The Island, Chapter 14 - Sex Stories

The Island, Chapter 14

... pleasantly. The way I collapsed to the ground next to her serene pose made me feel like I was a gorilla next to a swan. “You are troubled. Please tell me what is the matter.” “I…I….,” I choked out, but couldn’t continue. Tears dripped from my eyes as I shook with sobs. Anjali sat clamly, neither judging nor giving me meaningless “there, theres.” In a way it was easier than if she had hugged and tried to comfort me. I ran down eventually and pulled myself together. “I’ve done something terrible,” I began. “I don’t know how to tell you about it. I’m afraid you’ll judge me harshly. I judge myself harshly.” “Something traumatic has happened to you,” she said. “Your energy is disturbed. You need to discuss it with me so I can help you regain balance.” “I’m not sure you can help,” I said morosely. “I am a yogi,” she said. “Do you know what that is?” “Um, you’re really flexible?” How the fuck is that supposed to help? A musical laugh pealed through the air. “No, Mr. Connor, that is yoga. In fact, the discipline of the physical body is one pathway toward enlightenment, but not the only one. I practice yoga, along with many other disciplines both physical and spiritual. As do my students. I am a yogi, a master of the energies of the subtle body. We endeavor to reach a state of enlightenment, a unity with the universe around us. Disturbances in the energies of the body must be corrected in order to achieve a higher state of consciousness. Teaching such advancement is my calling. What ...

... has befallen you is merely a ripple in the pond that is your existence. It can be overcome and your balance can be restored. Trust me when I tell you I will not judge you for your actions. How you correct the consequences of your actions, for yourself and those you have affected, is more important.” I took a deep breath. The truth was, I was not handling this well on my own. I was not sure I couldn’t keep this secret forever without it eating me alive. I had to trust someone. Talking this out with a stranger seemed a lot better than admitting what I had done to a friend. “I hurt a woman. Badly. In fact, I raped her. She killed herself,” I ground out. “Perhaps you should begin at the beginning,” she said without a trace of anger or disgust. “I presume you are meaning the terrorist woman?” “Yeah,” I said. “I didn’t wake up today planning to hurt someone. In fact, I had a discussion yesterday with someone about how I loved women and wouldn’t ever hurt them. I guess that was all a lie.” “The true intentions of the heart are never a lie. Circumstances may alter the meaning of such a promise. Please continue.” “Well, I haven’t interacted with her much. On the plane, I was the one who stopped her from doing her part to make the hijacking successful. I know she hated me for it. She tried to kill me then. A couple of days ago I tried to see if she needed any medical attention and she about bit my head off. I can’t say I really hated her. I mean, I hate what she had done to us, and she ...