The following weeks flew by like one—the best day.
Morning surfing at Padang Padang, diving into creative work during the day, romantic sunsets at Uluwatu’s seaside restaurants, and soulful evening conversations, gazing at the starry sky from our rooftop.
Everything felt perfect, except for one thing: I was constantly taking handfuls of pills that were barely managing my symptoms anymore. As our closeness slowly grew, gently leading us toward the “first time,” my fear grew too—the fear of telling Snake that a master of feminine intimate practices was unable to cope with a condition that threatened to turn into cervical cancer. At least I had something to teach him, and he was clearly eager to absorb new knowledge about feminine sensuality.
“How would you feel about taking the massage practice further?” I asked one evening as we lay wrapped in each other’s warmth on the rooftop. “Have you ever heard of tantric massage?”
“The one with penetration?” Snake asked, slightly embarrassed.
“Not necessarily at all. Tantric massage is actually worlds apart from erotic massage. The goal of erotic massage is orgasm. Tantric massage has no goal—the process itself matters. You don’t even work on muscles like in classical massage. The focus is entirely on sensation.”
“That sounds interesting. I’m just not sure how exactly I’m supposed to touch you.”
“Touch in tantra is soft, slow, penetrating—not so much physically as energetically. As if your hands become eyes, looking through me. And not just eyes, but eyes of love. With your hands, you explore all of me, as if I were a work of art…”
“But you are a work of art,” Snake smiled, looking at me the way one looks at a beloved.
“Then you’ll master tantric massage easily…” I replied, burning under that gaze.
“And still, I want to understand—does this massage involve penetration?”
“It doesn’t exclude it. But today, let’s stay on the surface of the body. I still need to prepare you for yoni massage.”
“Or myself…” I thought, feeling a sudden chill inside.
“Of course! I’m ready to master the wisdom of tantra step by step, teacher,” Snake agreed without resistance, easing the atmosphere with his signature nerdy tone.
“Perfect, my dear student. Then I’ll take a shower, and you turn on some music, light the candles, and prepare aromatic lavender oil. I’ll come up to your bedroom soon,” I said over my shoulder as I descended the stairs from the rooftop.
“Can’t wait,” he exhaled, inspired, taking one last look at the lights of nighttime Uluwatu before following me downstairs.
In the shower, the familiar worries returned. I knew Snake would never cross my boundaries—but there was something else. His gaze, burning straight through the tropical night, wouldn’t leave my mind. Until now, our connection had remained at the level of falling in love, more like a very special friendship—but tonight, I felt something different. And this massage wasn’t just another learning stage—it was the next step toward intimacy.
I had never come into his bedroom before. Never undressed in front of him. Never received a full-body massage with “hands of love.” On some deep level, we were both ready—but it took me time to fully realize it.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” Snake sighed with relief when I finally entered his room.
It felt like he’d been waiting forever—probably pacing the space like a caged tiger in anticipation. Warm candlelight filled the room, a slow sensual mix from my SoundCloud playlist played softly, and warm lavender oil waited on the bedside table. He stood there in nothing but shorts, leaning against the balcony railing overlooking the moonlit ocean.
“I’m here…”
I stepped up behind him, let my thin cotton shirt fall to the floor, and pressed my naked body against his back. For a while, we stood silently, gently swaying to the music. Then he took my hand and led me toward the bed.
“A work of art, indeed,” he murmured, admiring the golden lines of my body dancing in candlelight against white sheets.
I was still melting under his gaze, but with every moment, I allowed myself to receive the gift more deeply. I let myself believe that his touch was healing for me—and that my main intention was to truly open toward this love.
“Breathe. I won’t hurt you,” Snake whispered, as if reading my thoughts, and placed his warm hands on my goosebump-covered skin.
That familiar sense of safety and deep peace wrapped around me like a soft blanket. Something inside me was changing under his touch. With each moment, the flower within me opened wider—as if Snake were the sun I had always been missing. I truly couldn’t remember anyone ever touching me this gently. Except, perhaps, my grandfather, rocking me to sleep with his magical caresses. As much as the comparison troubled me, this was exactly the warmth my inner girl needed—more than anything else. And I accepted it. I accepted Snake’s unconditional love, his healing touch, as the most precious gift sent to me by God.
These thoughts drifted through my mind as he worked his quiet magic on my body. The soft scent of lavender gradually quieted my inner monologue, and I sank deeper into pure sensation.
Snake was an incredibly gifted student. He absorbed my guidance with subtle precision and fully embraced the idea of admiring me through his hands. As if given permission, he explored all of me—with devotion.
Usually, massages gave me more discomfort than pleasure, and now I finally understood why. No one had ever done it like this. Snake’s touch was gentle, barely there. He brushed my skin lightly, then softly gathered it in his palms, awakening it with quiet sensuality. With each movement, I felt a stream of energy flowing from his hands deep into my body—into places where my most vulnerable parts had hidden for years. His presence felt like permission for them to emerge. And that liberation felt truly ecstatic.
I wasn’t lying on the bed—I was floating high above the Earth, losing all sense of time and space, while Snake meditated through touch. Back, shoulders, hands, thighs, feet… even each toe became his favorite. Deeply, yet delicately, he entered every part of my body, fully relaxed in total trust.
“Snake…” I suddenly voiced my secret desire, surprising even myself.
“May I fall asleep in your arms tonight?”
“Of course you may, Kitty-Cat. Come under the blanket.”
Unable to speak anymore, I slipped beneath the soft covers, turned toward him, and embraced him as tightly as I could. Quiet tears of gratitude streamed from my eyes. He held me back and gently kissed the top of my head.
“Sleep, sunshine. Sweet dreams.”
“Sweet dreams,” I whispered, drifting into another reality.
Morning surfing at Padang Padang, diving into creative work during the day, romantic sunsets at Uluwatu’s seaside restaurants, and soulful evening conversations, gazing at the starry sky from our rooftop.
Everything felt perfect, except for one thing: I was constantly taking handfuls of pills that were barely managing my symptoms anymore. As our closeness slowly grew, gently leading us toward the “first time,” my fear grew too—the fear of telling Snake that a master of feminine intimate practices was unable to cope with a condition that threatened to turn into cervical cancer. At least I had something to teach him, and he was clearly eager to absorb new knowledge about feminine sensuality.
“How would you feel about taking the massage practice further?” I asked one evening as we lay wrapped in each other’s warmth on the rooftop. “Have you ever heard of tantric massage?”
“The one with penetration?” Snake asked, slightly embarrassed.
“Not necessarily at all. Tantric massage is actually worlds apart from erotic massage. The goal of erotic massage is orgasm. Tantric massage has no goal—the process itself matters. You don’t even work on muscles like in classical massage. The focus is entirely on sensation.”
“That sounds interesting. I’m just not sure how exactly I’m supposed to touch you.”
“Touch in tantra is soft, slow, penetrating—not so much physically as energetically. As if your hands become eyes, looking through me. And not just eyes, but eyes of love. With your hands, you explore all of me, as if I were a work of art…”
“But you are a work of art,” Snake smiled, looking at me the way one looks at a beloved.
“Then you’ll master tantric massage easily…” I replied, burning under that gaze.
“And still, I want to understand—does this massage involve penetration?”
“It doesn’t exclude it. But today, let’s stay on the surface of the body. I still need to prepare you for yoni massage.”
“Or myself…” I thought, feeling a sudden chill inside.
“Of course! I’m ready to master the wisdom of tantra step by step, teacher,” Snake agreed without resistance, easing the atmosphere with his signature nerdy tone.
“Perfect, my dear student. Then I’ll take a shower, and you turn on some music, light the candles, and prepare aromatic lavender oil. I’ll come up to your bedroom soon,” I said over my shoulder as I descended the stairs from the rooftop.
“Can’t wait,” he exhaled, inspired, taking one last look at the lights of nighttime Uluwatu before following me downstairs.
In the shower, the familiar worries returned. I knew Snake would never cross my boundaries—but there was something else. His gaze, burning straight through the tropical night, wouldn’t leave my mind. Until now, our connection had remained at the level of falling in love, more like a very special friendship—but tonight, I felt something different. And this massage wasn’t just another learning stage—it was the next step toward intimacy.
I had never come into his bedroom before. Never undressed in front of him. Never received a full-body massage with “hands of love.” On some deep level, we were both ready—but it took me time to fully realize it.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” Snake sighed with relief when I finally entered his room.
It felt like he’d been waiting forever—probably pacing the space like a caged tiger in anticipation. Warm candlelight filled the room, a slow sensual mix from my SoundCloud playlist played softly, and warm lavender oil waited on the bedside table. He stood there in nothing but shorts, leaning against the balcony railing overlooking the moonlit ocean.
“I’m here…”
I stepped up behind him, let my thin cotton shirt fall to the floor, and pressed my naked body against his back. For a while, we stood silently, gently swaying to the music. Then he took my hand and led me toward the bed.
“A work of art, indeed,” he murmured, admiring the golden lines of my body dancing in candlelight against white sheets.
I was still melting under his gaze, but with every moment, I allowed myself to receive the gift more deeply. I let myself believe that his touch was healing for me—and that my main intention was to truly open toward this love.
“Breathe. I won’t hurt you,” Snake whispered, as if reading my thoughts, and placed his warm hands on my goosebump-covered skin.
That familiar sense of safety and deep peace wrapped around me like a soft blanket. Something inside me was changing under his touch. With each moment, the flower within me opened wider—as if Snake were the sun I had always been missing. I truly couldn’t remember anyone ever touching me this gently. Except, perhaps, my grandfather, rocking me to sleep with his magical caresses. As much as the comparison troubled me, this was exactly the warmth my inner girl needed—more than anything else. And I accepted it. I accepted Snake’s unconditional love, his healing touch, as the most precious gift sent to me by God.
These thoughts drifted through my mind as he worked his quiet magic on my body. The soft scent of lavender gradually quieted my inner monologue, and I sank deeper into pure sensation.
Snake was an incredibly gifted student. He absorbed my guidance with subtle precision and fully embraced the idea of admiring me through his hands. As if given permission, he explored all of me—with devotion.
Usually, massages gave me more discomfort than pleasure, and now I finally understood why. No one had ever done it like this. Snake’s touch was gentle, barely there. He brushed my skin lightly, then softly gathered it in his palms, awakening it with quiet sensuality. With each movement, I felt a stream of energy flowing from his hands deep into my body—into places where my most vulnerable parts had hidden for years. His presence felt like permission for them to emerge. And that liberation felt truly ecstatic.
I wasn’t lying on the bed—I was floating high above the Earth, losing all sense of time and space, while Snake meditated through touch. Back, shoulders, hands, thighs, feet… even each toe became his favorite. Deeply, yet delicately, he entered every part of my body, fully relaxed in total trust.
“Snake…” I suddenly voiced my secret desire, surprising even myself.
“May I fall asleep in your arms tonight?”
“Of course you may, Kitty-Cat. Come under the blanket.”
Unable to speak anymore, I slipped beneath the soft covers, turned toward him, and embraced him as tightly as I could. Quiet tears of gratitude streamed from my eyes. He held me back and gently kissed the top of my head.
“Sleep, sunshine. Sweet dreams.”
“Sweet dreams,” I whispered, drifting into another reality.