Bidden MemoriesShaman of Centraxis 27
The second bottle of borrowed champagne lies emptied, propped in the sand beside its twin. Gulls dance and swoop round the beached young lovers who bask in an afterglow of heated coupling. They intertwine in a sticky mass of limbs and long hair while overclocked pulses gradually slow in the basting, blazing afternoon sunlight. “Oh god… uhh… that was uh… oh, love…” the girl manages to whisper between breathless gasps; “…better’n… oh, wow!”
Her alcohol-suffused body stiffens within her young man’s loosening embrace. “You din’ come in me?” His mind spins through a disorienting moment of dazed déjà vu. Racing breath and pounding heart gradually slow while he deliberately flexes and relaxes in time with the rolling breakers, swelling and subsiding inside the trim teen’s muscular belly. His dazed mind considers the question even as his mouth replies in automatic response; “No… not yet…”
Natasha’s eyes squeeze shut. Her body is oven hot. Her breath is a panting ode to gloriously exhausting lovemaking as she swoons, sweltering beneath his body in the glare of the baking Sun. He watches a glittering tear roll slowly down her cheek and kisses the salty drop away before it reaches her earlobe. “Oh man... sh’good…” she slurs. Her widening smile lights up his life; her approval warms his prideful ego. “…ss … we’re so lucky…”
“Woman…” Her muscles firm around him when he utters the word. Her body is slippery with coconut oil and sweet perspiration. As the regular pulse of her lover’s rock-hard erection continues throbbing deep inside, her girlish hips begin to move in reply and a watery eye pries open. She stares into his gaze and winks with a simmering glimmer of renewed expectation; pleasantly surprised at the way her tricksy boy’s ramrod stands taller and shifts within her when he flexes the muscles of its roots.
“I’m the lucky one,” he assures her as he slides even closer and glides further home.
“Oh man… y’r the cat’s meow.” Her smile is an obvious invitation. He jams her down into the sandy blanket until the ultimate emblem of vainglorious male virility throbs all the way up against the entrance of her womb. Her muscles freeze and she holds him tight, drawing the rest of his slippery body even closer while he throbs against her cervix. Her loins grip his length with unexpected strength when his hips pull away, and her eyelids snap widely open. “No!” she demands. “Don’t...” Her command becomes a plea as he spreads her wider and pushes her into the formfitting sand, and her voice becomes a ragged whisper when she squeezes every inch of him with unprecedented strength; “…don’ come ’n me?”
“Oh babe!” he moans. “If you keep doing that I’ll have to!” He stops moving and tickles one perfect, moonlike cheek with gentle fingertips, pulling her up closer with a firming grip round its flexing twin. Her buns bunch into muscular globes inside his grasp and tighten around his unsated shaft, milking his hardness with feminine surety. He recognises the stirrings of an approaching orgasm and stops moving inside her, unwilling to end the divine sensation of completely filling and fulfilling his virginal girlfriend. “Don’t you know how good you feel?”
“Can’t uh… can’t breathe,” she gasps, so he lifts his slightly greater weight from her cushioning breasts and she squirms partway aside. While her muscles slip and slide inside he struggles to restrain the impulse to jet his seed all the way up into her twisting core. “Lemme move…” She swivels her upper half further away while ensuring their loins remain firmly joined. A nearby trio of seagulls takes flight when she reaches around to pat the rumpled blanket. “Can’t fine my togs…” Her arm stretches toward her bag and both eyes pry open to smile up at him while he desperately tries not to move. “Someone might come…”
“Someone sure will… if you keep moving like that…” He holds her spread cheeks immobile and squints into the blinding glare, seeing only empty hillocks of fine pale sand that recede to a vanishing point of salty haze. The young shaman’s head swims and spins with ethanol, hash and the aftermath of fantastic sex; his fingers stroke the partly shorn labia stretched roundly round his hardness and she subsides inside his grasp. When he touches the swollen pearl of her clitoris she jerks around him, making him gasp.
“Jus’ a mint… lemme…” He watches bemused while she fumbles an attempt to wrap the strangely cupped scrap of sheer material around her extraordinary breasts. “A crime to hide them away,” he assures her.
She smiles up at him and twists back beneath his chest. “I’ll cover ’em with you then.” Her nipples are barely hidden by the bright material; meaty breasts mash between their bodies as she slips back into place beneath him. When she raises her legs and slides even closer, the incredibly lovely and flexible girl’s perfectly proportioned limbs push his shoulders aside.
She presses her creamy pink-tipped breasts between her knees until they bunch into enticing mounds of sun-pinked flesh. He can’t help but lick the exposed edge of a half-hid puckering aureole and his tongue slides under the loose cloth to tickle a nipple, tasting coconut and sweet teen sweat. Her breasts spill from the inadequate confines of the untied top and pout upward to be sucked by his ingenious lips.
He kisses and licks his way up her throat and jawline and inserts his tongue into her waiting mouth. While she moans into their kiss he crooks the backs of her knees inside his elbows until her ankles dig into his shoulders. His hands slip around to fondle his recovering girlfriend’s partly freed breasts and he slides the annoying material from her amazingly soft, oily skin. Tongues writhe inside her suckling mouth and her taut body arches to meet him with both luscious sets of ripe wet lips.
Her movement causes the tight band of her bikini briefs to snap back from her hip and slip inside her tender pussy to saw alongside her boyfriend’s rigid erection. “Owee!” She stays motionless until his fingers work the smooth material free and stretch it out of their way, pulling the skimpy briefs halfway back around her bum; he knows she won’t agree to remove them completely. He beams down upon her slack-mouthed gaze. “So you always keep a different part covered?”
“I tol’ you,” Natasha tells him. She licks her lips. “Damn… no more sham pain…” She draws breath and rocks her hips slowly, inexorably squeezing him halfway out while she licks her lips and closes her eyes. “More air…”
The young lovers roll onto their sides in the sand, falling from the umbra of the broad parasol; both contrive to stay intimately connected as their drunken bodies swivel into sunshine. His eyes close while they swelter in a sweating oily aftermath of sizzling strivings. Wild surf pounds itself to spinning splinters on the shore of their smashed semi-delirium. Her breath wafts into his ear; “Did y’…”
His eyes swim open and he smiles, stroking the side of her ribcage and breast with languid brushes of elongated fingernails; his other arm is half pinned beneath her tight, light frame. “Not yet…” “Can’t… don’t… please…” Lips meet and mash and tongues entwine before they come up for another breath.
“Almost,” he admits “Close in every way. You’re fucking irresistible, love.”
“F’r a while …” Natasha hesitates, her awareness coming back to the sunlit sand from the nether reaches of cloud nine.
“Always…”
“…For a while I was inside you, feelin’ what you were feeling… feelin’ me…” Her hand caresses his back with absent-minded grace, painting spirals on his shoulder blade with sweeps of an oily palm. “I could hear y’thoughts… slippin’ through mine… right into me…” she murmurs, staring into his eyes and squeezing him with her talented inward grip. He responds with steady slow pulses of rigid cock. “Oh, man…” she moans, “that hash’s good shit.”
“Works for me, too…” he agrees as he strokes her nipple with the centre of an oil-streaked palm. “…but isn’t the hash that’s turning me on…” He induces a gasp with a short sharp movement; “…or taking me all the way into you in every way...” He presses his point home with another sudden thrust that makes her eyes roll shut as she groans. “You’re magic, Natasha – we’re magic together…”
“ ’S’like we were born’n’ bred to mate,” she slurs into her boyfriend’s ear as she nibbles the fleshy lobe. “Bred so our bodies and souls… an’ all… fit together…” The notion bores through his drink-fogged mind to penetrate his proud aplomb.
You were… an inner voice responds. …for thousands of years… Her tongue enters his ear alongside her cry and he twists aside and thrusts again; “Ahh!”
So good… he exults, even as her deafening squeal pierces the fragile balloon of his thoughts. So glad she knows how to come… All thought is lost in cyclonic lust as he pounds and withdraws with the timely surf that batters and massages the fine white sand.
“Hand in glove, flesh in love…” his mouth says of its own volition.
“Fuck King Ay!” A champagne scent wafts into his face alongside her affirmation. His gleeful lover punctuates her words with a tight trio of squeezes that prime him to piston right up through her grasps. He luxuriates in the wilful, receptive, slippery heat of nakedly vulnerable intimacy, savouring the sheer exalting bliss of knowing every inch of his glorious girl at last – in his ability to give her everything she wants, needs; demands.
Smooth legs slip from his upraised shoulders as words spill from Nasher’s pouting lips in synchrony with the liquid grasp of her twisty trysting core; “Man ’n womb man… mm… yang ’n’ fuckin’ yin… uhh… Shakti ’n’ Shiva, mmm… lingammm… fuckin’ ’n’ suckin’ together forever an’ ever…” Hands caress the length of his torso and descend to the place of their juicy union to stroke the base of his sex-slick shaft. “…’n’ ever…”
Make her yours… an errant thought intrudes; …brand her womb with burning seeds… plant them deep inside her when she comes… The young shaman easily ignores the importunate thoughts, lost amid the onrushing crush of potent mingled passions - until a whisper slips from her swollen pink lips; “Plight thy troth… in me…”
“Ohh… princess…”
“…O god your cock…” Natasha’s shuttered, squinting, uncannily attractive gaze opens to the glaring light when he hoists his weight from her slender, younger, littler body. The movement pulls him partway out and they quiver on the brink of mutual mindless explosion while he stares down into the needy well of untrammelled, untamed magnetic desire in the depths of her pleading eyes - feels her slip to the brink of coming once again when he drives a shriek all the way from her marrow.
Flurries of sand spray across well-oiled flesh and dark tresses spill upon pale freckled skin, shading her inspiring face when the moaning girl shakes her comely head and clamps around him, inside and out. She emits a groan than starts in her womb and extends to the nails dug deep in the meat of his flanks while he holds himself still with unflagging pole risen full length inside her.
Bind her to you… bind to her…
As he dives and drives into the lush flaming pith of the lovely girl’s sex, the teenage mage watches a startling expression of lusty glee that dimples her cheeks and twinkles in the unplumbed depths of her blinking eyes. He rides her into the oncoming horizon of another screaming, teeming, reaming orgasm, exulting in his newfound power to pleasure this beautiful, loving, horny female creature of his dreams made flesh.
He thrusts and swells inside her heat, guided by her twisting hips, squeezed between her silken thighs, caressed inside her arms’ embrace, enfolded in her sweet girl’s scent, pressed against her ripened breasts, resounding with her racing heart – simmering in the sheer glorious reality of total, lusty, loving intimacy as they consummate the deeply cherished, long held dream of blazing, flagrant, molten union at the pounding edge of the world.
The seductive voice in his sloshing mind is scarcely audible beyond the crashing rush of their steaming sex; …fill her womb with swimming seeds… The suggestion almost propels him over the edge. All he can do is hold on tight through the tumultuous storm of explosive delight while stripling Nasher writhes beneath him, moaning up into the naked sky on the remote deserted beach of their bygone childhood longings.
A rushing glow enflames his heart as he pistons full length through her tender clasps - a powerful surge of heartfelt joy that drives aside and replaces the urge to explode in her belly, imbuing the lad with a tender blaze of loving, enduring, masculine strength. He knows what it is to be a man for her, completely and fully, as he fucks his gorgeous little foxy girlfriend’s brains out with inexorable timely thrusts - making her scream and writhe and totally lose her tightly clasped self at last. All he wants in the whole wild world is for this time defeating idyll to last forever – and to last and last and last for her, this first real time together.
Fuck…
Come in her…
Fuck me…
Love…
Lover…
So hard…
Come…
Come…
He neither knows nor cares whose thought is whose, whether voiced or not. His eyes squeeze shut as he savours sweet bliss. The dainty arches of feminine feet glide past his shoulders and slide down his sides, anchored to his flaring hips - directing and guiding each thrusting move with limber, powerful swimmer’s legs while she urges him on beyond her climax, demanding more with strident cries and lusty squeals. “Fuck me!” she screams, “O fuck me o yes o fuck me my man oh fuck fuck fuck me uh fahhhh…!” Thighs enfold his narrow waist and heels dig into clenching buttocks, forcing him all the way up inside her ultra-tight rippling sheath - and the need to loose his jism inside her is instantly undeniable, unbearable.
Come inside…
He grabs her hips and holds her still as she clamps and clasps him deep within. This time she doesn’t call another’s name (a mercy he’s too absorbed to notice), but screams a wordless chant of orgasmic joy and wraps all four limbs around him while he struggles against the urgent need to loose swarming seed inside her needy, clasping, virgin belly. Her cries are buried in his hair as glorious flesh and limber limbs convulse and pulse around him.
Inside me…
Come inside…
Inside now…
Now…
Words and visions stream through his mind - a maelstrom of confusing voices and swirling images, subsumed and consumed on the nuclear pyre of Nasher’s self-immolation. He rears above her, straightening his spine and stretching her legs till her loins squeeze tighter still. The blinding rush of her ongoing orgasm floods up his spine and the amazing eruption of a fully shared Tantric climax blows all thoughts aside - yet he somehow retains enough presence to breathe from his very roots and stem the swelling tidal rush of fertile semen, even as he’s lost in rapture alongside her, in her, with her. She writhes and screams and twists and gasps until, suddenly stilled and clamped about him, hot gouts of wetness flood his thighs as she pulls him down, to come and come with her tongue thrust deeply into his throat, reeling and rocking to sated, grateful, liquid, limpid mindlessness while he somehow holds himself in check.
They subside into a tangled mound of molten meat, of mingled breath and slowing hearts that beat as one through firm, round, fleshy breasts that cushion their inseparable closeness; pounding through flaring cages of bony ribs and soft-yet-hard young flesh. A little while later he’s faintly surprised by the realisation that he’s triumphed over the surging urge to fill this magnetically entrancing girl with blazing gouts of salty maleness, and the wetness flooding their loins is all hers – and feels that he’s passed the most important test of his life while he stares at the blissful expression on her unforgettable face.
Natasha’s eyes are closed and her breath comes more slowly through faintly smiling lips. Soft slick thighs slide down along his ribs while her arms stay clasped about his back; lips lock onto his mouth and suckle. The teenagers cuddle and meld to a molten mass, slowly roasting in sizzling heat and say nothing for quite some time, until she whispers, “Uh… o, man… wow… uh… did y’ come in me?”
“Uh…” Her squinting eyes widen slightly at his inarticulate reply. He forces his mouth to move coherently; “Not really…” Her incipient frown elicits a swift amendment; “I felt you come – it was like coming myself… but…”
“But did you come ’nside me?”
“No – with you…” Her expression shifts toward a lopsided mask of fearful concern, so he strokes her suddenly tautening nakedness with both hands to calm her, dispersing the tension from her flanks and hips, buttocks and sides. “I didn’t… but I really want to…” His hands grip her hips and he immobilises her body, forestalling her worries with a flurry of thrusts.
“Uh huhh… uh uhh… uh uhhh…” she breathes.
“Have to…”
“No!” she cries and squirms in his grasp while he plunges through the girlish vice of her womanhood. “Uhh… uhh… come ’n m’ mouth!”
He stops at the point of no return but her body continues to ride the swell of her desire, rising and falling around and beneath him. “Soon,” he agrees and begins fucking her with unleashed abandon; “Not yet…” he tells himself with a note of desperation. Slim white arms flail about and beat furrows in the fine white sand, then wrap round his back and pull him all the way back down and up inside her.
He can’t bear to withdraw while Nasher’s firm flesh cleaves and heaves with the roar and roll of tides that smash the ocean to flotsam and spray - waves of passion squeezing soft skin and tight loins about him with urgent hungry longing – yet he knows if she keeps milking his shaft all choice will be taken from him, and without a condom they won’t be able to make love again while sperm still swims in his shaft. He holds her hips down and takes the lead, reaming her with a deliberate rhythm that keeps her moaning with pleasure - at a depth and speed he thinks he can survive unspent, to keep fucking her all afternoon and all though the night – for as long as they can; Forever…
He climbs higher above her near-naked splendour and watches the pneumatic bounce of freckled breasts, the kissable curves of soft pink lips, the sealed up lids of her hidden eyes, embedding this rapturous vision of loveliness into marrow and memory - thrilled by her beauty and by his proud control of her gasping, moaning, squeezing delight revealed in afternoon’s dazzling light, not the closeted gloom of a dimly lit night. She surrenders to his hard thrusting lust, loosing and losing her sweet self completely, moaning and panting and writhing and coming and coming and coming with strident screams soaring into the sky to startle the gulls that wheel and cry as they circle the sweat-whetted, smooth mammal bodies that slap and thrust and buck and scream on the floor of the atmosphere’s ocean.
And all the while the young shaman’s sight stays riveted to his girl’s impossibly tantalising, flawless, gasping, heaving, inspiring, mesmerising beauty - until the moment she wraps her entire wee self around him and pulls his mouth to hers again. There’s nothing in the world like making her come… Her body subsides and moaning quietens, and he wonders if she’s passing out again even as he keeps reaming her flesh to the quick. He yearns to come inside her – deep inside her - with an irresistible pressing need that can be denied and delayed no longer.
He has to move quickly; pulling out of her so rapidly is a shock for them both. When her throat is unexpectedly filled with a rigid, pulsing, hot spurting ramrod of masculine meat Nasher rallies and tries to swallow as much and as fast as she can. Her boyfriend finally groans his hot white gouts of jism inside her - but even while her sandy fingers cage the roiling scrotum that writhes against her mouth and chin, sticky white spurts spray out of her nose and overflow her tautly stretched lips.
She falls asleep with a mouthful of cock, suckling like a sleeping babe while the Sun slips lower in the slowly rolling sky. He reclines beside and inside her, watching her sleep and trying not to move inside her mouth while he smokes a few more pipes of her hash and caresses her sleek oily skin.
“So good,” she says before her eyes are open, “to suck you dry… even better’n… than…”
“Practice sex?” he interjects while Nasher’s tongue laps at liquid saltiness that drips from her nostrils and dribbles down her lips and chin in sticky, torpid, creamy streams. Her sozzled mind searches for a lost lexicon in the glare of low-angled sunlight; unfocused eyes snap open and she attempts a frown. “..than the firs’ time… first time you made me come… at camp… ’member?”
“Every moment,” he avers while he watches her eyes blink open. “Random access memory.”
She attempts to heave herself up onto an elbow but gives up the effort and subsides into the sand, pressed partway beneath him. “Everything?”
“Everything.” She shades her eyes with a forearm and licks the last of his come from her lips before answering. “I bet y’don’t ’member being born.”
“How much?”
“How much y’ have on you?” She sniffles to clear her nose and glances down at his nakedness. Her eyes linger at the place where her other hand grips his rapidly rehardening shaft. She drops it onto her belly and pulls at the band of her bikini briefs to keep the sandy cotton stretched back from their loins.
“Just as much as you.”
“Don’ be too sure. Y’never know what a woman’s hiding away…”
He grabs the knee that lolls on his hip, hoists her leg upward and unerringly meets her juicy labia, squeezing halfway inside her tight steamy seam in a single smooth motion. When she moans and scrunches closer he fills her to the brim with blood-engorged flesh and her eyes roll back as she gasps. “I know a way to find out,” he whispers while he watches her mouth and eyes form three wide circles, and waits for her sight to refocus on his.
“Well?’ she says with a shake of her head as she eases away by an inch or two. “D’you remember being born, or not?”
“In this life? Well…”
“You don’t.” When he eases a little further away she claws his bum with one hand to hold him in place and squirms beneath him with a delicious twist.
“Mmm… Nasher…”
“Don’ change the subject,” she insists with a tight flex of her thighs that goes all the way up to his deeply buried crown.
“Uh… to tell you the truth, my first memory is a few seconds later.”
“Oh?” she says, flicking a sandy fingertip against his navel. What, when they cut yer cord?”
“Around then. It was the smell of the doctor’s aftershave – I think that’s what brought me around… getting a whiff of that while he was holding me upside-down in front of him. Or maybe when he slapped me on the bum – it all sort of happened at the same time.”
“Sure… course it did.”
He ignores the doubtful jibe. “He had thick black frames on thick lensed glasses – they distorted his blue eyes, made him look like a fish. They looked huge. I could only see half his face, above the green gown and mask. He was sweaty and reeked of alcohol – aftershave, he wasn’t an alco…”
“You reckon I’m an alco?” she asks. “Wish there was more… still some hash in…”
“There’s more of this…” He shows her how much, pleasantly surprising her into silence as her watery eyes weave downward along his body. He sweeps hair from her face and slowly glides back and forth while gazing down into her glazing eyes. She succumbs to the gradual tidal motion, rolling her pelvis round his probing hardness. “Don’t change the subject,” she says.
“I don’t reckon you’re an alco…”
“Not that…” She slaps his bum and a seagull leaps from the esky at the loud report of skin on skin, flapping aloft to join a handful of others that ride the wind like hungry kites. He judders into her with unintended force and she cries out when he jabs up into her cervix.
“Sorry… we could have another pipe…”
“Ohhh… mmm… not… now… juss like that… don’ move…” Her lips are far sweeter than wine, more intoxicating than hashish. He watches her eyes snap open and she pushes him up off her breasts. “Oh fuck,” she says, “you came!”
“Not in you… I mean…”
“But there’s prob’ly still sperm in your cock!” She twists aside to suddenly extrude him and he flops from her tight heat before he can match her movement. “God, hope I sucked it all out of you…” Natasha rolls back onto the blanket and covers her breasts with the thin cloth top in a single fluid motion. She starts to tie it behind her neck while she glances around the empty beach, but can’t manage to fumble the strings into a bow and gives up the attempt when she’s certain they’re still quite alone. The cloth unscrolls from her oily skin and flops into her lap while she inspects her thighs and pubes for signs of semen. “Let’s have that pipe,” she announces, avoiding the glance he casts toward her.
God she’s beautiful…
“I think we’re okay,” she says through a strangely shy smile as she stretches her briefs back into place. “An’ you’re still so hard…” Her index finger slides up his length, gliding upward from scrotum to cap. “Issat painful?” He reconsiders spinning the old yarn about it being painful and dangerous for an aroused male not to come when he sees the laughter dancing in her eyes. She looks away and he follows her gaze, watching the crest of a foaming wave unroll beyond her gleaming shoulder, pouring in from the far horizon and progressively dashing itself on the shore.
Back rocks glitter in the lowering sunlight. An unfelt breeze swirls eddies of fine grit on a bare patch of sand a few yards from their sheltered nook while she rummages through her bag for the small briquette of exotic Himalayan cannabis resin. Her scent is a compelling mix of coconut and slippery sex; her breasts are even more distracting, and he reaches for his camera while she retrieves the pipe from a drift of sand.
“Uh…” she begins when she notices he’s aiming the wide closeup lens at her. He presses the button and her startled expression is momentarily occluded when the shutter snaps open and shut. A slender, down-dusted forearm rises to cover her breasts while she crumbles resin into the diminutive bowl of the pipe. “Wish you wouldn’t. What if…”
“Honey… you’re just so beautiful. It’d be a crime not too.” He watches the dimples appear on either side of the curving bow of her lips.
“Uh…” she looks down past her breasts at his enduring hardness. “Only if I can take some of you, too.” The intensity of her regard almost makes him reach for a towel to drape over his erection, but he decides to stay firmly, proudly naked before his alluring girlfriend in hopes of teasing the last vestiges of clothing from her slick near-nude body. “Sure…” He holds the camera out to her; “Now?”
“In a minute… after a smoke…” As she lifts both arms to light up he snaps another rapidly refocused shot. “Not while’m toking!” she hisses through a bluish cloud. “So wass the nex’ thing that happened?” she mumbles round the pipestem. His mind swirls for a moment before he deduces her meaning; the swell of her ribcage and the way her breasts point even higher when she inhales is thoroughly distracting.
“My mother’s eyes – a little while later. Everything was shimmering golden amber, and I saw a pair of whirlpools appear in the midst of it…”
“Whirlpools?” Natasha’s sight is riveted to his through the rapidly dissipating smoke, which wafts away along the beach in a discrete little levitating cloud. Memory superimposes itself upon her beautiful visage and he lowers the camera.
“Spinning whirlpools - completely hypnotic - and while I watched they slowly changed into a pair of eyes – my mother’s eyes – staring down at me; into me. And then her face slowly took shape around those eyes, and…” Natasha bursts into a coughing fit and hands him the pipe.
“Sorry,” she sputters, “what a waste…”
“I’ll finish it.”
“Finish the story first,” she insists, peering at him through reddened eyes.
“That’d take forever – what do you want, my whole life from go to whoa? I remember it all…”
She tilts her head to one side, her expression unreadable. “Come on – you can’t remember everything. What about your dreams?”
“Most of ’em,” he replies, lighting the pipe with a match that blows out before the bowl ignites. “Particularly the ones about you.” He lights it on the second try and fills his lungs with smoke.
“I can just imagine what…”
“You ever dream about me?”
In reply she leans back, throws her perfect bosom in his direction and sings a short stretch of a Monkees ditty with a surprisingly loud yet sweet lilting voice; “Oh what can it mean to a daydream believer and a homecoming queen…”
His brow furrows. “Cheer up Sleepy Jean?”
“Alla time,” she says and her hair whips around her face as she shakes her head from side to side, hiding any clue to her meaning. He takes the opportunity to snap another shot while the dizzied girl tries to brush sand from her oily body, staring around askance to check anew for visitors. “So, Mister Randomly Accessed Mammaries – is there anything you don’ ’member?”
“Uh… I don’t know – I don’t remember.”
“Ha fuckin’ ha. Come on…” She reaches for the pipe and he taps out the bowl against his bare heel before handing it over. When their fingers touch and begin to entwine his inner sight drifts through his earliest years, following the weft and warp of life’s adventure. The panoply of imagery grinds to a halt and his memories revolve around the vision of a toy xylophone – an image that freezes the breath in his smoky lungs.
“Hand it over,” Natasha insists.
“Okay,” he says without realising she’s referring to the pipe he still clutches so tightly. He barely notices her beautiful face and stares straight through her exemplary body to a far horizon while she removes it from his slackening grip. “There is something I don’t remember…”
“Oh?” she says as she refills the bowl.
“I don’t recall all of my third birthday…”
“Um,” she says, reaching for the wooden matchbox. “Did y’have a party?”
“Of course,” he answers, staring straight through her. “With lots of kids and a big blue icecream cake that had an icecream steamship floating on it – but the cake half melted before the party and the ship was sinking into the cake when mu… my mother lit the candles.”
“So you do remember…”
“No; not all of it. Not everything that happened after the party.”
“Far out; why – were y’drunk?”
It’s his turn to drily retort “Ha ha,” but he omits the epithet. “Only on icecream.”
“Wish we had some of that ship right now.” At her mentions of it he notices a distant steel-blue ship cruising near the horizon, uncannily like the one on his cake. “I’m so hot,” she says, fanning her breasts with her hand, “even a lifeboat’d do.”
“You’re a hot chick all right,” the hippy replies. He’s surprised to see the blush that flushes up along the near naked girl’s breasts, throat and cheeks to further redden her slightly sunburned brow and ears.
“So what don’t you r’member then?”
“There was a girl…”
“Typical.”
“A little blonde girl – she gave me a xylophone as a present, and when it was time for her to leave she came up to my bedroom...”
“Whoo!”
“Hey, we were both only three… and… uh…”
Nasher leans closer and blows smoke into his face. “What?” she asks, obviously brimming with salacious expectation.
“I don’t remember.” Natasha leans back and taps out the pipe; “What don’t you remember?” His mind skirts away from a ball of darkness that roils beyond the frayed turquoise quilt beneath which his three year-old self cowers in abject terror – and settles on another unsettling detail embedded in those same distant months. The change of subject goes unnoticed as Nasher combs tangles from her luxuriant hair with sandy oiled fingers. “Um… My bedroom had a balcony that was lined with chicken wire.”
“Chicken wire?”
“To stop me from climbing up the wrought iron railing and falling off it.”
“Must’ve looked pretty ugly,” she says with a frown. He doesn’t want to tell her that his family’s first home had been nothing like Natasha’s palatial abode – had in fact been a shabby, narrow little rented two bedroom terrace, firmly embedded in a row of identical working class dwellings; hardly a slum, but nothing to impressed the beautiful well-heeled girl whose body glows with enticing vitality as her smoky champagne breath washes over him from less than an arm’s length away.
“It was like that before we moved there – the previous family had lost their son. A three year-old boy… he fell off the railing and impaled himself on the fleur-de-lis spikes of the front fence below.”
“Wow!” Nasher’s hand lands on his knee and slides up his thigh, bringing him back to the present. “Bummer.” Her eyes gleam with turquoise fire in gradually reddening sunlight. “Did you ever see his ghost or anything?”
“Sort of…” he says through a suddenly dry throat. “Uh… need something to drink…”
“Drink this,” she insists, and jams her tongue in his mouth. Her skin is an enflaming lure as they roll onto the blanket, immersed in the bliss of a suckling kiss. Slim slippery thighs slip down his flanks and an equally firm pair of nubile breasts slide across his hairless chest and fall into his waiting hands. She lowers her derriere and spreads her thighs until their sex almost meets and cloth-covered heat hovers just beyond the straining tip of his swollen crown. She holds him at bay with an unremitting fist while their tongues and breaths entwine.
“Maybe I left a flask in the van…” Natasha says when she comes up for air. She kneels astride him and her eyes wander in the direction of the distant car park. He fondles her fulsome globes and is swiftly rewarded with the answering swell of hardening nipples and quickening gasps of breast-raising breath. “We can check before it gets dark,” he suggests, attempting to draw her back into afternoon’s delight.
“Less find a place to camp the night on the beach,” she says, peering onshore behind him. “Maybe behind those rocks.” Her hands fly to her breasts and cover his grasp as she flings herself down upon him. “Someone’s coming…”
A true story
*
Continues…
- R.A.
Images – author’s
Further true tales of The Prince of Centraxis -
Shaman of Centraxis Part 4 - To Infinity and Beyond
Shaman of Centraxis Part 5 - Land of the Living
Shaman of Centraxis Part 6 - All the Way
Shaman of Centraxis Part 7 - South of Eden
Shaman of Centraxis Part 8 - The Whole is Greater
Shaman of Centraxis Part 9 - Crossing Boarders
Shaman of Centraxis Part 10 - Believer
Shaman of Centraxis Part 11 - Behind the Veil
Shaman of Centraxis Part 12 - Peace, Love & War Games
Shaman of Centraxis Part 13 - Pole Dancer
Shaman of Centraxis Part 5 - Land of the Living
Shaman of Centraxis Part 6 - All the Way
Shaman of Centraxis Part 7 - South of Eden
Shaman of Centraxis Part 8 - The Whole is Greater
Shaman of Centraxis Part 9 - Crossing Boarders
Shaman of Centraxis Part 10 - Believer
Shaman of Centraxis Part 11 - Behind the Veil
Shaman of Centraxis Part 12 - Peace, Love & War Games
Shaman of Centraxis Part 13 - Pole Dancer
AND
Latest – http://centraxis.blogspot.com
And see
The Her(m)etic Hermit - http://hermetic.blog.com
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From The Prince of Centraxis - http://centraxis.blogspot.com
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