Sylvia gets a message from Tammy

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Sylvia gets a message from TammySylvia reacts to what Tammy said to her:”You are at the outset of a great spiritual path,” she said, “not so many others can humble themselves this way, to surrender your body and ask for nothing in return. There is a path here for you that embodies everything you have understood so far about art, spirituality, and the meaning of your life.yes, you see me, a fat woman sitting on a toilet, but I can also be your friend and ally. You take pride in your debasement, surrender that, too. You have many rivers to cross in your life. What happened today was as a boat to cross one of them. When I use a boat to cross a river, I’m done with the boat when I put my foot on the other shore. I don’t carry the boat on my head. I don’t need it now. Sylvia, listen to me: don’t carry that boat on your head.”My ther****t wanted to put me on medication.”Three weeks later,” Sylvia told me,” I was sitting in Chemistry class, trying to work formula, and I had this thought..it came from way out there, and it surprised me. “I’m not mad at my mom anymore. She had sex with me, and she has sex with lots of people.she doesn’t owe me any explanation.time for me to pull up my panties and move on. Wow,.it wasn’t until six months after that that I connected it with what Tammy had told me that night.A month after that, I had another one: this one even crazier. Judy and I had gotten ourselves into a threesome, this time with the gay boy who had done us before. I was finding out that this ‘gay boy” liked pussy quite a bit. He was a sweet lover. I loved him, liked being with him in a friendly way, more than the sex with him. His fucking style didn’t have quite enough fire in it for me, but Devon was so sweet, he would go down on me until I was going nuts, grabbed his head from between my legs, and told him bahis şirketleri in a not so lady-like manner that I needed to be fucked right now. But then after all that pussy eating, his fuck wasn’t as intense as I needed. Devon would do anything, anything, that Judy or I thought up, that was a beautiful thing about him. Straight boys weren’t like that, I had learned.Judy had had the same experience fucking him that I did, except she was demanding a fire-cracker, extra hot sauce lover more than me.So they had been tangled up most of the summer afternoon at Devon’s house. His mother knew he was gay, didn’t have a problem with it. She acted like a mom when he had boyfriends over. S.he didn’t want him filling up their bungalow with two teen boy sex noise. But she didn’t care how many girls came over and hung in his bedroom with the door closed for two or three hours. Like a lot of moms, there were some things in the area of her c***dren’s developing sex lives that she chose Devon liked to be a fuck toy for Judy and Sylvia. There was no exact word for that then, but all three of us understood the dynamics of our coming together.In those days, before vibrators were conventional, women liked to play with dildos if they liked toys at all. Judy had something she called a “double dong,” a fifteen-inch rubber penis with a big dick head at each end. Though neither of us called ourselves a “lesbian,” a massive word in 1966, we enjoyed pleasuring each other just as much as any “lesbians” ever did….and Judy’s double dong was often part of it.After both of us had sex with Devon, we wanted more. Devon was like that. I liked him, but when I was that age. I was always ready for more.I was about to go down on Judy again. We’d been doing this for more than a year now. On the afternoon we shared with Devon, I found bahis firmaları a few drops of his semen in her chestnut pubes, each droplet reflecting and catching the summer light streaming in the window. I can go through complete orgies and not be that excited, but this little erotic morsel, so tiny most would miss it altogether, this was the cherry on the whipped cream on the parfait of erotic delights for me. My grandmother used to say “the greatest thing since sliced bread,” and I was, thinking, “Am I queer? am I bi? what kind of woman does this and has sex with her mother, and wouldn’t hesitate to do it again?” In Devons’s bedroom, with the smell of cooking wafting in, I didn’t hesitate to help myself….”A little later, or maybe it was a lot, Judy said:”Devon, sweetie, Sylvia, and I are still hungry. Your dick is down a little, but we have this thing (holding it up in the air) You can do so many things with a double dong. How would you like to see it in my pussy and.where? Silkie’s puss? Her ass? Her mouth? Every hole? Here, help her get it in me, and then both of you can suck it like you were sharing a dick, just like you did at the party, except it’s not a real dick. But still, lover, it’s fucking hot for me to see. If the dick that is attached to you gets hard, I have some dirty ideas.”Devon:”I want you to fuck my ass with it, Judy, that would be great.””Oh yeah.”Judy was on that so fast.”We’ll do that, but this thing has two ends. Sylvia could put one end in her pussy, the other in your ass, and you and she could fuck each other backward, yes? Then you have all have a dick and two hands; she has her mouth, her ass, two hands, and her imagination, and Hello! I am ready for anything.”We got this thing set up, the dildo in my pussy and his ass, and we start to do this rocking back and forth, kaçak bahis siteleri super dirty-talking backward fuck thing, kind of hot, kind of comical, too. I mean, nobody has sex this way. In the midst of all this, I had a thought about Edith Piaf’s gown. Views of that gown never entirely left my mind in those days. When Judy was around, or Rachel was, or when I was alone in my house, I would carefully remove it from the velvet garment bag, walk around my bedroom in it, posing in front of the one mirror I shared with Rachel. Rachel tried it on, but it didn’t fit her, to my sisterly delight. It fit me. Just me. The thought came to me like this:I was never going to be Joan Sutherland, Amanita Galli-Curci, Madame Shuman-Heink, or any other opera singer. I couldn’t do that. I could never come close. I had tried, dreamed, and practiced since I was six, and when my dad took me to meet the great diva Mme Sutherland, that is what I had set my life’s goal to be. Now, I saw that I would have to create a new direction in my life. I would be a singer all my life. I would be that it didn’t matter how much pee or p*o landed on me. I was thinking, for the first time since I was six, I could have a life, a good life, a better life than Edith, but I could sing for my supper as she did. I could, and I would. God, that was the most liberating, most frightening thought.Edith Piaf never sang opera in her life, but the more I thought about singing, the more I wanted to be like her. What would happen if I was a singer, but not an opera singer? I could wear that gown, or one like it, to work every night. Edith did it, Judy Garland did, Sarah Vaughn did, Peggy Lee did it, June Christy did, Dinah Washington, rest her soul, did too. Through my dad and my mom, I had met most of these women. None of them ever got near opera. I was fucking sweet Devon’s ass, getting my puss done at the same time, carrying on like the nastiest little ten-dollar whore in Los Angeles. Nobody but me knew about having this realization about music that changed my life forever.

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