Satisfaction Ashram

Over the next two weeks I was in Kamasutra training with Ravith and Benito. The two of them together took care of my sexual needs much better than Teddy ever had done, even at his most virile. But that wasn't quite enough. I increasingly realized that I loved Teddy himself. I might love the cocking I got from Ravith and Benito—more from the forceful, rougher, less refined in the ways of Kamasutra Benito than from the highly delicate and refined technique of Ravith—but I loved Teddy as a person and a partner. It was during this period that I came to realize that there was so much more involved in a loving relationship than sex.

This didn't make the knowledge that he had delivered me into sexual bondage any more easy to accept, though.

Progressively, I moved out on the ceremony floor with Ravith and Benito and came within a week of moving to the next stage—more advanced Kamasutra with the older, more experienced Acharyas. Acharya Ahitharan was already eyeing me and letting me know by his touches on my body as he guided me to the cavern ceremony room, that the time that he would "know" me too was near. As my training progressed, so did the trust I was given.

On the first morning I found that my cell door hadn't been locked, I quickly changed into my Western clothes, grabbed my suitcase, quietly stole out of the ashram, and nearly rolled down the mountain and into Nuwara Eliya. I knew I couldn't stay at the Windsor Hotel, but I went there first to get my bearings and to decide how best to escape from Sri Lanka and to make my way back to, first, level Teddy for what he had done to me and then to beg for his forgiveness and hold him in my arms until I could get his cock inside me. I knew then that we'd be fine.

I was starving. Of all the indignities I had suffered in the ashram, nothing topped the diet of vegetables, fruit, and nuts. I went into the hotel café and ordered fried eggs and bacon. While I was waiting for it to be served, I opened an English-language paper. My attention was arrested by an article on page 3.

. . . . Wanted in the murder of New York manufacturer Theodore Drisal, his associate, David Kane, is being sought by New York police. He is thought to have fled the country, and may be in India. He is suspected of having commandeered the company's jet and flown to Mumbai, India. Drisal's business partner, Morten Whitley, who found Drisal's body on April 21st in his apartment, which had been ransacked, reported that Drisal and Kane, who lived in Drisal's apartment, had been fighting of late over Drisal's intention to retire and to turn the company over to Whitley. Drisal is thought to have been diagnosed with . . .

Tears came to my eyes. My first thought was to the death of Teddy. Only after that did I fully absorb that I was being sought Teddy's his murder. For his murder. Teddy had been murdered. Mort. That was why . . . that was the reason for all of this . . . it wasn't Teddy.

I knew I must—should—go back. But all of the evidence . . . just too much evidence now built against me. I had fled . . . or so everyone thought. Mort would have had plenty of time to solidify the case against me. To cover his own tracks.

I looked up and, through tear-clouded eyes, saw Ravith and Benito standing in the doorway. David looked wildly around the room. There was a door into the kitchen. Maybe I could make it through there and escape them. But did I want to?

Decision time.