Just me

REENA H E R A

JUST ME

Sometimes one must go through hell in order to gain wisdom.

As for me, I found that deep inside my soul. I realized that all these years I have been interested in esoteric seminars and knowledge, and that made me feel like I had to change myself.

By thinking this way, I had reinforced to my subconscious mind that I was imperfect. I had to learn my life lessons the hard way. I had to endure a living hell first. In this book, I will be straightforward about everything, even about the very exciting erotic experiences I've made. Sexuality is something God wants, so why should it be swept under the carpet?

Dear reader, if this means going through hell for you, I hope that you will rise like a phoenix from the ashes after reading this book, because the sexual desire we suppress or even compensate sooner or later makes us ill. If you get something out of these words of wisdom, I hope it will be that you understand you're allowed to act out the Venus inside you and if that makes you happier than some esoteric course or a health trend, then I have made a valuable contribution to society.

Not just an apple, also an orgasm a day keeps the Doctor away!

Sometimes you have to go through hell in order to gain wisdom.

Well… I guess that was it…

I had just jumped into the water and behind me my yacht was going up in flames.

An ear-shattering noise had made my hair stand on end. Or had it just been the electrical charge of the lightning? Anyway, the pungent smoke that welled up to the helm left no room for doubt.

"Struck by lightning again," flashed through my mind.

I had jumped out of the cockpit, raced to the locker in the back where the fire extinguisher was, and immediately fell lengthwise over the traveller. Seconds later I was back at the companionway, blood was dripping out of my nose and I was holding the fire extinguisher, but the huge black cloud of smoke and the flames leaping towards me prevented me from putting out the fire.

"Damn it, the walkie-talkie is still down there on the charger," rushed into my head. I dropped the fire extinguisher into the flames, threw the waterproof abandon ship bag overboard, and jumped into the water, just in the nick of time because behind me a monumental wall of fire raced to the sky.

I was about 1700 nautical miles away from the coast or a well known island in the Indian Ocean, heading for Madagascar via the Chagos Archipelago.

The storm had been raging all around me for over an hour. I had tried very hard not to lose control of the situation by using the self-steering gear; still, it had been extremely difficult to keep the yacht on course.

Well, truth to tell, I was actually anything but in "control" of what was happening.

As I rode through the tree-high waves and the yacht bouncing up and down from trough to trough, I was barely able to hold the rudder at all.

And now I was floating in the roiling and boiling water of an endless ocean.

The fact that my nose was bleeding was anything but comforting in my situation, given I was so far away from the coast. It is said that sharks can even detect highly diluted blood from miles away, after all…

"I better not kick and splash around too much," went through my head as I tried to reach my dinghy and the abandon ship bag so I could use it to move away from the inferno.

The only thing that was somewhat calming me down in this situation was the automatic life vest I was wearing, which had inflated seconds after I had hit the water surface. Yet, some sailors would rather choose to drown quickly than… well…?

At the moment, I was simply glad that I had towed the boat behind the yacht as a sea anchor. It acted as a sort of brake or parachute which prevented the yacht from succumbing to the violent sea. I had just managed to grab the rope by means of which the boat was lashed to the yacht, and as I pulled on it with all of my might, I could see the small dinghy slowly inching towards me. It took all the strength I had not to let go of this vital connection, so when I had finally reached the boat that was bobbing up and down at the rhythm of the waves, I just tried to cling to the rope on its side. That was no easy task at all. Wave after wave broke over me. My arms were shaking from exhaustion; my hands were red and marked with rope burns. The burning yacht was tossed up and down by the waves, and I was pulled along with the dinghy behind it, like a water skier not wanting to let go of the towline after falling into the water. A huge gust of wind snatched the line out of my hands causing me to lose hold of the boat. I was exhausted. I had no strength left. Again and again I was pushed back under water and could hardly breathe in the foam of the waves. When I managed to grab the rope once more, I wrapped it around my wrist so it could not be taken from me again. With bated breath I watched the yacht, which was now only a sea of flames and black smoke. "How long will it take until the plastic melts and water begins to splash into the yacht through the holes that the fire has caused?" I wondered. The yacht was probably lost either way.

I thought I should probably tie off the line that connected the boat to the yacht, but at that moment I couldn't reach the knife that I had always strapped to my lower leg. Under no circumstances could I let go of the boat now. Each wave threatened to break it away from the yacht. After a few minutes my hands were burning like they were on fire, and I knew I couldn't hold on for much longer.

A wave three meters high is actually nothing special to see when you are on a yacht, but drifting in the water with nothing but flames in front of you was a different story. To be eaten by sharks, to die of thirst, to drown – did I have a choice?

Suddenly, I just felt terribly small and at the mercy of the forces of nature.

Was I really drifting in the middle of this seemingly endless ocean? Was my yacht being eaten up by flames right in front of me? The roaring storm and the lightning strikes all around me were painfully real, not some sort of cruel nightmare! Another gigantic wave threatened to tear my dinghy away from me as it crashed onto us. Both my mouth and nose were full of water and I couldn't breathe properly anymore. "This is the end, this is it," flashed through my head.

Another wave shook my dinghy violently, making it hard for me to keep hold of it. Yet, I wasn't ready to give up; I was still alive, even though I had nothing to cling to but this small boat.

The storm and the waves normally wouldn't have meant too great a danger on my yacht; it was perfectly suited for these weather conditions. However, now that it had been struck by lightning for the third time within a year, it was a different story.

I hadn't taken the warning seriously: the warning that I had received from some energy in the universe on the evening before I purchased the yacht.

°

We had had dinner with friends. While the adults were talking about anything and everything after the meal, I had given the two kids some paper and crayons, so that they could occupy themselves with drawing.

As a former art teacher I like keeping kids busy with something creative so that they don't get bored. On this evening, however, the result of this children's activity was not the usual child's drawing.

Seven-year-old Susanne had drawn a beautiful yacht, probably the result of the conversation during dinner. Above it, however, she had arranged black thunder clouds from which numerous flashes of lightning rained down on the yacht. Flames erupted from the yacht. When I looked at the picture a cold shiver ran down my spine.

"Susanne, why didn't you draw a sunset behind the yacht, or a rainbow?" I blurted out.

The little girl's answer made my blood run cold, although the evening temperature was over 28 degrees Celsius.

"That's how I see it right now, it's pretty simple," was the girl's answer. And, uncommon for a seven-year-old, she looked deep into my eyes when she said that.

"And what's going to happen to me?" I asked her and another cold shiver ran down my spine. At the same time my entrails contracted.

Susanne didn't answer. She just looked deeper into my eyes. During the following night I couldn't sleep properly, and kept rolling from one side to the other in bed… "You're not going to let a young child's drawing keep you from doing what you have been dreaming about for many years," my boyfriend convinced me in the morning. "It's just a coincidence, it doesn't mean anything."

We bought the yacht the next day.

°

And now I was drifting in the ocean, 1700 nautical miles away from the coast.

Another wave crashed over me and the dinghy was cast into the wave's crest once more. Seconds later, a mighty gush of water rushed down on me, and the boat was torn out of my hands. The floods spun me around and around, repeatedly forcing me under water. When I finally got back to the surface, I saw my boat clinging to the wall of the next big wave. Using both arms and the last bit of my strength, I paddled toward the dinghy, but just when I thought I had finally reached it, it was pulled up and came back down many yards further away. I cried out in despair, and was rewarded with another mouth full of salt water.

"OK, just don't panic."

Was that my idea? My muscles convulsed in all four limbs. Finally, gasping for air, I was able to grab one of the board lines that ran around the boat with my fingers. A new wave almost carried me away from it again, but this time I held on with an iron will. Thousands of thoughts were running through my head.

What had made the girl draw this picture? What had she seen? Could she really have 'foreseen' this event? Did some energy in the universe want to warn me?

In general, I believed that, up to a certain age, children are more sensible to messages from the universe. These messages reveal our innermost thoughts. This makes some adults suffer until they start to believe that this makes them feel uneasy. Anyway, at that time some energy in the universe probably wanted to warn me with the help of this girl, as it often has happened in my pretty exciting life.

"I do not actually go with my gut that often. These messages come from my intuition. Instead, I keep chasing my thoughts most of the time, forgetting about what I feel. Well, I should probably go with my gut more often!" was running through my head.

"Oh yeah, it's so easy!"

Whenever I thought of something negative, I instantly got this weird feeling inside my chest, as if some invisible fabric were tightening around me, making it hard to breathe.

"Right now, something cold, wet and liquid makes my breathing difficult!"

However, when I was thinking about something very positive, such as romantic sex or the sensation of flying during an orgasm, my body soon felt very soft and relaxed. In other words, positive thoughts made me fly like an eagle, even without energy drinks or sex. Negative thoughts, however, let me sink like a rock to the depth of the sea.

"Right now, I should probably not think about sinking…"

"Well, right here, now that I'm at the mercy of the waves, I don't need no intuition to know that I'm in the sh...! It's curious though, that inside me, there's more a sense of depth. Where the hell does this come from?"

In my experience, the best decisions have always been the ones I got when relying on my feelings. Whenever I let myself be guided by my intuition, I turned out to be more successful then when I tried to think rationally.

"So why do I even bother worrying?"

Unfortunately, I had listened to my partner instead of the little girl's intuition and my own feelings back at the morning of the day when we bought the yacht. Thus, the inevitable happened. While I was bobbing up and down in the waves like a beach ball in the sea and the inferno on the yacht was still growing bigger – luckily at some distance now that the rope on the side of the yacht had been eaten up by the flames – I shook my head in disbelief.

"I would never have expected aluminum could catch fire," was one of the thoughts that crossed my mind when even the 25 meter high mast was consumed by flames.

My heart almost stopped when it started falling in my direction. Not far away from me the remnants crashed into the water.

Again I wondered why little Susanne had seen all this coming. Why had her voice been so certain when she insisted: "That's how I see it right now!"? I felt like all of my energy was being drained from my body and at the same time, my legs and arms grew weaker and weaker as I desperately tried to keep hold of the boat. However, at least I had forgotten about the sharks that were probably nearby – I had other things to worry about now.

"I have to get into the boat somehow; I won't make it any longer like this," I thought as when another wave was pulling me down.

"The dinghy keeps rolling over because of the waves," was my next thought, "maybe being in the water is more pleasant than the boat after all?"

"No, these splashing waves make it impossible to breathe properly; I have to get in the boat."

The next moment, the dinghy was flipped upside-down by the crushing waves and thereby hit my head. I was cast under the boat where it was much quieter and darker. I could hear the waves crashing onto the hull. I knew better than to trust in the seemingly peaceful quiet down here that somehow resembled calm eye of a hurricane. The sound of the waves reminded me of the flowing rivers in the mountains back home. After some eternal seconds, the boat came back to the surface again and I was shaken and tossed around by the storm once more. Right now, the wind was the most dangerous enemy. It drove millions of tiny water droplets before me, to a height of about 40 cm above the water, and made it extremely difficult to breathe.

The more I tried to take a deep breath, the stronger my feelings of suffocation were. I remembered that I had experienced a similar feeling many years ago.

°

It was during one of my first stays at the ocean. As a child who grew up in the mountains, it had taken the first eighteen years of my life until I came across salt water for the first time. My brother Jo and I had been invited by our rich cousin to her villa at the ocean in Portugal. We drove a few kilometers to a nearly empty beach almost every day. There was a wonderful sandy bay, which was about 100 meters long and nestled in two rock formations. A nice breeze was blowing and the air smelled salty. I would learn to love the smell of sea salt in the air over the years. On one of these days, we were enjoying the two to three meter high crystal-clear waves with big whitecaps on top, which fascinated us. Jo and I really liked to dive deep down in front of the waves so that we could shoot through the water on the other side. Neither one of us noticed that the local guys did not participate in this funny activity. As children who grew up in the mountains we simply found it extremely cool to play with the forces of nature.

"Typical stupid tourists," the natives probably thought to themselves.

Back at that particular day, it might have been better if I had just lain on the beach and passed the time thinking about the previous night. A night in which I had succeeded in giving my sexually very experienced cousin an orgasm, which even surprised her, from just gently caressing her back, her stomach and her enormous breasts for a long time.

Although I was certainly not a lesbian, and actually attracted to guys, somehow, after a few glasses of wine, I found myself in her bed. I was very fond of cuddling, so I could not resist and started to explore her delightful curves. This was all new territory for me, probably for my cousin too, so we took our time. With great patience, I slowly and gently explored every inch of her skin. From her toes to her neck I missed no point, and after this long "hike" through her hills and valleys, I devoted myself to her natural bosom. In the meantime, my cousin was breathing more intensely and obviously enjoyed my tender affection. I could tell by her increasing moans how much she loved the way I explored her body with my hands. Suddenly and only for a split second she had put my hand between her legs. My God, she was so wet. Like nectar it came flowing out of her pleasure garden . Only a few seconds later, she came with screams and moans: "I don't believe it, I don't believe it, an orgasm from only caressing my breasts!"

She pretty much spoiled me when she stated: "You should be proud of yourself. Once you get a man in bed, you will never get rid of him." These words boosted my self-confidence regarding sex, and that turned out to be something most young men couldn't handle. Most men do not like women who are confident enough to take over control. Plus, most of them do not show too much interest in being caressed and fondled. The only thing they are interested in is having sex, as soon as possible. I did not understand why my cousin did not give the same joy to me that I had given to her, so I had to pleasure myself that night. Even today, I still haven't quite forgiven her for that.

However, since I was so consumed by an effusive lust for life and the fun I had playing with the waves that very day, I wasn't thinking of a "next time". Suddenly I crashed into a wave slightly at an angle, and instead of gliding straight through it, I was caught in the vortices of a rolling wall of water.

I was tossed around in a circle on the ocean floor, and before I managed to get up to the surface to get some air, the next gigantic wave had already come crashing over me. Like a ball I was pushed under the surface by the masses of water that violently pulled me back and forth. Even my bikini was torn off me down there. I had lost my sense of orientation and couldn't tell which way was up or down anymore. Everything was spinning; I was surrounded by tiny white bubbles and an unbelievable force which kept tossing me around mercilessly.

My lungs were desperate for air, but there was nothing but water around me. The last thing I felt was losing consciousness while thousands of thoughts about my life and my family were going through my head.

There was nothing left but the fizzing sound of the little bubbles and the rushing of the waves that was getting softer. Suddenly, I felt a strong impact that resulted in unbelievable pain, and though I was barely conscious I started to claw what my fingers could grab of the sharp rocks.

Blood, there was blood everywhere… Staggering from pain like in a stupor I tried to get away from the water on all fours, stone by stone. When I had somewhat regained consciousness I heard the screams all around me.

"There! Straight ahead, she's up there!" "REBECCA!"

A wave had thrown me onto the cliffs so that I was finally out of the water. I had probably managed the rest by crawling in a semi-conscious state. From the roots of my hair down to my toes, my skin was covered in bloody scrapes. I was still shaking violently when I was wrapped in towels and taken to the nearest hospital.

°

This time I was wearing a life vest and the nearest rocks were about 1700 nautical miles away in an easterly direction. Meanwhile, the light in the sky had become scanty, and soon it was complete dark around me. The atmosphere was rather spooky as my burning yacht was being driven away from me by the wind.

A loud noise made me gaze at the inferno. Obviously one of the gas cylinders on board had exploded. Debris of all different sizes went flying through the air. As a result of several explosions, lots of small pieces were hurled into the sky, wrapped in thick black smoke and accompanied by a bright light trail behind them. I certainly do love fireworks, but this was not my taste. After some minutes passed, there was silence again.

First and foremost I had to get into the boat again – right now. I kept trying over and over again. In a quiet bay, it would have been easy. Out here, where I was tossed around by a heavy storm, roaring waves and a raging sea, it was an entirely different story. I desperately hoped the powers I had left in me would be enough to manage it. The boat was flipped upside-down once more, slamming its bottom against my head. I was repeatedly pushed under water. Whenever I tried to get back to the surface again, I was snorting and panting. I pulled, kicked and groaned every time as I tried very hard, but I just couldn't get out of the water and into the dinghy. Slowly, I began to panic.

Again and again, I fell back into the water with a clapping sound. What if I couldn't get into the boat? What if sharks started attacking me? It was growing dark and I knew that sharks were hunters of the night – a fact that worried me even more. This additional anxiety set my last energies free.

I screamed, trying to get the water out of my lungs. The mere thought of a shark beneath me made me "grow wings", or so I felt. Finally, I managed to roll over the side bulge and into the boat. Feeling totally exhausted, I tumbled down into it and just lay there panting for several minutes.

My situation seemed to be a little less hopeless now. As far as I could see, I was surrounded by white foam and a flaming inferno with a column of smoke, which reached at least 100 meters into the sky.

"I just hope someone sees this smoke. Somebody has to notice this huge cloud after all, right? Hopefully it'll be someone who cares… or who is curious enough to take a closer look, at least…"

The yacht, or rather what was left of it, was driven further away from me by the howling winds. Meanwhile, the light in the sky had become sparser. It didn't take long until I was surrounded by darkness. This was the time when my feeling of abandonment grew immeasurably. Even if someone were about to look for me, it had now become virtually impossible to find me. Now there was more to it then to endure the next few minutes.

I knew that I had to survive on my own until sunrise at least. Only the next day, starting with the next dawn, I could hope to be spotted by a ship. That was not very reassuring either. But had my life ever been reassuring?

°

It already started with the rather traumatic event of my birth. I was born in the family room of a farm house at the very end of the Grail Valley, which the locals consider one of the world's busiest valleys. That's probably why I was in such a hurry. Or maybe it was because my mother has always been so easily frightened. It was the so-called 'Day of the Devil' in the valley. That was an old Grail Valley Custom on December 5^th. Before St. Nikolaus visits the good kids, in other words, the well-behaved ones, on the next day, the naughtier ones have to tremble with fear on December 5^th. Traditionally, some of the men of the village are allowed to dress up and act like the "Krampus", a devil-like helper of St. Nikolaus, during this time, at least for the short period of one or two days. These men usually seem to be having a great time then, making up for certain urges they have to suppress for the rest of the year, I suppose.

Well, at any rate – whether it was out of shock or my innate curiosity – I was a difficult and too early birth. It took me more than seventeen hours to try and get out of a place where later in life it took me like forever to let someone in.

However, what turned out to be even worse were the first sentences ever to make their way into my subconscious mind.

"She's not going to make it," were the words my grandfather spoke as he ran for the priest so that at least my soul would be saved on this devilish day.

I guess I must have left quite a miserable impression. A lot of water was spilled quite for nothing – and here I mean tears.

I drowned out the wailing of the women, I must have somehow not liked the priest. This turned out to be an aversion I've never been able to shed my whole life. An aversion, which reached its peak when my mother told me the following story around my twelfth birthday:

"Your father and I were raised in a very religious manner. After your birth and my serious heart attack that followed soon afterwards, I learned from my doctor that I should not have any more children after you. The doctor even thought that I might very likely die if I gave birth to another child."

My mother continued in a weeping voice: "Your papa and I decided to ask the village priest for the permission for me to take the pill. He rejected our request categorically with the following explanation: 'This is absolutely out of the question! If it is God's will, the mother has to die.'"

"That just can't be true," I thought.

"Condoms or other forms of birth control were out of the question; partly due to our ignorance," my mother added. Besides that, the Catholic Church forbade devout Christians to use any form of birth control.

Fortunately, I didn't become an orphan after all. The universe was probably more benevolent than the Church's apprentice. I can't remember if I was angrier at my naïve parents or at the priest's commanding tone anymore. At any rate, my mother's admission made me furious. Today I'm still amazed that I didn't decide to set fire to any churches at that time.

But let's move back to the room where I was born. The water in my grandfather's eyes must have worked like an elixir of life on me.

"Now I'll show you, I'll prove you wrong!" … And I've been doing this up to the present day.

My difficult start, however, has been an influence on some areas of my life for a very long time. As a visible reminder of a life-threatening bronchitis I survived back then, I got a slightly deformed thorax. Fortunately, the beautiful shape of my breasts makes this flaw pretty "invisible". Apart from that, I simply slept through the first months of my life and as well as a few years after that.

Even the secondary female sex organs, namely the breasts, which are, as we know, every man's favorite topic, could get me out of my sleep back then. Every single time, I had to be forced to suck or drink with a few hearty smacks on my fanny. If they hadn't done that, I might have quite simply starved to death in my sleep. Oh well, I got used to the slaps later on.

To cut a long story short, I had a tough start in life. Even the youngest of my sisters, who were born in the time interval of one year after me – in spite of the medical prohibition I have 3 brothers and 3 sisters – had already outgrown me before I even started attending primary school. I was soon repeatedly outdone in every aspect by the neighbor kids and by my cousins who were about the same age as me.

Particularly worth mentioning is by my female cousin Petra, who provided my parents and me with quite a few unpleasant surprises, which were the product of her childish imagination. One time it was my hair, which she glued together with spit. I used to have curly hair like a baroque angel and all I kept hearing was: "Oh, look at those wonderful curls, how sweet!"

There was a time when I just couldn't stand hearing that anymore and someone, namely Petra, had to do something about it.

Another time, my inquisitive cousin needed me as a guinea pig in her attempt to find out how many stones she could stuff into a human anus, i.e. intestine. The world was full of surprises and discoveries for me.

My little brother Jo had to make an even worse experience with Petra. Although Jo was definitely not homosexual, Petra wanted to try out the powers of her vibrator before sticking this toy into her vagina – in other words, the object of "investigation" in this particular case happened to be my brother's asshole. And this happened without relaxing foreplay, appropriate lubes or gentle penetration. Jo was not particularly enthusiastic. lang=EN-GB>Since my father had always wished for a son who he could share his passion for sports with, I was raised to be sporty and rather "boyish". I had already displayed signs of my innate responsiveness and sensitivity, whish both were simply ignored and suppressed. As a result of this "re-education", I felt more comfortable with the boys that were constantly brawling and fighting with each other than the bitchy brats with their Barbie dolls very soon.

I preferred the male, loud, elbow bumping and show off acting to the whiny "do not touch me"-posturing of my same-sex peers. Consequently, my female counterparts generally tended to avoid me or made fun of me.

For a very long time, the girls thought that I was simply too bright and tomboyish. Therefore they did not participate in my frequently failed attempts to get closer to the male sex with so-called "Zwickabussis" or "pinch-kisses".

Pinch-kisses are erotic advances that require you to pinch the other person's cheeks on either side of the mouth with both hands while you kiss him or her.

They had certainly been invented as a sexual filter by the pathologically prudish women, because pinching the cheeks was probably supposed to nip any notion of sensuality in the bud. That's all they needed: Kids would enjoy an erotic, lascivious kiss when the grown-ups had to suppress every tempting erotic thought.

At any rate, my father desperately tried to make a "real man" out of his daughter. Especially because he had been the epitome of an athletically fit elite-macho, he was selected as one of the 24 most intelligent and athletic students in his age group in Austria and was allowed, or rather forced, to attend an elite school in Vienna. His intense homesickness and his longing for the mountains saved his life after his second year there. He escaped and returned home, back to the Alps. All his classmates were killed in the trenches during the last weeks of the Second World War. In other words, if it hadn't been for my father's homesickness, I probably wouldn't be here now.