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You Want The True Valentine's Day? Whip My Roman Sex Gods
Forget roses and candy, sweetheart, and kneel before the Lupercalia

"Sacred Sexual Secrets" Newsletter 2/13/08
Published by Somraj Pokras & Jeffre TallTrees
ISSN 1540-8825 (c) Copyright 2008 by
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Dear Reader:

In honor of that big day in our romantic lives, we’re reprinting a catchy and interesting article about the origins of St. Valentine’s Day, February 14. If you haven’t already planned or enjoyed a real lusty celebration of your love, be sure to read about history of love’s favorite day. And be sure to try out some of the pagan sex tips.

On second thought, maybe you better not bring up the the sex-for-a-year lottery until afterwards.

This issue contains...
* Tantric Quote: "Rosewater, Flowers, And Incense"
* Juicy Joke: "Jack and Jill"
* Featured Article:“You Want True Valentine's Day? Whip My Roman Sex Gods”
* Tantric Quote: Tantric Quote: "The Sort Of Love I’m Capable Of"
* How To Save Over $45 On Our Ebooks
* Juicy Joke: "A Great Explanation"
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Love from Tantra At Tahoe who is...

Somraj & Jeffre

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Tantric Quote: "Rosewater, Flowers, And Incense"

"Decorate the beautiful walls of the love-chamber with pictures and other objects upon which the eye may dwell with delight. Scatter some musical instruments and refreshments, rosewater, essences, fans and books containing amorous songs and illustrations of love-postures. Splendid wall lights should gleam, reflected by wide mirrors, while both man and woman should not have any reserve or false shame, giving themselves up in complete nakedness to their unrestrained passions, upon a fine bed, ornamented with many useful pillows and covered with a canopy. The sheets should be sprinkled with flowers and scent, and sweet incense should be burned. In such an environment let the man, ascending the throne of love, enjoy the woman in ease and comfort, gratifying both his and her every wish and whim." -- ANANGA RANGA

Juicy Joke: "Jack and Jill"

The boss had to fire somebody, and he narrowed it
down to one of two people, Jill or Jack. It was an
impossible decision because they were both super

Rather than flip a coin, he decided he would fire the
first one who used the water cooler the next morning.
Jill came in the next morning with a horrible hangover
after partying all night. She went to the cooler to take
an aspirin.

The boss approached her and said, "Jill , I have never
done this before but I have to lay you or Jack off.”

Featured Article: "You Want The True Valentine's Day? Whip My Roman Sex Gods"
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“Forget roses and candy, sweetheart, and kneel before the Lupercalia”

By Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist

Hot pagan sex and lustful gods and ancient wolf goddesses and potential marriage and more sex and more than a little crazed giddy divine animal blood sacrifice.

All followed by some nice light whippings administered by nearly naked grinning boy-men, casual flagellations by goat-skin, some joyful thrashing in the name of fertility and purity and, you know, sex. Ahh, Valentine's Day.

The original, that is. Before it was called Valentine's Day, back when it was called Lupercalia, a big Roman festival in honor of the fertility god Lupercus, before the ever-scowlin' church got a hold of this ancient and rather odd and blood-pumped Roman lust-fest, co-opted it and de-sexed it stripped it of its more salacious and admittedly libertine joys, as the church is so tragically wont to do.

Because as everyone knows, the church is nothing if not all about rigid joyless dogma and romantic abstinence and mountains of little chalky candy hearts. Mmm, sanctimoniousness.

Tried to convert it into a mildly consecrated (read: bland, not naked) day, the church did, "Christianize" that naughty pagan fest, and failing that because no way are you gonna trump ancient sex and lust with uptight chastity and faux-purity, they tossed in Saint Valentine to the mix, invented some nice legend, tried to turn this most funky of pagan holidays into an homage to saccharine romantic love and cherry nougat chocolates and Hallmark schmalz. Did they succeed? Sort of.

Basically, it went something like this: In ancient Rome, on the 15th of February, in an altar called the Luperci sacred to the god Lupercus, in a cave in which the she-wolf goddess nursed founding twins Romulus and Remus, Luperci priests gathered and sacrificed goats and young dogs, the former for strength, the latter for purification and in honor of their strong sexual instinct and because it was a fertility deity and this is just what you did if you were a happy pagan citizen a couple thousand years ago.

Some hunky boys of noble birth were then led to the shrine, where the priests would dab their foreheads with a sword dipped in the animal blood, after which our baffled youths were apparently obliged to break out into a shout of purifying laughter because that's what the rite called for and no
one is quite sure why and, well, wouldn't you?

Then, a feast. Meat. Wine galore. Followed by the slicing of goat skins into pieces, some of which the priests cut into strips and dipped in the blood and then handed to the boys, who would take off and run through the streets, gently touching or lashing crops and bystanders --especially women -- with the skins along the way to inspire fertility and harvest and because hey, half-naked laughing boys wielding bloody goat skins ??- what's not to love?

Actually, the women eagerly stepped forward to be so stroked, believing that such a blessing rendered them fertile (even if they were sterile), and procured them ease in childbearing, and made them look all gothy and cool and sexy.

"This act of running about with thongs of goat-skin was a symbolic purification of land and men," says one rather dry, scholarly website on the topic. "For the words by which this act is designated are februare and lustrare, and the goat-skin itself was called februum, the month in which it occurred Februarius, and the god himself Februus." So, you know, there you go. February. Purity and lust and sex and gods. Really, what else do you need?

Then came the sex lottery. Oh yes. Say it like you mean it. Pretty much only have to say the words, "sex lottery," and already you're like, damn, count me in, sure beats dinner and a movie.

And all the young lasses in the city would place their names in a large urn, and the city's eligible bachelors would choose a name out of the urn and become paired for the year with his chosen woman, often resulting in marriage. You know, sort of like the Mormons. Only with actual sex. And booze. And without the creepy undergarments.

But if there's one thing the sexless butt-clenched church really hates, it's sex lotteries. And free thinking. And good porn. Condoms. Margarita enemas. Literature. But especially sex lotteries. Go figure.

So along comes Pope Gelasius around 486 A.D. and declares, let's say, oh, February 14 to be dedicated to a saint, and we'll call him Saint Valentine, who might or might not be an actual martyr whose true history is murky at best, given how church records show at least four martyrs with the name Valentinus, whoops, oh well.

And of course, they outlawed the yummy sex lotto, the church did, changed the names in the urn from lusty single women to the names of pious saints to be emulated, whee what fun, and jammed their new holiday right up against the February 15 date of Lupercalia.

Which also had the added bonus of stomping all over the normal February 14 day of honoring Juno (Roman Goddess-queen of women and marriage), and focused it all on the makeshift Valentine, and voila, here we are: Hallmark cards and candy hearts and poisoned Ecuadorian rose workers. In a nutshell.

But of course, the modern V-Day isn't all bad. And this is not to say we should necessarily return to the old ways, a little bloodletting and lashing and animal sacrifice and random sex lotteries. Except for maybe the Mormons.

Because everyone knows that right under the cheap veneer of Valentine's Day mega-marketing and hollow churchly romance is yet another delicious excuse to have more sex and indulge in fleshly pleasures and lick chocolate syrup off your lover's tailbone. Hopefully.

In other words, the church both succeeded in their hostile takeover, and failed miserably. Sure Valentine's Day is all romance and sentiment and Malaysian-made stuffed teddy bears on the outside, but it's all raw oysters and sly spankings and salacious romps and whipped-creamed nipples and soft divine bedroom cooing, inside.

Which is exactly as it should be. Which is exactly how we still, without even realizing it, manage to recall our delicious Lupercalia, take a big lick of ye olde pagan ways, regardless of ever-present churchly frowning and 'Be Mine' twittering and chubby Cupid chinz. Deep earthly sex and hoary gods and fertile lust and voluminous feasts of meat and wine? You're soaking in it.

Because it's always good to know where your manufactured holidays really come from. Always healthy to pay homage to the true origins, realize how much calculated deceit has happened along the way. Just like Christmas and Easter and Halloween and any major holiday worth mentioning that the church gutted and renamed and from whose moist tremulous soul they tried to suck the pithy throbbing joy, ya gotta give props to the old gods, throw a karmic kiss to Lupercus and Juno and the she-wolf. Word.

So. Buy those giant red balloons from Safeway. Nab that $29 heart-shaped diamelle necklace from the Shane Company. But don't forget to acknowledge that deep-down, gnawing, sly urge you're doubtlessly harboring to rush out into the streets and wait for the laughing naked boys and get yourself gently lashed with bloody goat skins and then go have sex. Just like the pagan lust-monkey you so wish to be. You go, Lupercus.

The original article of February 14, 2003 can be found on here:

Tantric Quote: "The Sort Of Love I’m Capable Of"

"Then you are mistaken, and you know nothing about me, and nothing about the sort of love of which I am capable. Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear. Your mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it would be my treasure still: if you raved, my arms should confine you, and not a strait waistcoat--your grasp, even in fury, would have a charm for me: if you flew at me as wildly as that woman did this morning, I should receive you in an embrace, at least as fond as it would be restrictive. I should not shrink from you with disgust as I did from her: in your quiet moments you should have no watcher and no nurse but me; and I could hang over you with untiring tenderness, though you gave me no smile in return; and never weary of gazing into your eyes, though they had no longer a ray of recognition for me." -- JANE EYRE by Charlotte Bronte

Juicy Joke: "A Great Explanation"

The wife came home early and found her husband
in their bedroom making love to a very attractive
young woman. And she was somewhat upset.

"You are a disrespectful pig!" she cried "How dare
you do this to me -- a faithful wife, the mother of your
children! I'm leaving you. I want a divorce right away!"

And the husband replied, "Hang on just a minute,
love, so at least I can tell  you what happened."

"Fine, go ahead," she sobbed," but they'll be the last
words you'll say to me!"

And the husband began -- "Well, I was getting into the
car to drive home, and  this young lady here asked me
for a lift. She looked so down and out and defenseless
that I took pity on her and let her into the car. I  noticed
that she was very thin, not well dressed and very dirty.
She told me that she hadn't eaten for three days.

So, in my compassion, I brought her home and warmed
up the enchiladas I made for you last night, the ones you
wouldn't eat because you're afraid you'll put on weight!
The poor thing devoured them in moments.

Since she needed a good clean-up, I suggested a
shower, and while she was doing that, I noticed her
clothes were dirty and full of holes, so I threw them
away. Then, as she needed clothes, I gave her the
designer jeans that you have had for a few years, but
don't use because you say they are too tight. I also
gave her the underwear that was your anniversary
present, which you don't use because you tell me
I don't have good taste.

I found the sexy blouse my sister gave you for Christmas
that you don't use just to annoy her, and I also donated
those boots you bought at the expensive boutique and
don't use because someone at work has a pair the

The husband took a quick breath and continued - "She
was so grateful for my understanding and help that as
I walked her to the door, she turned to me with tears
in her eyes and said,

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