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Harvest Moon (mf cons)
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
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Harvest Moon
by
Peat Brett
I wasn't happy about going back to the island. Too many memories
flooded back to me whenever I even thought of the place. There I was though,
alone in a small skiff, quickly leaving the mainland off in a hazy fog. It was
approaching dusk, but the air was still hot and sultry with Indian Summer. The
island rose out of the horizon before me, and I shuddered again. What would I
find there? Memories of our last night in the ballroom still haunted me. What
was I doing? Why had I dropped everything, left my entire life on hold, just
to come here?
I had been hard at work on a case when the call came. It had been
years since I had heard the voice, but I knew it as well as I knew myself. A
day hadn't gone by where I didn't feel it echo within my heart and soul.
"David, I need you. I'm all alone. Please come home."
That was all she said. It was all she needed to say. She knew me too
well, knew she could have brought me back years before, but she hadn't.
Perhaps she had been too proud. Perhaps she knew I needed to find myself. It
didn't matter. She needed me now. There was no denying it. Her father had
finally died.
* * * * *
I was twelve when my father had died. I never knew my mother. Father
had never spoken of her, and he died before I could learn much. I always
thought Lynn's father knew more about her than he let on, but he was not a man
to push.
I had come to live with Gwendolyn and her father immediately after my
father's death. I think it had been agreed upon once my father's condition had
been diagnosed. Not that it mattered.
Lynn's father and mine had been partners in a law firm. Stern men,
both of them, neither showed anything more towards the other than was
necessary. The bond between them ran deeper, I knew, but I was not sure how
much deeper. I would never learn. Perhaps it had to do with my mother,
perhaps not.
All that mattered was that one day I had been living in the city with
my father, and the next, after a brief funeral which had been long since
planned out, I was on a boat, heading for the island, feeling the same
trepidation and uncertainty I feel now.
Lynn's father was a hard man, full of rules and biting criticism, but
he put a roof over my head and food before me. There was no love in his
actions, I have no illusions about that, but he had made a promise and kept to
it. If it had not been for Lynn though, I don't believe it would have been
enough.
Lynn became the light of my life, my reason for going on. I had no
family to speak of, no one to love or care for, no one I felt a need to make
proud of me. All I had was a cruel old man, and Lynn.
I met Lynn for the first time after my father's funeral. She was my
age, beautiful and full of life. She had long brown hair, smooth tanned skin,
softened by the island air, and large shining eyes. It was her eyes that
entranced me at first, I think. They smiled a greeting at me, though her face
was grim through her father's formal welcome and introduction. I could tell
that before that moment, she had never known of me either.
I was in love with Lynn from the moment I saw her, and I know she felt
the same. It was as if some force, be it fate or God, had laced our
heartstrings together from the moment our gazes met. Her father saw this as
clearly as any. It did not please him. I wasn't good enough for his daughter.
Over the years, living together, Lynn and I ran and played on the
lonely island, attempting to bring a measure of cheer to the gloomy, if
undeniably beautiful, mansion on the island's only hill. Our childish
affection budded into true romance as I watched her grow from a fetching young
girl into an alluring young woman. Her eyes still brought a smile to me with
their shine, but her figure began to quicken my pulse in other ways as well.
Beautiful no longer felt like an adequate term to me, but I was at a loss to
find another which worked better.
As much as she wanted to be with me though, her father tried every bit
as hard to keep us apart. We never dared show physical affection for one
another, fearing what he might do if he found out. I was never enough to him.
Not my grades, not my athletic ability, not my diligence to the chores he set
me to. Nothing made me seem good enough for his only daughter, the only thing
in the world he truly loved. Perhaps it was something personal, having to do
with my father, but I suppose I'll never know.
Lynn and I had plans to get married, but when we announced them to her
father, he would not hear of it. I had done nothing with my life, he said, and
I had nothing to offer his daughter. He told me to ask for her hand when I had
proven myself worthy.
Lynn, of course, had not believed that. She thought our love was
strong enough. In her eyes, I needed prove nothing. She asked me to elope to
the mainland with her, though I knew it would pain her to leave the island she
so loved. I couldn't ask her to do that. I applied to law school. My grades,
though not enough to impress her father, gave me my pick of schools, and I was
willing to work hard enough to pay for the best. I made plans to leave quickly
and quietly, with as little pain as possible. I told myself I would return
when I was worthy, but I saw that now as a lie. I needed to prove myself, but
not to her father. I wasn't worthy. I knew it in my heart. In my stupid
youth, I thought a degree and money could change that.
Somehow she had known, though. I hadn't told her I was leaving, but
she read it in my eyes. She knew me too well.
The night before I was planning to leave, her father was away on
business on the mainland. He wasn't to be back for days. I had planned to be
long gone before he returned.
That sultry Indian Summer night, so much like this one, she came to me
wearing a beautiful dress of flowing white. It danced around her lithe form in
the breeze, gossamer and ghostlike in appearance.
She led me up the stairs to the ballroom. My heart began to pound. It
was not just her beauty. There was something electrifying in the air, a
tension building like the coming of a storm, which sent a current through my
being. Every time we touched, the circuit felt like it completed.
The huge French doors stood open at the room's front, and the curving
windows which circled the place stood open as well, their drapes floating in
the same gossamer way as Lynn's dress, though the breeze was slight. The
bright yellow walls, broken at regular intervals by giant Roman pillars of
stark white, reflected the powerful light of the Harvest Moon with an eerie
silvery sheen.
The moon stood full outside the open doors, so large, so seemingly
close, that I felt as if I could run out and leap into the sky, catching hold
of it to present to the one I loved. A gift worthy of her.
We walked, hand in hand, out onto the marble floor. My blood was
boiling and there was magic in the air. Our free hands clasped, and we began
to dance. There was no music, save the harmony between us, but none was
needed. We covered the whole of the dance floor, sometimes moving fast, our
grips tightening so that we would not fly apart, sometimes slow and close,
feeling the beat of the other's heart.
We both felt the power building that night. The breeze had been
nothing at first, the night hot and humid, but as our union built, through the
joining of dance, the weather responded. The breeze picked up, becoming a
powerful wind, whipping the thin curtains about in a billowing frenzy as the
intensity of our dance grew. Dry leaves blew in through the open windows,
dancing about our feet, sometimes to crunch in that crisp way leaves have when
we stepped on them.
Thunder roared in the distance, serving only to heighten the tension
and emotion rising in the room. Our hair blew about and our bodies sweated,
though the synchronous stepping of our feet did not slow. Indeed, it grew
faster.
Finally, my mind flown from rational thought amid the tumult of emotion
and tingling magic in the air, I could stand it no longer. I took hold of her
waist, and swept her to me. Our lips met in a kiss that to this day sets fire
to my dreams. We had never kissed before, never kissed anyone, really, but
that did little to affect the experience. We knew each other too well. Our
arms wrapped about each other's body, pulling so tightly that for a time,
standing in that ballroom amidst the coming storm, we were one.
Finally, I broke away from her, but only long enough to sweep her off
her feet and into my arms as I carried her to the bedroom.
She offered no resistance as we entered her room and brushed up against
the king sized bed at its center. The white sheets of silk and the covers of
lace had been thrown open, for she had expected to bring me here, and the glass
doors to her terrace stood open, the drapes blowing in the wind.
Our lips met again, our tongues intertwining as our bodies, still
pressed close together, continued their dance. She released a clasp at her
waist, and her dress floated away, like veils in the wind. She stood before
me, nude and bathed in moonlight, the silvery sheen reflecting off the gentle
curves of her body. I kissed her neck, my fingers pressing hard as they ran
down her back. My lips trailed to her shoulders and collar, then down further.
She gasped when my lips caressed her breasts and I lightly flicked her nipples
with my tongue, nipping the hardened nubs with my teeth, ever-so-lightly.
Still our rhythmic dance did not slow.
After a moment, she grabbed my shirt, pulled it off, and threw it
across the room. Our naked chests pressed close, and nothing I had ever felt
could compare with the feeling of her body against mine.
My hands caressed every inch of her, kneading her breasts and running
hard down her back, squeezing the bottom I had smacked as a not-so-innocent
game while I was younger. Our lips grasped at one another, sucking and
squeezing, our tongues doing a dance all their own. I felt her hands at my
belt buckle, and a moment later, I felt her cool palm wrap itself around me.
Not losing her rhythm, she lowered herself to her knees as she pulled
down my pants. She took me into her mouth with a skill I would not have
believed for one so inexperienced, but I knew it was the magical rhythm of the
night guiding our moves. I stepped out of the last of my clothes as her head
bobbed up and down, her mouth and tongue giving me more pleasure than I had
imagined possible. She ran her lips up and down the shaft, sometimes sucking,
sometimes simply caressing. I have no idea for how long she sucked, but it
seemed like hours and seconds at the same time. My orgasm overwhelmed me,
causing my knees to buckle, but she was ready, and her hands were firm on my
buttocks, steadying me as she swallowed.
Perhaps it was my youth, perhaps the magic of the night. Maybe it was
both or none. For whatever reason though, I did not feel myself go soft.
Quite the contrary, I felt myself stiffen all the more as I laid her on her
back, and licked up her thighs to the moist patch between. She shivered with
tension and excitement as my mouth embraced her, doing things my innocent mind
had never even considered before. Her hands gripped my hair, sometimes
pulling, sometimes simply running her fingers about. I felt her tense and
relax more than once.
Finally, she pulled me upwards, and our lips met. She took hold of me
with one hand and guided me in, the other hand holding my head, pushing our
lips together.
I felt the resistance of her body, which had never experienced this
before, but I gently asserted myself the stronger with slow strokes. I felt
her break, and she gasped and pulled me closer, the speed of my strokes
increasing with the eerie tempo of our pounding blood. In the distance,
thunder sounded again.
We were as one for what seemed like hours, lathered on sweat, rolling
from one position to the next. When it finally ended, we held each other for a
long time, kissing quietly.
As I was drifting off to sleep, I heard her whisper, distantly, "Come
back for me."
The next morning, I awoke before her, took my bags, and snuck down to
the water. I took a skiff to the mainland, and a bus to my new school. I
graduated law school with honors, and joined a powerful firm. Every year that
passed made it harder to go back. Lynn's father kept tabs on me, I later
learned, but he never made contact. I never heard from him or his daughter in
what remained of his life.
* * * * *
I was unsure of what to expect as I climbed the hill to the house. The
night was so much like the one etched forever into my self that it frightened
me. Again, I saw a full Harvest Moon before me, big enough to embrace. The
air was hot and humid, and the leaves on the trees, dry, rustled and crackled.
The house proper was empty, but for some reason, that didn't surprise
me. I knew where to go.
I found her there, in the ballroom, wearing that same dress, looking
every bit as young and vital as she did in my memory. Was I seeing a ghost? I
felt the rhythm stir in my blood. We began to dance. It was complete Deja vu.
Only one thing stood different. The bed where I had spent the greatest night
of my life was no longer in her room. It was at the center of the dance floor.
*End*
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