Conference Calls

...so; the idea then is to teach the teachers to teach the program. You come highly recommended as the premiere individual to carry this off effectively.

We have the curriculum design. It needs to be tested in preparation for the piloting of The International Institute on Gender and HIV/Aids.

Of course, we seek your professional opinion as to the curriculum model. We welcome your advisement on presentation. The Atlantic Centre of Excellence for Women's Health will retain autonomy over factual content.

We are talking about a three day workshop in Halifax, NS, opening with a plenary session and then breaking out into discussion groups which will test and critique the program.

One of the key factors is that the modules have an extremely clean ability to translate and be teachable universally, without losing the essence of the vision and mission of the organization.

Dr. Chaudhuri, it is your international reputation and ability that lead us to seek you as our facilitator.

That was my first contact with Danyaal. Dr. Danyaal Chaudhuri, a well respected professor of modern communications.

Dr. Chaudhuri did accept our invitation, and in fact waived his usual fee, asking only for his accommodation, travel and meals. He felt our mission worthy, and donated his time.

This conference has been a good long time in the planning. I've been full focused at it, working from my home base: Toronto.

How easy these days to be in conference planning. The internet has made the world so accessible. My work has become quite enjoyable to me in its connection to the world through solitude.

Me, in my happy little office, a single room in my apartment; quiet, pleasant, and yet connected among nations. How different it is now compared to the past, when we needed to be forty or fifty in the same office, the same space, phones ringing off hooks, sharing fax machines, hard files and information.

These days my office is intimate. It works for me. My way is to mix my organizational ability with my true personality. So, along with my computer, books and manuals; there are flowers, incense, and decorations. It is a retreat. I am comfortable at work.

When I email back and forth, I am receiving in my intimate space. My mood: intimately matching.

Agendas, ideas for curriculum design, evaluation models, even those personal details of hospitality; all of these things I have discussed with Danyaal.

Yes. Danyaal.

It has been a long time since I have called him Dr. Chaudhuri. "I am Danyaal, Beverly. Call me Danyaal".

We, at some point; skipped beyond simple email, to telephone conversations. Those eventually became daily conversations. We developed a funny little routine out of a three day game of phone tag and increasingly teasing messages.

Danyaal, leaves some piece of voice mail for me: Any subject under the sun but for HIV/Aids. I return a voice mail in response. Day after day, the messages become lined with undertones. We hint to each other over and over in a hundred different ways without ever coming to the point. "I am romantically interested in you."

That, is understood.

I have adjusted my timing. I slept during my North American days, so I could be awake, there, in South East Asian time. Danyaal time.

He and I have developed a habit of speaking to each other. In fact, there is, at least in my mind, some odd sense of interdependence.

It was the daily conversations we had, that at times had little or nothing to do with the business at hand, which created this kinship.

"And how is the Tota? (parrot)" I might ask.

"Where were you today when I called at 11:00?" he might ask.

And sometimes, with the hint of a sigh or the slip of laughter, we might delve in deeper yet to our emotions as man and woman.

"Why the sigh Bev?" Danyaal would ask.

"A sigh of happiness Danyaal. You are a joy in my day."

Comments such as these became common in the last few months of our communications. Each of us felt certain gratitude in minutes spent together, and made no secret to the other of the pleasure.

Danyaal has a subtle way. His voice is at once commanding and gentle. He has an elegance he need not speak of, for it just is. I sense totally apparent elegance in a man who has never appeared before me.

When I first saw his photo, in the directory of public speaking professionals I was taken by attraction. I am a single woman with open eyes.

We have talked so often now; usually opening with a joke or two and then floating into business (almost as a premise at times). Our discussions have often entered the realm of the personal.

I know, Danyaal too, is single. Unlike myself though, who has lived a full married life; Danyaal has let me know that he has led a singular life, never married, and while at times attached, never completely bonded. Not bonded, as I had been in that so called "eternal" sacrament of marriage.

I cannot really say at what point it was that Danyaal and I crossed the boundaries of protocol, or who really instigated it. I can only say that we are beyond the professional. Together, our minds have danced in other realms.

We are meeting here on the train, from Toronto to Halifax, and to be sure, I will be on my best professional behavior, which is what I expect from Danyaal.

Yet, there are those things, those between the lines messages that tell me this train ride will not just be a final confirmation of planning and organization.

Completely unspoken: this train ride, is about Danyaal and Beverly meeting.

I boarded the train in North Bay, my home town. I wanted to take the time to visit my family. Danyaal was to board in Toronto.

He insisted, much to my dismay, that I not meet him as he boarded, but instead over dinner, in the evening. It was against my good manners to allow a guest to arrive ungreeted, but Danyaal has a very firm way and is practical.

"I will want to go directly to my compartment to shower and relax" he told me. "I don't want to be travel weary when we meet."

It made sense; as Danyaal always did.

The idea left me smiling. I am a romantic, and Danyaal, with gorgeous eloquence and true gentleman style has me smitten. I have spent many hours now imagining meeting Danyal over dinner for the first time.

I planned, for myself. I am used to this; dressing my skin, my hair and my body as if they were going to be discovered by a lover. It is private, for me; a silent promise to my imaginary Prince Charming that should he arrive, I will be ready for him.

Danyaal. Prince Charming. Not too far apart these two, in my mind.

I had reserved a dinner table and pre-ordered meals, according to the preferences Danyaal had indicated.

My dress was a simple doubled slip of a silk gown; blues and greens. Not one for the big flashy do, I have loose hair, and simple makeup. The jewelry is minimal, the shoes leather strapped mules.

And beneath?

Well; there is nothing beneath. It is because I have an imagined moment, and I prepare for imaginary moments.

Beneath my dress is naked skin and soft scent.

I will not go on about how Danyaal and I greeted each other personally for the first time (his kiss to the back of my hand, raising a burning flush in my cheeks) nor will I rehash the events and discussions during and after dinner.

The aura of the evening: I will describe that.

We had begun anew, as if we had not intimated at all.

Both of us represented ourselves first as professionals, in acknowledgement that it was professional association which had brought us together.

As the train rumbled beneath us, our hearts began to rumble within us. Flirtations began flying. Our eyes did a dance of domination and submission, sometimes wicked flashing, sometimes lowered lashing.

Although I was the official host, it was Danyaal who made the overt invitation.

"I am remembering a message from a while back Beverly. You described how you would like to receive your first kiss on the lips from me. Do you recall?" asked Danyaal, with seriousness of tone.

He made me blush by bringing up a subject I had teased and jested about. I had opened that door with a flippancy that was met by something quite unexpected. Danyaal took the idea of a kiss to the lips and went someplace I had never been and was shocked to go. The entire conversation flooded back to me and I was pulled into the abyss.

"I recall, yes." I spoke with a quiet nod.

Danyaal took my hand, and guiding me to my feet, drew me towards him: close enough for a kiss, but us both knowing it would not happen here and now.

"Come with me Bev. Come with me to my compartment. It is time."

My legs trembled as we walked. The motion of the train did me no favors.

Danyaal instinctively reached out and held me at the waist; his hand barely there, ready in gentleman fashion to steady me should I stumble.

And then, as we reached his door, he escorted me through, his hand slipping to the lower curve of my spine, applying a gentle pressure, which I walked away from.

Inside the compartment, it was a moment in time.

I turned and watched him, his back never to me. At the sound of the final closing of the door, we both smiled tremendous happy smiles.

I stood ground. He walked to me. The closer he got, the softer our smiles became. In five steps the smiles were off the visage and left in the eyes.

Within arms length, he stood, and said

"Tell me how I am to receive your first kiss to the lips."

"Oh!" I breathless.

"Tell me." He gentle but firm.

"I....I..." My vocal chords have disappeared.

Seconds span like centuries.

He waits.

I whisper "I can't talk."

He looks into my eyes and he speaks without words. He tells me he needs to hear me.

And so, then I too begin to speak without words.

I look into his face and I see he is observing me closely. I smile so happy to see him. The back of my fingers on both hands stroke over the arches of his cheek bones.

His head automatically responds with a tilt of the chin upward.

To his hair my fingers run, combing through its neat strands. My fingertips seek out the tensions in the scalp. Tensions are found. I stroke them away with the soft pads of my fingers. He hums a soft approval.

Still, he does not move. Still he is observing me.

And I observe too.

In the deep darkness of his pupil I see myself.

I grow, open, and loosened, free in the view of his eyes.

"The first kiss . . ."

I have begun. I cannot turn back.

"The first kiss shall have you naked Danyaal."

And so, I proceed to strip him of the coverings he bore.

Half. I went half way, removing all of his adornments above the belt.

It was only at this point, that I actually dared to touch any of the skin that I had uncovered. My hands did a tactile exploration of his chest, his arms, and his shoulders.

I felt my eyes and my nostrils flare in inhalation at the same time. His did too.

Electric.

I bent my face to his chest, and licked and sucked and kissed the nipples which sat so neatly on his firm chest. Ah! the sensation! the response!

From there my tongue sought upward tasting the salt of his skin, to his throat.

The throat. Danyaal and I, we have discussed the throat.

It is instinct. As I recall the discussion I am taken in animal passion and bite his neck.

He slaps my face away without intent.

We both stand shocked.

Then laugh.

"You! You nourish me. Make me verdant" I smile happily.

The words he speaks in return shock me as another slap.

These awakening slaps!

"In you I find a fertile field rendered sterile by drought. I find it my duty to irrigate you."

He is not smiling. He is not scowling. He is stating his position with cutting brutality. I know it. I've heard it. We have talked, that talk. I am reeling now to be in the very position he chose. The position I agreed to be in.

Stunned, I babble. "To irrigate? . . . irrigate?"

My eyes search his face "Tell me truth! Make me true! Cleanse me." It is not my voice that cries. It is my skin. The nerves there-under. Every slip of silk on my skin is him touching. He has a thousand fingers on a thousand nerves.

He knows he has me. He smiles patiently. He knows I know.

He knows I can answer myself. "To irrigate? . . . irrigate"

He stands half naked and all bold.

"Yes. With my presence, spiritually. With my passion, sexually. With the flow of me, physically. Now. You tell me Beverly. How am I to receive your first kiss?"

My eyes lower, my head drops, my mouth eats at itself. I am chewing my bottom lip.

Why? Why must I say it?

"Oh!" I cry out, called upon to speak words I have spoken before through the safety of distance. I shiver at the danger present. Should I offer what I know? Will I be met head on? What if I misunderstood? What if I don't know anything at all?

What if? What if.

He sees he has me frightened. He smoothes my hair, soothing me. Soon, I am comforted by his gentle touch. I can smile again and do, into Danyaal's eyes, loving him completely.

Diving forward head first, I dare to speak.

I dare to complete the first kiss.

"You shall be naked."

And I make him so.

Glorious.

"I shall kiss your lips."

And I do.

Ah! The first taste of my dream's lips. The first moistening of my mouth with his mouth! The passion, his passion, mine. Churning. Burning. Butter smooth and melting.

There is no describing the magic of the first kiss between lovers. I will not attempt it. I hope you know. I hope you have felt it. How can I tell you the rest of this story if you haven't?

I trust you will understand. I will go on.

I, in my gown, kneel before him, naked before me.

With only a slight lifting of my face I am lips in line with lann.

My lips part. I look to his face and speak.

"You shall enter my mouth."

"Oh?" he asks, teasing me as if he doesn't know where I'm going. Of course he knows. He is the cartographer.

I smile at his cockiness. I return it.

"Yes Danyaal. I am here on my knees. Look, if I just poke out my tongue we connect." I lick out and lay velvet warm strokes of tongue on his semi erect phallus. It flexes itself against my tongue. We both gasp..."Ah!"

Mmm. Yes. My tongue licks more with delight. Joy. Love. My eyes close and my mouth opens and finds the head so smooth to suck in between my lips and deep in my mouth. I am gone. I am beyond redemption.

On my knees I am, my hands palm flat on the front of my hips, not grabbing but more as a two way touch pad. My center fingers stroke circles on his flesh. As my mouth sucks and chews on him my mind transcends. I am listening to him through his penis. He talks to me.

He reminds me that I can be washed clean. He reminds me that he told me he could cleanse me - would cleanse me. And I am here. On my knees.

I swallow deeply in practice. I am prepared.

The throat.

How vulnerable. How vital. I am on my knees with my throat exposed by the arch of my neck and the lifting of my face to the sunshine and darkness that is Danyaal. The open exposure of the throat, the willing sacrifice of it to receive His water; therein lays both the vulnerability and the desire for vitality.

He promised rebirth. For me. It is not a matter of trust for me. It is a matter of faith.

In good faith, that he is an angel in guidance, I am ready to drink what he no longer has use for and is ready to pass on to the world. Let it filter through me!

Danyaal naked and standing. I fully dressed and kneeling. His cock semi erect, ready to urinate in my mouth.

I'm not going any further with the personal details. You are shocked and I know it is so. It takes, and took me, a great deal of thought to be here with understanding.

However a man and a woman choose to unite their spirits, with mutual consent and without threat to others, it is right and good.

I feel no shame. I drank.

Danyaal delivered me from shame.