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Only A Memory (3/3)
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.
*3: Her*
It gets a bit mixed up at times, even in my own mind. There was David
and there was Dennis and there was me. We had been friends since we
were kids, and I mean *kids*, since the fall of our second grade year.
We were the kinds of friends who make bloody compacts and swear to meet
each other in the afterlife; the kind of kids who all read too much and
seemed to speak a different language, one that was only known to us
three. Later in life I would hear someone say that friends are the
family that you choose. Dennis and David were my brothers, my parents,
my friends, my loves.
It seems sort of funny, looking back on all those sessions of playing
house thirty and more years ago. I was always the Mommy, of course, and
that was fine with me, because sometimes there were two Daddies, or
perhaps a Daddy and The Oldest Son. Dennis and David seemed to change
those roles from day to day just like they changed their clothes. As
long as the three of us were together, it really didn't matter who was
who.
The thing I remember most about David was his incredible ice-blue eyes,
huge eyes, really beautiful and expressive. When David was young adults
would stop and stare at the tall, lanky child with the perennially
tousled hair and the eyes of a suffering Christ from an old paper fan.
As we got older and my body got rounder, Dennis' seemed expand in all
directions; but David, he seemed to be all angles in juxtaposition, all
elbows and knees and collarbones, and those icewater-on-a-summer's day
eyes.
A triangle is a thing of angles too, of corners jutting outward, of
sharp edges; nature has a way of blunting those corners and wearing
away edges, and so it was with our triumvirate. It came to pass, as
they say in the old fairy tales, that one day it was no longer Dennis
and David and Diane, but Dennis and Diane, plus David. Who knows how
that happened. Maybe we all just dreamed it together and carried it
over into waking life. That could be true for all I know; it just
simply happened, and things were different, and sometimes awkward.
We were still in high school when David married Shirley. It wasn't an
unheard of thing, back in those days, especially in that part of the
world. I remembered seeing Shirley, a lonesome looking blonde girl, in
some of my classes in school. She was very rural in a way, an earth
mother type, strong and practical, as if she could brew coffee over a
fire and plant a garden and bear babies in a cabin in the woods. I
didn't like to think about her bearing babies. I didn't like to think
about her at all, if I could help it. I suppose that I was a little in
love with David myself, and even as I would lie in Dennis' arms in the
darkness of the back of his car, I would weep invisible bitter tears at
the thought of blonde hair, not brown, being reflected in David's
beautiful gaze.
Perhaps it was impossible for me to ever completely mask the way I felt
about my safe, secure triangle suddenly being increased in order by one,
but after David married Shirley it seemed as if a limb had withered, and
relations between the four of us became strained. I could still feel
that limb, though it had grown shaky and unreliable; eventually, the
pain grew less and less as the ties, like nerves, died. Dennis felt the
same way as I did, I think, or what approximated it in his own way. We
didn't talk about David very much. He became something now behind me,
like prom dresses and protractors.
High school was over and Dennis and I went off to college. We rented an
apartment together, a cavernous set of rooms of faded Jazz Age elegance,
and took up life in the only way we could imagine that it could be. It
was if before we had been inseparable, but now we must be constantly in
one another's presence or the unthinkable, unspeakable could happen to
us again. I remember candle-lit nights, shivering in blankets against
the drafty rooms of our almost empty apartment, Dennis reading his Tarot
cards, always seeming to search for the answer to a question that he
never spoke aloud. Sometimes now when I think of that apartment I see
the turning of those cards, and the silences between the tiny click of
their slick, stiff paper hitting the hardwood floors; I think of the
man falling from that Tower, his landscape lit fleetingly by lightning,
a golden crown falling forever just out of his reach.
Those months were terrible. I could find no relevance in anything.
Dennis and I were drifting through college, more swept by the current
like dead autumn leaves than swimming in strong spring waters, like we
had always been told it would be. We both left school, I to a desk job,
Dennis to various odd jobs, selling furniture, framing pictures, once,
during that first sweltering summer, laying flooring with his uncle. He
would return to our apartment in the evening, his hands calloused and
discolored, his back creaking, his face glum. We would sit in the thick
summer air and breathe in aromatic smoke and drink dark amber rum and
make love until the sweat running from our bodies would soak the sheets
of our bed.
When our second winter came in the apartment Dennis found a job working
in the liquor store just four blocks away. He liked it well enough,
sitting behind the counter during the dead hours of the day, reading a
book; when he worked at night he seemed the most happy, though, talking
to the old men who came in for bottles of cheap wine, the women in gaudy
dresses on the arms of businessmen with their neckties askew who bought
bottles and magnums and jereboams of cheap champagne. He once told me
that he had arranged all the little bottles of jewel-toned liqueurs into
the colors of the spectrum, and had had a long conversation with an old
woman about the psychology of color, the only one to notice his work. I
pushed papers and wrestled with decollators and swore at dial tones, and
I told myself that both of us were happy. Which, in a sense, we were,
if being happy is not being unhappy.
The liquor store is where Dennis saw David again.
"It was like a dream almost, where you are invisible, and watch people
walk past you and never know that you are there." Dennis told me that
night, his words short and clipped as he inhaled strong smoke from a
bong. "I saw David walk into the store with another man, an older man,
and I thought to myself - could this really be him? I didn't want to
just scream out like an idiot, in case it wasn't him." Dennis' eyes were
sparkling, and I felt a sort of strangulation in my chest. I hoped my
eyes were not betraying me as his were.
"I watched the two of them and I heard that voice, sort of high for a
guy his size, and I am still thinking to myself no, you never know, they
say everybody has his identical twin, and then I heard the 'Christ on a
pony!' when he tilted back a bottle to see the price tag, and-"
I laughed. "Who else could it be?" The feeling of strangulation
increased, but then settled down to some accustomed place; it wasn't a
new thing then, but an old chain, its lock rusted and fallen, which had
been newly polished and wound around my heart. I knew the color of that
chain, blue like icebergs, like icewater on a summer's day, the color of
the eyes of a suffering Christ on an old paper fan.
There was a pause, and Dennis sat down beside me on the pillows on the
floor which served us as a couch. He took my hand and kissed it. He
had always done things like that. I wonder why.
"Shirley is gone." He said, quietly. "Been gone for a while." There
was a comfortable silence as we both thought about that for a while.
"Well, I assume you asked him over, didn't you? Is he living around
here?" I asked after a time. I reclined against Dennis and he
encircled me in his arms. I could hear his heart beat, quickly it
seemed, but perhaps it was only my imagination.
"Nope, he was riding with that guy, the older one. Buddy of his. He's
temporarily without benefit of personal transportation, as he put it."
Dennis laughed again, a rich tenor. "I told him we'd come over to his
place next Saturday." He squeezed me with his arms. "Okay?"
"Great." I smiled up at Dennis' familiar face. "You know I'd love to
see David." It was true. I would love to see him. It occurred to me
that I would love to see him indeed. I wondered about his eyes. I felt
a flush as I especially wondered what was being reflected in that gaze
now.
It makes me laugh now to think of the picture Dennis and I must have
made as we walked up the sidewalk of the apartment complex, searching
for David's front door. Dennis had lost some of the weight he had in
high school, and the clothes he wore always had an air of a second-hand
store about them, fitting here but not there, slightly worn in places,
shoes held together mainly by the laces. My clothes were second hand
finery; an old prom dress I had found for a dollar, some of my mother's
shoes from twenty years ago, a string of celluloid pearls from a War
long gone. The last time David had seen me I was wearing Earth shoes.
I wondered if he would even recognize me.
Dennis looked around at the scores of identical porches, each with twin
front doors. He consulted the directions David had given him again, and
pointed at a porch where a cheap glass windchime, painted with plum
blossoms and fake Chinese characters, swayed in the breeze.
We walked up to the door, and Dennis rang the bell. I rocked my weight
onto the little spike heels of my mother's shoes, nervous. A moment
later a tall, lanky man with tousled hair opened the door.
"David." I said, looking straight into those little chips of glittering
blue sky.
"Diane!" David lunged forward and threw his arms around me, hugging me
so tight I struggled for breath.
"Wow, now that's a welcome!" I laughed and pulled away, my ribs
tingling from his touch, my neck scorched from his lips. He shooed me
and Dennis into his apartment and closed the door.
It looked inside pretty much like I had expected David's apartment to
look. There wasn't much furniture, and what he did have looked like it
came from a garage sale in a poor neighborhood, all yellow plaid and
pressboard. There were a lot of books scattered around, and records
inside of old fruit packing crates along one wall. A few posters were
placed here and there, probably hiding the plaster instead of enhancing
it, and a little curio cabinet hung over the cheap stereo. I sat down
on the sofa and almost fell through the cushion. After I curled my legs
underneath me it was comfortable enough.
"What can I get for you, beautiful?" David asked me. He grinned at me,
his teeth with the little gap in the middle shining. "No, wait. I know
just what you need. Hang on." He rushed from the room.
"Same old David." Dennis sat gingerly on the edge of his cushion and
slowly crept backward. He must have seen my rapid descent into the
depths of the couch and didn't want to repeat my performance.
"Yep, same old David." I looked around, my gaze finally settling on the
curio cabinet on the wall, and I thought I saw a tiny, familiar flash of
green there, but the sun was setting, and the harsh poverty of the room
was being softened by shadow, so it was hard to tell.
Dennis snickered. "Looks like our place if we lived in Tuscaloosa,
Alabama or Piqua, Ohio."
"Yeah, sort of. But don't tell him that. Comparing his home to ours is
no big compliment."
David burst back into the room with three bottles and an opener in his
hand. "Look! The little Cokes that you used to like. And I kept them
in the freezer just until they started to get all slushy on the top."
He wrenched the cap from a bottle and handed it to me.
"You remembered." I marveled. "I used to get these out of that vending
machine over by school." I took a long swallow of the achingly cold
drink, shivering a little as it slid down my throat. "I can't believe
you remembered such a stupid little thing." I smiled up into his face.
"Of course I remember." He said softly, then turned quickly to Dennis.
"You, my man, need a glass I suspect. There's a bottle of Old Forester
here with your name on it somewhere." He grinned and loped out of the
room again.
Dennis looked at me speculatively, I thought. However all he said was,
"I think I shall roll a joint."
Looking back on it, I suppose I should measure that night by the level
in the bottle of Old Forester instead of hours. At first we were like
three adults, sitting in a living room, sipping drinks; but as the
amber fire in that bottle was spilled, or evaporated, or stolen by
thieves - we refused to believe we could have drunk almost an entire
bottle in two hours - we seemed to peel away years like layers of
onionskin. We became just three friends again, like as not to make a
bloody compact, to swear to find one another in the afterlife; like
natives returning to a distant land we found the language which we had
spoken together, a language long dead but now, somehow, returned to
life.
"I have a question." David said at one point, holding up a long,
slender finger as if he wanted to test the wind. "No answer required,
of course, but I would like to know the answer nonetheless."
I sat, complacently waiting for the question, ready to answer whatever
David asked of me.
"I suppose what I want to know is just basically why you ended up with
Dennis and not with me." He looked at me in the intense way that
inebriated people have.
"Lordy, David, you are drunk off your ass." I gave a small laugh.
"No, really." David rose to his knees and lumbered over to where I sat;
we had all slithered into the floor by degrees as the night progressed.
"Was it because he's hung like a horse? That's what Shirley told me,
you know." He seemed to consider the look on my face for a moment. "I
bet I could make you scream louder than he ever has."
I heard Dennis sort of cough, and I turned to look at him, my face
blazing. His cough had turned into laughter, seemingly uncontrollable.
He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. I started laughing with
him, until I noticed that David was not.
For some reason I knew why David wasn't laughing. He wasn't laughing
because he was serious. I was laughing because I wanted to be serious,
but I was a coward. Like the coward I was, I just said "Promises,
promises." I flicked a glance into those crystal eyes and quickly
looked away.
"'Christ on a pony', to quote you. Sorry, David." Dennis wiped his
eyes with is shirttail and put his glasses back on, still giggling. "I
didn't mean to laugh. I've just never heard anyone chat up my
girlfriend like that before, especially not in front of me." He rocked
forward out of lotus position and onto his knees, reaching into his
pocket. "I guess this is as good a time as any to bring out my surprise
for the evening." He pulled a crumpled baggie out of his jeans pocket
and put it on the coffee table in front of David. "For old times' sake,
huh? I knew this was your favorite back in school."
My eyes widened and I took the baggie in my hands. "Are you trying to
tell me, you little sneaks, that you two were smoking hash in high
school?" I turned it over and gazed at the little brown lump. "And you
never asked ME?" I laughed. "What else did you two get up to that I
don't know anything about, I want to know." I threw the lump back on
the table toward David.
"I'll never tell." Dennis said, and grinned. I made a little checkmark
against his name in my mental list of 'things to do' when I got home. I
reached over and squeezed his hand.
"You got a pipe?" David asked, and Dennis shook his head. "Okay, then
we do it the classy way." He crawled over to a bookshelf and considered
its contents for a moment, then pulled a paperback from a shelf and
crawled back to our circle. "This is how they do it at Buckingham
palace, I've heard. Oh shit, wait a sec." He got up and left the room
for a moment, and I heard a drawer squeaking open and things being
stirred around. Another squeak, and David came back into the room with
a little cloth tomato in his hand, pins and needles stuck into its
stuffing. He sat down and held it up for my inspection.
"Just what the hell are you doing?" I asked, intrigued.
"Watch and learn, wench. This is a basic life skill." Dennis drained
his glass and reached for the dwindling bottle of bourbon.
David took the lump of hash and sliced off a tiny bit of it with a
straight pin, neatly rolling the rest back up in the plastic of the bag.
I watched him stick the pin through the front cover of the paperback -
which, if I remember correctly, was _The Dharma Bums_ by Jack Kerouac -
so that it stuck straight up. He put the little bit of hash on the pin
and lit it.
"Now that's stupid." I said. "This is a substitute for a pipe?" I
laughed.
"Scoff not at what ye do not know." David said, sniffing. "Are you
through with your glass?" When I nodded he took it and shook the last
few drops of liquid out of it, and placed it over the burning hash. The
glass quickly filled with smoke.
He lifted the book to his face and tipped the glass to one side
slightly, and sucked at the heavy smoke roiling about under the glass.
"I don't believe it." I said, and reached for the book. I ignored the
two men as they traded comments about impressionable young girls and
took a deep smoke-laden breath down into my lungs. It tasted sour and
spicy, and the smoke was thick and almost oily. I giggled, smoke
squirting out between my teeth like liquid, at the image of us sitting
around smoking a book, and a Kerouac book at that. I passed it to
Dennis. After a few rounds, we were all just a little dizzy and
laughing in gasps.
"You thought more about what I said?" David asked me, after a few
moments of silence. My head was leaning against the arm of the sofa; I
was listening to the music on the radio as if in a dream.
I looked at David and smiled. "Hmm? What do you mean?"
"About what I said." He was looking at me with those incredible eyes,
slightly tainted now by a tinge of red.
"Diane..."
I looked over at Dennis, who was sitting with a Coke in one hand and the
bottle opener in the other; he had been sitting like that for a few
moments, I realized, unmoving.
"I think he's asking you to go to bed with him, sweetheart." Dennis
said very softly, applying the bottle opener to the cap. He didn't look
up at me, but kept his eyes on the his hands.
I turned to David, as if for confirmation. He wasn't looking at me, but
at Dennis. I shivered a little as I looked at his face, which seemed so
strong. His hair was shining in the slightly yellow light of the table
lamp above him, and my hand seemed to travel up to it under its own
will. I took a long strand in my fingers and moved down its smooth
length.
"David, I..." My voice trailed off, because I could think of nothing to
say. No, it wasn't that. It was if there were too many things to say,
and they all needed to be said at once, there was no logical sequence
for them, everything must be said simultaneously or not at all. I
looked to Dennis for help, but his eyes were still on the bottle in his
hand, and the cap which he held in his fingers.
"Well, actually," David paused for a moment, and his voice fell to just
a slight whisper above the music on the radio. "I was going to invite
you both."
I closed my eyes.
I loved Dennis. At that moment in time I loved him fiercely,
protectively, above anything or anyone else in the entire world; but at
that same time I also loved David, the sheer vulnerability about him,
the changelessness of him. Over all of that was an overwhelming lust in
me, and the image came to my mind unbidden of the three of us in
embrace, arms entwined, legs crossing and recrossing, front to back to
front; and the sounds, oh god, the sounds - the sounds of flesh meeting
flesh and all of the meaning of its meeting.
The blood was rushing through me, beating strong in my cheeks and my
secrets. I put my hands over my eyes to push out the image which came
from within, not without. I sat for a moment and listened to my own
breathing, feeling its heat flame the palms of my hands.
I made a sound, muffled in the confines of my hands. I let them drop
from my face, and I could feel the cool air rush over my burning red
blush. "I want to." I said.
Dennis moved closer to me, his thigh alongside mine. He took one of my
hands, and David the other. Dennis' hand was cool against my heated
skin, but David's hand was hot, so hot it made my palm sweat. I looked
at his hand grasping mine, as if there would be a haze of heat rising
from it.
I moved my gaze to Dennis' lap, and then up to his face. His hard-on
was reflected there as well. "Good." He said, putting his lips to
mine. I felt David's grip on my hand tighten as my lips opened against
Dennis', and he darted his tongue into my mouth.
Thousands of times I had opened my lips to his, cool like snow at times,
warm as spiced cider at others, but never like this. His mouth seemed
to join to mine, to meld, his tongue seeming to invade my body and then
to become one with it, in it. A never-ending kiss, a first kiss carried
to its logical extension of the last, like a hand held tightly like
silence around a secret. My eyes were tightly closed, to open them was
more than I could bear; I leaned back for a moment to take a deep, slow
breath, my lips still parted. I felt my head turned a few degrees, and
another mouth was lain on mine; hands found my breasts and freed them
from their covering. Long strong fingers caressed me, and calloused
hands, full lips kissing me turned to sweet thin ones, sharp darting
tongue to languid caress.
My shoes were slipped from my feet, and I opened my eyes to see David
putting them neatly together under the table. I looked at Dennis and
reached a tentative hand out to him.
"Is this really-"
"Yes, it is." He nodded and then looked at David. "We used to joke
about this." Dennis gave one of his quick smiles. "We've always wanted
to do this with you, but it never seemed right-"
"Until now." David ran a finger into the cleft of my breasts. "Are you
sure you want to?" He asked, very quiet, his words little more than a
buzzing in my ear.
Have you ever had a dream, a dream where you are underwater, thrashing
about for your life, your lungs burning from lack of air; but then
something in you whispers that all is well, you can breathe; there is
nothing to do but to believe that whisper true, and you take a deep
draught of the water and you wonder if you are going to die... but you
do not die, your lungs welcome the water, in fact they revel in it, the
delightful sensation of being free overwhelms you, being free under the
water, in the cool darkness and the silence...
"Take me to bed." I rasped. I turned to Dennis and repeated it. "Take
me to bed."
David's bedroom was even more empty than his living room; there was a
mattress on the floor, covered in a homemade quilt, an orange crate
standing on its side with a clock and a tiny lamp on it, a few books
carelessly left in its interior. The three of us stood there, just
inside the closed bedroom door, silently contemplating David's bed.
I clutched the almost empty bottle of bourbon I held in my hand like a
security blanket, swaying slightly, but more from the strength of my
heartbeat than the booze. Dennis came up behind me and nuzzled my ear,
and his arm went around me protectively. I watched David close the
venetian blinds on the bedroom window, the room darkening from a hazy
twilight to a chirascuro sketch. Someone took the bottle from my hand,
and I let out a long breath as the zipper at the back of my dress slowly
opened. I felt a set of hands slide the bodice down my arms, and
another unclasp my brassiere. My clothes fell away and I stood, only my
stockings remaining, and the one garter I wore, emerald green, with the
little plastic silver pistol tucked into its lace.
I heard a rustling noise and I turned to my right, where Dennis was
standing, naked, folding his jeans on top of his shoes. He took the
little baggie of hash out of the pocket and held it up for us to see.
His cock was not completely erect, but lenghtening, and as he saw me
standing there with only my garter on show it gave a slight kick as it
started to rise.
"Shall we indulge?" He smiled, and walked over to the bed, seating
himself and leaning against the wall, his legs out in front of him,
spread slightly. He busied himself with the straight pin and the book.
"Bell, book and candle." I croaked. Dennis looked up at me quizically,
and I shook my head. "Never mind."
I felt David slip his hand in mine, and he led me to the bed. I sat
down next to Dennis, my left leg alongside his, David sitting with his
legs crossed facing me. I felt secure in the cool semi-darkness of the
room, and looked at David's naked body, his slightly stooped shoulders,
his almost hairless chest, his slender legs showing bony knees at their
bend. Behind his legs' shadow I could make out the outline of his
penis, and a hot shock ran through me, from my womb to my heart.
A nudge on my arm from Dennis; he passed me the glass full of smoke,
and I sipped at it, a thin stream diving down my throat. My body felt
lighter, as if I was a wreath of heavy smoke myself. I leaned back
against Dennis, one shoulder touching the wall, and laid my hand on his
thigh, stroking it lightly. He exhaled a great cloud of grey.
David ran his hands up the inside of my leg, following the curve of my
calf up to the indentation of my knee; his fingers were as light as
spiders, trailing over the flesh of my thigh, his fingertips only
brushing the hair on my mons. I felt a shift and my weight settled
against the wall as Dennis moved a leg behind me, so that I sat cradled
between his thighs; he pulled me backward slightly and I reclined
against his chest. His arms encircled me and each hand cupped a breast.
He held them from beneath, my nipples captured each between a thumb and
forefinger; as they swelled under his touch he pinched them lightly,
and I lifted my pelvis to meet David's gently exploring hand.
David rolled my stockings down my legs, my skin prickling at the
sensation of their smoothness slinking downward. I held each foot up in
turn for him to slip their sheerness from my legs, and he kissed my
ankle.
David opened my lips gently with his fingers; when he touched my
clitoris I drew in my breath, my back arching. I felt Dennis' cock
press into my back, and he moved against my skin, his flesh feeling
heavy and hot. David moved my legs apart and lay himself between them
full length, his tongue playing over the outer lips of my sex, feeling
soft and deliciously warm. My lips seemed to swell under his teasing
touches, and he ran his tongue down the opening, making my heart pound.
Dennis' muscles tightened under me, and he pushed his erection into the
hot skin of the small of my back.
The lips on my sex were warm and soft, and the fingers on my nipples
hard and unyielding; I felt a flutter, like the ghost of a contraction,
as David's tongue slid across my clit. I looked down at his head buried
between my thighs, little sounds of satisfaction escaping his lips as he
licked at me, his tongue making broad strokes through my inner lips.
Each time I thought I was close to the edge of orgasm it seemed to
recede, and I went farther and farther as his warmth teased my clit. My
nipples were burning, my breasts almost aching with a need to be sucked.
I cried out and twisted in Dennis' arms, my entire body trembling, my
knees raised and wide, my own hands clutching at the hands on my
breasts.
I heard a rasp from behind me, and Dennis spoke, his voice gravelly.
"Make her come, David. I want to watch as you make her come." His
voice sank to a whisper against me. "I want you good and ready for me
when I fuck you. I want you to be all tight and wet because I'm going
to fuck you all night and make you beg for more."
Dennis' breathing was hot in my ear as he rubbed his cock against the
skin of my back incessantly, as hot as the lips and tongue sucking,
licking, nipping at my clit made me thrash as I begged David for
release. He slipped two fingers into me and I bore down on them, loving
the feel of something inside of me. I thrust my hips forward, sliding
down over his hand, grinding my sex into David's face. His tongue found
my clitoris and made circles around it, making my muscles tense, my
stomach as hard as stone, the calves of my legs bunched and aching, my
feet pointed, the toes curled; I felt suspended for a moment, holding
my breath, and then the orgasm burst through me, wave after wave washing
over me, letting me drown in its feel. I gasped for air and clawed at
David's hair, pulling him away from me, to stop the unbearable ecstacy
which felt as if it would stop my heart.
The blood rushing through me, the smoke of the hash, the heat of the
David's empty bedroom made everything a blur. I felt my body being
stroked, fondled, a finger slipped into the heart of my sex, lips
pressed against mine. I was rolled gently onto my stomach, and my hips
pulled backward with my ass in the air; I felt the smooth slide of
flesh into mine, and the warm press of a cock against my lips. I took
it into my mouth and matched the strokes of my ravisher, pressing it
deep into my throat. It seemed to go on for hours, the clutch of hands
in my hair, the hoarse cries, the whispered directions and moans of
triumph; the hardness I took into my mouth was first surrounded by hair
that was as black as midnight, and then a reddish gold; the hands
gripping the globes of my rear now caressing, then adamant. It was as
if I was awash in that warm sea of which I had been so afraid, floated
in it, first on my knees, then on my back, now on my side, surrounded by
warm lips and gentle hands; fine, shining hair under my hands and
coarse, rasping hair against my body. The fires flared up brightly for a
time, silken hot, burning themselves out in a burst of heat and light,
and then quickly died down to a smoulder, leaving us sweating and
breathless, entwined in one another's arms.
I awoke once in the night, curled against Dennis' back in the way that I
always slept, my arm thrown over his waist. For a moment I did not
recognize the pattern of moonlight on the wall, and then I remembered
that I was not asleep in my own bed. I could feel my face blaze crimson
at the thought of what I had just done; and with that thought came its
twin - the desire for it to never end, to wake up each morning with my
arm around Dennis' waist, and David's hand resting heavily on my hip. I
wanted to hear Dennis' loud laughter, and see it mirrored in ice-blue
eyes. I wanted ... I wanted many things.
I wanted those things for a long time, I suppose. But, like most
feelings, even wanting grows dimmer over time.
*3: Them*
There was a heavy quiet in the room, only the sound of the air
conditioner whirring outside. They lay side by side, each thinking of
the chances which had been taken, the secrets revealed.
A car went by outside, its tires drumming on the pavement.
"I suppose I have a question." Ben said. "And like David, I suppose
the best way to ask is just to ask, right?"
Diane felt him stir restlessly on his pillow.
"The question is: why are you here? I could never make you feel
anything compared to that. I knew you were friends with them, and I
knew that you had loved Dennis once, but you never told me that it was
like that, like a big fire burning itself up. I could never make anyone
feel that way, how could I? I just don't understand why you would give
up some kind of grand passion to get married to a guy who works in a
bank. Scarlett notwithstanding." She could hear the sheets rustle as
he turned on his side to face her, and she could almost feel his eyes
searching for hers in the dark.
"You don't understand." Diane said softly. "You said it yourself and I
suppose you don't even realize it. It *was* like a big fire burning
itself up. That's *all* it was. It was this idea, this obsession. A
dramatic part to play to make up for an empty life. That sort of thing
may be fine for somebody else, but it was all just pretending for me,
for Dennis and David too, I think. It was like we had started along
this path, and it could only lead to this big scene, and we played the
big scene and that was the end. If it had been such a big thing, why
would I have been living alone when I met you? Why would I have fallen
head over heels in love with just some guy who works in a bank, as you
put it?" She shifted under the covers to run her leg up against his.
"I like guys who work in banks."
"I still don't understand." Ben's hand found hers, and clutched it.
"Don't expect me to."
"Okay." She sighed. "Understand this, though..."
"Yes?"
She pulled him to her, and was glad of the sudden moonlight streaming
through the window, as it revealed the crimson blaze in her face which
burned brightly like a fire, a steady flame; revealed her face and his,
coming ever closer, to warm himself at that blaze.
****
Comments are welcome. Reply to the above address or follow-up to
alt.sex.stories.d please.
Thanks.
L.
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