the apartment the next morning. “Roger says I’ll be exhausted by the end of the day, so it’ll be nice to just walk upstairs and climb into bed,” I told them.

“I’m sure you’ll be busy,” Mom agreed.

“I can get up to help if you want, Jessie.” Dad offered.

“Thanks Dad, but we should be fine. You don’t get to sleep in very often,” I replied.

Sean arrived as promised with Johnny following in his car. I had several boxes filled with music and books. My underwear and winter boots filled my lone suitcase, but I left my wardrobe on hangers. I figured it would be easier to move them directly from closet to closet.

Monday, I had sewn a large shoulder bag to keep my journals safe during the move. I had started my fifth composition notebook the previous week. When Sean noticed the care that I gave them, he asked, “What’s so important?”

“They’re my journals,” I admitted shyly.

He seemed pleased. “You never mentioned you were a writer, Dove.”

I laughed. “No, Sean! I don't have the talent to create. I just record happenings.”

He smiled. “Patience!” he uttered.

It took both men to carry out my book boxes while I repeatedly brought out handfuls of clothes. Sean confessed that he couldn't wait to peruse my library although he made a joke about them ruining the shocks on his car. It took us almost a half an hour, but finally I looked around when Sean came in for the last time.

“Johnny’s loaded, so I sent him on to the apartment. What else may I bring?” he asked.

“I think I had everything,” I responded glancing about once more. Then I removed my "Starry Night" print and rolled it up. I could never hold Sean in that room. This was my parent's space. It was indeed time to create my own.

Johnny had half of my closet filled when we arrived. “That elevator’s great, Dad! I got everything up there in one load. When do we eat?” he asked. “I’m hungry.”

As I grabbed my suitcase and some clothes, I heard Sean reply, “The sooner we finish, the sooner we eat.” Fifteen minutes later, Johnny headed off for the diner down the street, while Sean changed into business clothes.

While I waited, I looked in the refrigerator as Grandma suggested. She warned me that refrigerators which were turned off for a while might smell badly. She suggested baking soda if that were the case. When I opened the door, I discovered not only baking soda but a basic food supply as well. Then I opened the cupboard. It was filled with cans and boxed meals. Mixed emotions swirled through my brain. I loved the kindness of the gesture, but grew irritated that he ignored my request to stop buying me things.

When he came out of the bathroom, he immediately began discussing his plans for the day. “After my meeting with the Chamber of Commerce this morning, I’ll be with Charles if you need me.”

“We’ll be fine,” I affirmed. Then I opened the refrigerator again and pounced. “Why’d you do that? You know I’m trying to do this on my own.”

“I didn’t want to leave you with bare cupboards. Our time together is minimal this weekend, and I didn’t want to waste it shopping. You needed enough food to start, so, Monday, when I took Charles shopping for Thanksgiving supplies, I asked him to help me stock your pantry. He’s thorough. You should have all you need.”

I kissed him. “Thank you,” I said begrudgingly. Then I added, “Please stop doing stuff like this. I need to be independent.”

He smiled as he quietly replied, "Yes, Dove.” Then he kissed the palm of my hands. When we met Johnny at the diner, however, I insisted on buying since they had helped me move. Sean found this gesture amusing but didn’t argue.

The day after Thanksgiving was the promised madhouse in Shangri-La. Our snow from the previous weekend had melted into a pleasant late Autumnal afternoon. Many people wandered around our neighborhood of mostly independent stores. Roger came in around eleven and spent the rest of his day with us as well. Vicky, who was still learning our store’s layout, looked frazzled by the end of the day.

When Molly and George took over, I ran upstairs to my new home more excited than I expected to be. I didn’t even stop to kiss Charles on the way. I figured I could do that later. I called Mom immediately and told her about my day. Then I plugged in my tape player and put on Lennon’s “Plastic Ono Band” tape. Thus I christened my home.

Since I had only a small built in bookcase over the couch in the living room, I knew my first investment. As I listened to “Mother,” I sat on the floor and unloaded my boxes lining my bedroom wall with the essentials from my library.

While I stacked my cassettes, I heard a knock at the door. Sean wanted to know if I was hungry. “I’ve brought food downstairs. Care to join us?” I pulled him inside and closed the door, so I could kiss him privately. Yes! I was really home.

Sean and Charles enlivened our dinner with nonstop anecdotes from their afternoon with Molly and George. They lived in the apartment over mine and were constantly popping in to check on Charles. Molly had made us a carrot cake for dessert. She decided Roger and I deserved a treat after our long busy day.

Once we left our friends, Sean and I walked upstairs to enjoy our bodies. He knelt on the side of the bed and undressed me. He separated my knees and stroked my inner thighs. “Welcome home, Dove,” he whispered as his hand delicately slid from my knees to my vulva. I inhaled my excitement. He kissed my lower lips probing with his tongue.

When he reached my clitoris, he licked up from underneath it. He dragged his tongue slowly in circles around its base. I cried out and fell backward onto the bed. The warmth of his breath while he laughed stimulated me more. He then licked it like a dog drinking water. My back arched reflexively. He moved his tongue in figure eights and drank my juices as quickly as they flowed during my orgasm.

Then his touch became delicate. He circled my inner vaginal lips slowly with his tongue for a while. He suckled my clit for a long time. When he dragged his tongue down into the opening, he stiffened it and pushed it deep inside. He wiggled the tip and seemed to move further in. Then he raised and lowered his head. Pleasure overwhelmed me.

Eventually, he undressed and climbed atop me. My eyes went wild with pleasure as they looked into his. He slipped in quickly with one stroke and held himself deep within. The muscles inside my vagina worked automatically holding him. The orgasm that accompanied that move was tremendous.

He laughed softly. "I just got started, Dove," he quipped before he started moving in and out. Then he leaned over and sucked my nipples, periodically offering playful bites. He rose up and slid back in slowly. It was glorious. Eventually, he moved faster. I lifted my hips, eager to meet his. Finally, I held my hips high. He banged me hard and fast. New sensations ran through me. As my orgasm began, he pushed deeply into me and cried out. When he lay down, I cuddled up close to him.

I relished that we had the entire night together. Although exhausted and sexually satisfied, I felt too excited to sleep. I wasn’t used to Sean’s presence or the room. I enjoyed watching his face as it rested. He looked blissful as he breathed deeply. A slight snore amused me for a time. I cuddled up to him luxuriating in the feeling of his skin next to mine. Occasionally he stirred or spoke a random word which meant nothing out of context. Often the words weren’t even English, but Heaven couldn’t feel more contented than I was that night.

LOST IN SHANGRI-LA Synopsis

As close to Sean as I felt in New York, when we returned we seemed to fall apart. LOST IN SHANGRI-LA, third in this series, presently runs 106,242 words. Opening with our return from New York, Sean decide to end the sexual aspect of our relationship. He admitted his fears that he might never recover if I left him.

Sean wanted me to find other lovers, but I refused to cooperate. All I could see was him. Although he said he healed his heart through me, he realized his dilemma. I may have fit into his life as if I belonged there, our age difference would draw unwanted attention to him. I accepted this reluctantly because I wanted to remain near him. Fortunately, we only had a week before his trip to India to begin our platonic relationship.

His trip was scheduled for four weeks, but turned into eight. I started college during this time and began dancing Friday nights at the Lounge. I honestly tried dating, but Sean was the love of my life. I, also, met my best girl friend Rachel. Together with Vicky, from Shangri-La, we formed a close relationship on the dance floor and off. I also wrote daily letters to Jean Pierre in French. He had volunteered to help me learn when he had visited at Yule.

Rachel became determined to find a man for me, but all her efforts are for naught. As time drug on, I became convinced that I would follow Sean to France, when the time came, whatever his terms. I experienced more psychic episodes surrounding dangers which Sean encountered, although I interpreted these as dreams. During one, he mystically requested aid which I provided. Although I think that I dreamt this, both Sean and Jean Pierre realized that my power would make me a valuable ally.

When Sean finally returned, I started work at Hestia’s Haven. I also remained Sean’s model and companion. We learned to accept our celibate relationship for the most part. When he visited on Spring Break, I introduced Rachel to Johnny. They became close, fast. I watched them enviously, albeit happy for them. My difficulties in finding contentment as Sean’s friend without sex increased when I saw them together.

Sean and I built a silent wall between us during this time. Periodically, we would cross our invisible lines in the sand, but for the most part, we created our art, socialized with our friends and enjoyed each other’s company as we had always done. Yet sex was our 800 pound gorilla in the room.

One night I discovered that Sean had been coming to the Lounge to watch me dance, but never told me that he was there. As much as it upset me, I was just so glad to see him there. Toward the end of the evening, I tried to seduce him. He ran out of there and all the way to Syracuse to visit Marcia.

On Sunday he returned with Jean Pierre who returned for Phil’s wedding. Sean and I had our first real fight that morning. It was hard for us to understand each other’s actions at that time. We were both oversensitive, and denying ourselves took so much energy. On top of it, I didn’t understand why he stopped having sex with me. All I knew was that he was afraid of me leaving him. Since that notion was ridiculous to me, it all seemed like some test of loyalty, so it infuriated me.

My furor was stoked by information which Johnny, under Jean Pierre’s careful guidance, imparted to me. Sean had conspired with my father to start a fund for me from the sales of his paintings. I knew those paintings were a lot of money. I felt like he was manipulating me. I wanted nothing to do with his money. I blamed it for the way he pulled away from me so unexpectedly. I thought it had to do with his business.

Johnny set me straight, as far as he saw our situation. Sean understood my desire for a monogamous relationship, but he had never been, nor chose to be monogamous. He regarded this difference as an obstacle to our happiness, even though he saw her admired by his peers and accepted by all.


He knows it was his suggestion that Sean marry Jessica which triggered their attempt at a platonic relationship. He and Johnny decide to explain to Jessica about Sean’s shadow life and why he pushed her away.

Margie studied various forms of philosophies concerning sexuality. She decided to use her husband’s more than sufficient libido to begin a network of teachers who revive sexual power in the bedrooms of the rich and powerful. In return, they contribute to her “Goddess Fund.” Her program of sexual devotion teaches men and women to find the divine in each other and themselves. Sean introduced Jessica to much of this training without informing her what it was.



She decides that she will try becoming part of that life and move from monogamy to a polyamorous lifestyle. She starts with Jean Pierre because he is the only man besides Sean who interests her sexually. This move takes Sean by surprise. Whether Sean will teach her or not, Jessica wants to learn to be part of his network of teachers. Nudged by Marcia into accepting Jessica’s offered love, Sean proposes marriage of a different sort. Their future lies in an open honest polyamorous relationship. This book ends as they return home, preparing to share their plans with her family.

Lost in Shangri-La Part One Decision

Part One
Decision

"Sean, may I worship you tonight?” I asked breathlessly when our lips parted. “Those nights when I taste every inch of your flesh seem to go on forever. You’re leaving so soon. I don’t know how much time we’ll have together next weekend, so, tonight, let me feel like I have all eternity to enjoy you. Please?"

He gasped before he whispered, "Dear Goddess, I’m yours to command."

He kissed me deeply again before lazily laying backward. His eyes betrayed blatant curiosity while he grinned at me. I kissed his almost smug lips once more before I slowly kissed his entire body. This would have to last me until he returned from India.

I loved worshipping him. I relished every second my tongue grazed his skin. I nibbled. I licked. I sucked as he stared at me in awe. When he entered his waves of orgasm without ejaculation, I slowed significantly while I relaxed my grip. I also licked lighter and slower. When his look of awe returned, I intensified my sucking once more.

The texture of his skin the night we returned from New York is permanently tattooed on my lips. For months afterward I meditated on these sensations to decipher what followed. I liberated my every emotion as my tongue enjoyed the saltiness hiding in his crevices. The dance of candlelight on his form hypnotized me.

This was how I wanted to celebrate life, but every second I tasted his skin took me closer to his departure time. Only his moans could awake me from these melancholy thoughts. His moans told me that he liked everything I was doing.

“While he’s here,” I thought. “I can still show him my love.” I decided to make memories to enjoy during his absence. I searched my imagination for innovations I could accomplish orally. I studied this night for months afterward wondering how I could have avoided what followed. I sought my culpability in his decision. He didn’t make choices lightly.

Before we had returned to Ohio that morning, we attended 7 a.m. Mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral. I remembered seeing it on television during Robert Kennedy’s funeral. It was as large as it looked on TV. Stained glass windows magnificently illuminated its Gothic architecture. My surroundings overwhelmed me as I listened to the sermon. Afterward, we drove to the airport, and my adventure ended.

Although New York was exciting, home looked wonderful. While I watered my plants, I apologized for being gone so long. Then I dumped my dirty clothes in a basket. I decided to visit my parents’ before Sean collected me for dinner.

I stopped at Charles and Roger’s on my way out. Charles nearly seemed well, although something obviously worried him. When he wouldn't elaborate, I offered them kisses and their presents before heading to my parents’.

They were glad to see me. While I loaded the washer, I babbled on about the city and the museum. Mom liked that we visited to St. Patrick’s. She bemoaned not seeing it when she went with Dad.

When I told mom about the ballerina who lived in Sean’s building, she exclaimed, “Madame Andreianova was the reason I took you to see Margot Fontaine during her last tour. She retired before I could see her dance, and I didn’t want you to miss the greatest of your era. Madame Andreianova’s legendary like Nijinsky.” She wanted to hear all about her.

Then they asked about the party. “It was dizzying,” I responded.

“Where did you stay?” Mom asked.

“Sean has a two bedroom apartment in Greenwich Village. Phil lives downstairs while he attends Columbia. Sean owns the building and a few more. He also owns the plane we flew. Yuk! I hate flying.”

“Can’t blame you there, Jessie!” Dad exclaimed with a laugh. He traveled on business occasionally but always took sedatives before he’d step onto one.

Then they discussed their annual New Year's Eve gathering with the Millers and Gardners. For as long as I could remember, we rotated every year between our three homes to celebrate. We always spend the night, so no one drank and drove.

We, kids, would watched TV or, in my case, read. I spent more time with the adults once I turned thirteen, though. I watched and listened to them wondering at their behavior. They were loud and laughed about things which never struck me as funny, but at least they didn’t sing demeaning songs about me like their children.

“The kids missed you this year,” Mom assured me after giving me the play by play of their holiday.

I doubted it but smiled at her as I replied, “I hope everyone was well.”

While I folded my laundry, Mom invited me to stay for dinner. I took a rain check. “Sean’s picking me up for dinner in a couple of hours. He leaves for India next Sunday. I’ll come over then.”

When Dad dropped me at my apartment, I saw Sean's car parked out front. Within five minutes after I ran upstairs to put my laundry away, Sean knocked. “I’m almost ready,” I promised as I answered the door.

As he followed me into my bedroom, he spoke seriously. “May I ask a favor?”

I stopped hanging up my clothes and smiled at him. “I’ll do anything for you.”

He grinned endearingly. "I need you to use my car while I travel. It would be a kindness." I knew he hated me walking, especially in the winter, but I didn't expect this. I smirked at his over-protectiveness until he explained.

"Charles needs to stay active, so I want you to bring them to my home weekly. You choose the day. Perhaps you could do your laundry while you watch a movie. You see, our immune system works only when our muscles move. Since we are also trying to boost his metabolism, his energy level must remain as high as he can tolerate. One gets energy from using energy."

I still thought he was using Charles to get me to drive against my will, though. "You really hate that I don't have a car, don’t you?" I remarked sarcastically.

He laughed. "Well, no, but you’re your own woman. Your choices are yours to make. I genuinely asked this for Charles. He’ll sit in that bloody apartment if we don’t intervene. That would be detrimental to everything we’re trying. I’ll leave you with numbers to contact Phillip if anything happens. Roger refuses to discuss the possibility of an emergency because he’s trying to stay positive.” Sean smiled adding, “As it should be! Faith can move mountains, but, just in case, I rely on you to call Phillip. He’ll have Marcia here within two hours."

I put my hands to my heart and took a deep breath. No one had ever relied on me before. I felt proud of myself and grateful to him for believing he could. “I’ll do what I can, but, if I wreck your car, I’ll be the first to say, 'I told you so.'"

He grabbed me playfully as he chuckled. "As long as no one‘s hurt, I don't care about the bloody car.” After a long lingering kiss, he whispered seductively, “In fact, you drive tonight." When he slipped the keys down my blouse, I giggled. Then I argued, but he convinced me when he explained, “I want to be certain that you’re comfortable driving on ice.”

“You’re responsible if I kill everyone,” I warned him. “You’ll explain it to St. Peter at the gates, not me. I’m not taking the heat, so to speak, for this.”

“I’ll chance it,” he remarked with a squeeze.

Our meal at Dominico’s felt like a party until I realized that I had focused so much on Sean’s departure that I forgot that it would be a long time before I saw Jean Pierre again. “I wish you lived near us,” I exclaimed. “I’ll miss you so much.”

He squeezed my hand. “You’re to write to me en Français, remember? This way you can understand us when you visit in June."

Charles shot Sean an odd look before he grinned at me and asked, "So, they’ve convinced you to go to France, Jessie?"

I shrugged. "It’s a long time until June."

Sean kissed my hand. "This is your birthday present, remember? You’ll love it there, and they’ll love you in return.”

When I shrugged again, I glanced at Charles. An undercurrent vibrated through this conversation which I didn't understand. Before I could ask, Jean Pierre distracted me with new descriptions of his home and neighbors.

Roger kissed Charles sweetly before he reminisced about their hand-fasting and their honeymoon at Sean’s home in France nine years before. Envy struck me like a bolt of lightning. I’d never have a honeymoon with Sean. I lowered my head to hide the wave of sadness flooding me.

I took a deep breath and tried to distract myself by listening to Jean Pierre, again. I didn’t want to mourn until they left, so I held Sean's hand through most of our dinner savoring each view. I had loved every moment of our holidays together, but he was leaving, and I would be alone.

Sean awoke me from these thoughts when he confessed spontaneously, “Dove and I sat for Mateo.”

Charles responded jovially, “We did that for our third anniversary. Marcia even invited him to her grove for Beltane. That was a hoot and a half.” They all laughed at a memory I didn’t share.

“Margery and I were his first models,” Jean Pierre confessed.

Charles laughed as he quipped, "That was before the beard though, Jessie. You wouldn't believe it, but beneath that fur, Jean Pierre has the face of an angel. He hides it under that big bear look." When he pulled Jean Pierre's beard, Jean Pierre responded by slapping his hand playfully while releasing a slew of French oaths.

“Behave!” Roger snapped at Charles who was more playful than I’d seen him in sometime. It was almost like before his hospital trip.

I drove Roger and Charles home before we went to Sean’s. Jean Pierre immediately kissed me good night when we arrived. “I need to finish packing,” he announced.

Before he adjourned upstairs, he shot a dark glance at Sean. As I opened my mouth to question their behavior, Sean wiggled his eyebrows and whispered, “Race you!”

I thought I would win, until he picked me up in the kitchen to carry me the rest of the way. I screamed and giggled until he laid me on his bed and stared into my eyes. "No matter what happens, Jessica, my Dove, you have my soul in the palm of your hands. I’m with you always."

Something was happening to which I wasn’t privy. While I untied his hair, I asked, “What’s wrong, Sean?”

He replied by kissing me. "I wish our lives were different, beautiful friend,” he released with a sigh. “Once you complete your education, you’re welcome to travel with me. I’d love to hear your perceptions of these places. Until then, please, keep my soul here for me.” Then he kissed both palms.

"I’ll miss you,” I confessed. “At least, I’ll have a last glimpse of you at the airport."

“And I’ll see your face the moment I return. What a wonderful weekend, Dove! You gave me such a gift. Thank you."

I giggled. "This was supposed to be your gift to me. Either way, it’s been amazing. I never knew such people existed. What a world! I couldn't live there though." I released an involuntary shudder which provoked his smile.

"Fine! You’ll have to write about ordinary people doing ordinary things like Jane Austen did."

I laughed harder. "So far, I write about you and the people I meet through you. None of them are ordinary, least of all you."

He kissed me deeply before he allowed me to taste every inch of his body. Eventually he whispered, "Dove, I need to move. May I enter you now?" he asked. I lifted my head and licked my lips.

He laid his bedspread on the floor before asking me to spread my legs and rest my ankles on his shoulders. He chose an intense Kama Sutra position saying, “You’ll have more pleasure this way, and I can use the power you’ve instilled in me.” Then he squatted after hooking his elbows around my knees.

I giggled wondering what he was doing. “Guide me in with your hips, Dove.” When I accommodated, the tip of his penis dipped stimulatingly between my lips. "Fine," he whispered tensely.

I marveled at his strength while he swung his hips toward me and away using gravity in the most marvelous ways. Then my focus shifted to amazement at my sensations inside. I cried out my pleasure as he rocked in deep and out to the edge repeatedly.

"Sing for me Dove," he commanded as his eyes burned into mine.

I lifted my hips to meet his when my orgasm started. As I let go, I traveled to that outside space which orgasm projected me toward. I heard a woman’s voice vibrate to the rhythm of my spasms. “Everything’s possible when you open your heart,” she sang her truth.

I don’t know how long I floated in the bliss of such knowledge, but when I regained my sense of lying on the floor of Sean’s bedroom again, his bedspread covered us, and he kissed my cheek while watching me carefully.

“You traveled, Dove.” His simple statement sounded musical.

“Yes,” I replied when my voice finally activated.

“I feel powerful when I help you experience your true self,” he confided.

“I’m always my true self with you, Sean,” I whispered.

I wanted to share these sensations with him. Love for him swallowed me up. "Lean over and come into my mouth, so I can swallow you," I commanded spontaneously. Then I bit my lip and smiled at him waiting to see how he reacted to my idea.

His tongue danced between my lips again while I floated in nearly a dreamlike state. I watched him reposition into a ball. His knees rested beside each of my shoulders while his head settled on the floor. Then he brought his hips toward my mouth.

As I guided him the rest of the way salivating expectantly, I tasted my flavor on him. He began slowly to discover how deep he could go without gagging me. His eyes remained on my mouth as I engulfed him and then reluctantly released him. He seemed to extend further with every stroke.

"I’ll send my offering deep, Dove," he warned me. After he gauged the depth he wanted, he moved faster. "My I prove worthy of such a gift," he groaned. Then he thrust. My hands gripped his hips, so I could expect his movements.

He picked up his head. Straight backed with eyes closed, he released the first shots of his offering. My vagina contracted again with the experience. Before I allowed him to pull out of my mouth, I took one more cleansing lick to collect the last precious drops of my reward. Once he retreated, he rolled into a ball around my head. Then he tenderly kissed my face expressing words of affection.

I basked in that moment. The thought that I could do this with anyone other than Sean seemed ridiculous. I couldn’t tell anyone else what I shared with him. He never made me feel stupid. No request shocked him. He appreciated my ingenuity and uniquenesses. I never met anyone who enjoyed me as I was before I met those associated with Shangri-La. My family and their friends always wanted me to be different in some way.

Sean was my center and my anchor. I loved to lie here with him completely exposed to whatever I was or wanted to be. Who would be stupid enough to not want to be where I was? I turned to look into his eyes trying to imagine lying here with another, but I couldn't.

I felt liberated with him. I found perfection in his eyes. Sure he was strange. Things he did were unique, but they were Sean things. I remembered discussing this with Charles and Roger once. I loved those things because Sean did them.

"I can only do this with you," I confessed softly. He wouldn’t be happy, but I needed to be honest. "I only see you. I only want to touch you, to feel you wrap around me like this. What you ask is too hard. I’ll fail miserably. Tell me anything else on earth that you want, and I’ll comply. You know me. I’d do anything for you."

Sadness replaced the bliss I had seen in his eyes moments before. "You’ll do anything except embrace the world in which you belong. Dove, a time’ll come when I leave you as Margie left me. You lack a sense of mortality while I’m learning to embrace mine.”

He sighed deeply. “I’ll be 46 at Lugnasad. Do you know what that means? My bones feel it more each morning, especially during winter. My strength’ll wane, while yours waxes. Our vigor reminded me how strong and vital I remain, but I sense the beginning of its end." He ran his hands along my body as he continued, "I won't do that to you. I’m not asking you to seduce the first man you meet, but please accept reality. You’re a powerful force. I bless you for reminding me how it feels to be part of a whole, but now you need to teach others how love is made."

I looked away and sighed. He didn’t understand what I was saying. Tears welled as he resumed kissing and gently rubbing my face with the back of his hand. "Could we climb in bed now, please? I want to hold you." I whispered. He kissed me and sat up.
When we stood, I could feel him slip away although he held me close. As I grasped him tightly, he whispered “I’ll return, Dove. Don’t be afraid. My soul rests in the palm of your hands, remember?"

I relaxed a little as he kissed their palms tracing my heart lines with his tongue. Maybe this was a whim. As long as I could touch him, all would be well, but I couldn't meet his eyes. I knew Sean. He would make sure that I was fine before he let this drop, but I wasn't, and I didn't want him to convince me that he was right.

I distracted myself by collecting our clothes from around the room. I breathed deeply to stifle my tears. Like an epiphany, I realized my life with Sean was filled with goodbyes. Our time would always have limits. I fooled myself into thinking that our together time might grow, but reality set in. If I must accept that this was all I could ever have with him, I wouldn't waste that time by arguing.

By the time we picked up around the room, I was ready to smile in his face. The time of complete openness ended. The days of reserve began. As I lay there listening to his heartbeat, I contemplated why God, or Goddess if Sean was correct, would hand me the presence of this beautiful man in my life, and then keep him at arms reach.

I felt our farewell before it came. Now was all I had, so I resolved to feel him for as long as I could. I wanted to throw a tantrum to shake off my feeling of despair. I had just hosted the man that I loved inside of me. I swallowed his essence. I should rejoice, yet I inhaled tears of frustration.

I suddenly feared him. He would never hurt me, but I worried that I would offend him. He was my friend. I understood that protecting me was how he showed me his love, but I didn't want to be protected. I just wanted to love him.

"Whatever shall I do without you to hold at night?" he whispered in the darkness.

I hugged him tight and sighed. It sounded so final. I prayed that his sadness came from knowing he’d miss me, not because I disappointed him. I would definitely miss him. I felt like we shared my burden as we lay together in grief.

“I wish I didn’t need to be in New York all week,” he sighed.

"I understand, Sean. More than a few people depend on you." I kissed his chest and added, "Thank you for allowing me to stay with you and your family and friends over the holidays. It’s been ..." I paused looking for a word. "Nirvana." I finished smiling.

He sat up and remarked agitatedly, "When will you accept that you’re part of my family? I don't know how we came so far so fast, but we have. Our souls are merged, no matter how separated we become physically." He ran his hand lightly down my arm before he picked up my hand and kissed its palm. "I know where to find my soul when I need it."

I kissed his chest again. Then I looked into his eyes. "I felt you watch me more than usual today. I feel you a lot. That book on Chakras said our energy bodies vibrate on our skin. Is that why I can do that? I can't do that with my parents, Roger or Charles, though. I only feel you."

"’Tis a matter of focus, Dove," he answered seriously. "You focus more than you should on me. ‘That’s why you’re hypersensitive to me."

"I don't understand." I admitted. "What do you mean, too much?"

"Shhh!" he whispered. "Let’s absorb the peace of this moment. ‘Twill be the last for a long time."

"I love you Sean.” I exhaled squeezing him.

"I love you, too. No matter what happens, never doubt that."

He was gone when I awoke. It took me a moment to remember I was not in my own bed. He was usually there when I was in his. At first, I dozed off again imagining him in the bathroom, but when I awoke again, I grew concerned. I found him sitting in the kitchen with his forehead leaned against his cupped hands. He seemed distant at first when I kissed his head.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

As he inhaled deeply, his expression grew jovial. "I’m sorry, Dove. I didn’t want to wake you. May I get you something?"

I wondered what had him up at this time of night. When he avoided my gaze, I worried. “No, thank you,” I responded. “I’m fine.”

"I needed to meditate earlier to clear my mind,” he confessed. “I must talk to you, but I feel like procrastinating. You’re so..." He stood and kissed me in a way which left me wanting more. "I’d like to sketch you doing yoga so you can refer to it in case you forget a movement during my travels."

I grinned joyfully. “Thank you. I love that idea.”

Although he smiled when he whispered, “I’ll meet you upstairs,” something seemed strange.

I entered the meditation room and removed my robe. Then I sat cross-legged and meditated awaiting his arrival. I knew he was there when he exclaimed, "Dear Goddess!" I opened my eyes to see him leaning against the wall staring at me. I blushed and lowered my gaze. I took his behavior as a compliment, but I felt self-conscious.

He smiled as we got started. He talked me through each movement periodically discussing its purpose. Then he explained how it affected chakras and energy selves. When I finished, I sat down next to him, and he handed me my book of drawings. I flipped through its pages while thanking him repeatedly.

I felt the weight of that moment as he leaned his head against mine, but I had no idea what it meant until he whispered, “I’m worried, Dove. You’re too dependent on me.” He lifted his head and argued with himself. “No! ‘Tis me who’s grown too dependent on you. I can’t bind you to me, and I love you too much to allow you to cling hopelessly. You’ll start college soon. You must explore men your age. It’s time to bless them as you’ve blessed me."

My gaze rested on my toes while fear rose inside. The ax had fallen. Nirvana melted like moisture hitting a water color. Hues drip all around me while I listened stone-faced, staring expectantly at nothing.

"You don’t want me anymore,” I exhaled flatly. I never understood why he wanted me in the first place, but I had to ask, “What did I do wrong?"

"You did nothing which wasn’t loving and kind. As for not wanting you…” He laughed sardonically. “I want you too much. That’s why I must stop now.” He sighed. “Remember what I said about focus? I’ll try to explain. On New Year’s Eve, Johnny remarked about how happy he was because you obviously adore me and you can't take your eyes off me. He showed me what I’m doing to you."

My face grew hot, and my voice became shrill. "To me? What did you ever do that wasn't kind? When did you ever neglect my needs? You’re a generous man. You tell me stories about some sort of hard ass crazy man, but you only show me kindness. Besides, I understand about this being all we’ll ever have."

I saw such sadness when he picked up my chin so he could look into my eyes. "Charles and Jean Pierre both verified Johnny’s perception. Jean Pierre...,” he continued calmly refusing to answer my outburst, but then he paused. “Never mind. What he thinks is impossible. Besides, you must keep your eyes on you, not on me. Adore the Goddess housed within." He rested his hand over my heart and smiled.

"I don’t seek adoration, Dove,” he whispered. “But if I did, you’d be my high priestess of choice. My form is not eternal. If you stayed, eventually you’d change from lover to nurse. I can’t stop time, and there’s too much about my life which you can’t know for your sake. I’m not tired of you as my lover. You reopened my heart, for which I am eternally grateful. I must be content to put my heart on my canvas so the world can see you as I see you.”

My mouth opened to argue, but I closed it, immediately. His decision was final. “You’ve become vital to my state of mind, but I know my limitations. You’ve a pliant nature, and I’ll go too far, eventually. I may have gone too far already. I won’t selfishly deprive you of men who share your ideals."

Frustrated tears flowed unbidden and unwiped. He meant this. I couldn't meet his eyes as I wondered what I would do without him. He was my best friend who made me feel special and loved. I didn’t understand why he thought he was in my way.

“I meditated on Margie this morning trying to imagine what she’d say about me,” he rambled on. “Isis taught me how to love. Although women came and went easily, I never loved before her. She offered me purpose. She taught me to use my resources wisely. I’m blessed with abundance in this life, because I’ve learned to use it well.

“You give freely, so I need to… Please, forgive the phrase, but I need to use you wisely. Sex between us must end because I’m addicted to you. Sex is sacred and must be chosen with a clear head. I won't let anything, including sex, tear us apart. I rely on you. I love you. I need you, Dove," he almost whispered. I felt like he was sharing the deepest secret of his heart.

"But you don't want my body anymore," I stated pouting.

"Goddess, help me! Please!" he uttered closing his eyes as he leaned his head against the wall. "I only wish that were so. I’ve wrestled with this decision all night. I vowed to do what’s best for you. This is best, for now, at least. If I wasn't so frightened that I wouldn't follow through with my resolution, I’d allow you to feel how much I want you. When I touch your flesh..." He got up and walked across the room. After he pushed the tapestry aside, he opened the door and strolled to the window.

From the next room, he continued, "I watched you travel last night. When I heard your message, I realized that you’re a test for me. ‘Everything’s possible when you open your heart.’ Goddess is wise.”

I was shocked. “You heard that, too?” I asked.

He leaned his back against the window and smiled. “You sing the Goddess’ messages often when we lay together, Dove. “That’s one reason I was sorely tempted when I experienced life with you over the holidays. When I entered this room, the impulse to say, 'to hell with it,' over took me momentarily, but I’m anxious to pass this test for Her, for you. You sought the strongest man nearby to hold you, so I was there, but you’re strong enough to hold yourself now."

He returned to my side, picked up my hand and kissed it. "What I said last night is true. I’m here as long as you will. When I return, you’re completely in charge of our next painting together. Until then, you must find lovers more like you. Your needs must come first. I won't have you wasting your youth on a man who can’t make you his full partner in life. You must find better lovers for you."

"I can't imagine a better lover than you. What you gave me ..." I replied between sobs.

"I gave you a beginning. You know your power. I’m grateful to stand in the shadows while I watch you shine in the world. I’ll worship my Goddess with my heart. We’ll make beautiful art together, and you can entertain me with your adventures while I bask in your beauty. I’m your friend for as long as you will, but I’m your humble servant forever."

He kissed my hair. "My lamb is precious. I promise not to throw you to wolves." He smiled more relaxed as if saying this lifted a weight off his shoulders, but he looked forward to a future I dreaded. "As soon as I return, we’ll spend a day together like when I first painted you. Will you allow this?"

Suddenly my nakedness disturbed me. I put on my robe and picked up the book that he made for me. In a daze I retraced his steps to the window which overlooked his garden. It was covered in white. I touched the glass to feel the numbness which cold brings.

"Of course!" I whispered vaguely at the snow. Then I rebelled at the unfairness of this situation. He sat watching me intently as I stamped toward him. "I don’t understand why you get to choose. You call me powerful, and then you tell me I must accept something that I hate. It's just not..."

My anger had sparked his passion. He walked over, took me into his arms and kissed me deeply. He wanted me as must as he ever had. Confusion overwhelmed me. I wanted this, but he claimed this must stop between us.

He turned away from me suddenly pleading, "Queen of Heaven, help me!" He was fighting with himself as well as me. I hoped we would win, but compassion for him overwhelmed me, so I hugged him from behind.

"I’m sorry, Sean. You get mad when I tell you that I’m not smart about these things, so I’ll just apologize. You’re my best friend, and I don't want to hurt you."

"I know, Dove. That’s why I must be strong until you discover what you want. If we didn’t stop now, I’d begin to take you for granted. I know myself. Then, as I age, you’re needs would grow. Since you’re monogamous by nature, you’d leave me for someone who could do as I no longer could. Then my heart would die with us."

I rested my head on his back as a tear hit my arm. I finally understood. This wasn't about me. He was pushing me away because he feared that, once he got comfortable, I’d leave him for some guy my own age. He didn’t understand what he meant to me.

When he turned around and held me again, his desire had dissolved. He was resigned. Although it was my first instinct, arguments were futile. I would adhere to his plan until... I’d decide that later. I lived without sex before. It would be hard around him because his arms were comfortable, and his presence excited me, but, if he felt we were wrong, I wouldn’t push myself on him.

"Reality as you see it,” I muttered vaguely. Then, I held my head high adding, “You’ve never lied to me. You’ve..."

I couldn't say more. I simply stared inhaling my tears. I could hurt him, and I refused to chance that. I gave up. Outwardly I would accept this change in our relationship. I tried to smile as I stared at him in defeat. I kept breathing deeply to hold my head high. Since my tears could hurt him, I planned to mourn alone.

"No matter what, you’re my dearest friend,” I whispered. “I’ll love you until I die, but I’ll do what you want. Please don’t disappear from my life. When I initiated sex between us, you warned me this would happen. Your heart is as important as my own. I’d die if I broke it." I smiled as if I had said something silly. "I’m so melodramatic, aren't I?"

He brushed the back of his hand across my cheek. "You’re my Goddess, Dove. You be whatever your heart desires, and if I can help, it would be my honor to do so. I promise not to push anymore. I’ll accept and step back as I should have done."

I laughed. "You can do whatever you want with me. You always could. I get irritated because I prefer you to give things like the apartment to people who really need it. Since you want someone who loves them to be near Roger and Charles, it’s fine, but money’s too expensive to be wasted on me."

"Well if that's all, then I retract my promise. I’ll interfere as I choose," he quipped.

I laughed until I forced myself not to wrap my arms around him. That freedom was only allowed lovers. I cried as I felt the full weight of my loss.

“This’ll be worth it, Dove,” he whispered as he held me. “You’ll have a better life in the long run.”

I couldn't see a long run. All I could see was the loss of something precious. I sighed my acceptance once more. I tried to smile into his beautiful blue eyes. I didn't need sex to survive when I had my best friend.

"In our next painting," I started while stepping onto my toes to chastely kiss his cheek. "I want you to draw me as I am, not as a goddess. I never understood your bizarre concepts of me," I remarked dumbfounded as I turned away to wipe my tears. “I’ll be plain, but not boring. Maybe I can find a way to express how I feel about this when you get home."

I returned to the window. A surreality entered my experience. I drew a face on the condensation which fogged it. "I must tell you how I feel. You’re my best friend. Who can I talk about you with besides you? I trust you." I turned around and tried to smile again. "I’m not happy with your choice, but I respect your feelings. You’re my… Sean." I looked down at my hands and added sarcastically, "Just don't set me up with guys."

"You think I exaggerate, but any man who doesn’t see the Goddess in you doesn’t deserve you. Don't ever let any man treat you as less than you are. Do you hear me?" I couldn't look at him or even speak as he brought my hands to his lips. I inhaled my emotions as I nodded my head.

Then he laughed. "I don't know about you, but I hate Mondays. It inevitably brings an irritating sense of reality." I laughed along with him and hugged him tightly. "Let's wake Jean Pierre and find a diner. Listening to him complain will keep me from thinking." He kissed the top of my head. "Perhaps we can see a film on Saturday. Johnny said “Star Wars” is brilliant."

Lost in Shangri-La Part One Farewell

Farewell

I showered while he woke Jean Pierre. When he took his turn, I felt strange watching the door close. His body was now off limits. I sighed as I I went into his bedroom. I took a deep breath before gathering my belongings. The air was full of him. As I made his bed, I realized how strange this seemed to me. He gave me the keys to his home while barring me from physical intimacy. I didn't understand.

I did an idiot check as I reached the door. Once I left that room, I preferred not returning. When I placed his sketches in my bag, I touched its cover lightly. I treasured it. Then I waited in the kitchen for what would happen next. It felt like days since I awoke.

Sean was ready quickly. He seemed afraid that I’d brood. He had a point. When he was near, I kept a happy face. I was afraid if I pouted or expressed my displeasure, he’d move further away. Jean Pierre showed his concern for me from the moment he joined us. Sean obviously told him. I smiled vaguely and shrugged. I couldn't talk about Sean. I could, however, smile no matter how miserable I felt. I had years of practice.

After they threw their bags into the trunk, Sean handed me the keys. I laughed in spite of myself. "I thought that you weren't going to push!" I reminded him.
He laughed and confessed, "I lied!" I giggled. The urge to kiss him flooded me. I hated suppressing that impulse.

We went to breakfast on our way to the airport. The roads were wet, but not icy. The snow looked lovely on the fields. Occasionally a house or a barn rose above the white. Sometimes cows or horses stamped out the white. Mostly all that were visible were harvested corn stocks.

When we arrived at the airport, Sean repeated that mine was the first face he wanted to see when he returned. Then he’d know that he was home. I couldn't tell if he was playing with me or being completely honest. I decided that it was a little of both. His humor was either absurdist or based upon feelings he wasn’t comfortable expressing any other way.

Jean Pierre hugged me for a full minute before he let go. "Time Jessica,” he whispered in my ear. “It is your friend. Trust your heart. You will know what to do." When he let go, I looked into his eyes. He smiled and kissed me. "You are a gift. I am blessed to know you. I look forward to seeing you next." His confident smile as he boarded the plane relaxed me. He knew Sean better than anyone.

"Friday, Dove," Sean said. I hugged him once more and told him to enjoy himself. Then, they were gone.

I drove to my apartment and parked Sean’s car in the rear next to Charles’ Impala. I walked upstairs, sat on the floor and looked around. I didn't belong there, but there is where I was. After a good cry, I went to work and played happy.

I visited Roger and Charles after work as usual every day. I stayed for dinner twice. I tried to have fun. I didn't tell them anything about my conversation with Sean. I didn't want them to fuss. They loved us together, and I just couldn’t talk about my feelings. I honestly hoped Sean’s feelings on this matter were a passing phase. Everyone said Sean always returned from his January trips with a fresh perspective on life.

Thursday, Roger said he was happy that I wasn’t delicate flower of a woman. "Stand tough, babe. Everything will work out," he said when kissing me good night. I hoped that he meant Sean’s trip. They didn’t act like they knew about his decision.

I started running in the mornings because I couldn’t sleep. I read it as a good tool for dissipating anxiety. Starting Tuesday morning, I ran to my parents’ house every day. I said hi, got warm, and ran the long way home. Mom started calling me "a health nut." I saw nothing wrong with that. I could be worse things.

It helped me overcome the withdrawals from lack of sex. I understood what Sean meant by addiction. When he traveled previously, I attributed those sensations to missing him. As I ran, I understood better what I was feeling. His touch relaxed me. Sometimes I thought I needed sex with him to survive. He opened a world for me. Orgasmic bliss calmed me emotionally and physically. Since that was denied me, running exhausted me to the point where I could function.

I also mourned for my lost dreams. I finally acknowledged them to myself. I suppressed them previously out of fear of disappointment. I didn’t want to build up false hope. The hope was there regardless. Its death, along with everything else, needed to be addressed. Tears often came while I ran thinking of those silly childish hopes left behind.

When I was alone, I cried a lot. I wrote my confusion and fear. I journalized everything I could remember from our conversation trying to make sense of it. I pondered Jean Pierre’s last words to me and what Sean meant by "doing the impossible." What did Jean Pierre wanted Sean to do? He obviously liked me with Sean, so I assumed it was something I’d like. I decided to look the part of an accepting, loving friend when I picked him up, even if I didn’t understand. I could do that for the few hours we’d be together before he was off for India.

When Friday arrived, I couldn’t go alone. Charles and Roger were to join us for dinner, so I asked them to come with me to the airport. Roger needed to finish some paper work, but he’d be ready for dinner when I returned. Charles gladly accompanied me, though.

I parked at the airport where I had dropped them off. When I saw his plane taxi toward us, I took a deep breath. Charles asked if I was ready. I stared at him. I realized that he knew all along about Sean’s decision. I was relieved. I envied him his wisdom about when to speak and when not to.

I decided to act playful. "He won’t make me drive,” I said defiantly. “He insists lately. I’ll sit in the back with you, alright?" He grinned. This decision made me ready to greet them.

Sean was pleased to see Charles. After kissing my hand, he held it while I greeted Jean Pierre and didn’t let go until we got to the car. When he said he wanted to watch me drive, I refused. In fact, I set the keys in the driver's seat and climbed into the back with Charles.

Jean Pierre and Charles both laughed at Sean. "It is you who believes she should develop her independence,” Jean Pierre gibed. “Remember what Marcia says."

Sean shook his head and looked back at me. "Be careful of what I wish, for it’ll surely happen. There’s negative to every positive, isn't there, Mate? How was your week Charles?" he asked. We talked jovially all the way back to the apartment about superficial distractions. When we arrived, Sean volunteered to get Roger.

Jean Pierre climbed in the back seat with us. He called it the "rebel space." He took my hand and asked me how I did. I said I was fine. I didn’t want them worrying about me. I mentioned my classes began the following Monday. Charles told him I kept to myself far too much that week. I contradicted him saying that he was full of shit reminding him that I ate dinner with him twice.

I asked about Jean Pierre’s week with Sean. "Sean was in a mood," he said making a face.

Charles laughed. "I knew he would be. He’s such a dope. Give it time, Jessie." Jean Pierre nodded in agreement. Roger got into the car before more was said.

Sean gave Jean Pierre a curious look when he saw him in the backseat like something remained unsaid. They teased Sean all the way to the restaurant. I caught his eyes in the rearview mirror, and rolled my own. He smiled broadly. Then, I heard him sigh. I felt the same. The word, "assholes," sprang from my lips periodically which delighted Jean Pierre.

At the restaurant, Jean Pierre made remarks periodically to Sean in French. Sean was less humored with every reply. When Charles laughed and squeezed my hand, I knew then he was talking about me. I realized his friends were victimizing Sean because of me and I wasn't pleased.

I decided to change the subject instead of making a scene. I told Jean Pierre I was looking forward to writing him when he returned. “It’ll help me learn your language," I said.

His demeanor softened. "You visit in June, remember? I am anxious to show you my home."

Roger exclaimed excitedly, "Jessie? You decided to go?"

I shrugged uncertain as to how to answer. "The trip is her birthday present,” Sean responded pleasantly. “She’s never been, and I want her to see it."

I looked at Sean surprised that he still wanted to take me. He smiled into my eyes. I felt that familiar longing, so I looked away quickly. I knew I’d do something stupid if I stayed there too long. I needed to maintain my distance from them because I desperately wanted to keep him near. As he squeezed my hand, I sighed.

"You must promise to come home, though," Charles said squeezing my other hand.

I laughed. "Where else would I go?"

Charles told me Sean's house was inland but a short drive to both the Mediterranean and the Pyrenees. The region was hilly and closer to Perpignan than Toulouse. He claimed that once I spent a few nights at Marianna's Café, I’d never want to come home, but I knew that I’d want to leave when Sean came home, no matter how lovely it was. Wherever he was, was my home. I couldn't say it, but I felt it in my heart.

We returned to the apartment just as Molly and George closed the store, so Charles invited everyone in for a glass of wine. It soothed my lingering tension, but I waited for the elephant in the room to make its presence known. To my relief, they discussed topics which I wasn't a part of. Since Sean wasn’t taking me home, I excused myself as soon as my glass was empty saying I needed sleep.

Sean looked surprised, and a little hurt. After I said my goodbyes, he followed me upstairs. "You’ve been quiet tonight, Dove,” he said sounding concerned. “I miss your voice." I peaked into his eyes, but lowered mine quickly. I told him that I was tired. "…and depressed,” he finished for me. “Oh Dove! I am sorry. This began as me desire to show you what you should seek from a lover and ..." He put his hand on my cheek. "I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll miss you tonight as I..." He kissed me tenderly, but I shrank back. I was afraid of revealing too much emotion.

"I’m sorry, Sean. I don't know what you want. I’m trying really hard. When you kiss me I want to wrap myself around you, yet, if you never kissed me again, I couldn't bare that either." Roger's door opened, so I opened mine to escape. I looked down and added, "I love you so much. Please don't go away. I’m such an idiot about how to handle this." I started to close the door, but he slipped in and closed it behind him.

He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me. I gave into my feelings completely this time. His desire for me was as strong as mine for him. He held me saying quietly, "You are so far from an idiot, Dove. Respect your feelings. I know you want me as I want you. Perhaps Jean Pierre’s right. Perhaps I’m the idiot. This week I thought of little else."

He laughed and squeezed me once more. "It’s hard conducting business with you on me mind. Forgive me for torturing you. I can ease your mind on something, at least. I won’t leave you if I can help it. Also, you’ve done nothing to embarrass yourself. You accepted me request with perfect trust. I’ve never experienced such trust from anyone. It’s a huge responsibility. I need your honesty. I’ll do what it takes to make this right for you."

"Sean, please give me time. Right now, it takes all my strength not to touch you. I’ll follow your lead. I’m sorry if I disappointed you." He hushed me adding that I never disappointed him. "I’m trying, Sean, but I don't understand any of this.” Then I smiled. “I did figure out what you meant about addiction, though. It’s like what they say about alcoholics. If I start touching you, I won't be able to stop. I love touching you and being touched by you. I can live without it, though. You’re my friend. I can do this. Please just give me time."

"Precious woman, I’m here as long as you want me." He put his hand to my cheek. "You’re so beautiful." He took my hands and kissed their palms. He peeked into my eyes just like the afternoon I met him. I had to turn away. I felt like crying again, but didn’t want to while he was there. I wanted to show him smiles of acceptance.

He came up behind me and held me. "I should return,” he said. “Tomorrow is dedicated to you, so call when you finish running.” He liked that I took it up, although he worried about the cold. I shrugged and said I was fine. He kissed my temple apologizing once more for leaving. I told him that understood. He sighed and let me go. He kissed my palms once more. "Take good care of me soul, Dove," he said and left.

I turned off the lights and sat in the window seat. I watched his car waiting for him. When he finally came out, he looked into my window. I don't think he saw me, but he kissed his palm and held it up. He knew I was there. I put my palm against the window and cried watching him drive away.

I couldn’t sleep that night, so I picked up a beloved Jane Austen novel. I couldn’t relax. I got up and wrote about what I felt and saw that night. Sean needed our physical connection as much as I did. His self control amazed me. He kissed me as he always had, yet he could walk away.

My mind fluctuated. How should I behave? Jean Pierre’s advice seemed logical. Wait and see what happens. If nothing else, perhaps we could have the life I wanted in France. He would look foolish with me in front of his New York friends. Perhaps there we could be free. I wrote thoughts like this for hours. Then I did yoga.

It was still early, but I decided to run. We were going to have breakfast anyway, so I spontaneously ran toward Sean's house instead of my parents’. It seemed appropriate, since it was nearly 6 a.m. He was always awake by that time. If I made it, I’d knock at his door. If I didn’t, I’d come home and call as planned.

It was seven miles to Sean's, and it was cold. I bundled tightly. I wore my usual two pairs of stretchies with leg warmers on top. Two pairs of socks under my tennis shoes kept my feet warm. I, also, wore a ski jacket over two sweat shirts. The jacket was thin but made for winter sports. I wore a stocking cap and tied the hood of my jacket under my chin securely.

The cold made it hard to breath sometimes. Occasionally I put my gloves to my face to warm it, but I was never tempted to turn around. I was on an exciting adventure. Several cars passed me on the road. A couple asked if I wanted a lift, but I declined. Hitch hiking was not my thing. I told them I was enjoying the run. They looked at me like I was crazy and drove on.

When I arrived at Sean's house, I was ready for a warm drink. I ran in place to stay warm as I rang the doorbell. Jean Pierre answered the door. He shook his head as he opened it quickly. "Jessica, what are you doing here?"

My teeth chattered as I said, "Sean said we’d have breakfast when I finished running. I’m finished. I’ll try some coffee if there is any. It’s cold out there." He wrapped his arms around me. I returned the hug gratefully. "Thank you," I said. "You’re so warm. Is Sean still downstairs?"

Before he could answer, Sean entered the living room holding a cup of coffee for me. "What are you doing here, Dove? You were supposed to call."

"I’ll next door if you want and call from there,” I remarked playfully walking to the door. I laughed when they both moved to block it. “I hope you don’t mind. I thought running here would be an adventure."

"Well was it?" Jean Pierre asked laughing.

"It was great!” I replied excitedly. “Thanks for the coffee, though. It feels good in my hands. It’s cold out there."

"You shouldn’t do things like this,” Sean scolded. “It’s dangerous. Your face is so red!" He laughed as he kissed my lips. I hardly felt anything, but his warmth was nice. "Have a seat. You must be tired."

"Not really. How long have you guys been up?" I asked as I sat.

"I’ve never seen you wear anything but a skirt, Dove," Sean said laughing. Then he added, "I’ve been awake for a few hours. It’s past seven, you know."

I shrugged. "I don't wear a watch, remember?" I looked at Jean Pierre. "Time! I hate time! I use it for work, but gave it up for everything else. I like it that way. Makes life feel eternal!" I grinned and took another sip of coffee.

I really hated it. I made a face after every taste. It was warm, though. Jean Pierre added milk saying, “It should improve the taste." He was right. After Sean added some sugar, it tasted almost good. He sat with his head on his hand watching me with eyes filled with amusement and an odd sense of adventure that I equated with his art. I enjoyed the attention and thanked them both.

Jean Pierre reminisced about winter activities he enjoyed at my age when he lived with Marcia. "You must slide down her hill into that lovely meadow. In the spring, it is a sea of wildflowers, but during winter, it is perfect for a toboggan." He asked if I skied, but I told him that I was never into sports and just started running that week. "You already run to here? You must be strong."

I shrugged. "Sean taught me yoga. I do that every morning. Now I run. I started that because... Well for other reasons." I looked at Sean and then looked at my hands. I couldn’t say that I replaced sex with running. After a slight pause in the conversation, Jean Pierre excused himself to shower and dress. I thanked him again for the milk and warm hug.

He kissed my cheek. “You are much warmer now,” he added. “I will return soon.”

"You don't mind, do you?” I asked Sean when we were alone. “I wanted to see if I could make it. I knew you’d be awake."

He laughed and took my hand. "I’m so far from...,” he started to say but stopped. “You must be careful, Dove. It’s damned cold out there, but you’re so beautiful with your red nose." He grinned and sighed. "I should take a cold shower before I lose me resolve." I giggled. "No giggling. I’ll be lost. Will you be alright alone?"

"I'm fine," I replied. I sipped my coffee wishing he’d lose his resolve. I lowered my eyes before I did something stupid. "I’ll wait here,” I added. Then I remembered how I was dressed. “I must look awful. I’m sorry. All I thought about was..." I stopped talking because all I thought about was seeing him, and I couldn't say things like that anymore.

"Did you sleep at all, Dove?" he asked. I looked up startled wondering how he knew. He grinned but shook his head. "I thought not. I haven't slept much either. I’m happy that I’m off tomorrow, so my presence won’t distract you while you reconcile to our new relationship. I should shower. We’ll stop at your apartment so you may change. You’d feel more comfortable, I’m sure."

He kissed the crown of my head and whispered. "You’re welcome to visit anytime. Me home is always open to you, but, please, take care of yourself. I don't know what I’d do if something happened to me Dove."

His scent overpowered me. I wanted to open his robe and kiss his flesh. I rested my head on his chest instead. I felt relaxed for the first time since our conversation. He stepped back so suddenly that I almost fell over. He kissed my hand apologizing. "I said I was leaving, and here I stand. Pour yourself more coffee, and keep warm. I’m sorry I didn’t start a fire, but I didn't expect you. I’ll return soon," he sputtered nervously.

He kissed my forehead and walked away. I stared into my cup. I wanted so much to join him. I looked at my reflection on his oven door. Yuk! I removed the hat, unbraided my hair and brushed it. I realized then that running there was a stupid idea. I rebraided my hair and sighed.

Jean Pierre returned apologizing for taking so long. I smiled. "Was coming here a bad idea? I never know with Sean. He never criticizes."

He put an arm around my shoulder resting his head on mine. "You are who you are. He loves who you are. I have learned to love you as well. You are open. No one should deny you that beauty. It is more precious than any stone. He worries about issues which are a waste of time."

I looked behind me. I wanted to say something, but didn't want Sean to overhear. Jean Pierre noticed and led me to the living room before asking what I wanted to say. "He’s afraid I’ll break his heart. It has to do my age. I can't say he’s wrong. I don’t read the future like Marcia." He laughed, but still listened holding my hands. "I hope this passes. I’ll try to see other men, but no one inspires me. He’s as much my muse as he claims I am his."

He kissed my hands. "Patience, Jessica! You lack certain information which I’m not at liberty to tell. Perhaps I can show when you visit, but I prefer for him to tell you." I looked at him frightened. "It has nothing to do with you, so do not fear. It has to do with Margery and his commitments. Please, do not let it darken your thoughts. He is a good man.”

He paused and patted my hands. “You write to me what you see, and I will try to explain what it means. Charles knows Sean better than anyone, and he loves you. The most important thing for you to do is take care of you. Sean worries when you look too much upon him and not enough on you. You cannot completely love another until you love yourself unconditionally. I do not say that your love is not genuine. I am saying you improve your love by exploring yourself.” I was confused but listened carefully.

“You write well which is good. Use your resources. What you did today was perfect. It reminds him of what he values in you. You are spontaneous and alive. You also adore him. Margery never looked upon him as I see you look. He is as frightened of that as he is attracted to it.” Then he smiled. “I will take care of him when he is with me. Rest assured of that."

"Don't harass him about me, though,” I seriously urged. “I know what you were doing last night. Please stop. Charles is probably doing it, too. I don't want him pressured." He kissed my hands again and smiled. He promised to stop.

As Sean entered combing his wet hair Jean Pierre went upstairs to get his coat. Sean asked where I wanted to eat. I took the comb and made him turn around. I loved his hair. I told him today was his choice. He looked over his shoulder and laughed but said nothing. "You don't mind that I’m here, do you? I don't know how to behave."

"Dove, I don't like that you ran this far in this weather, but I like that you run, and I like that you came here. If you’re safe, I’m happy. When do your classes start?"

"Monday! Are you taking your plane?"

"Not to Europe,” he replied laughing. “Jean Pierre and I leave from Detroit. Have you ever driven to Detroit?"

I laughed. "Would that matter? No I haven't, but for you, I’ll do it. It’s mostly 80/90, isn't it?"

He told me that he had a map. Then he thanked me for doing this for Charles. “If left to himself, Charles will sit for the next month.” I laughed and kissed him spontaneously. I loved how he cared for his friends. Then, I apologized immediately for taking that liberty. He was shocked at my need to apologize and told me to kiss him anytime I felt the desire.

"But no further, right?" I said trying to make a joke out of the situation. He laughed and kissed me. Then he disappeared so he could dry his hair.

We left shortly after. I changed my clothes, and we were off to Cleveland for breakfast. We visited a museum after. Our mood was light and intellectual. We saw the promised Woody Allen movie. Sean loved Woody Allen, and this was no exception. I saw a lot of the Carrie’s style in Diane Keaton. I loved the insanity of the plot. I didn't understand the drug humor, though, because I was never around drugs. Sean and Jean Pierre laughed excessively, though.

We ate an early dinner at a French Restaurant. The waitress and I were the only two who didn’t speak French. I felt ignorant again. At least she knew the menu. We smiled at each other while Sean and Jean Pierre chatted with the owner who was playing host that night. When I got home, I realized how tired I was. Leaving Sean was always amisery, but at least I slept.

They picked me up at seven. Sean had the idea during the night to bring Charles and Roger to the airport. "Charles can drive home for you,” he said. “You’ll be relieved of a duty to which I knew you weren’t looking forward." Then he grinned and leaned into me playfully. "We’ll sit in the back while he chauffeurs us." I giggled my approval.

We walked to the diner near the apartment for breakfast. I listened as conversation surrounded me. I didn’t want to talk, anyway. I just wanted to look at Sean before he disappeared. I was shy, though. I felt awkward about staring.

I held his hand through most of the meal. He brought my hand to his lips periodically, almost subconsciously. He’d do it mid-conversation, but his eyes never left the person with whom he conversed. I deeply felt this sign of affection. I may not be able to explore his body anymore, but his heart was with me. I rested my head on his shoulder when I realized that he loved me no matter what.

I sat comfortably between him and Jean Pierre all the way to Detroit. It felt wonderful to cuddle with him. Sean remarked on my silence. I buried myself deeper into his arms as my answer and held his hand. I wouldn’t even have that soon. I couldn't talk. Their conversations didn’t interest me. I heard their voices, but I followed none of it.

We arrived with an hour to spare. At that time, we could still wait with our friends until they boarded their plane. We passed through the metal detectors and sat near the gate where they were to leave. They talked while I watched jets take off. I hated the sounds they made. They were loud and hurt my ears. Their sole beauty lay in the visual of their ascent. They looked like birds soaring into the sky which fascinated me.

"Dove is something wrong?" Sean asked once he gained my attention. I apologized saying the sound of the planes distracted me. Then, I noticed a group of people arrive with their friends and family greeting them. I liked that beautiful sight. I reached for Sean's hand as I watched them. When he raised mine to his lips, I looked at him hypnotized by my surroundings. He smiled at me and returned his attention to Charles. He played with my fingers while they talked.

I looked at Sean in this place of hellos and goodbyes and felt less comfortable. I watched more couples hug and welcome loved ones home. I liked that sight better than the ones leaving. That would come for us in a matter of minutes. I fought back tears. Sean noticed and took me for a walk across the terminal.

"I’ve done this poorly," he said with a sigh as he put his hand to my cheek. "I love you, me precious beauty." I finally wept. He held me and kissed my face. "Forgive me. Perhaps when I return we’ll both be calmer. I’ll write and call you as I’m able." I couldn't speak. Everything I avoided those last days flooded my emotions. It all came out. "I will miss you, Dove, more than I can say. You take care of our friends, and I’ll bring you something pretty from India." He kissed my lips.

I wrapped my arms around his neck. I gave him the kiss I longed for since Friday. "I love you, Sean. You must be careful." I tried to turn away so I could wipe my eyes, but he wouldn't let me. He held my chin and dried them for me. As I looked into his eyes, sadness waved over me again. "I’ll miss you, Sean. I’ll try to have more self control when you return. I can do this for you. I promise." He smiled and kissed me once more. I inhaled deeply and stood tall. "I’ll be fine. I’m sorry I’m so emotional. I tried to hide it, but you always know."

He kissed me again. "Your emotions are your strength and your essence. Don't stifle them, Dove, especially not with me. Use this time for you. Enjoy your classes. Meet new people. When I return, you’ll start your work at the Haven. The change will serve you well." He looked up and announced, "They‘re boarding us." He smiled at me again. "Are you ready?" I nodded. "Fine! Let's join the others. All will be well. I’ll tell you when and where I’m to return. Yours is the first face I want see when I return. Then I’ll be home." I smiled, and we joined the others.

Jean Pierre hugged me before he left. "I will take care of the old man," he promised and kissed my cheek.

"He's not old," I snapped which made them all laugh loudly.

Sean embraced us both. I leaned my head on his shoulder. Roger and Charles joined our hug. When I bowed out of our embrace so he could say goodbye to his friends, he looked at me. My eyes drank him in for the last time. He came over and gave me one last kiss. Then he and Jean Pierre were gone. We stayed until his plane took off. Charles drove us home, and a part of my life was over. I didn't know what would replace it.

Lost in Shangri-La Part One Classes

Classes

I added dance and French to my coarse list the next day which took my coarse load to six classes. I figured that I could always drop an evening class if it was too much. Those classes meant more than a degree to me.

Sean's travels gave me the opportunity to set my school routine without distraction, so I wouldn’t neglect it when he returned. Jean Pierre was right that I needed to focus on myself, now. I still missed him with every fiber of my being, though.

Introduction to Modern Dance started my Mondays and Wednesdays at seven each morning. I decided not to run on those mornings anymore. Dancing was more fun anyway. French followed at eight. I knew immediately this would be my hardest class, but Charles promised to tutor me. Still, I left that first class scared that I would fail miserably at what I wanted most to accomplish.

When class let out, I went to straight to work because Vicky’s classes were on those days and Roger would be alone otherwise That night, I stopped by to visit Charles before my evening class. When he asked how I was, I talked about my classes as if that was the only thing which concerned me. I started to leave, but he refused to let me go until I ate. He sent Roger to the Deli for food since he hadn’t started dinner yet. After Roger had left, Charles studied me closely. "How are you, really?"

I knew I had to talk about this, whether I wanted to or not. "Confused," I answered honestly.

"He's the one who’s confused. He’s a stupid fool. I expected him to be announcing ... Well, anyway, I didn't expect this. Idiot!" he ejected bitterly.

I laughed. "It’s nice to know you’re on my side," I said putting my hand on his.

"What do you plan to do about it?" he asked pointedly.

"Wait and see what happens when he returns," I replied with a shrug. "What else can I do? Arguing will only push him away. You told me once that when he knows he’s right, that’s what he does."

He laughed. "Girl, you are smart. I put a call into Johnny when he told me. We’ll hammer on him, trust me. He’s scared, Jessie. You should’ve seen him when Margie died. He wanted to crawl into that crematorium right after her. He might have, had it not been for those boys. Johnny doesn't understand, but I do. We found out about my illness weeks before, and that didn't help matters.” He shrugged. “Death’s a matter of time for any of us, isn't it?” he added with a chuckle. "Just don't let him get into his martyr phase. Keep him guessing. Things’ll work out." He put a hand on my cheek. "He loves you more than even he knows."

I smiled but looked away. "He said that he couldn't handle it if I left. That’s why he’s pushing me away. He wants me to find other lovers." I laughed loudly. "He says that there are actually better lovers than he is." Then I was struck by a wave of sadness. "I just want him. Why can't he see that?"

"That is the problem, my dear. He sees it, and he’s frightened. He’s the center of your world. He prefers the shadows. He always has. His motto used to be, 'trash the place and split.' He can't do that with you. He can't let you go. Simultaneously, he claims he must. Maybe you should go out on dates. You’re sure to meet guys at school. That may drive Sean nuts. He’s not the jealous type, but he’s protective of you. He’s militant about how men treat women. If you’re treated in any way he thinks you shouldn’t, who knows what he’d do."

I laughed. "I’d be using something precious against him, Charles. I can't do that. You’re a very bad man."

"They used to say I was really good in my prime, Sweetie," he responded with a giggle.

When Roger returned, Charles declared, "Roger, my love, we’ve got to find a man for Jessie. That Irish louse thinks she’s too good for him. On that, at least, I agree with him." As he laughed, I shook my head. I didn’t like how this conversation was starting.

Roger looked at me pityingly and gave me a hug with my sandwich. "I’m sorry, Girlfriend. He’s such a stinker sometimes. Bless your heart! Let's see! Who do we know that we can match you up with?" He made his “determined” face as he handed Charles his food.

"Please don't,” I asked laughing. “I need to concentrate on school. Between the addition of dancing and French in the mornings, I’m overloaded. I still may have to drop a class. I don’t know if I can handle this work load. Please leave things be. Leave him be as well when he returns. I need him to feel like this is alright. Can you guys do that for me?" Charles repeated that I was too good for him. Roger agreed with him, but both said they would keep their mouths shut if that was what I wanted. I laughed.

The store was two blocks from campus, so it was an easy walk. Sometimes the wind would hit me wrong, and my whole body felt exposed. Evenings were especially harsh at this time of year. I liked to walk, however, especially at night. Walking allowed me time alone to think, and the wind awoke me for the study ahead.

Monday night was a basic intro English review class. They taught a smattering of topics from literature to punctuation and vocabulary. The teacher was very nice. He was a tall man, probably a first year teacher or a graduate student of around 25. He passed out a syllabus immediately. There were six writing assignments to complete in the next 18 weeks. On holidays when we didn't have class, we were to get the assignments to him by Tuesday before noon.

Two books were assigned, SCARLET LETTER and TESS OF THE DUBERVILLES. He called them morality tales, one from England and one from America. We would compare and contrast them. I smiled as I thought about these books. Both women were considered evil because of their sexual encounters. One died, victimized by every man she met. The other relocated after her male punishers, her lover, the community minister, and her husband, both died. I thought about Sean, and what he would say about these books.

I glanced around at my fellow students. Most were older and obviously returned to school for better job potential. I was one of few students my age in there. I wondered if all night classes were like this. Most people looked stressed and caffeinated to stay awake until class finished at ten.

We took our break at 8:30. The smokers and people who wanted a wake up blast of cold air, like me, took a walk outside. A guy in his early twenties walked up and introduced himself as Bill. "I'm Jessica." I replied shyly.

"Don't you work at Shangri-La?" he asked.

That surprised me out of my shyness. "Yeah, did I meet you there or something? I see so many people, I'm sorry. I don't recognize you," I answered.

"I've seen you a few times. I like that store. It has a nice vibes. Do you know what I mean?" I smiled and said I did. By the time we discussed our individual course loads, it was time to return to class. I glanced at Bill periodically. He was really good looking. He wasn't Sean, but he seemed nice. I wasn't desperate to date, but what Charles said stuck in my head. I wouldn’t say no if he asked.

The teacher started us on an assignment when we returned and we were allowed to leave as soon as we finished. I was home shortly after nine, so I met Molly on the stairs after closing the store. She asked about my classes. I told her so far so good. She was glad. She offered help if I need any. I thanked her. Then I went in and fell asleep.

Biology and Algebra were Tuesdays and Thursdays. The majority of the students in these classes were my age. I made friends with a girl named Rachel in math right away. She didn’t have a major, yet either. She was just taking classes to please her mom. I told her I was the same way. I just figured I better get started so I could get the requirements out of the way. I discovered she was a regular at The Lounge. She even knew Vicky. We planned to meet there that Friday at seven.

The first day, we were released early with assignments in both classes, so I was at work by 11:00. Roger was busy with customers, and Vicky was on the office phone. She grinned and waved as I entered. I returned her wave and prepared to go help Roger, but she stopped me.

She put a hand on her phone and asked about my classes. I said that they were great so far. Political Geography was the only class that I hadn’t sat through yet. That was Thursday night. She asked if I planned to go dancing Friday. I told her Rachel was in math class, and we talked about the same thing. I was excited. She smiled and returned to the phone. When she joined us, we talked as we stocked and cleaned the shelves.

Roger worked full days then since Charles felt much better. The only time he was gone was during lunch. Charles started coming down again every afternoon to walk around and chat. Since it was quiet at that time of the year, and Vicky and I usually had our projects finished early, I chatted with Charles guilt free.

When he started going on about Sean, again that Wednesday afternoon, I snapped. "Charles, Sean is thinking of me. I don't want to push him away. I need him close. It’s only sex he’s denying me," I blurted out and then looked around embarrassed, but no customers were in the store, thank goodness.

Charles laughed. "Don't ever use that phrase 'only sex' around Sean. He'll bite your head off. Sex is sacred to Sean. What he’s doing is... Well, it's like denying you a sacrament. He sees how you look at him. He feels unworthy of such affections. You obviously adore him, and he’s afraid of it, darlin'. He’s afraid he’ll be sucked into believing he’s as wonderful as you see him. Then, he’ll stop trying so hard to be good. He’s afraid of himself. That’s the truth."

"Charles, I just don't want that fear to drive him away from me completely. Please lay off," I pleaded.

"Your call, Little Missy! My lips are sealed from now on."

I laughed. "I'll believe that when I see it."

"So will I." Roger chimed.

Charles looked affronted. "Ganging up on the invalid now, eh?"

Molly had just walked in. George was right behind her. "Are they ganging up on you, Sweetie?" she asked. She patted his head on the way to the office. "Play nice children, or I’ll sick big daddy on the both of you."

"I know she’s not talking about me," George said laughing as they entered the office doors.

When Molly and George were ready, we went upstairs, and I made dinner for them that night. I, also, asked Charles to help me with French over the weekend. He told me to bring the book over anytime, and we’d go through it. They sat at the table while I cooked.

They discussed how good it was to see Jean Pierre. They bemoaned the fact that he lived so far away. He was one of their favorite people. Charles called him one of the most honest, genuine people he ever met. I felt that from him, as well. It was nice to hear my feelings confirmed. Between Sean and them, I began trusting my judgments about people more.

My new priorities were work and school. Roger was, as always, pleased with my work. Vicky and I had classes at different times for the most part, but I talked her into joining my dance class. She loved it. It was nice to see her on those days as well. We were becoming good friends.

Tuesdays and Thursdays I’d grab a bite and be at work by noon. Roger was not a stickler about time, but I was as prompt as possible so that he could have lunch. However, if I needed to talk to a teacher, I could without concern for Roger's disapproval. I always stayed later to make up the time.

Introductions

I am posting the contents of my book on this site.This is a love story set in modern day. What is asked here are the mystery of the ages. What is the purpose of our sexuality? Why is sex a commodity and not a vocation in today's society? Why is violence okayed by our culture and sexuality declared obscene? Why are they even linked? Thoughts like these made me write this book.

I posted this in one other place, myspace.com/lilithofthecaves. That is set for Friends Only... so if you are a part of MySpace, feel free to add me as a friend. I am just going to post until they delete me. Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke, you know? So anyway if you get interested in this story and it becomes deemed "obscene" or some such twaddle then you can find it elsewhere. I am new to this and am still trying to find out the can and can't do's of blogging. I am in the process of seeking a publisher but I wanted this available to all. Cheers. Blessed be.