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From: lena_adams@my-deja.com
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Subject: {ASSM} The Indian
Date: Sun, 30 Jul 2000 03:10:09 -0400
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X-Moderator-ID: IceAltar, dennyw
An Orange Bird Flew Twice
(by Lena Adams)
All that now seemed clear was that it always was. Before she had seen
his eyes fill up with tears; before she had known the softness of his
mouth, the earthy smell of his hair, the taste of his sweat; before
that moment when his impossibly immense and desire-drenched cock first
had pushed tentatively into the moist warmth between her thighs; even
before the first subtle twitching of her lip had silently announced her
incorrigible need; before the discovery of sameness even in their
disparateness; before the vivid dreams of night had turned to sleepless
obsession; before the mere sound of his voice would treble the rate of
her pounding heart; before the friendship; before even the first time
their meeting eyes would not be pried apart, when she had felt the
trembling, quaking rumble of desire thundering up from her soul,
terrifying in its persistence and insistence to be acted on.
She must have loved him always, in other lives, other centuries, other
millennia. What other explanation could there be for the sort of love
that grows deeper and stronger, even in its aftermath?
Now, months later, the searing pain of parting has finally dulled to
some bearable level of almost non-existence. Relaxing on the verandah,
gazing up amazed at bats frenetically criss-crossing the dusky sky, she
is reminded of a day in early summer when the flight of an orange bird
finally, though tentatively, had propelled her into his arms. As the
memories flood back into consciousness, she shivers softly, squeezing
her eyes shut, allowing the rapture of that distant moment to enter the
present. She nearly cries, remembering. It has been a very long time
since she'd last shed tears, but now she can feel them welling up
behind her eyelids. One drop swells over the brim and trickles warmly
down her cheek. She feels her whole body shudder in remembered climax.
----------------------------------------
It is last June now, and after months upon months of almost unendurable
desire, they are suddenly and finally locked in embrace. After she had
remarked twice about an orange bird flying across the garden behind him,
he'd gone to the window, more to break the tension of the moment than to
actually look for the bird. She had felt herself being catapulted from
her chair to slowly approach him from behind, and touch his elbow ever
so softly. In an instant, they are locked in embrace.
With her face clamped against his warm neck, her nostrils fill for the
first time with his masculine scent, and she memorizes it completely
and forever in that moment. Their bodies press together so tightly
that she is able to feel the pounding of both of their hearts. Though
impossibly close, she strains hard to draw him even closer to her, and
he does likewise.
He combs his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of her neck,
feeling her body tensing against his. Dizzy with desire and mutual
disbelief that this is all happening, their sense of time and place has
all but evaporated. They are finally alone together and suddenly his
mouth is covering hers, quieting the twitching of her errant lip. In
the midst of all that is happening, she files away a mental note of
surprise at the softness of his beard and mustache against her face.
She had expected something more bristly and harsh, but the texture is
pleasing and adds to the building crescendo of her desire. His mouth is
also soft and sweet and tender, and she wants to taste more and more of
it. She tries sliding a stiffened tongue past his lips, but he will not
admit it. But even in her frustration, the moment is unforgettable, and
the kiss seems to go on forever.
Suddenly she becomes aware that she has been standing on her toes, and
her leg muscles are quivering from strain. She slowly eases her weight
back onto her heels, causing their bodies to separate some. Neither
has uttered a single sound, but they are thinking and moving as one. A
little awkwardly, he grasps her hand and leads her up the stairs to his
bedroom. She wobbles a bit, finding walking difficult.
------------------------------------------------------
Night is falling rapidly and the bat activity is increasing. But soon
it will be too dark for the human eye to observe them in flight. Woe to
the katydids. Woe to remembrance.
-------------------------------------------------------
She was no longer a young woman. Though the years had been kinder to
her than to most, tiny crinkles were just beginning to form on her
eyelids, and little spider veins were surfacing behind her knees. And
there were other hints to be found, if one inspected carefully. And she
did, every day. There had not been many great loves in her life, but
those that she had loved had returned that love with fierce ardor, until
at last, sensing their souls being sucked from them, each had given her
up; sacrificed the intensity of fiery passion for something more like
contentment. And yet, none of them had made a clean break from her.
The Egyptian had moved back to Cairo after a near-fatal coronary had
felled him just before turning forty. It had taken thirteen shots of
adrenaline directly into his heart to revive him after he'd collapsed in
the hospital emergency room. A physician himself, he'd recognized the
early signs and managed to transport himself to the hospital with not a
millisecond to spare.
After he'd gone, his letters had still arrived faithfully, though
intermittently, for fifteen years--from Kabul, from Istanbul, from
Zurich, from Beirut. He'd written them aboard airplanes, posting the
letters from wherever he was next stopping. And then one day, after a
longish spell without any communication, she had learned of his passing.
A combination of smoke and alcohol and too fast a pace had led to an
early demise. His family history had foreshadowed it and his lifestyle
had assured it. He was dead. Like that. After twenty-one years.
The Czech had fallen heavily under her spell. Younger than she, he had
proclaimed his youthful rapture in stacks and stacks of passionate
verse, composed for her. But after a year, he too had sacrificed his
soul to her love, and out of desperation to repossess it, he'd also
sacrificed her, accepting the dull contentment of normality in trade.
She still heard from him once or twice a year. He'd married, adopted
children, and eschewed the world of Academia for a corporate humdrum
existence. He seemed drabber to her with each telephone call. Perhaps
the calls would cease now, after nearly twenty years.
After the Czech, she had married. It had been a marriage of love.
Though many years her senior, he was charming, kind and passionate,
and he shared her love of nature and of music and of literature and
poetry. Their lovemaking had been frequent and tender and she had to
admit, even to herself, that for the most part, she too had found
contentment.
But she was 40. And if she was totally honest, she'd admit that she
could never be content, merely to be content.
After a while, she began to die. Slowly, but insidiously death was
surrounding her, enveloping her. She could almost smell the stench of
her decaying spirit. Two years passed, before the Englishman.
He had come into her life just when things had seemed bleakest, his
cool aloofness belying the seething passion that lived in him. She had
enticed it to the surface, from where it thundered forth, amazingly
and to his own utter surprise. The passion between them had consumed
them, come close to devouring them. From across the ocean they had
exchanged hundreds of letters and poems and nightly proclaimed their
hopeless love to the stars that they both could see. When they were
able to come together, their love making had been explosive yet
poignant. And then he too, fearing the ultimate draining of his
essence, had finally opted for escape. Afterward they somehow had
managed to rebuild a friendship.. It had been four years since they'd
begun.
Death was closing in again. She became aware of it, eating away at
her, eroding all that was left of her fragile spirit.
Then the Indian had come.
-------------------------------------------------------------
The night sky has completely blackened. Nowhere is there even the hint
of the moon or stars. And yet she still stares up into the vacant sky,
seeing nothing; remembering everything.
---
-------------------------------------------------------
They pause at the top of the stairs and embrace again. She loves his
smell, the taste of the inside of his mouth, and inhales deeply, both to
revive herself some and to take in as much of him as she can. They have
only just begun, but she has the sense that this may be their only time
together. They still have not spoken since before the orange bird's
portentous flight, and somehow she knows that they will not. From
behind, he leads her down the corridor to his room, where they stop to
kiss again. She becomes aware of dampness in her panties.
They embrace again, though this time with less urgency and more
tenderness. She takes hold of his right hand and presses it softly to
her cheek. He seems awkward at this, but she ignores his discomfort for
the moment, sliding his palm to her lips, kissing it deeply. She
kisses his fingers too, wanting to suck them into her mouth. But she
senses he is not yet ready for this.
After a while, he removes his eye glasses and places them on a shelf.
With vision blurred, he relies on his fingers for whatever sight is
still required. Surprisingly deftly, he unfastens the buttons on her
blouse. She, with more awkwardness, unbuttons his shirt, and gently
coaxes the shirttails from his trousers. He slides the fabric down
the slope of her shoulders allowing her blouse to fall to the floor.
And with even more dexterity than that with which he'd undone her
buttons, he reaches behind her back, and with the fingers of one hand,
opens the catches of her black lacy bra. And it, too falls to the
floor. She feels herself tremble as her heavy breasts are offered to
his hands and to his mouth.
She notes the marked contrast of his fingers, dark against the whiteness
of breasts never exposed to sunlight. The sight strikes her with its
beauty, and she feels her pulse quicken again, as he strokes and kisses
her nipples, feeling them stiffen and grow under his touch. His
tee-shirt is now an almost unbearable impediment and without a word, he
lifts his arms to allow her to raise it over his head and drop it to the
floor to join the other garments, now mingling together, mimicking the
acts of the bodies they once covered.
Her trembling escalates as he reaches for the buttons of her jeans. As
he works her zipper, she unbuckles his belt and fumbles with his
trouser button. He helps her. The sound of unzipping in unison and two
pounding hearts is all that can be heard, though the silent throbbing
between her thighs has become exquisitely painful and she thinks,
perhaps audible.
In the next moment, they are naked -- dark and pale bodies straining
together to be one. Unable to postpone it any longer, she allows her
hand to drift down to caress the stiffened organ pressing on her thigh;
it seems immensely heavy against her soft skin. Unconsciously holding
her breath, she touches it--tentatively at first, but then more
assertively. "Oh, God!" she almost breathes the words. His cock is
massive, heavy and thick. She grasps its head and finds it soaked..
Fighting a wild impulse to drop to her knees and lick off the drops of
thick, viscous liquid, she laces her fingers around the huge shaft and
begins to memorize its contours, sliding the moisture, as she might a
condom, down its length. Would she even be capable of stretching
her lips around its impossible girth? Delirious with the notion, she
makes mental notes of its size and shape. Huge and throbbing, wet and
slippery, she feels the crescent-shaped curve of his engorged penis.
She allows her eyes to fall on it. It is gorgeous, smooth and dark,
heavily pendulous. She had been in love with him for an eternity, and
now she has fallen madly in love with his cock. Her breath comes in
gasps, as she imagines slowly sucking him into her own throbbing
orifice. She moans softly, temples pounding in unison with the
pulsating between her legs.
With gentle movements, he leads her to the edge of the bed, and they
sink together onto the mattress, mouth to mouth, fingers traversing the
surfaces of each others' bodies. At last, unable to delay any longer
himself, he rolls her onto her back and positions himself above her.
His cock hangs, poised above her sex, massive and foreboding. She gulps
in anticipation, as he grasps it to guide it to her wet slit. She is
breathless now, her body rigid with almost fear-like anticipation. It
is too large to enter her unassisted. She, now desperate to be filled
by him, must help to prepare the way. Reaching between her thighs, she
coaxes open the inner labia, and a second later, he enters her,
squeezing his eyes shut to experience the moment more profoundly. She
flexes her vaginal muscles several times, increasing his pleasure.
And then she cannot stifle a groan of thrill as he pushes into her,
impossibly slowly. He can feel every inflamed vaginal cell contracting
to suck him further into her. Slowly, slowly he is complying with her
need. Their organs are soaked in the moistures of desire, and so the
friction produced by his immense size and her still-tight pussy invokes
the most intense pleasure, bordering on the exquisite edge of pain. She
moans softly again as he penetrates her completely, and presses
farther..
He remains perfectly silent. Has he trained himself to fuck silently?
She wonders at the questions her mind would consider at a time like
this. With his face pressing tightly against hers, arms cradling her
head, she breathes deeply to take in the scents of their mingling
bodies, now soaked and glistening with perspiration. She shudders as he
pulls nearly all the way out, her vaginal walls molding perfectly to the
crescent curve of his cock.
His rhythmic dance is easy for her to follow, and her hips rise and fall
in perfect harmony with his slow, but deliberate movement. The
sensations produced by this are almost more powerful than she can bear.
She is torn, needing to pull him deeper inside her and at the same time,
savoring every cell-stretching motion, in waltz time. She entwines her
legs around his, waiting for the pace to change. He makes the next
decision. Adjusting his body slightly, he shifts his head to rest
against her right cheek, tightens his hold around her upper torso, and
drives into her suddenly with almost frightening force. Again and again
he pounds into her, sweat now pouring from his slippery body. He's
hurting her now, but she is long past caring; wants him deeper; wants it
to hurt more, wants to know he's been there when tomorrow comes.
Her fingers dig deeply into the tight, rock hard flesh of his buttocks,
pulling him deeper with every thrust. She feels a little frightened as
his breathing becomes wheezing. Unable to keep up with his relentless
rhythm, she wraps her legs tightly around the small of his back, and
rides the waves of his passion until he collapses, exhausted. They
remain glued together for minutes, hearts still pounding, drenched in
sweat and other body fluids; no words have yet passed between them. She
glimpses, almost in disbelief, his soaked, but still enormous organ as
he extricates it from deep within her body.
-------------------------------------------------
On the front porch, the spaniel jumps into her arms, resting his nose
against her pounding chest. She cuddles him to her, eyes closed, nose
buried in his fur. The bat activity has now given way to a cacophony of
insect song. She places a collection of tiny kisses on the dog's face,
and the memories continue to stream into consciousness.
---------------------------------------------------
They lie side-by-side for a time, sweat evaporating from their bodies.
She touches the back of her head to find her hair soaked and matted,
and for the first time considers that she will be going home soon.
Going home. Like this?
Casting away the thought, she raises herself up on an elbow to look at
him. He is not asleep, but his eyes are closed, and his chest is rising
and falling in normal-appearing respirations. She tries to memorize his
face and body as it is now. He is in his fifties, but there is not a
line or wrinkle on him, but for the tiny scar on his left cheek,
resembling a dimple. She adores his face. She traces the line of his
lips with her finger. They are full and beautifully shaped, and she
ponders why he would want to cover them with a mustache. Still, the
beard suits him, somehow. She smiles to herself because up to now,
facial hair has been displeasing to her. But now, she would love
nothing more than to leave her face buried in his beard for hours.
His eyes flutter open for a second and then close again. He reaches
around her to gently stroke her back and buttocks with his open palm.
The texture of his warm hand and fingers against her skin is at once
soothing and titillating. He lifts his head to kiss her mouth softly,
then lowers it back to the pillow. Her eyes fall to his penis, and she
is amazed to see that it is still swollen and stiff. The sight
re-excites her almost instantly.
Her lips graze his ear, his neck, his shoulders. Slowly, she traces
little circles around his nipples with her tongue, feeling them stiffen
slightly. There are a few hairs, not many, on the hollow of his chest
and she kisses them too, exciting herself even more at the thought of
where she is heading with this. He knows too, and his heart begins to
race again. With her ear so close to his chest, she can hear his
heartbeat quicken. Her lips kiss their way down his stomach, and to the
area of tender, smooth skin just above his cock. She licks him there
softly, turning her head to catch a quick glimpse of his face. It
appears less relaxed now, but he is still composed.
She again raises up on her elbow, partly to introduce some delay, but
mostly to begin to memorize the rest of his body. Apart from the
typical belly bulge carried often by men his age, his body is well
muscled and firm everywhere. She had been struck during their
lovemaking by the hardness of his ass and thighs. Now her eyes take in
their contours. But for the hairs, his legs could compete with a
woman's in terms of shape and firmness. She smiles to herself,
enjoying a momentary mental vision of this, so masculine person, dressed
in pumps and nylons. Then she begins to kiss the hairless skin on the
inside of his thighs.
Though mostly evaporated by now, the smell of their mingled perspiration
and her own arousal-laced vaginal juices is strong where her face is
working now, and adding to her already regenerating desire. The tip of
his cock brushes her cheek, and leaves a streak of thick moisture there,
announcing his mounting rearousal. With her excitement, she has again
forgotten to breathe, and finds herself gasping for air. She inhales
deeply, then softly begins licking her own essence from his balls and
the sides of his cock. He strokes her hair gently, coaxing her to
continue. She does, oddly enjoying the salty, acrid taste of herself on
him. She works her way slowly to the head of his penis, finding it
moistened again with fresh drops of pre-come. She gulps them down
greedily, again aware that the throbbing has begun to accelerate between
her thighs.
Stretching her lips over her teeth to protect the tender skin on his
cock's head, she takes him into her mouth slowly, trying to relax her
jaw to allow it to open wider. She swirls her stiffened tongue around
the circumference, inhaling more of their mingled essences. His fingers
involuntarily grasp a clump of her thick hair, but in this state, she is
past noticing if it hurts. She slides her lips further down his cock,
feeling the firm pressure of its head against the back of her throat,
and concentrates on suppressing the gag impulse, sucking him back
farther. As much as she is able, she moves her mouth up and down the
length of his cock, which now seems to have grown even thicker and
larger than before. Now torn between wanting to continue this to its
inevitable conclusion, and the need to feel him deep within her again,
she gives way to the more urgent need, allowing his cock to fall heavily
against his thigh. Up on her knees now, she straddles his hips.
Grasping the giant organ with her right hand, she again uses the fingers
of her left hand to slightly open her labia. Then guiding his cock to
the entrance, she sinks slowly down on it, feeling his hips rise to meet
her. She feels her face contort into a grimace as the warm, heavy
organ provides intense friction easing into her.
This position offers her another view of his lips and face and she
consciously scans them and commits them to memory. He appears so
beautiful to her, that she wonders if this is not yet another of her
vivid dreams. He reaches up and begins to massage her engorged clitoris
with his two thumbs. The sensation is too intense and actually causes
her to buckle in pain, and collapse onto his chest. Cradling his face
in her hands, she kisses him softly, stroking the silver-streaked hair
above his temples. His lips are soft and warm and the kiss deepens
while her hips begin to involuntarily undulate. "Oh God", she whispers,
her voice too weak to resonate. They move together slowly, in perfect
mirrored unison. Her face twists into a grimace of too much pleasure,
as she places her palms on the mattress beside his face and lifts her
hips to slide nearly off of his penis, squeezing her vaginal muscles to
keep from losing him.
The pace quickens. He bends his knees and braces his heels against the
mattress to provide leverage for the onslaught he is about to launch.
Grasping her thighs, he raises his hips and pounds deep into her, harder
and harder, deeper and deeper. All of her energy is now concentrated on
keeping from being bucked off of him, and on trying not to cry out in
pain. She fears she is being torn inside, but there is nothing to do
now but ride the torrent until he explodes inside her. She had been
close to climaxing, but the searing pain from his stampeding cock has
stopped it. She hangs on in spite of the discomfort, hearing the
rapid-fire slapping of her sweat-soaked belly beating against his. He
rams into her with unimaginable force until finally, spent, he relaxes
and allows her to collapse against his chest.
They are soaked again in sweat, and perhaps blood or urine? She is
afraid to look down at her thighs as she slowly extricates herself from
him. But she forces her eyes downward. No blood. And no semen.
Whatever other liquid is there is indiscernible. His collapse was again
from exhaustion, not from climax. His cock drops back against his
thigh, still huge, swollen, and throbbing. She sighs silently.
They lie side-by-side now, trying to recover, It is very very hot
and they are both drained of energy. She cannot explain it but even in
the painful throbbing aftermath of his attack on her womb, she feels she
could not love him more. He has not uttered even a slight audible sound
through all of this. She cannot believe it.
Minutes elapse. More relaxed now, he turns on his side to face her,
offering his lips for her kiss. He swings his right leg over her hip,
and his arm over her waist. Her skin had begun to feel cold from
evaporating sweat, and the heat provided by his still-warm body is
re-establishing a glow--and almost unwillingly, she feels desire begin
to burn again. Arms and legs around each other, they kiss tenderly,
caressing each other almost lazily. She reaches down to find his cock
still hard.
Rolling her over, he places himself between her thighs again, and
penetrates her . Ever so gently this time, he cradles her in his arms
and moves slowly in and out of her cunt. She is way more relaxed now,
and the pleasurable sensations are now washing over her entire being in
waves, as she contracts her vaginal walls rhythmically, sucking him into
her depths. Eyes closed, and transported from the wet and crumpled
sheets, her mind branches off to retrieve one of the fantasies she often
uses to induce orgasm during her frequent masturbation sessions. She
imagines the Indian, fucking her mouth, fucking her pussy, fucking her
in the ass.
Her breath comes in shortened gasps now, as the fantasy crescendos in
unison with their lovemaking. He reaches down to where her left hand
has been grasping his buttocks, takes hold of it, and places it onto
his back. She holds him tightly to her, as he shifts his weight again
and covers her mouth with his, never changing the rhythm of his fucking.
She feels the beginnings of involuntary vaginal contractions warning her
of the coming orgasm and again she reaches down to grasp his ass with
both hands. Overcome with the building tidal wave, she wants to quickly
bring him to her speed. Her finger slips into the crack between his ass
cheeks, and she presses in slightly.. He gasps and quickens his
thrusting. They are together now, and she senses intuitively that it is
safe to let go completely. She hears the groan being to develop from
somewhere in her depths and she is unable to stifle the moans as she is
shaken by powerful orgasm.
Her body quivers heavily, eyes rolling backward, as wave after wave of
the climax sends her reeling to almost oblivion. He has not quite
reached the same place, but her contorting face and almost feral
utterances are now pushing him to the brink. His buttocks clamp tightly
around her finger. With quickening thrusts, she feels him shudder
heavily as his powerful orgasm rocks her into another of her own-- cunt
muscles still throbbing against his spending cock.
When at last he finds the strength to slowly pull his well-worn cock
from her, it leaves a trail of thick white cum on her inner thigh.
After a while she breaks the total silence to say softly, "I love you."
His silence is unbroken.
After a time, they dress and kiss one another softly. She gets into her
car and begins the journey home, wondering in her own silence if this
is the way it feels to lose one's soul in love.
---------------------------------------------------------------
She sighs heavily, gently pushes the spaniel off of her lap, gazes a
final time up into the heavens. Softly she whispers 'goodbye' to the
Indian, lifts herself out of the chair, opens the screen door, and
returns to the present, never imagining that many chapters were yet to
unfold.
8/97
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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