Born with her Sun in Leo and her Moon and several planets in Scorpio, Susan Quinlan defied all parenting skills and ran away from her home in Ohio on the same day she was expelled from high school at the age of fifteen. She escaped to California, of course, and had a few sobering growth experiences in the Haight Ashbury in San Francisco as the hippie experiment devolved into chaos before she returned home again, had an abortion, and got her GED. Owing to the use of LSD, California was imprinted in her brain so that she could not feel at home anywhere else, a fact incomprehensible to her parents, whom she left for the last time in a mutually satisfactory arrangement.Years later, in her apartment in San Rafael, California, she bore no visible trace of her origins in the solid Christian, industrial belly of America. She transcended her own personal history and went beyond the pitiful constraints of average American womanhood. She imagined she was beyond temporal conditioning entirely and the signs of the Zodiac themselves and had discovered her true, eternal identity, her undivided wholeness and self-sufficiency. It was impossible to say what sign she was now, for she was Devi, she who was every sign and no sign, Devi, she who was the eternal dance of flesh and spirit itself, a goddess, no less. Devi, silky-skinned Devi, lithe and hungry at the age of 29. She wore a flowing, white, diaphanous gown hemmed with gold brocade, and her long black hair swept around her as she fluttered about in her kitchen. It was Friday evening and she was preparing for a special guest, setting out crystal goblets on a silver tray, and arranging a platter of fruit, vegetables, and cheeses. With her tantalizing buttocks jiggling freely and accessibly beneath her gown, she floated back into the living room to burn some incense and select the music. She dimmed the lights and glanced around. This room was not a goddess lair. It was the usual rectangular box most Americans would call home and there was not a lot Susie could do with it. She needed a house on stilts with an open beamed ceiling and lots of glass and a deck overlooking the Pacific, something closer to God, something that expressed her true nature. She folded her hands between her breasts and lowered her head, chanting a mantrum under her breath as she visualized her dream house “Nham yoho renge kyo. Help me get my house, Baba/Krishna/Buddha/Jesus,” she muttered. Then she flung her arms out and twirled around, ducking and weaving to the rhythm of the drums and sitar on the stereo. Her guest arrived and was seated on a heap of cushions before the low, round, hammered brass table. This was never Maury Ibso's idea of luxury, sitting on the floor, for it made him feel vulnerable, somewhat as a beached whale must feel, yet he now looked forward to it on Friday nights. “This is the life, dolly! I'm beginning to like this weird music!” he sighed, as Devi bathed his swollen feet in warm, scented water. In her kneeling position her breasts, fat and pendulous and clearly visible beneath her gown, provide entertainment for Ibso's eye while she applied her reflexologist's art, gently stimulating the acupressure points in his feet. “I remember when you told me you would never take off your shoes, not even for Devi! You were so defensive, so frightened!” “OK, dolly, alright! Don't rub it in. Don't start in on me so soon!” Ibso protested, bringing his foot up to nudge her right breast. Devi gave him a resounding whack with her hand and Ibso roared with laughter. She sprang up and carried away the washing bowl without a word. She glided off to the kitchen. “Not the old silent treatment, dolly! Not tonight!” She breezed in again looking severe with a carafe of wine and glasses on a tray and his robe over her arm. “If we could only find the inner silence!” she said dramatically. “That is what we are seeking together! That is the only place we can be together! Take off your jacket and put on your robe.” “Oh, fuck!” Ibso groaned, wrestling free of his suit jacket. “It's always this woo-woo stuff! Give old Maury a break, will you, Devi-dolly, it's been a long goddam day and I'm feeling like a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest! I don't know why you can't loosen up and do a little snort once in a while! That's what I need!” “No drugs, Maury! That's part of your problem. All worry, all fear, all pain have their origin in the ego,” Devi smiled serenely, crooning with pedantic conviction. “Drop the ego, Maury, and you will feel heavenly relaxation and peace. If you cannot, you will never know true rest! Drugs reinforce the ego, drugs destroy the body! Listen to Devi, Maury!” “Devi-dolly, I'd rather drop my drawers than my ego. And don't worry, I'm not going to be doing any drugs!” Ibso sneered as he pulled on the silk robe over his shirt and seized the carafe of wine. In spite of himself Ibso listened, however. He wasn’t sure how much of Devi was bullshit and how much was real, but he knew that he felt extraordinarily good sprawled on these pillows in a weird blue robe with red dragons embroidered on it in this apartment that she'd made up like a Turkish restaurant which reminded him of that Persian potentate his mother babbled about so long ago, Fars the First, Caliph of Bahgdad. It was ludicrous, to a grown man, but what harm did it do to let the imagination run a little? Devi didn't laugh when he mentioned Fars the First. Well, she’d believe anything! She was even crazier than his mother. “I saw it all in your face before you came in,” Devi said, alighting on a cushion just out of Ibso's reach. “I saw conflict, angry words. I was sorry for you because I felt there was pain in your heart. You work and struggle so hard, Maury! That is the fruit of the ego!” Ibso was always astonished the way she seemed to know things she shouldn't know. She wasn’t there when his best salesman came into his office to shit on his rug, and maybe she didn’t know exactly what happened, but she always got the gist of it. She seemed to understand him and sometimes it felt like she saw right through him, so he didn’t lie for fear of the silent treatment, and was very careful not to bring up any subject he might have to lie about. If the sound of his name on her lips was so exciting, then what if her lips were closing around his penis, how exciting would that be? He knew it wouldn't compare with anything he ever bought in a whorehouse or in a bathroom somewhere. It would be like nothing that ever happened before, he was sure, so it was to be feared. It might also never be. Ibso always got what he wanted, especially when he was paying for it, but it might never be with the Devi-dolly, even though she was sucking up his cash, not that the cash leak really bothered him. It might have bothered him more if she tried to get her hands on his prick. He was not sure he really wanted that. No telling what might happen! She took too much LSD and she was crazy now. It might be catching. She lived in a dream, she was completely out of touch with the real world. Maybe that's why she got to him? She was terrific entertainment. And all her weird talk did something to him that no woman was ever able to do, not Roberta Hudson when he was 19 years old, not the best whores in Nevada, and certainly not his wife. She made him feel like it was a great achievement to be who he was. She seemed to actually like him, or something even more than that, which was new and strange. Ibso secretly believed that people would have to be crazy to like him. There was no telling what might happen if she got her hands on his prick. He drained his glass in two gulps and filled it again while Devi sipped and stared at him with her big, dark eyes. “Dolly, you remind me of a dog I used to have that laid down on the floor and stared at me for hours. Every time I turned around, I found that goddam dog staring at me. I told my wife to keep him on the deck and then he'd stare at me through the glass! I wish dogs could talk. I think he was trying to tell me something.” “I can talk,” Devi smiled mischievously. “And I am trying to tell you something. But it cannot be put into words.” “Devi, you're so fucking mysterious sometimes. I'm staring at you, see? I'm trying to tell you something. Can you guess what it is?” “Oh, Maury!” she laughed. “You're so defensive!” “No, I'm not, dolly. I just want some more wine!” “Oh, Maury! What can I do with you?” she frowned as she swept into the kitchen and back again with a magnum bottle of wine. Ibso's greedy eyes followed her and her every motion was calculated to please him. She set the wine bottle down on the table and began a series of come hither gestures with her hands, fanning them slowly before her breasts as she backed slowly away, swinging her hips in time with the drums. “I think tonight is the night!” she cried suddenly. Ibso's eyes grew round. The black triangle between her thighs was making little orbits in the air as she rolled her hips. “It is?” he gulped. She began to dance with more abandon, throwing her arms around and jingling the tiny bells on her anklets. “What night is it?” Ibso asked. She did not answer and seemed to go into a trance as she rolled her head around in circles, swinging her hair round and round. After gulping a liter of wine Ibso was beginning to feel vaguely mellow and warm. The trouble with wine, in his opinion, was you had to drink too much of it before you felt anything. It was basically a sissy drink. But when Devi danced, it didn’t matter what he was drinking. Suddenly she stopped dancing. “What is it, Devi-dolly? What'd you stop for? Keep dancing! What are you staring at me for? For crissake, dolly, you're giving me the creeps. Here, maybe this will give you some inspiration,” Ibso said, pulling out a hand full of bills from his pocket. He always brought a wad of ones and fives and tens when he visited Devi so he could shower her with money. “Oh, Maury!” she cried, ignoring the bills fluttering over the carpet. “I think this is the night!” “Dolly, for crissake! Why don't you tell me what you're talking about?” Devi leaped like a cat and dropped herself on the cushion next to him. She rested her fingertips lightly on his arm. “You must tell me something tonight, Maury!” “What is it, dolly?” he asked, eyeing her cautiously. “What do you want to know?” “You must tell me who you really are and why you came to me!” she demanded, squeezing his arm. “That night in the club when I saw you, I had the feeling of destiny! The root chakra was instantly connected to the crown with a bolt of energy and I felt a thousand lotus petals fluttering in my soul. It was one of the greatest mysteries of my life and you must explain it to me!” “Well, Jesus, dolly. You know who I am. And I came here because I think you're a sweet, naked little dolly and one hell of a good dancer, a little bananas sometimes, but one hell of a good dancer! That fucking club is not my piece of pie, Dolly. Alfredo dragged me up there. I never wanted to go.” “But you are very glad you listened to the tiny voice of destiny that you have been ignoring for too long! Aren’t you, Maury!” “Well, yeah, Dolly. You know that.” “For too many years you have ignored your inner voice, since the time of your youth when you were badly hurt, when some one attempted to smother the light of your soul. But all that has changed, Maury. I see it tonight! Tonight you must undo all the damage done to you and release the light of your soul! Tonight you must listen again, like you did as a child in your most secret fantasy. You must shut out the noise of your ego and reconnect to the deepest spirit within! Tonight, Maury, you will tell me the deeper purpose!” “You mean Fars the First? Is that what you’re talking about, dolly?” “No, Maury! It is not reincarnation. Think more deeply!” “Sometimes you loose me, Devi-dolly. But, OK, so you want to talk about the deeper meaning. The deeper meaning is that I'm a lonely man and I'm a sucker for a naked pussy cat like you! I attract weirdos like a dog attracts fleas, and you are weird, Devi-dolly. But so am I! That's the deeper meaning.” “Oh, Maury!” Devi laughed. “You're so cynical! But cynicism is just fear! So much a worldly man! And so frightened of the world, too! And you don’t even know your own destiny! Stop hiding behind your cheap cynicism! I know why I am here, Maury. I know why I dance for you. I am teaching you. Devi teaches!” “Devi teaches!” Ibso mimicked. “And what am I supposed to be learning, Devi-dolly?” “Maury! Stop being so defensive!” Devi demanded in an exasperated tone. “I know tonight is the night! I can feel it. I know you are going to tell me who you really and why you're here with me! I’m going to teach you how!” “What's so special about tonight?” “You're going to tell me! Now get comfortable and lay back and close your eyes,” Devi said in a brisk tone, propping extra pillows behind him. “Just relax now and close your eyes.” “Oh shit! Meditation time again?” “Maury!” Devi commanded. “Don't fight me so much. Your higher self has a message for me, I know it! Just lay back and close your eyes and tell me what you see.” “I don't think my higher self is high enough yet, Devi-dolly. Can't we smoke a little pot at least? I mean, for crissake, dolly, pot isn't a drug!” “Maury! Stop it!”she cried, slapping him on the arm. “Lay down! Close your eyes!” “Beat me, dolly! Beat me!” Ibso laughed as he slumped back onto the pillows. “It's a beautiful thing!” He grinned with satisfaction, titillated. Lately he wondered about himself when he caught himself having a fantasy about Devi in leather boots with a garter belt and mesh stockings, like the whore in Winnamucca. He trembled when he felt her cool hands smoothing his brow. “You are feeling completely relaxed now, Maury, you can feel your feet relaxing, first your left foot, growing very relaxed and heavy, then your right foot, very relaxed and sinking, sinking, into the floor, and your ankles are very relaxed and your right calf is getting very heavy...” Ibso sighed in spite of himself with feelings of pleasure glowing in the huge mound of his flesh while she murmured on and on. Her words caressed his body from head to foot like a warm bath. So reluctant has he always been to permit a woman to touch his body that this was as close as he ever came to having a massage. His encounters heretofore had been strictly genital and he’d never removed his shirt, or his boxers, just his pants sometimes. His mind began to drift pleasantly and he found himself remembering some of the old times, when he was first married to Emily and just starting out, living in Chicago. The wife had all her marbles then. He was young and a relatively slim 290 pounder. “Tell Devi what you see.” “Chicago. We're going to have a picnic. It's me and the wife. We bought some eats at the deli...” “Where are you now, Maury?” “It's the zoo! It's nice here. It's a warm day...” “What do you see, Maury? Tell me what you see at the zoo.” “Oh, hey...there's the elephants. Big bastards...” “Elephants?” Devi mused. She jumped up, startling Ibso from his reverie. “Elephants! That's it! Thank you Maury! Now I understand! You are Ganesha! You are the elephant!” “The elephant?” “Ganesha! My Ganesha!” Devi cried joyfully, leaping around. “What the hell are you talking about now, Devi?” he asked, struggling to right himself. “I felt you here in my root, in my womb, and here at the top of my head!” she explained, putting one hand to her crotch and the other on top of her head. “That’s nice, dolly,” Ibso said, growing exasperated, but strangely thrilled that she felt him in her womb. “That's why you're so fat, Maury. You are Ganesha. That is who you are and that is why you have come into my life!” “Hey, Devi, I don't think I like being called an elephant.” “Oh, Maury!” Devi giggled, coming over to him again and kneeling before him. “You are the elephant god, Ganesha! You have come to bring me abundance. You are the remover of obstacles! You are the power of the earth, you are fat and rich and wise in the world! Tonight is the night! Now I know why you are here! Oh great Ganesha!” Devi commanded him to lie back again and as he thrilled to the feeling of her hands rubbing his chest and belly he began to see what she was up to. She was unbuttoning his shirt and unbuckling his belt and now her hands were caressing his naked belly. “Jesus Christ, Devi!” he sighed. “Holy fucking Jesus!” Devi was simultaneously awed and repulsed by the huge folds of flesh as she stripped back his under shirt. Never had she seen a spectacle like Ibso's belly. She very nearly lost her nerve, but she was certain he was Ganesha, and she would have him as her god to answer her every prayer. Flat on his back, staring bug-eyed at the ceiling, Ibso was groaning softly in abandon. He would not later describe what happened next as a "blow job" because he never experienced anything like it. It was the first of her lessons that really made sense to him. It was still early and Devi would teach others before the evening was done.