Message-ID: <25661asstr$965441409@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
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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