Feel like laughing helplessly?

If so, I recommend reading an hysterical article in the Daily Mail about - of all things - tantric sex. Here's an excerpt to whet your appetite.

What splendid news - I am a goddess. I am a divinity. I am the greatest and most beautiful goddess in the world.

I know this because a short, bare-chested man, who looks like a hirsute Gandhi, and whose name is Tony, keeps telling me so. I am sitting on a chair, which a woman clad in a diaphanous dress and with hair to her waist calls my throne.

Tony, meanwhile, is prostrate at my feet, grovelling. I have never had a man grovel before.

Nor am I prepared for his next words: 'Goddess, would you do me the honour of allowing me to wash and massage your feet?'

Though I have a healthy sense of my own worth, this is going too far. I am not, after all, Jesus. Nor are we sweltering in the Middle East. We are in a smartly decorated 17th-century manor house in the middle of Bedfordshire.

Tony prostrates himself once more, begging. 'Er, OK, then, if you insist,' I finally say.

Welcome, reader, to the weird world of tantric sex. Until now, tantric sex, which is based on pre-Christian Chinese and Tibetan rituals called tantra, has been the province of away-with-the- fairies pop stars such as Sting.

. . .

The society bible, Tatler, published a feature on Tofte Manor, a place where toffs and businessmen, who find themselves frustrated in the boudoir, can achieve a state called 'blissed'(as opposed to p****d).

Tofte Manor is owned by Suzy Castleman. She offers courses in tantra to single people and couples. When I phone to investigate, Suzy says my experience will be life-changing.

Moreover, she adds, the credit crunch means we will all be concentrating less on material things and more on emotional and sexual well-being. (I am not so sure about this, as she charges £500 [US $727] per course.)

. . .

When I arrive at Tofte Manor, I am not reassured. Though it is only nine degrees, there are three scantily clad people (a woman and two men) dancing about in the grounds.

The woman with long hair, called Hanna, turns out to be my teacher. The short man, Tony, is my tantra partner. The third man, whose name is Sean, is a baldie. He is wearing a huge crystal ring.

Hanna, who sports a large crystal around her neck, says Sean, who is a banker-turned-party planner, is there in case I want a change.

'It's OK, we're not swingers,' she says. 'People think we're dippy,' she adds, playing with her crystal.

'But it's all about losing your mind and finding your senses.'

'Righto,' I answer, unable to make head nor tail of all this. We retire to a converted stable which has four mattresses on the floor. Tantra, she says, is about 'surrendering your ego to your love partner'.

Once you have done this, there are rituals and meditations which will allow your sexual energy to be channelled in a 'meaningful and blissed' way.

I will learn to reject today's 'fast-food sex' in favour of sustenance that will nourish my soul. Hanna puts on some of that plinky-plonky music that they play in expensive beauty salons during a massage. I am told to remove my shoes and tights.

She says we will start with a special dance that will transform us into divine beings.

'You are a diamond,' she tells me, 'Even if you are covered in mud.' I look anxiously at my skirt. 'I meant in a metaphorical way,' she says.

She instructs Tony and me to stand with our spines touching.

'Your sacrums must be rubbing,' she commands as I recoil. 'This will take you to a secret place. The spine is the channel of sexual energy.' I am to breathe through my mouth, as an open mouth allows sexual energy to rise to my head.

With my mouth open and my head lolling on Tony's head, I resemble a startled haddock.

As my friend Lawdog would say: *Gigglesnort!*

There's lots more at the link. Enjoy!



Peter