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From: "Richard Rivers" <richard_rivers@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Richard Rivers "It Takes a River" part 2 (M/f Asians,sex,rivers)  
Date: Fri,  4 Aug 2000 22:10:10 -0400
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This story is intended for adults only and is the property of its author.

Most of my other works can be found at:

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Richard_Rivers/www/




It Takes a River
By Richard Rivers

2:



When he leaned over the edge and watched the nose of the boat he couldn't 
help but think of a woman's labia, the water split by the blunt-nosed prow 
surging upriver.  Dense foliated banks, her thighs, seemed to close in on 
either side.  Someone yelled for him to get back in the cabin, there had 
been snipers in the area.  With a backward glance, he went in.  It didn't 
matter; they would be at the village soon.

While the engine chugged and the floorboards vibrated under his shoes he 
thought about the folly of going upriver, plunging deep into the jungle like 
a cock thrust mindlessly into a woman.  Maybe this was evidence of the 
Freudian death drive, the dark barely understood urge that stood balanced 
against the will to procreate, what drove men up the river, into the jungle 
towards the possibility of death, through heat and bugs and snipers, in 
search of cheap, willing flesh.

How many miles had he gone?  Hundreds to the coast of the United States, and 
then thousands across the sea to Asia.  Now twenty more, the most dangerous 
of all, up the river.  But it was those last few inches, traveled inside the 
body of a woman, which were the sweetest of all.  With the blunt nose of his 
cock nudged up against her opening, he thought of a missile, traveling 
thousands of miles, rising and falling in its great arc, with time frozen at 
the moment when its tip had only just touched the ground - the instant 
before devastation.  And then he would plunge his flesh into hers.  Willing 
or unwilling, she could not stop him, and when he realized he could not stop 
himself, it was already too late.

Some of the girls were virginal, shy, so that the mama-san had to 
practically push them into the room with you.  And when you put your tongue 
on her, on her breasts, her naked pussy, she wriggled and tried to get away. 
  He had to admit, fucking young, unwilling pussy gave him a certain 
visceral thrill, but he wasn't always in the mood for it.  Other girls came 
into the cantina, sat down beside you and asked for a smoke, maybe running a 
hand up your thigh to your crotch while making small talk in broken English. 
  The really tough ones didn't stop smoking even while you fucked them.  
They'd be taking a drag over your shoulder while you huffed and puffed away. 
  And after you came, rolling off her in a sweaty heap, she'd still be 
there, slowly dragging on her cigarette, looking at the ceiling as if 
nothing happened.  If you wanted your dick sucked, she'd alternate between 
you and the cigarette, so that you could feel the hot smoke inside her 
mouth.  And while she was jacking you off with her left hand, with her 
right, she'd be stubbing the butt out in the ashtray, or holding it at arms 
length so the semen wouldn't get on it, make it soggy or put it out.

But the best girls were the ones you found walking about, maybe running an 
errand for their family, or just dawdling about in the shade.  At least you 
could pretend there was something normal about it.  Sometimes it almost 
seemed wholesome, when she smiled, was friendly and tried talking with you.  
If you let your mind go blank enough, you could imagine her as your own, the 
sweet jewel you found by the roadside.  And some of those girls were amazing 
sexual athletes, completely naive as to the effect they had on a man.  Not 
as experienced as the smokers, they were innocent enough to where they could 
still be enthusiastic about fucking you, always aiming to please.  They 
would contort their lithe bodies into whatever shape you wanted, making the 
lust within you surge at their openness, their receptivity.  And when you 
lost yourself, became like an animal the way you fucked them, there would 
always be the point when you would look down at her and she would be 
smiling, flashing those white teeth at you as if nothing had happened.

As a boy, he'd lain awake at night, listening to the train whistles blow, 
and the soft steady gurgle of the river, wishing he could be far away.  In 
the summer, when storms blew up from the gulf, he would wish for the 
strongest one of all to come his way, and with its howling wind and rain, 
excoriate the hated land.

A bullet whined and hit somewhere on the boat with a metallic ping, but no 
one reacted.  The skipper kept his hand on the wheel and a steady gaze 
upriver.

The storm was getting closer and nobody seemed to notice.


Fin
Richard Rivers
8/00




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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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