Viva La Difference - Psychedelic Water 19

Viva La Difference

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Psychedelic Water 19

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The shaman shakes his long wavy locks to dispel an all-encompassing recollection, a sensuous vision that occludes the livid living realm of his elementary senses. Yet when Ram’s disoriented head settles into repose, his long-lost lover’s delightfully creamy embrace rises to the fore in a kinaesthetic fugue of scintillating cellular memory.

Zsuzsi’s scent, taste, textures and touch are a song of songs long stored in the singing skein of his nerves and flesh. He revels in this rekindling of heartfelt reverie, supping the sweet spicy aroma of his bygone beloved as he relives a brightly burning eternity of sensual absorption. He kisses the gracile silken throat of his Sino-Japanese princess while mammalian softnesses and feminine declivities enfold him in a submerged yet ever-present memory of eternally loving lust. Yet even as he feels the welcoming caress of his erstwhile primal mate’s embrace, the intoxicating image of her flawless face transforms into a less familiar visage and Ram’s body shivers with surprise, tingling with dawning recognition.

Her heart-shaped features stretch into a more aquiline cast and limpid nut-brown eyes take on a burnt orange hue, brightly bold and as utterly disarming as a lioness’ stare, when Zsuzsi’s face morphs and melds into the patrician countenance of the mysteriously aloof and umber-skinned Amber. The confounding woman’s presence emerges from the vortex of Ram’s desires, grafted onto idyllic recollections of his alluring lost bride; his body shudders at the uncanny displacement, rocking and reeling in semidarkness beside the rock-rimmed fireplace on the bank of the Dreamtime stream.

As he basks in the splendid glow of Amber’s vividly recalled image the psychedelically enhanced shaman sighs, taken back and aback to once more witness the mysterious smile, delicate form and resilient flesh of the woman who’s so swiftly and thoroughly captivated his consciousness. He’s loth to compare Amber with the Asiatic lover of his bygone youth, or to preconfigure what he haltingly conceives to be their barely extant new… Friendship? he ventures; Relationship? He’s unsurprised to discover his unwillingness to sully thoughts of the extraordinary woman with expectations - particularly those based on experiences with another young female, no matter how similar in texture or fondly recalled.

He warms his lone soul in the afterglow of the lovely stranger’s lambent smile as his body slowly toasts by the fire, drifting in self-hypnotised thrall to her commanding image. He stares into glowing coals that shimmer with the very same hue as Amber’s eyes - until Ram’s head shakes afresh and his moustache curls upward, echoing the curve of his lips when he recognises the folly of undue optimism. She’d not have left with Rupert if she’d wanted me this night… or on any other, most probably… It’s been a long time since any woman pursued me…

Ram’s eyelids slide shut but Amber’s image remains, burned into his mind’s eye, growing more tenuously remote and yet simultaneously more formidable as her expression of engagingly warm and inquisitive regard hardens into an adamantine glare. The tripping hippy experiences an ego-diminishing wave of presumed rejection and shivers with hoary inner coldness, a benighted clamminess magnified by the cool breeze pouring down between the winding creek’s banks. A frigid mist drifts down from night-dark upstream rainforests and descends from the black rock escarpment that looms above his spinning head, occluding the spangled starscape with colossal gravid presence. He swallows a sweet slug of saliva, allowing the personalised dram of alchemically distilled and transformative healing nectar to salve and centre his soul as it slithers all the way down into the alembic core of his belly.

A refreshing droplet of sublime stillness falls into the receptive bowl sconced behind and beneath the shaman’s navel. His enervating sense of diminishment abates while the coldness of solitude seeps through his bones and touches his marrow. He inhales, filling his lungs with the aerial waters of life everlasting; Holy Spirit, the Ruach… He drinks nourishing prana, drawing the life force deeply into his diaphragm as he exults in the breath of the living goddess; Shekinah… Mother Eve bonded to the sleeping bones of her long-lost Adam…

A recollected collection of satin-smooth young women suddenly swims through the nearer reaches of Ram’s mind, distracting him from the cool caress of earthy and unearthly vapours arising from inner and outer worlds. A succession of lovers flows forth from the fastnesses of the past, gilded with all the shades of Eastern womanhood; blessedly elfin females possessed of addictive textures and avid proclivities:

Frighteningly satisfying cries soar from the curving throat of beautiful, dainty, half-Chinese Renée, screaming out loving epithets in her native West Papuan dialect while she writhes astride Ram’s pinned-down teenaged body in his candlelit black-painted bedchamber – the most stunningly furious sex in his first months of freedom as a runaway urchin;

The jigsaw-like fit of Zsuzsi Creemcheeze, her hot waxen textures and shapely form forever engraved and embedded in his body/mind after years of continuous nymphomaniac lovemaking, rapturously wrapped and warped around him, tight as a glove, inside and out, screaming his name as she comes over and over and over again - forever demanding, forever inspiring, forever satisfying in a never ending greedy meeting of mutually addicted need;

The beautiful long-haired leggy ‘tourist’ from Hong Kong, whom thoughtful Squidly introduces to him (knowing how much the young shaman misses his departed Zsuzsi) in the long-gone Manzil Room during a Kings Cross Cold Chisel gig – a model named ‘Sue’ who turns out to be an illegal Chinese refugee with extraordinary hidden talents and dangerous connections, blithely confessing capital crimes in the intertwined afterglow of drunken abandon - blowing fragrant smoke rings at a paper lampshade globe in the spare bedroom of Delta House while a paralytic young Fae (the paramour he’d longed for over many years, who’d unexpectedly arrived from the southerly fringe of the continent and promptly passed out in a stupor while awaiting his return) sleeps in his own bed in the connecting room, each unaware of the other’s close presence;

The brown-eyed girl with no name who says not a word when she takes him (stubble-faced, still covered in grime and with leaves in his hair) to an uptown hotel room one cold bleak night in the glowing street-lit purple haze of the Emerald city - scant hours after he’d descended from celibate weeks of rainforest blockading and death-defying stunts with ragged feral forest defenders, holding off cops and robbers on high plateaus both geographical and spiritual, to arrive barefoot and innocent at a deep dark place in a high glass-lined tower. The (presumedly Japanese) well-dressed and demure stranger tests the Rainbow Warrior’s spiritual resolve, presenting him with velvet cords and asking to be tied down and ‘used, but not abused’, in a small timid voice while her wee hands strip him bare. He gasps and shudders, considering the motives behind her rare request (and his own unseemly eagerness to accede to her wishes) as her slippery tongue begins to caress the full length of his long-unsated tumescence;

The very Willing Worker On Organic Farms, a green-thumbed backpacker volunteer he picks up from the nearest train station one sultry summer’s eve and drives home beneath a descending mantle of meteor-shot deep purple infinitude. His incessant glances at the unfathomably ageless young woman lead the Bluebird of Hippiness to wander, veering toward catastrophe off the shoulder of the narrow winding road, so they stop at a hilltop lookout to admire the half-tamed rural landscape. The dazzled tourist teeters backward as she surveys the emergence of a glorious Milky Way, the majestic sky-spanning common heritage of all humankind that the breathlessly awe-struck, city-bred office worker has never before seen in all her relatively well-travelled quarter century of life on Planet Earth. She slips into his arms and her lips find his with nary a warning. He takes her there, on the earth beneath the stars.

After an eternity of slow luscious humping they share a smoke and climb back into the sedan. Li Lu keeps up a running commentary on all the hitherto unseen sights she’s witnessed since stepping off the jet not quite two days earlier, and her slim little hand keeps falling on Ram’s thigh as they wend their way down the long gravelled road to his ramshackle shack in remote forest-covered gorge country. She regales him all night with tales of Korea and Singapore and San Francisco, laughing and raving in broken halting English while they work their way through a magnum of French champagne she’s brought in her capacious backpack - downing the whole bloated bottle long before it grows as warm as her golden skin, shimmering with sweat in the subtropical night. They sink into the succour of deepest wordless intimacy through an unbroken morning, afternoon, night and next morn of full-length, full-bodied contact.

A succession of Oriental girls and women who’d seen fit to bed the shaman over the decades parades through his waking dream, all possessed of undeniably fey glamour, all inexpressibly sleek and gloriously silky as they share in the delights of primal primate coupling - melding molten memories of slippery hairless nubility, unyielding tight graspings and succulent clenchings of intimately tender pinkness stretched tightly round Ram’s hirsute manimal hardness.

It’s scarcely a wonder to the mage that many Western women of his acquaintance remark on these couplings with enviously muttered abjurations, or even loudly voiced venom. They know they can barely compete with that fine femininity, riven by jealous insecurity in the face of a smooth exotic beauty that shaving or depilation can’t hope to replicate… He knows many are angered by the realisation that the unmatchable form and feel of Asian women represents the very zenith of archetypal femaleness.

Their freshness and vitality, seemingly immature youthfulness and incessantly lusty vigorous lovemaking had ever been inspiring to the mage. Asian lovers had always provided rewarding immersion in supersensuous abandon, yet Ram’s incessant thoughtstream had continuously diverged toward realms of self inquiry even while he sighed and groaned in the tautening net of extraordinarily slim golden limbs and blood-engorged rubin lips. Even as interlocked bodies strove toward the brink of mutual annihilation and cock-filled feminine screams of fulfilment filled the night air of Oz, the shaman sometimes queried the rush of supreme satisfaction that roared through his being; he pondered the intoxicating swell of egocentric empowerment even as he revelled in their gratifying cries, exercising masculine strength and his well-trained will to ride the elfin females unto the heights of orgasm and beyond.

The golden girls’ reciprocally lusty sensuality was a wonder to behold and to hold. Like most other women of his intimate acquaintance, they were invariable pleased and surprised by the skinny hippy’s enduring stamina and his unusual absorption in their every need or desire. He rarely succumbed to the understandable desire to impregnate their sex-slicked littler bodies with superfluous swimming seeds, preferring to ensure their Tantric trysts or mindless animalistic fucking last an eternity. The glory of his partner’s rapture was always utterly fulfilling to witness and encounter, an experience far more sublime and riveting than the simple ending of volatile spending.

Self-judgemental phantasms oft flitted through the shaman’s hindbrain while he rode the wild tides rushing through his oriental lovers’ well-travelled bloodstreams - cultural imprints and familial-racial ratiocinations that lurk in shadowy regions beneath the varisome surfaces of all humankind. Semi-sentient egregious thought forms sometimes disturbed his appreciation of sweet orgasmic feminine screaming and creaming; She feels so young… Is enjoying her sleek little femaleness… this immature-feeling slimness and hairlessness… this incredible smoothness and elastic band tightness… is this just a sanctionable form of paedophilia? But when they screamed with delight those precious, sought after, siren-song entreaties invariably called him back to the gift of the eternal multisensory present.

He’s pondered the disquieting question more than once or thrice, stupidly thinking while Zsuzsi or Renée or Li Lu or ‘Sue’ wrapped her nubile selves around him, each of their unique sleek bodies more slight, smooth and seemingly unsullied than that of any occidental feudal lord’s immature child bride. Despite his pretensions to grace, the slender hippy shaman had often considered himself a bear-like, brutish, quasi-British masculine beast compared with their beauteous delicacy of form – a hairy rutting animal beside and inside the textures, tastes and scents of all the Asian women who’d stared into his emerald eyes and surrendered to the enraptured oblivion of orgasmic bliss in his arms, suspended in ineffably mysterious timeless moments of unbridled ecstasy beneath or astride or beside him.

The blood-hot warmth of silken skins transforms into the rekindling heat of the fire, heating Ram’s face to a ruddy blush as his mind unravels through timeless dimensions. Almost like dogs and cats, he conjectures for the hundredth time, dispelling less savoury atavistic notions with the irreverent idea. The incessant voice guiding his swimming mind drifts on and on, whispering into his hallucinating brain: Western men and Eastern women are a stereo fit of archetypical male and female desire… a sheer vibrant intensity of difference that arouses and magnifies sexual energies, bringing out the most primal attraction and satisfaction between man and woman… diversity blending in a stellar fulfilment of evolutionary harmony…

He’s seen envy burning in Asian men’s eyes and witnessed the mismatching desires that drive them toward and away from most Western women. Yet it doesn’t seem the same the other way round; that contrast of masculinity and femininity appears positively Oedipal when positions are reversed… He recalls how his Lady Racheal had been utterly aroused by the chance to have Li Po’s sleek surfaces moving around and within her, and remembers his blond bride’s subsequent carefully concealed disappointment after hours grappling with the unsatisfying reality of the slim Chinese youth’s androgynous body. But then, Racheal only rarely got off on making love with other women, too…

The glorious sensation of a smooth Asian body had always been an amazing experience for the shaman. Once you’ve taken the plunge and crossed the horizon of East-West interracial taboos the magnetised current of attraction is almost irresistible… and irreplaceable... After his enduring relationship with Zsuzsi Creamcheeze it had taken more than a year before white or black women’s bodies felt normal and natural beside Ram’s flesh; for many moons he could hardly be satisfied by the relative rough textures of their skins, or the slightly more robust mass of their bones when their grasping limbs girdled his torso. Most felt almost male, he recalls, after the satin caress of sweet gorgeous Zsuzsi.

A flaring vision of beautiful Amber resurges into Ram’s awareness and he ponders the flaming orbs of her mesmerising upward-tilting eyes, the sly subtle curve of her knowing smile. Where have I seen her before? Her face is vestige of somewhere and something unknown; a recollection of a dream of a memory. The shaman rounds on a troubling truth that further incenses his far-flung imaginings; I’ve never felt such feverish heat from a woman… a woman so literally hot… The mage’s fire elemental stirs within his plasm and he takes a deep breath to centre the internal menagerie of his thoughts. And I seem to be getting stuck in the lower chakras…

The shaman’s eyes slowly slide open and a pale wash in the eastern sky beckons an instantly older and wiser Centraxian prince to rise up onto unshod feet. A wan glow illuminates the meandering path to his campsite, occasionally brightened by flickers of firelight and jagged flashes from the dwindling outdoor lightshow. His mind traverses the route in advance, following the ley of the land to the place where folds of bedding await beside the mist-covered waterway, beneath sheltering acacia branches and a low screen of fresh lilli pilli plantings.

He smiles with an inward grimace. There’s no fool like an old fool… He glances toward Phico and Amara, and nods farewell to the tall alchemist when their eyes meet across the barely resuscitated fire; Phico echoes his gesture and a fleeting frisson of psychedelic camaraderie passes between them. The black-hatted woman is fully occupied in conversation with a young Japanese couple, who kneel on the ground before the enthroned Amara in postures reminiscent of respectfully acquiescent supplication.

The shaman follows a smattering of fading, scattered, gleaming pools, treading through stepping stones of lesser darkness while his fire-branded eyesight adjusts to the gloom. He paces beneath the sheltering arms of barely perceivable low hanging branchlets and higher arches of taller saplings; silent nascent towers of wordless slow thought immersed in scintillating expectancy, absorbing and projecting a vibrant stillness presaging the pregnant promise of tomorrow’s coming dawn.

His bared feet pick their way through seedy tufts and fallen branches with practiced ease, fire-warmed soles cooling with a dewy touch of denuded rainforest soil. He feels curiously awake and particularly alert in the residual fey gloaming of the LSD trip, and finds himself pausing at a nodal point which appears like an unfolding blossom in the network of tenuous pathways - barely visible signs etched into the living land by footfalls and slitherings from a plethora of differing species.

Ram’s slurred sight dissembles around a rough circle of flattened grass, and when he focuses upon a point of conjunction near the centre of the ethereal crossroads the tableau recalls yet another tryst – one freshly branded into his flesh and bones, still singing through his taut-strung nerves; the exotically erotic vision of Angel’s beautiful metal-desecrated face and her smoothly trim and likewise multiply pierced body returns to Ram’s sensitised mind. Her scent fills his nostrils as he subsides into reverie and relives making love with the wild Goth pixie on the meadow’s soft soil only scant hours earlier.

Her shape is embedded in the aura of the world, still moving through cycles of primate mating, still mating with him in a timeless vale, still perceivable through the shadowy reaches of yesterday. Only yesterday… In the blink of a closing eye he returns to the extraordinary hours shared with the black-lipped feral grrl, a willing pilgrim drawn toward the unexpected delights of the previous psilocybin-infused night. The sensations of the feral Angel’s body moving around him and the taste of her pierced tongue in his mouth return in a dizzying rush. He reels in the recollected feel of her metal-studded svelte skin and the elastic strength of her inward embrace, exulting in the memory of long tickling dreadlocks sliding across and between their slippery surfaces.

The experience is still so fresh that he feels the emotive emo grrl anew, writhing above him before a backdrop of stars, squeezing down tight, slickly absorbing and totally absorbed in the moment as her entire young body clenches all the way round his rigidness - the wily wild teenager twisting about the twinned twining loci of their explosive arousal, grinding the smooth swelling bulb of her panic button down against his curly-haired pubic bone until her limits stretch around him and her internal horizon swells and expands toward the Milky Way...

The veil of time parts and the shaman loses the present as the screaming feral Angel descends all the way into a primal salty tidal wave of sucking, bucking, screaming, stretching, pounding, metal-lined drug-fucked orgasm. They come for an eternity – another eternity, all over again – in a multisensory fugue that blurs all margins and liquefies all boundaries. Their voices meld into a divinely inspired wordless ululation of primordial incantation… Then he recalls her glitter-clad nakedness surrounded and pounded by other male bodies, the same startling scene that greeted his hallucination-fringed sight just hours before, and he’s shocked from his sensual reverie.

Ram’yana shudders forward and remerges into the riptide present. He takes a deep breath as his spirit refills the stilled vessel of his patiently awaiting body. Somewhere beyond the fading tinker-toy trilling of electronic muzak he hears crickets chirping, and the preparatory chuckle of a dreaming kookaburra. The bearded hippy mage swallows a measure of his pride and pauses, lingering in the place where passions and wills had so recently entwined and still entwine, forever, embedded in the dream-carrying plasm of the whirlybird world, embedded into eternal Akashic memory and the volatile internal record of his ongoing incarnations. The acid trip’s vestiges drain away though Ram’s bloodstream, pouring into the sacred site of last night’s lovemaking with the gentle hiss of his exhalation.

He sighs while he savours Angel’s unforgettable fragrance anew; as inexpressibly unique and individual as any other lover’s, but still vibrantly fresh and cinnamon-sweetly delicious, still clinging to his clothes and flesh and hair, infusing the flattened soil and smashed grass boudoir of their overnight coupling, suddenly resurgent and undeniably present in the damp of the lonely night air. Exclamations of ecstasy resound within his inner ear as the orgasmic teenager’s unalloyed screaming flays through his reverberating nervous system, echoing the early morning sexual strivings occurring all around his swaying body in the secluded little valley; sounds that gradually penetrate the funky fugue of his musings.

He sighs again as he steps from the sex-flattened circle. Thoughts of a lover much closer in time, but still not real, not in the here and now… Ram laughs aloud at his pointless and piteous self-pity. Everything is perfect, he reminds himself – and is slightly surprised to discover he’s telling the truth; he feels better than fine, at one with the whole wide wonderful world. His eyes widen upon the slowly brightening landscape and he follows his feet around occasional tents and blanket-shrouded mounds, which shift and heave on the valley floor as demonstrative moans and jangling electronica mingle with the first trills of birdsong.

When he first hears the plash of the rock-strewn river - a burbling thrum beneath murmuring susurruses and the sweet moaning nothings of mating lovers and breeze-blown branches – the dazzled shaman is bemused to glimpse an incongruous flash of orange, winking and blinking through the gloom. His besotted mind flips through gears and strips cogwheels as he recognises the strangely familiar hue of an unknown bright beacon, unerringly guiding the austral traveller to a long hoped-for destination.

As Ram approaches his campsite the bright orange blur resolves into a familiar silk dress. The garment hangs from boughs swaying slowly about his bower, waving in a chill breeze that heralds the approaching light of a Sun which still lingers beyond the slumbering mass of the world. Step by questing step, a rising sense of awed immanence draws him all the way into realisation of his overwhelming good fortune; he blinks at the heavenly sight that’s swiftly and unerringly appeared in answer to his heartfelt wish.

A silken, slender, almost feline form is enticingly revealed by the transparent flag of a Balinese sarong - a soft batik drape partly veiling Amber’s naked body, shielding her radiance from the clammy touch of morning dew.

When she’d accepted Earl Rupert’s offer of a lift, the shaman had been virtually certain he wouldn’t see the enticing hitchhiker (who’d matched his thoughts step by step and inflamed him with her touch as surely as their discourse enflamed his mind) soon, if ever again – yet Amber is spread recumbent on his mounded pillows, slim body outstretched atop a familiar pile of soft bedding. The pointed peaks of her breasts slowly rise and fall beneath the thin slip of material, and her glorious face glows a phosphorescent umber in the first pallid light of the morn.

The train of his thoughts judders to a halt and falls off its tracks as moments tick by. He draws nearer with the slow silent motion of an intent cautious hunter and enters a distinctly defined field of subtle pressure that surrounds the woman’s slim frame, a nimbus that sheathes her within a semi-hallucinatory aura of ethereal flickering flame. His nerve ends tingle and his manhood hardens with presentiment of deep luscious contact.

Mauve eyelids flutter open at Ram’s closer approach; when Amber’s eponymous eyes swim into focus time slips out of joint. The shaman watches her rouse from a shallow slumber while his fiery familiar stirs afresh in his plasm, a trembling surge of energic wilfulness coming to wakefulness in a surge that swells from the pit of his groin and the core of his heart, to flare up inside the cavernous twists of his cranium.

Amber’s fiery almond eyes widen and silently beckon him into the receptive welcome of her fluidly muscular and perfectly moulded feminine limbs. Accompanied by an ineffably sublime cloud of fragrance, an intense wave of heat envelopes the shaman as she rises and kneels with effortless gradual grace, matching his motions with enfolding touches that gradually transform to an enflaming embrace. “It must be dawn…” his voice murmurs on the rumbling edge of audibility, channelling a stray and straying thought as the sarong falls away from the dark thimbles of her nipples; “…the Amber Sun is rising…”

She winks and the cloth falls away from her breathtaking shapeliness as she wraps long slim arms around him. Her tongue is a burning salamander squirming between his lips. When nimble fingers reach forth to clutch Ram’s shirt she tugs him into her cushioned nest. Amber’s nostrils flutter and flare and dilated irises shrink into the bullseye centres of twin flaming pools, bright as the fluorescent aurora of her swaying dress - a silken flag rolling through the dancing breeze and signalling the place where their cuddling bodies finally prepare to meet in alchemical melding.

He sways on his knees before the blazing woman, enflamed and emboldened by the evidence of his desire, which presses through tightening trousers and swells hard up against the cauldron of heat at the slim golden juncture of Amber’s thighs. She silences the superfluous sweet nothing which threatens to rise from his throat, smothering all potential blithering with luscious lips while long limber fingers make short work of his shirt’s loose fastenings. A moment later she pulls the bow-tied drawstring to release his cotton trousers and the shaman sheds the last shreds of fig-leaf clothing.

Amber’s searing soft skin burns like a simmering desert sun as she strives to mould her heat around Ram’s naked flesh in the dawning light. Tongues slip around lips and outline the declivities of teeth and gums as they inhale the yeasty life-force of shared loving breath, passing mixed exhalations back and forth in an ever-heating rush. They entwine and caress, melding and kissing, pressing full length and skin-tight, striving to be closer to each other than humanly possible as they keel beside the gurgling platypus pool. Amber’s extraordinary body is uncannily hot as ever, yet Ram’s erection burns like a brand against her smooth concave belly as they squeeze tightly together in the cool morning mist.

After an inexpressibly vivid yet tender interval of gentle caresses and deepening kisses, Amber’s lips gently disengage from his tongue and her penetrative sight bores into the core of his soul. Two simple syllables emerge from her clicking teeth and her rolling tongue; “Tantra…” The word is an answer to the shaman’s most heartfelt prayer and a jolt thrums through his frame; he begins to fully awaken to the reality and import of the amazing woman’s vibrantly vivid presence.

“Lotus?” she suggests, and the pleasantly dumbstruck shaman nods happy agreement. He leans back and folds one hirsute leg atop the other before the splendid woman, sitting erect in more ways than one in full lotus position on the duvet-covered ground. Ram’s shaft swells high, darkly enflamed with the blood-fuelled heat of his arousal, a purpling pillar rearing before the freckly parchment of startlingly pale skin in the dim shadowed gloaming.

The feather-light flickering of Amber’s inner thighs burns trails along the shaman’s sides as she kneels astride him and stares into the centre of his heightened awareness, a laser-like torchlight burning through and beyond the eye in his brow to bore into the seat of his consciousness, between and behind his terrestrial eyes. Radiant heat blazes from lightly fuzzed loins and bathes Ram’s swollen crown in enflaming arousal. A wordless moan fills the still immanence of dawn as an oven-like fire of female desire stretches tautly around his rocklike pillar, and she commences a slow descent.

Amber’s heat-enflamed body is even smoother and silkier than Ram’s most livid remembrances of his long departed Zsuzsi, but he forgets all comparisons and relativities when a feather-like touch of fine downy hair precedes astoundingly sultry inner lips that kiss his summit and part round his rigid shaft. The feline woman’s unearthly heatedness burns all the way down into the racing, raging torrent of his bloodstream and penetrates the solitude-chilled marrow of his lonely bones.

Her descent is a deliciously long, excruciatingly slow, blissfully satisfying deep swallowing plunge that sucks their blended breath away to stream into cloudy vaporous swirls in the dew-dappled dawn. The burning tips of Amber’s breasts glide down along his hairy chest until their firmness flattens against his torso and her eyelids flicker in excruciated pleasure. The coils of her loins encircle his shaft with an unbreakable grip when she bears down even closer.

Ribs press together and lips meld in seamless conjunction within the ticklish orbit of Ram’s fecund facial fur as all her blazing, squeezing strength settles around him, inside and out. His nostrils flare within the arousing feminine scentedness of Amber’s liquid black hair while he resists a fleeting urge to thrust all the way up inside her tight little body until she cries out with the ecstasy of cock-stretched fulfilment.

He watches her eyelids flare open as her sight settles upon him once more and she peers up into the cave of his long dark hair. Her legs are gloriously smooth sheaths of flame-filled silk burning pathways atop his hairy thighs, riveting his attention to the small stretching seam where her limber limbs meet and squeeze right around him. Her hands stroke his spine and tickle his surfaces while he further enflames her with strategic caresses. The renewed succulence of their kiss endures the furnace of their passions and they purr into each other’s mouths when Amber’s ankles cross behind the small of Ram’s back and her inward muscles flex and strain about his raging erection.

The movents of their enraptured loving are almost entirely internal, and the motions of their lungs unify into a harmony of aroused relaxation as they feed the eternal flame of close-pressed beating hearts with the combining bellows of each shared breath. The commingling fires are fed and maintained by the focused energy centres of swirling chakras resonating through their very cores, silently spinning on either side of their closely pressed skins, just beneath the juncture of the lovers’ navels - nourished by the heavenly pools of pineal peace in the silent cyclonic centres of their crania. Amber’s brow brushes lightly against her lover’s as her body stretches upward and she spreads her mysterious blazing elastic interior round Ram’s immobile hard lingam – the elongated, overblown clitoris at the egocentric focus of all mundane masculine pride.

Tantra proves to be more than a mere faddish word to the slender golden woman and the lovers are soon transfused with bliss, transfigured by the sacred rites of deepening immersion into supersensuous supraconscious rapture. All need for speech sloughs away in the warm golden light, then thoughts melt away in the primordial furnace. Desire dissolves into nameless luminance as they ride the tides of sensation and transformation within a cosmic egg of unmoving stillness, blending all the way through ineffable dimensions of unnameable wisdom and endless delight; finally, time itself is eradicate, and turns inside out as they emit…

A True Story

Continues…

- R.A.

Images - author's

Further true tales from the Prince of Centraxis -

See Psychedelic Water Part 1 - Fractal Rainbow

Psychedelic Water Part 2 - What Thou Wilt

Psychedelic Water Part 3 - Trancefixed

Psychedelic Water Part 4 - Feral Dolphin

Psychedelic Water Part 5 - Angelic Tantra

Psychedelic Water Part 6 - Dreads Unlocked

Psychedelic Water Part 7 - Fresh Flesh, Old Bones

Psychedelic Water 8 - Predawn of Awareness

Psychedelic Water 9 - Merry Moot

Psychedelic Water 10 -Wandering Orgone Wand

Psychedelic Water 11 - Water Power

The Red Pill - Psychedelic Water 12

Mothership Crew - Psychedelic Water 13

Amber Flames - Psychedelic Water 14

Wills Writ on Waves - Psychedelic Water 15

Alternative Universe - Psychedelic Water 16

Fractal Free Will - Psychedelic Water 17

Reorientation - Psychedelic Water 18

Viva La Difference – Psychedelic Water 19

Big Boing Mindstuff – Psychedelic Water 20

Still more true tales of the Prince of Centraxis -

Adder Ladies and the Dawn of Ra Part 1 - Doves and Serpents

The Shaman of Centraxis Part 1 - The Whole is Greater

Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll Part 1

Wild Life Part 1

And See -

The Her(m)etic Hermit - http://hermetic.blog.com

The New Illuminati – http://newilluminati.blog-city.com

(These two sites have been locked off from their creator and all commentary has been summarily censored by Today.com - Enlightenment Today

and Imagine Nation – Artwork & Images )

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From The Prince of Centraxis - http://centraxis.blogspot.com