kama sutra in the cold
Sunday, January 16 2000
At 4am we were awaken and told to get ready for the photo shoot. This mostly meant brushing our teeth, since there wasn't time to shower. I tried to take a shit but Kim was shouting at me to hurry so there was no way. I need peace and quiet to effectively evacuated my bowels.
Consequently, I was plagued by The Farts the whole ride to the outdoor location where our photo shoot was to take place.
The ride itself was complicated by the fact that Kim and I were riding with Evan, who was following a van being driven by Dr. Corynna Clarke's mother (the Dr. herself was riding shotgun). In the dark, neither Corynna nor her mother could make out any of the landforms they'd noted when scoping out the site. So there we were, driving up and doubling back down extremely steep roads in the upper Topanga Canyon west of Beverly Hills, not sure where we were going. A few drops of rain were falling from the uncertain skies, threatening our plans for the day. Everybody was stressed out and snapping at each other.
When there was enough light, we finally located the principle landmark, a preposterously ostentatious mansion on top of one of the mountain peaks. The edifice vaguely resembled the Starship Enterprise.
Corynna had organized a rather large cast & crew for today's shoot. There was a genuine Hollywood makeup artist named Phillipe, a woman present only to "organize things," a photographer (one of Corynna's sister goddesses named Anthea), Corynna's mother (doing various odds and ends and preparing food and tea), Evan (dealing with equipment such as compact flash cards and video cameras), and four models: Kim, myself, and another couple.
The rain had stopped and the clouds were thinning out. The scenery from our 2000 foot mountain peak was beautiful, with a good view of most of Los Angeles, Santa Monica Bay, Santa Catalina Island, and cities in the San Fernando Valley. Unfortunately, the weather was just a little too cold for comfort, especially without the protection of clothes. Corynna, you see, needed us models to pose nude.
But at least one of my problems was soon solved. As the sets were being perfected, I snuck off into the bushes and evacuated my bowels onto the scrub.
For the first half of our time on the mountain, Kim and I didn't have much to do but snack on crackers and tea and try to keep warm. The other couple, a 30-something blond woman and her handsome hairy-chested boyfriend, were painstakingly made up to look like tantric Indians, complete with black wigs, turbans and other Indian clothes. Anthea delighted in referring to the long-kinky-black-haired wig worn by the man as "the man wig." The blond organizational woman called it "Indian Twisted Sister."
Mind you, before we'd left San Diego, I'd no specific knowledge of why Kim was dragging me to Los Angeles. I'm not into this tantra stuff at all and sort of go along to promote peace and tranquility in my domestic affairs. But watching the other couple, stripped nude in the chilly winter air, striking poses dictated by Corynna for Anthea's digital camera, it was crystal-clear. We were to be faux-Indians and pose for the various positions of the Kama Sutra (as illustrated in a variety of instructional manuals).
Corynna, like Kim, is an only child. While Kim and I had been warming our bones in the van, Corynna's mother had told us of the twelve unsuccessful pregnancies preceding the birth of the future star of the Goddess Temple. Consequently, Corynna can do no wrong and anything she needs mother will provide. Still, it was definitely odd to see an ordinary sixty-something woman cheerfully helping out with the mundane details of what was essentially a soft-core pornographic photo shoot.
The other couple had considerably more experience being models for this sort of photography than either Kim or myself, and by the end of their shoot they had a real erection to work with. Anthea dutifully documented everything: oral honouring of the lingam, lingam entering the yoni, you name it.
On an adjacent hilltop, a group of college boys had spent the night camping out in tents. The fact that they awoke this morning to the arrival of a pornography shoot must have been a complete mindfuck. The boys were understandably intrigued, pretending not to watch but sneaking around in the bushes and checking out whatever they could get away with seeing. Whenever Anthea caught them looking, she gave them the evil eye and shooed them away, but they lingered well into the afternoon, tee-heeing amongst themselves and rehearsing the story they'd be telling their buddies.
My makeup consisted of a black wig, a fake mustache, and lots of eyeshadow and fake orange suntan. My body is so thoroughly untanned that Phillipe could only go so far on his campaign of darkening. A special pleasure for him is the colourizing of a young man's nipples.
When he was done with me, Phillipe was pleased with his handiwork. Sure enough, I looked just like an Indian, but for a limited time only; the cold wind in my eyes kept a steady flow of tears streaming across my cheeks.
Kim and I did our Kama Sutra positions on a carefully-decorated massage table. While some of the simulated positions would have required a twelve inch erection, the cold and the camera conspired to keep me completely flaccid.
On the ride home through the stunning lower Topanga Canyon, Evan reminded us that this was the place where Charles Manson and friends had done their last acts outside of prison.
Me getting my artificial Indian look via Phillipe.
Me in my Indian garb. In the background at the far right is Dr. Corynna Clarke's mother.
Kim as an Indian goddess.
Kim and I, made up as genuine tantric Indians, without our wigs after the photo shoot.
It's important to note that the only photos I can display on this page are these few out-takes. The other photos are only available to paid subscribers to the Goddess temple.
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