Where do you stand on lap dances?
Or perhaps stand is not the right word.
Where do you sit on lap dances?
Okay, maybe that’s not the right word either.
Lap dances – do you love them or hate them? Do you think they’re a beautiful example of sexual expression? Or a cheap and tawdry form of commerce?
Back when my Guru, Lucy, was still alive, she took a stand on lap dances. But it wasn’t what might you think.
Here’s how it would work:
I would be hanging out in my office or on by bed. Reading. Due to this activity, the reading material was perched in front of me, blocking my lap from easy cat access.
Enter the Guru.
Seeing the blocked access, what would the Guru do?
Did she throw a tantrum to get me to remove the offending obstacle?
Did she try a rational approach, outlining the pros and cons of making my lap available to her?
Lucy, in her enlightened state, knew that tantrums and arguments only produce strife. And Lucy was way too enlightened for strife.
Instead, the Guru approached the barricaded lap with an attitude of expectancy and entitlement.
I see you’re busy. Whatever. How about you pet me now? How about I stand [shoves book aside] right here. Yeah, that’s the place. Check it out: Now that you’re not holding that stupid book anymore, your hand is free for petting me. How awesome is that?
The Guru was an expert at the Shove-The-Book-Aside-And-Pet-Me-Now maneuver. Indeed, she taught me a thing or two about asking for what you want, when you want it.
And while that was all well and good, what was even more interesting is what would happen next.
Or what sometimes happened next.
If I was in the middle of a reading session when the Guru came to call, she would perform her Shove-And-Pet maneuver and move on.
But if I was about to get up and do something else, the Guru would perform yet another tactic.
Like I say, this tactic only happened when I was about to get up.
How did the Guru know that this was my intention? Dare I question the mystical abilities of my Guru?
No, I dare not.
All I know is if I was only planning on sitting still for a few more minutes, the Guru would follow her Shove-And-Pet maneuver with an even more advanced tactic:
The Guru was not, by nature, a lap cat. She was way too independent for that.
In fact, the only time she ever chose to sit down on my lap was when I was about to get up. To the Guru, that was the perfect time to plunk her thirteen-pound body onto my lap and settle in.
(Yes, that is a photo of a unicorn. That’s because getting a picture of Lucy on my lap is about as likely as getting a picture of a unicorn. I wanted to present a pictorial depiction of how magical and special it is when the Guru actually perches on my lap. Plus, any time you can put a picture of a unicorn in your blog, you have to do it.)
For the longest time, I viewed the timing of the Guru’s lap perching as a form of torture. She was only willing to give me what I wanted at the least convenient moment.
You want me to sit on your lap while you’re watching a movie? Or meditating? Or on the phone? Think again. What’s the worst possible time I could sit on your lap? How about I do it then? Yeah. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.
I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy my Guru Lap Dances. I did. I loved every moment she was sitting on my lap, purring contentedly. Sometimes I even waited to get up, just to prolong the pleasure of the Guru’s weighty presence.
But eventually, I had to get up. I had places to go. Things to do. People to see.
This went on for years.
Lucy was as predictable as the setting of the sun and the changing of the tides. She would only sit on my lap when I was about to get up. She would only partake in the phenomenon of the lap when it was about to change form and cease to be a lap.
Finally, in the midst of my frustration about her timing – and my guilt for having to leave in the middle of my Lucy Lap Dances – I had a revelation.
Did the Guru transmit this revelation to me by the power of her Guru ways?
Regardless, here’s how it went:
I realized that Lucy only sat on my lap when I was about to get up because she didn’t want to sit on my lap for a long time. She knew I was about to get up, and she purposely picked that time because she wasn’t a lap cat. She could only take the touchy-feely paws-on-skin action for so long, and she respected that about herself. She wasn’t torturing me, she was loving me. She was giving me a fleeting moment of affection as an existential shout-out. She was at peace with the transitory nature of pleasure and she wanted to share that peace with me. She was a Guru. What else would I expect?
This revelation totally changed my view of the Lucy Lap Dances.
I no longer had to feel guilty about getting up! I was doing what the Guru wanted.
Not only that – and here’s the advanced portion of the Guru lesson – I was doing what I wanted.
Check it out:
By forcing me to get up, even in the face of immense Guru Lap Pleasure, Lucy was encouraging me to take care of my own needs, even if they appeared to conflict with hers.
In other words, even though I thought the lap dances were a form of torture and taunting, they were actually perfect. Perfect for Lucy. And perfect for me.
After my revelation, the Guru came to visit one day while I was reading in bed.
She shoved aside gently repositioned my book and forced strongly encouraged me to pet her. And then, because I was about to get up, she sat on my lap.
Isn’t this awesome? she said. Let’s enjoy this brief moment of affection. And then let’s move on. Actually, you’ll be the one who will be moving on. I still like making you feel guilty for getting up. It gives me pleasure. Sure, it’s a fleeting pleasure, but isn’t that what lap dances are all about?
What have the Gurus in your life taught you about the fleeting nature of pleasure? Share your comments below!