Wild Life 2
Little Wonder - a serpentine creek that flows through and around the ancient volcanic foothills of eastern Oz, nestled in the depths of an outlier of the ancient continent’s
So old and apparently permanent is the landscape through which it flows, that the little watercourse has witnessed the emergence and disappearance of many species of plants and animals since it first began carving its winding easterly course to the sea (which was much further away in those bygone days); a lazily meandering route through the forest-shrouded skeleton of a grand old volcano’s shattered caldera, a spring of many springs coiled like a contracting serpent readying to strike toward the rising sun.
Little Wonder washes the exposed bones of an extinct landscape transformed by a monumental eruption. The blast blew a massive volcano to flinders fifty million years before the time when men stood on the moon and conversed with supra-terrestrial beings behind a hastily drawn cloak of confected film footage. Since a geological moment after the planetary cataclysm that signaled the end of the age of the dinosaurs, a vast primordial rainforest cloaked the black basalt lava flows of the paradisiacal region – until the coming of the metal-wielding Eurosurpers.
In less than a century most of the old ‘Big Scrub’ that had covered the entire coastal landscape was gone, slashed and burned by purblind pioneers desperate to strip and fence ‘their’ block – or else lose it to a more efficient depredator, as the distant British Crown decreed. After each new imperial, commonwealth or worldwide war, warriors were offered tracts of land on their return, on condition that they ‘cleared’ the virgin territory of troublesome native vegetation – particularly the ancient drying continent’s rare, unique and irreplaceable millennial rainforests. Only a few prized species of massive trees were exploited for timber. The rest were simply burned into oblivion before even being named, along with all the wondrous rare animals that made the forests their home. The desert-making mistakes of primate civilization have remained an unchanging pattern for more than ten thousand years.
In the days of the first cedar getters – the first white men who entered the Aboriginal wildness to follow the red-tipped giant cedars into unexplored mountain rainforests – the trees were so thoroughly interwoven into a vast tapestry of life that more than four thousand species of animals and plants dwelt in every three-dimensional cubic acre. The highest canopy – ranging between fifty and a hundred yards in height - was tied together with an inextricable tangle of ancient vines, many of which were as thick as centennial Old World trees.
The loggers couldn’t cut a single tree in the 3D forest - they had to fell an entire hillside by hand instead, using broad-bladed axes, wedges and two man saws. They balanced on beams driven high into the trunks in acrobatic feats of fearless courage, to access a point thin enough to cut through the walls of wood. They’d sever up to a hundred Brobdignagian trees until a large enough acreage of timber had been cut and left standing, held in place by a last humungous ‘key tree’. Then, when the massive key was turned with the felling of the last tree, the entire hillside would come crashing down at once. Most of the trees were burned or left to rot until a wildfire destroyed any seedlings struggling toward aborted rebirths through the sun-bleached washaway soils.
The loggers acted as they always had, living as though the world was measureless and self-replenishing as their unending needs and wants. The ‘cedar’ trees they hunted were totally unrelated to the European pine after which they were named; Red Cedars are massive buttressing hardwood rainforest trees, and their timber is possessed of such unparalleled properties that theirs was the most sought-after wood of all. Red Cedar was referred to as ‘red gold’, by all who saw the living world as nothing more than money to be forced from the Earth’s open maw; gold teeth extracted from murder victims in a charnel house.
The unlettered cedar getters took the few trees they wanted and burned the rest, with no thought for the unbelievable hoard of ancient treasures they were destroying. The leaves of the Book of Life crinkled in the furnace-flames of ignorant immigrant savages while anciently noble indigenous nations watched in shocked disbelief.
Any native Aboriginal people who objected to the ‘work’ of the rum-soaked interlopers (or merely happened to wander by) were shot on sight, or rounded up to be carted off to the taboo territories of other decimated local tribes, as slaves and domestic servants. Once they arrived they were locked up in church-run concentration camps or put to work felling another people’s forests - ‘clearing’ the land for ‘pioneers’ who took all the credit for opening up new areas for settlement, while writing the native people out of their trite little history books.
Some of the sacred primordial forests were surpassingly good at defending themselves. Even after the arrival of chainsaws and bulldozers in the 1950s, many groves and forests remained inexplicably inaccessible and surprisingly intact. Destroying the mountain forests had always been difficult work. Many loggers (and timber mill workers) soldiered on despite horrendously disfiguring and debilitating injuries, when branches became spears falling from the high canopies, or careless touches of unforgiving tools of trade rendered a worker limbless.
Only the hardiest, most stubborn and greedily stupid souls continued to butt their heads against the implacable landscape after the easy lowlands had been completely cleared for imported horned beasts. They turned their mechanised gunsights on the green hills and mountains – and found their way blocked again and again, by the hidden hand of nature and the unavoidable imperative of diminishing returns.
As a new millennium approached and the ecosystem hovered on the brink of destruction, botanists and zoologists ultimately recognised the area around Little Wonder as a ‘centre of endemism’ – a place where species continually arose from the melting pot of evolution to branch out across the wide dreaming land, during transformative climatic cycles of climactic survival or extinction. Yet the wilderness remained free of official protection, and all of it – every single plant, animal, fungus and mineral - was slated to be ultimately chewed up by the unfeeling maw of progress, if corporate goons could have their way.
Until the Gaian renaissance of hippies and greenie protestors finally arrived, termite-like waves of redneck rampagers and corporate abusers had always held sway - except in certain sacred places where nature managed to defeat them at every turn. So rugged and remote was the terrain of much of the Great Divide that loggers, miners and other desperate and purblind exploiters of Mother Nature’s bounty often came up against unexpected walls that defeated their endless greedy zeal. Ferals, hippies and greens called them ‘Earth rapists’ - for that was what they were - yet the planet molesters could never quite gain a foothold in the semi-remote wilderness of Little Wonder or its environs. Every time they attempted to log or mine in the most sacred sections of the region’s Old Growth forests, inexplicably unfortunate events would inexorably befall them.
The mountain ranges around Little Wonder were particularly adept at rebuffing the ongoing onslaught of distant money-grubbing fantasists and their ignorant local lackeys. So unsuccessful were their attempts to ‘win the timber’ from the surrounding area that the loggers marked the graves of their fellows and their abandoned work-camps with a litany of names that told the story of their defeat; ‘Dead Man’s Gully’ (a self explanatory epithet) beside ‘Drone Road’ (a landscape suffused by a constant unidentifiable drone that gradually drove the loggers mad as they toiled in the tenebrous deeps of the forest floor); ‘Mistake Forest’ (where all the trees fell the wrong way, and couldn’t be economically removed when the loggers tried to cut them down); ‘Purgatory Creek’ (where all attempts to turn a profit from trees or minerals were doomed to failure and ruin); ‘Styx River’ (the river of forgetful and forgotten dead, in many more ways than one); ‘Nulla Nulla’ (named after the crashing war-clubs of indigenous defenders who drove the white termite people away); Shaman’s Creek (where the local tribe of ‘clever people’ – a tall wise clan of magi - resisted all attempts at invasion, until their waterholes and food were poisoned with strychnine); Hades Creek… The list of well-protected spots is a historical testament of terrors and errors encountered by the whites - the pale ghostly Western spirit people who entered the vast Aboriginal territories of Al Chera, the endlessly Dreaming continent.
Some of the mountain fastnesses protected themselves so well that a few hallowed areas still survive untouched by the gnashing metal teeth of western ‘civilization’ to this very day. Yet every new generation of conservationists has to stand in font of bulldozers and replace the indigenous tribespeople and custodians of the land, whom they have themselves supplanted.
It was through this dreaded landscape that bands of feral hippies sojourned and dwelt in the latter days of the last millennium, to protect the last sacred places from a new generation of Earth rapists employing a new generation of incredibly destructive modern machinery. Those unaware of the nature and history of the region thought the naïve flower children and metal-pierced street kids didn’t stand a chance – but the innocent new tribes of long-haired pot smokers and dreadlocked ferals believed otherwise. They put their lives and freedom on the line to save their portion of an endangered planet. At the dawn of the new age the defenders of all things green and furry became the long-prophesied ‘rainbow warriors’ of the living crystal gem – the marbled blue-white jewel of the Great Earth Mother – and they entered the forbidding uninhabited wilderness with hopeful hearts and open minds.
“We could have followed the stream from its first point of emergence…” John pointed to the map while most of the group crowded around. He glanced toward the teenage boys splashing at the sunlit edge of the wide shady pool. “We would’ve started back up here… but our guide assures us this way’s much safer. The Wonder has more than one source, so we’re still following the stream from its first emergence,” he reassured the expedition. “It’s only another couple of hundred yards along these cliffs to the bottom of the valley.”
“I’ve been that way,” Fig observed, nodding toward the map and straightening a droopy Zapata moustache. “You’re not missing much – this is a far more interesting route,” he told the others while his eyes roved the canopy. “The forest on this side of the creek is much more diverse and intact.” John’s greying head was nodding in agreement when the lovers emerged from the forest. Seheal and Ram reached the rest of the group as the brief discussion broke into disparate clusters of conversation. Everyone began snacking on munchies and filling their canteens as the elder conservationist spoke from their midst, standing by the splashing water. “So we’re finally on our way to following Little Wonder,” John announced, “all the way from its source…”
“I’ve been down that other route with Fig before,” Jim interrupted, “and this is the first real body of standing water we’ve seen, so high up.” He pointed at the stream which emerged from the lip of the waterfall’s rock pool, pouring through a channel of water-carved rock to tumble into the deeply forested gully below. “There’s only a trickle coming out of that other basalt cap, compared with this waterfall.”
“So we’ll still be conducting an adequate survey?” Mister Pergola enquired.
“Oh, certainly,” John replied. “After all, no-one’s ever conducted a real survey of any of this country – and there’s certainly been no nocturnal survey at all, except for a couple of quick drives along the ridgeline roads.” He nodded at the steep track they’d just climbed down. “Perhaps now you can see why.”
“But almost all the endangered species in these forests are nocturnal. And they still intend to log it? Without even knowing what’s here?” Alva was the third female on the expedition; a quietly spoken tawny-haired young woman who rarely drew attention to herself. “Of course,” Fig replied. “Unless we can convince the authorities the place is worth preserving, no-one else will. A lot of this rugged country has never even been properly mapped.”
Alva’s face twisted into a mask of consternation. “But isn’t that what they’re supposed to do? Don’t they at least have to look for endangered species before they trash everything?” A snort erupted from Seheal’s beau as the barefoot hippy lovers crouched beside the rock pool. “Fat chance,” Ram said. “We’re it…”
“But it’s their job,” Alva objected.
“Only if they’re forced to do it,” Fig remarked as he climbed to his feet and brushed dirt from his corduroy trousers. He pitched his voice to pierce the boom of the waters roaring down into the far side of the pool. “And we’d better keep moving if we’re going to get any work done.” His advice was swiftly heeded by all the small assembly; despite the skinny, long-haired man’s unprepossessing appearance, Fig was an accredited and widely recognised botanical authority in the Great Southland. “And we’d best stick together,” he said as he hoisted his shoulder bag, glancing at the laggardly lovers kneeling by the rock-lined pool. “Of course, if you two fall behind you’re not far from home. If you just walk downstream you can’t miss it.”
The melancholy botanist was a local resident in the remote hinterland who, like Ram and Seheal, lived only a few miles downstream in the narrow valley - as the eagle flew. But the group was embarked on a much longer trek afoot, following the meandering, looping course of the subtropical rainforest creek that watered their homes and made paradisiacal life possible further downstream. Seheal shook ruddy dread-like coils from her freckly face and smiled up at the botanist while she wriggled her toes in the water, sitting on a mossy rock in a narrow dappled band of warm sunlight. “Don’t worry,” she assured him as her hand dropped onto Ram’s knee. “We’ll catch up.”
Joel stepped across her pale unshaven legs to catch up with his young friends, who were already leading the way further downhill. He stopped and spun about, staring at her for a moment while his mouth worked around unspoken words. After a transparently befuddled pause he returned to kneel by her side. “Here,” the boy said, offering the older teenager a stick of bubblegum.
The lad was four years Seheal’s junior, and obviously smitten by the gorgeous feral hippy girl - who was smaller and shorter than the boy despite their relative ages. “Thanks.” She bestowed a dazzling smile on the pubescent teen; Joel’s face flushed and he jumped with a start when their fingers touched. In another instant he leapt to his feet and scampered off after his friends, who were calling his name and coo-eeing from the valley floor.
Seheal watched him disappear among a thicket of tree ferns before turning to the long-haired man at her side. “He’s cute,” she said as her hand enclosed Ram’s kneecap through a ragged hole in his jeans. “Don’t let him hear you say that,” the hippy said. “Doesn’t ‘cute’ mean ‘ugly but interesting’?” Seheal splashed a handful of frigid water into his face. “You know what I mean,” she laughed, spreading her toes beneath the surface of the pool as she looked up through fronds that occluded most of the cliff and the deep blue sky.
“So many palm trees here,” she observed, unwrapped the gum and stuffing the foil in Ram’s hip pocket. They twisted around atop the dizzying brink and watched the rest of the expedition emerge and disappear through breaks in the multiple canopies. “See all the Bangalow Palms? Why are there hardly any at our place?”
“There were plenty before the loggers came in the seventies - before all the fires they lit when they walked away. Bangalows and Walking stick palms used to be everywhere, but they have a hard time recovering in full sunlight; even under eucalypt regrowth. There a still a few in the hidden valley – I’ll take you to them when we get back home. We can collect hundreds of seeds here if you like, and replant them all along the creeks.”
Seheal severed half the stick of gum between the pickets of her pearly whites. “Want some?” she smiled, and a familiar twinkle began glittering in her chameleonic eyes. Ram returned her grin, inspired by his lover’s wickedly inviting expression and incited by her insinuative double entendre. He began to stroke the girl’s spine and flank through her thin floral dress while she inserted the rest of the gum between his teeth. “I’d love to collect some seeds…” Seheal murmured as her eyes burned into him. He caressed her shapely body through the thin material and his hand slid lower to glide down along a slim bare leg, lightly stroking the fine russet down that lined her shapely calf while he watched the pink stick disappear between her sensuous lips.
“Fires?” she asked. “But it’s all so huge and green!” She chewed the gum slowly as her fingers began to unfasten the buttons of Ram’s shirt. “I’ve seen a couple of burnt out stumps, I guess.” The beautiful young feral had lived with her hippy man for a couple of months. They’d only explored a fraction of the rugged land around the sunny nook where they dwelt, in a sturdy, century-old wooden shack downstream from the small waterfall that thundered into the mossy rock pool which chilled their bared feet.
“The loggers set fire to everything they didn’t take,” Ram explained while Seheal’s fingertips tweaked his nipple through a curly thatch of chest hair. “Most of our place has been burned at least once – and most of the rainforest seedlings that survived were trashed by cattle and dry-country wallabies; ’roos ate most of the palm seedlings. There are plenty of remnants in the gulleys and gorges that you haven’t seen yet, behind the brick house on the hill. We can start planting them all back, if you like; we can collect plenty of other seeds while we’re here, too – rarer ones .”
“And speaking of planting seeds…” Seheal untied the wooly arms of her sheepskin coat from around her slender waist and allowed it to fall to the damp bed of moss on the rocky brink behind her. “Where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?” She climbed onto her knees and reached down to grasp the hem of her dress, pulling the long cotton tube up over her head in a single motion.
She wore nothing beneath the rose-patterned cotton except a smattering of silver toe clasps, golden finger rings, a cloth-covered pendant (which hung on a leather thong between perfectly formed breasts that tumbled freely from their cotton sheath) and a tiny glittering silver nose stud. Ram’s smile broadened as the blinding brilliance of her flawless white skin illumined the pool with sunlight’s reflected glory. He basked in the splendour of his bride’s femininity as his palm traversed the slim marble pillar of her warm downy leg.
The dress became entangled in the breathtakingly beautiful girl’s thick dreadlock-like coils as she reeled betwixt the pool and the edge of the dropoff. She bent forward and thrust her wobbling breasts into her lover’s face as he steadied her hips with gentle hands. She wrestled the confining cloth from her blazing hair with a satisfied “Oof!” and rubbed her firm white flesh against Ram’s cheekbones. She pressed her nipples into his eyelids and he tickled their sensitive surfaces with butterfly eyelashes.
She swirled against him and rubbed her soft firm mounds against his bristly unshaven face while he tongued the tiny soft nubbins of her teenage teats. Seheal’s left nipple rapidly swelled within Ram’s mouth, growing hard and erect as he suckled; after a few sighing moments she pulled away from his lips and sprang to her feet, finally discarding the sweat-damp garment on the mossy black rocks. “We can’t take too long…” she said. The feral grrl’s turquoise eyes smiled down along the flat curving arc of her feminine belly, peering between the pink-tipped globes of spherical breasts as the tip of a pointy tongue painted her blood-flushed lips with a glistening sheen.
She thrust her hips forward and pressed the semi-transparent glory of her flame-coloured pelt into his waiting mouth. Seheal gasped as Ram’s tongue slid against the edge of her fur-lined cleft and began licking the places where her parting thighs met the succulent mound of her loins. He carefully avoided the tenderest, pinkest, wettest parts of her anatomy, teasing and slowly tickling his mate into a gasping frenzy of insuppressible arousal with slippery tongue and smooth sensual lips. His palms enclosed her clenching cheeks; his pianist’s fingers massaged his lover’s most intimate flesh and slid through her declivities as her wondrous scent and addictive flavour burst through his senses and blinded his mind. She wriggled against his lips and tried to capture his tongue with her cleft, and when he suckled on her swelling love button the grrl’s impassioned moans began to fill the grotto-like dell of their private idyll and drown out the rumble of the spring-fed waterfall.
Her fingers tangled in his long brown hair while he cupped the round smooth lusciousness of her womanly bottom. Seheal held his sandpaper face firmly against her maidenhead as she swung her hips forward, spearing herself on his cunning lingam while she teetered on the edge. “Oh, love,” she cried, “…ooh my Ramses!” In less than a minute the incredibly responsive teenager was writhing on the mossy spot as her lover held her sweet loins against his mouth. Her thighs clamped tightly round Ram’s hirsute head as she came in a wildly ecstatic storm that shuddered and juddered through her elfin body. He felt an echo of the orgasm wrenching all the way through her, and a shadow of the ecstasy she was experiencing flared through his singeing nerves and singing blood.
He held her in place as she staggered on the narrow mossy margin between the pristine pool and the edge of the cliff, where the overflowing torrent sprang from the lip and fell to the valley below. Seheal twisted around his tongue and her labia mashed into his lips as her lithe body sagged into a swoon of temporary satiation. She stepped back to the very brink and leaned down to kiss him on the mouth as his hands stroked and steadied her. She tasted her own sweet-scented sex while her lover caressed the flushed skin of her slim belly and her swollen ripe breasts. After a long succulent pause Seheal took a tentative step into the frigid water of the rock pool and slipped from his grasp. “I need a bath badly…” She giggled as she stepped backward into the rippling pool, keeping her radiant eyes on his; “…after last night and this morning.”
Ram heard his young lover shriek when she parted the furrowed waves of the frigid pristine water with her sleek white flesh. She glided beneath the rippling surface, spinning around as she made for the thunderous torrent of falling water. Sinuous motions of bright torso, muscular white buttocks and pale slender limbs entranced the utterly aroused hippy. He swiftly shed his loose summer shirt, dropping it atop his girlfriend’s dress while he kept his eyes upon her. He hurriedly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly, sliding the old pair of jeans over and around his rigid erection to kick the raggedy denims from his furry legs.
“Oohh!” Seheal screamed when her head broached the spray-misted surface, emerging from a brief dive that barely darkened her long red coils with a thin coat of icy water. She blinked at her man while he stepped into the small fern-lined pool, hesitating when the expected chill penetrated his long legs. “Ohh! It’s fantastic!” she screamed in encouragement. “Come on in - it gets warmer after you go under…” He eyed the girl dubiously as she twisted about, swam to the waterfall and disappeared within the fuming spray. “Come on!” Her barely audible cry urged him onward, arising from somewhere within the cloak of the unstoppable torrent. “It’s amazing!”
Ram plunged into the far end of the pool, diving beneath the clear rippling water in a shallow arc - and flew back to the surface, the breath freezing in his lungs when a painfully frigid wave flowed all the way through his flesh. The piercing sharp ache of icicle cold penetrated to the very marrow of his bones, beating at the heat of his core. Flailing arms and frantic legs propelled him across the water while his testicles receded into the protective warmth of his groin. While Seheal squealed and gasped and laughed somewhere in the tumbling wall of whiteness, her lover struck out for the source of her voice with a flurry of urgently accelerating strokes. When he reached the foaming curtain the waterfall pushed him under again, pounding at his body with a thousand dull blows; if it were possible he’d have gasped with shock, or cried out aloud.
The streaming downpour pummeled Ram’s shoulders, head and arms and deafened him to Seheal’s delighted squeals. As he sought purchase on the stony bed of the pool his feet floated free in a deeply gouged stone basin, carved smooth by the incessant current. The waterfall pushed him down and spun him around as he strove to reach his lover on the far side of the torrent, and for a timeless moment he hung suspended beneath the surface, unable to proceed against the flow as he tumbled round and around. He struggled toward dimly perceived light and the promise of air, paddling and kicking like a newborn infant in a birthing pool, muscles sluggish and contracted with the biting cold of the newly emergent underground stream – and all the while the pain of his receding testicles grew ever more unbearable.
He burst through churning coldness into a deafening roar, emerging in a cavity of sublime vibrating stillness; his knees encountered a lip of stone behind the blinding cascade. Seheal’s hand wrapped halfway round his wrist and guided him up onto a smooth ledge, a wavy curve scooped out of the cliff face in a tiny hidden cave behind the deafening curtain of plummeting white water.
“Oh fuck oh wow oh sh…ivvv…erss…” He clambered up beside his girl and she pressed the relative warmth of her goose-pimpled flesh against his shivering frame. He struggled to quell the pain of his half-frozen testicles, cupping his scrotum in his ice-cold palms to lure them from their sacral sanctuary. Ram’s throbbing eyeballs had receded partway into his skull and all his teeth ached at once. Seheal wrapped her limbs around his quaking bones and climbed his body to plant a kiss on his cheek. She rubbed her half-frozen and utterly invigorating young body against her trembling hippy man.
“Don’ worry,” she stammered as she shivered against him. “I’ll warm you right up… Brrr… But we have t… t’ be quick,” she reminded him through chattering teeth. Ram’s hands shook as they slithered across the freezing red-haired pixie’s limber little body; her aureoles were puckered into pale pink furrows and the tight hard cylinders of her nipples stood out like miniature rose quartz monoliths. Her belly and breasts squashed up against his firm shivering frame while he cupped her icy cheeks in his hands and drew her ever closer. Her nipples felt as hard as the slick cold pebbles beneath his feet as her slippery wet body writhed against him in the drenching spray.
Seheal’s spry teenage legs became twin pythons coiled around his shuddering limbs and her fingers twined in his hair as she pulled his head down toward her extending tongue. She gasped familiar endearments to her shivering mate while she explored his mouth. Her heels stroked his hips and massaged his ribcage as she pressed her pelt against his cold-shrunken manhood.
Her irresistible warmth penetrated the ubiquitous icy cold of the crystalline spring as the hirsute shaman stammered into her mouth; “F… four de… degrees…” She pulled away from his mouth with a fresh-faced beaming smile and Ram stared at the perfect parallel lines of her teeth, unable to work out why his mind twisted away from an incongruity he couldn’t quite pinpoint. “F… f… four degrees?” Her teeth chattered like castanets as her spectrally shifting electric blue eyes drilled into her mate. “That’s the t… temperature of a r… real ss… spring.” He swallowed the girl’s addictive flavour and pulled her closer. “Always f… four decrees celsiuss…”
“That m’much?” Seheal managed a giggle as one of her hands slid down along his trembling side and slipped between their closely squeezing bodies. “Wow,” she said as she found the misshapen bulk of his half-erect member. “It is cold!” She gave him a companionable squeeze, gripping his midriff between her thighs and hanging from his body with one arm wrapped around his neck, leaning backward until her hair was pulled into the waterfall.
She kneaded him to full length with insistently squeezing fingers and pulled his crown up against the rekindled furnace of her loins while his fingers cupped her cheeks and spread her wider. Her inimitable touch was ardently familiar, and when Seheal shifted her inconsequential weight inside the bowl of his hands her inner heat bathed him with liquid fire. She slid back and forth along his swelling length while her hands caressed his roots and shaft, ensuring his manhood rapidly recovered from the cold’s shocking grasp.
When his crown started to press between her labia Seheal’s hips rocked forward to encompass him in the taut torrid ring of her entryway and her head slipped all the way back into the torrent while she gasped with delight. Her loins grasped at his shaft and he thrust halfway inside her when the grrl’s heels dug down into his buttocks. The waterfall dragged her away from him, pulling Ram’s frantically grasping sweetheart from his body and sucking her almost completely off his rigid erection, drawing her down towards the depths of the water-carved rock pool.
She pulled him down with grasping fingers and clamping thighs and they fell off the ledge in a tangle of limbs. He plummeted right up into the girl’s squeezing heat when her legs drew him closer as they tumbled into the frothing foam. They flew apart in the pounding rush and Ram emerged from the near-freezing water gasping for air, his body automatically making for the rock-lined bank. He flicked long clumps of hair from watering eyes and pulled his shivering body into a narrow shaft of sunlight, beaming through the overarching treetops to illuminate the shadowy cliff face and the pool’s black rocky margin.
There was no sign of Seheal, and as her older lover scanned the rippling surface for a sign of his teenage mate he recalled the deep abyss of the gorge into which the stream plunged. “Ss… Seheal?” Ram’s heart began to race with a possibility even more urgently shocking than the penetratingly icy cold. “Seheal!”
He scanned the furrowed surface of the rock pool and gasped for breath, huddling on the edge of the cliff as he shivered in the slender ray of sunlight. The hippy shaman blinked frigid water from his aching eyes and shook rainbow sprays from his long dark hair while he cupped his painfully retracted testicles in a trembling hand. Ram’s body and being glowed through a dazed haze of shivering and spluttering, shining with an utterly refreshed radiance that sang through his bloodstream and electrified his senses with a dazzling burst of energy.
“Seheal?” His girlfriend was nowhere to be seen; he imagined her small pale body swirling within the pounding currents beneath the waterfall and took a deep breath, preparing to dive into the water’s icy embrace.
A hand grabbed his ankle as he crouched on the rocks, poised to spring back into wet frigid coldness. “Fooled you!” Ram twisted around, tottering between the frigid water and the deadly drop while he staggered off balance, and Seheal’s cold little hand clutched at his boney hip to steady him. The feral grrl clambered across the rocky brim of the pool, naked pink pixie limbs clambering up over the edge of the cliff. Her lustrous eyes crinkled as she shook water from coiling red locks. Cold-tightened breasts and a smooth wet belly shivered against his torso in the narrow sunbeam’s warmth, pulling away again as cold sprays sprinkled his skin with sharp icy needles.
He stared down at the beautiful slender pixie while she shook streams of cold water from her deep russet curls and the white globes of her breasts orbited around her chest. The sight of her fully erect nipples and cold-puckered aureoles thoroughly entranced her lover and he forgot his concern and annoyance as his cold-sapped tumescence stirred against his thigh. His lover’s perfect titian skin was blindingly brilliant in the shaft of warm sunlight, and the familiar contours of her extraordinary young body interceded between the shaman and the wild panorama of threatened rainforest wilderness which stretched beyond the horizon.
“D… d’you see them?” Seheal asked through chattering white teeth. He followed her gaze and tried to discern what she was referring to as she stared at the waterfall. After a few moments the pounding pulse of Ram’s cold-fuzzed sight swam into focus and brilliant pinpoints of light filled his field of vision - sparks of Prana twisting and turning through the vapourous air. Small wormlike shards of brilliant energy wriggled like tadpoles as they turned around corners between dimensions - commas released from the Book of Life to swirl through and between mortal and immortal worlds. “They’re fairies,” Seheal exclaimed as her hands wrung rivulets from the coiled springs of her hair.
“Mm… might as well be,” Ram stammered while his eyes slipped in and out of focus, trying to follow the subtle loci of an energy field that swirled out of sight as he tried to pin the bright points to the surface of his consciousness. “They’re l… life itself… Orgone.” He sank onto the moss, sitting cross-legged with arms wrapped around his shivering torso as he stared into the frigid pristine water which was endlessly falling between slippery dimensions.
Seheal laughed and stroked his shoulder with dripping fingers. She pressed her palm against the small of his back and dropped to her haunches by his side. “As in ‘orgasm’?” She laughed again as she swung around onto his legs and squeezed her supple back against his chest and belly, staring into the swarm of flashing motes while her bottom scrunched down against his hardening flesh. Ram’s beard-tufted chin rested atop the smaller teen’s head and they watched the rare display as he caressed her breasts. “I’ve seen them a few times before,” she said. “Mainly at the beach…” The wriggling energy worms scintillated all around, filling the airy void between the lovers and the cascading torrent which issued directly from the side of the cliff, way above their heads; “…and sometimes when we make love – or after. I thought they were fairies...”
“Me too,” Ram said, swinging his knees outward to drop the girl all the way into his lap. Seheal scrunched down against his resurgent erection and her hair-cushioned scalp pressed up into his chin; he wrapped his arms around her cold marble breasts and the lovers warmed themselves with the coursing liquid flames of their closely pressed bloodstreams. “They’re everywhere,” she said, placing her hands over his and entwining their fingers around her breasts. “All around us. They just appeared out of nowhere - why weren’t they here before?”
The shaman stared over her head, losing his terrestrial focus as he peered beyond the local realm. “They appear where nature is strong…” He murmured into the back of her head while she warmed her breasts with his palms. He nuzzled into her fragrant wet hair and his manhood rose to full engorgement, popping up between her smooth white thighs. “…and love and lovemaking can create a gate that draws them through to this world...”
“Mmm,” Seheal purred. “Let’s open a gate for them, then.” She reached down between her thighs and wrapped a dainty hand halfway round his hardness, shifting her body to spread her legs wider as she pulled his velvet crown up against the radiant heat of her silken vessel. Her lover grasped the girl’s flaring hipbones and prepared for the blissful tide of her impending descent - and a piercingly loud “Coo-ee!” resounded from the valley below to echo from the far side of the gorge. “No!” Seheal moaned while her outer lips spread around the summit of his shaft, “It isn’t fair!”
“We can catch up with them later,” Ram said, equally unwilling to forestall their incipient union. He pressed up into her taut ensorcelling encirclement and she moaned afresh when her membranes began stretching round his generous offering. Seheal’s breasts swelled against his ribcage and she bore down around him with an inward flex as her diaphragm expanded with a sudden intake of breath. An amazingly responsive ring of silken muscle contracted around his head when she let out an answering “Coo-eee!” and her melodious voice poured down into the valley alongside the second tier of the tumbling waterfall. Ram groaned into her hair and squeezed firm round breasts that barely fit within the compass of his large grasping hands.
“You guys coming or what?!” As the loud male voice yelled up from somewhere beneath the rainforest canopy, Seheal halted her encompassing descent with the first two inches of her squeezing vulva clamping around the flesh-cushioned crown of her lover’s long thick shaft. “Oh, fuck!” she despaired, twisting halfway about to look into Ram’s emerald eyes. An expression of direst consternation appeared upon her freckled face as she crouched on his lap, stretched partway toward fulfillment. “Almost!” she yelled with a smile and a short downward plunge.
“Oh Ramses,” she moaned just a little more quietly. “We have to stop…” Yet her inward muscles continued to stretch and distend as she hung poised above him. She balanced halfway impaled on his hot hard pole, squeezing down with incremental rocking motions as she twisted her face round to kiss him. Her tongue snaked between his lips and slid around in Ram’s mouth while her fingers ensnared his wet hair. His fingers caressed her swollen breasts and squeezed her rigid nipples; neither of the lovers could bare to break their clinch - until the voice returned from below a few moments later; “Come on then – we haven’t got all day!”
Seheal began to raise her hips; a heavy sigh of deep reluctance issued from her lips and poured into Ram’s mouth. Her elastic inner labia slid up along his cock a millimetre at a time until she was finally perched atop his juice-slicked crown, and she popped away from him and climbed up onto her bare feet on the water-smoothed mossy black rocks. “Look,” she said, nodding to the waterfall. “We have to go - the fairies are leaving, too…”
A True Story
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From The Prince of Centraxis – http://centraxis.blogspot.com