Memories of Musk (FM older woman, inter, tantric, true) I was betwixt and between a whole lot of things and approaching the crossroads. My 10-year relationship was ending, had ended, but he hadn't moved out yet. It had been weeks since I had been with a man and I was too busy to actively seek a date. Plus it was awkward at home. I was marking time, waiting for something to happen. I was at UCLA for two days, taking a course on a technical topic along with a co-worker, really not expecting to meet anyone. As the class began, we went around the room and introduced ourselves, gave our names, the companies we worked for, and what we expected to get out of the class. I noticed him then, a handsome young Indian man. His name was almost identical to that of an Indian man who used to work for my company - only that man was nerdy and plain and wore glasses. This one was glowing with youth, about 5'11" tall with a trim physique, silky perfect cafe au lait complexion, shiny hair with a slight wave to it, bright dark eyes and a strong Roman nose. I noted with irony that he worked for a competitor on the very project we were most curious about. I was sure he wouldn't tell me anything, but it would be interesting to see if I could get any tidbits out of him. We broke for lunch and everyone scattered, heading to Westwood for lunch. As my co-worker and I left the building I saw the young Indian man looking lonely and lost, so I invited him to join us for lunch. We walked into Westwood and selected a healthy fast food place to eat. We waited in turn for our lunch to be prepared and delivered to us. He was all smiles and happiness, no longer lonely, in the company of two older women, ostensibly in their 30's. As we ate, he told us all about himself; he lived in a distant Midwestern city, had come to the US for graduate school. Of course he was an EE with a masters in computer science; a very bright fellow indeed. We would have been pleased to have him at our company in a similar capacity. After lunch my co-worker, a woman in her mid-thirties, said to me: "Did you know he's only 26?" "No," I said. "I didn't know that." He had told her his age while I was up getting my lunch. And I hadn't even thought about his age at all; I was merely being friendly to an obviously lonely person far from home; he certainly wasn't date material. At the afternoon break I was very surprised as he loomed over me while I was on the phone, returning calls from work. He hovered, waiting impatiently for me to finish. When I did he started asking all kinds of personal questions. Was I married? Did I have a boyfriend? What was I doing? Where was I going? Where did I live? And it became suddenly clear this young man, this veritable boy, was pursuing me. It was surprising and flattering, because I was so much older than he was. Twenty years older, to be precise. Yet he was saying he thought I was beautiful. "You are a very beautiful woman," he said to me in that pinched Indian accent. He asked me, in a gallant and charming manner, if I could stay and have dinner with him that night. Since he was away from home he was staying in a nearby hotel, whereas I had a horrendous 50-mile hour-and-a-half commute to look forward to. Of course I also had my peculiar home situation; feeling single but still having someone to report to, or so I thought. I said I couldn't stay for dinner but I could walk about a little bit before beginning the long drive home. After class let out we walked back into campus to the parking garage first and dropped off my books at my car. We then walked to his hotel a few blocks away. That was going to be all there was to it. Or so I thought. I was charmed, flattered and it was all very pleasant, and that was going to be the end of it. He chattered continuously and happily as we walked. He was surprised to discover that my favorite ethnic food was Indian. At the hotel I was going to wait downstairs for him but he casually asked me to come up to his room. And it was all so very pleasant that I did. I had no idea he would actually make a pass at me. After setting down his books and apologizing for his messy room he came over to me and began kissing me and caressing me while I was seated in the chair. I was adamant that I was not going to have sex with him, no matter how charming he might be. But I needed to understand what he wanted and why he wanted me. He told me that in India young people didn't get much sexual experience and that he'd had dreams of a wise and beautiful older woman who would teach him about sex and who would be his first lover. He went back to kissing me. There was a strong musky scent about him that I wasn't used to. I don't think that he was wearing deodorant as we do in the US, so it was the strong scent of a male, unadorned, raw and intense. I could almost taste it, as I would eventually taste him. He was most persistent. He wanted to see my breasts. And after two hours of kissing and caressing and cuddling, I relented and let him take off my blouse and bra. My large and heavy breasts were unveiled to him. He stroked them, kissed and licked them. It was quite lovely, although my mind was still spinning about what was I doing here? Finally time ran out and I had to go, since I still had to keep up some illusion of my deteriorating home life. At home I told my soon-to-be-ex that I'd be late the next evening, as I was staying to have dinner with a friend. The next evening was the last day of class. Afterwards we again walked to my car and dropped off my books, then to his hotel. Once there he was all over me. He said he'd never had sex before, and he wanted to have it with me. He was prepared and had a condom. He had captivated me with his wise-and-beautiful-older-woman story, so I decided to do it. We undressed and I looked at his body with awe. I saw a beautiful work of art I never imagined I would see the smooth cappuccino of his skin, almost softer than mine; the black, almost aubergine mystery of his genitals; his black-furred balls. His body was created in beautiful, rich, exotic colors. He was perfectly shaped in every way - arms, torso, legs, feet. He was truly a beautiful young man. And he was naked and wanted to make love with me. On the bed he wanted to look at me, to examine me in close and personal detail. He wanted to see where everything was and how it was put together, what was sensitive and how to touch me. He spent some time just looking and touching, and I accepted his explorations and answered his questions with patience and some degree of amusement. Then I took his beautiful cock into my mouth and sucked it until he was hard. He wanted to be inside me. He was nervous as he put on the condom. Then he slid into me. And that was it. Without a sound and only one stroke, he came. I had to ask because I hadn't realized it had happened. He hadn't made a sound. There had been no gasp, no moan, no quick intake of breath. He came silently, almost furtively. We cuddled and talked for a while. He told me about his mother, and how very much she loved him. Although he was a Hindu, he nevertheless believed in God, as did his mother. She prayed for him every day and she encouraged him in his studies. He was lonely for India. He hadn't been home in two years. I asked why he wasn't married yet. He said he wasn't ready, but that if he went home no doubt his parents would try to arrange it. I asked him how marriages were arranged, and he described the process. Then it was 9 o'clock and I had to leave. We never did have dinner. He drove me back to my car and he almost cried as we parted. He said he would never forget me. I ate protein bars on the way home and arrived home to an empty house. In the weeks that followed we exchanged emails and spoke on the phone at length. We talked more about India and the way life was there, as opposed to here. He was surprised that I did yoga every night, and understood the principles of ayurveda. He begged me to come and visit him, even though he was far away. He wanted to experience more with me. He was also interested in tantric sex, the yoga practice of sex as a spiritual experience, a joining between two people that was more than physical. He had done much reading on this topic and sent me a number of URLs, which I duly read. I had always been drawn to the idea of sex as a sacred union and it drew me to him even more. After taking that class I entered into an intensely busy period, between work and personal activities. I didn't have a minute to myself. But I did want to see this young man again, to spend more time with him, even though in my heart I knew he would not be the great love of my life. So I looked at my calendar and told him I could come Labor Day weekend, a brief trip squeezed between other commitments. I spent $600 to fly to this distant city to meet him for a weekend, my only free weekend in a couple of month's time. He met me at the gate when I arrived in the late afternoon. Handsome and shy, he took me to his car. Except that he was nervous and got confused and it took him a while to find it. Then we drove to a nearby hotel where he'd made a reservation. Because he lived with a roommate we had to spend our weekend in a hotel to be alone. I lingered off to the side of the front desk area while he checked in, although it was obvious we were together. We went up to the room and were dismayed to discover that it had two beds. I smile as I remember this. I am a seasoned traveler and have no hesitation in complaining about these things all the time. But this young man was so green and naive. It was the first time he'd ever had to complain about a bed. Nonetheless, he went downstairs and brazened it out, insisting on a king-sized bed. The hotel was quite empty that weekend and of course we assumed the front desk clerks were wondering what was going one between the two of us, especially in this conservative Midwestern city. I was obviously older, although I suppose I can pass adequately for late thirties. But he was Indian and as dark as a man can be, and I am very white. We embraced in our new room with its king-sized bed. He began by saying that some day we would part, so we should pray and be thankful for this time together, and asked that this time would be a lovely time for us. He asked me to forgive him now because some day he would end the relationship. I cried at that point, because his words were so sweet, and I knew they were the truth. We stripped off our clothes and simply held each other for a long time, talking and touching. I marveled at his silky skin. He said someone had once told him he had the feel and touch of a girl. He was as soft as I. He was not in a hurry for intercourse, and I think he was somewhat intimidated by the whole experience - alone, two days with a willing woman in a hotel room. He wanted to give me a yoni massage, a technique which gives a woman a G-spot orgasm. He propped my hips up and poured massage oil on me. He located my G-spot and stroked it for a long, long time. The pleasure was exquisite and it was so luscious to lie there, legs spread, wide open, being pleasured by an attentive man. Then the crescendo of feelings and sensations began and I reached my first Gspot orgasm, which lasted a long time. I was blown away. I'd discovered something new sexually with this young man, almost a virgin himself. We cuddled and talked some more, and then finally went downstairs for dinner. It was late when we returned, and so we decided to go to bed. To sleep. The next day we began with cuddling again and much kissing. He kissed my breasts and I sucked his cock until he was standing tall. I wanted to show him something different, in the hope that it would fire his passion, and suggested we try doggie style, with me leaning over and him entering me from behind. He seemed to like it and find it exciting, and for the first time he was beginning to get a good rhythm going. I could feel how hard he was and it was exciting. But in that critical moment my body betrayed me and a spurt of blood came out. He was unfamiliar with the mysterious doings of women's bodies. It scared him and he pulled out. He was terrified and wanted to know what was going on. It wasn't time for my period but my middle-aged body oftentimes bled in the middle of my cycle if I was exhausted or stressed. It was a frequent condition, given my frenetic lifestyle. I tried to explain that a little blood didn't mean anything but the damage had been done already. It dampened his ardor and we never really found it again. I put in my diaphragm to collect the blood but he was concerned that I would bleed again. The whole weekend fizzled because of a few drops of blood. Alas. So we stopped and dressed, and this time went out to eat. We were close to a nearby shopping center and ate at a casual restaurant, then strolled through the mall. We wandered into a large bookstore and both enjoyed leisurely meandering through the store. I bought a book; he did not. Throughout the whole time together we conversed and I asked him about his life and his beliefs, his career goals, and India. He told me why he'd stayed in that city after graduation; there was a major corporation there. He talked about possibly coming to Silicon Valley where there were many job opportunities for engineers with his background and training. But mostly what I heard was his ache for home. He could not articulate the call of India, but I sensed it. A great earth-mother was calling him home. In the evening we both laid down on the floor and he taught me more yoga routines, as his father had taught him. He was amazed at the flexibility of my back, and the strength of my abdominal muscles, from years of work. He was a gentle and patient teacher. I had brought a camera, just wanting one picture of him, something to remember him by. Late in the day I surprised him and flashed off a shot as he sat in a chair. He got very angry at me and I did not understand why, since our paths were not likely to cross again. Finally it was time for me to go. Tuesday morning after a three day weekend, and it was a work day for him. He took me to the airport and waited with me until he had to leave for work. After he left it turned out my flight was screwed up and I was routed via a different set of connections, but I was able to make it home on schedule anyway. I had paid extra money for a full-fare ticket and the privilege of flying on any flight. We exchanged emails for a while and talked about another visit. Within a few weeks it was clear that he was saving his vacation time and money for a trip to India. There would be no trip to see me. He asked what he should bring me from India when he returned and we discussed various things. But I never really believed I would ever see anything of it. And I was right. The time came and he went home to India and I never heard from him again. Nor did I try to contact him. It had been clear from the start that this would not be the great love affair of the century. He had sought me out for a specific reason and I had chosen to share myself with him in a special way. A few months later I finally finished the roll of film. Or so I thought. But I had screwed up in loading the old 35 mm camera and the film had not advanced. So I had no picture of my young lover, just what I could remember. But there is still a part of me that aches at the sight of a handsome young Indian man; there are so many of them in the technical field where I work. They are so bright and charming with their unique accents. There is a part of me which still longs for the touch of his silken skin and which wishes to inhale his musky scent. There will always be a part of me which wishes an Indian man would come and claim me for his own.