What's an Askan Fide, Anyway?
I'm experimenting a bit with stream-of-conscious and prose-poetry, a bit. Also, if a sentence seems oddly worded, it probably was intentional. In other words, not all of it is supposed to make literal sense. This is my first thing, so comments appreciated. Revision likely, esp. towards the end.* I use human in a species neutral sense. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Next to the bench, standing white, was Darian.
"Tomorrow afternoon," he said low, sitting down across from me.
"Where?" I grabbed the plastic cup and opened it.
"Just meet me in the dorm."
He smiled and left.
I went back to stirring the yoghurt, in its white plastic cup, with a pink plastic spoon. Suitably silken and shapeless, I shoveled large bites of the dripping, vanilla-flavored custard into my mouth, and licking the white film of my upper lip, I pondered the wonderful contributions that lactobacillus acidophilus and lactobacillus reuteri made to society.
Acidophilus, mysteriously square-shaped, unsheathed his mighty sword.
"Casei!"
Torrential rain fell on the dark, lightning-pocked plain, which sprawled out in every imaginable and unimaginable direction around him.
Casei, tetrahedral, stepped out from a shadow and shook his cloak off.
"It's time," he said, and unsheathed his own sword, which wasn't as mighty.
Reuteri kneeled on the side, with one arm outstretched. Salty rain fell from her cheeks, as she watched the two men she loved most stand-off.
Suddenly, something very large and very pink cleaved the sky in two. The three were immediately crushed.
Idly, I dug at the last thin film of yoghurt clinging to the bottom and licked around the rim of the cup. The girls and guys sitting next to me--Gwen, and some odd chick called Cicera, who was Guis T. Armistram's girlfriend or ex or something. Kandras, who was a year ahead of me, and his girlfriend Elani. Aienda, who's this painter guy--were talking. I listened for a second, and looked, then went back to making out with my yoghurt cup.
I licked off the back of the spoon and pocketed it, and then stood up and dropped the empty container in the yellow bin. The cafeteria smelled greasy and I felt like not being there.
Two black-framed doors of glass, and it was just a push to open them; and then I was in tea-stained campus air, feeling naked and very much alive beneath my clothes, with the sun on my ears, my forehead, my breasts, my hands, my feet; microscopic pollens and bacteria were soft, violet perfume, floral and vintage--the sort that would come in an elaborate ivory bottle, with maroon-tinted velvet backing; peeling red wallpaper sky, faded like in an old daguerreotype; sepia-tone sun.
"God, what a day!"
I looked at the sky again. It was still blue, and it smelled like grass.
I blinked; and when I looked up again, the sky was green, and it smelled like ginkgo. The coniferous copse had four lampposts in it. I'd never noticed the fourth before, actually. Only the three. Maybe it was new?
I stood against a brick wall for the remaining twelve--eleven?--minutes of lunch, waiting for the national anthem to start playing, in trombonette and harmonium and cracking speaker tube. When it did, I had seven minutes to get to class.
The day was way too long. Actually, it only felt too long. It wasn't actually any longer than normal. Days do not randomly lengthen on accord with their own whims in fancies. Only some sort of religious being, or perhaps a wizard, or maybe especially a wizard, could actually make a day longer.
"Long!" shouted Great One From Beyond the Blue Sky--from mountains tops--and his proclamation rang out over the valleys and betwixt the dells.
"Shut up!" I said. "I don't even believe in you!"
And thus Great One exploded.
After class I was hungry. Yoghurt fills your heart with the desire to live with the mist on a mountain in a little shack shambled over by the kudzu and bush, but it fills your belly with a thin layer of insubstantial. And I try to eat more for lunch than yoghurt, and usually do, but...
His words!
Strange foods looked dry, harsh and bland between the anxious teeth; between the sore jaws that so sought to speak.
God, my heart! I could feel my blood!
On near two months it'd been, and the desire--ever-mounting--was heavy. Then to finally wave the banner, to hoist the flag, to snap the rubber band, with a wink and a smile, that we could. Meeting, spreading, sinking. Somewhere that mattered. The desire--again--a terrifying, sprawling, penetrating itch; in the pads of my feet, a pulling behind the belly-button and the groin; cold hands, nervous fingers, buzzing ears, lips--parted, slightly--breaths.
It was the night before, and he was breathing against my neck, and then his chin weighed down on my shoulder.
"Two nights," vibrated the words in fur and hair.
In a bathroom in a dark night station; in an empty railcar; in a communal room with the onlookers circling round; on a bench in a dark, secluded copse of trees with only the teary streetlights--black iron, in the rain--to guide the rhythmic motions and stuttering, blurred hands.
But impatient trysts--what romance is there in these dismal places?
What was the love of a cold room, where the cracked vinyl blinds pull back to reveal nothing but darkness outside?
Cold fingers feeling skin through ribbed valleys, dense and soft.
"Why do we have to wait?" and then I moaned softly (Why did I moan? Nobody really moans).
Lower moved the timid hand over human terrains surreal and exposing, through soft curves, through white fur, across flesh, stopping over the navel--some kind of half-hug?
"The game. We'll have time," he whispered (impatient trysts?).
Two, three, five fingers under the tied hem.
"I love you." It was one of us or both or just understood--so, neither.
In darkness moving, going slowly. Lower, breathing brushing silence. Cold fingers on skin, in skin. In velvet wet and warm. Shuddering and the brief crescent flash where the clothes parted was amazing. Nerves glowing with the pulling itch of fearful (Awareness? Stimulation?); muscles winking, bucking, shivering. Desperation lasers running in blue sparks from closed eye to closed eye, sharing a promise.
On the bunk he fingered me quietly, then broke off without the orgasm neither of us really wanted.
Outside in the dark, moths like angels spiraled 'round street lights.
It was getting darker earlier, and already the evening was tinting the sky. It was going to be a pretty sunset. Maybe not as nice as the ones at the beach--a skyline has its merits, but the ocean's just so large, and nothing can compare to the way sand feels--but vibrant none the less.
A luna moth flew past, bright an emerald, and looking so thoroughly like a ginkgo leaf that, had it not been for the color, I would've assumed it to be just that.
When I was younger--a lot younger--and still not smart enough to realize how useless and ignorant religion was, I let my parents put me in this spiritual study thing for young kids. It went on for a week. We'd do arts and crafts, and sing songs, and deal with religion in an entertaining, but really roundabout way. See, children don't inherently have the ability to listen to wordy dissertations on some weird old books. They needed other ways to get our attention.
The games, crafts, singing, snacks, and whatever else they brought in seemed to work pretty well for that, but I digress.
On the third day of the program, this kid found a luna moth sitting on the steps outside the church, and one of the older kids was going to squish it. The youth leader stopped him, and the other kid got to bring it inside. It lived on the roof of the building for the rest of the week, and the boy tried to feed it stuff which it obviously didn't and couldn't eat.
On the last night of the program we gathered outside, by the light of an oil lamp, and let it go. It was really touching, in a goofy, child-like sort of way. I thought it was odd how much it seemed centered around that one guy and his pet moth, though.
Again, though. I digress.
When I got to the dorm, I walked down a flight of stairs to the laundry room. At the far end, they have some vending machines. You're usually supposed to buy your food in either the cafeteria--which is open pretty late--and eat it there or get it from a store and keep it in the kitchen or back in your room. I guess they installed the vending machines because giving us kids easy access to snacks was a quick way to get money, along with starting aimless health debates amongst the various concerned student groups stationed at regular intervals around the campus.
Nobody was around. Not unusual for that time of night, I guess--I'm usually not down there at night myself--but it was rather creepy. The shadows behind the washers seemed to wiggle about on their own accord.
"Back, dybbuk!" I said, glaring cockeyed at the pulsating darks. For good measure, I waved my hand, and also quietly shouted "penis," which had very little to do with anything, but if you're alone in a dark Laundromat, then why not?
The shadows stopped moving. My exorcism had worked.
I bought a pack of cookies--peanut butter on homogenous citrus shortbread. For a brief moment, I panicked, having heard horrific reports of foods getting stuck in the machine. Luckily, they fell to the slot without hitch.
I pulled them out, briefly brandished them at the shadows, and walked up the stairs.
The dorm smelled like onions and perfume. Which is to say, no different than it usually did. Elani was sitting at the table and reading a book of some sort--probably fantasy--and seemed entirely oblivious to whatever else was going on, because Troi was kneeling on the same table and fiddling around with one of the lightbulbs.
"That might be electrical."
"It's a light socket. You think?" said Troi. Troi has large muscles. They're neat.
"I mean the flickering."
She ran her fingers through her short black hair.
"So?"
"Don't fuck with it."
"I've done electrical shit like this before. I know what I'm doing. I'm fine."
"I just don't want you hurting yourself." I probably sounded immensely worried. Which is okay. I like to think I care.
"Chill," Elani said. "I'm reading. Will you please--" heavy emphasis "--get off the table?"
"You're the one that wanted me to fix the light!"
"I said get someone who knows--"
"I know what I'm doing."
"No y' don't."
"I've worked with electrical shit like this all the time. Shut up?"
I walked to the back and sat on my bunk.
The cellophane crinkled when I squeezed it; softly, and it oscillated and came unwound. I squeezed it with my whole palm; with the heel of my thumb and the back three fingers; thumb and forefinger. I turned--the coins in my pocket slid against each other and hissed--and lied back, head on the pillow. Heel of thumb: pressed. Fingers: drumming softly. Crinkle. Slow, misty breaths. I rolled over, chest down, chin on the pillow, sinking into the mattress. The smooth plastic; the ridges beneath it. I shook it and they slid, rustling. Beneath it, sliding. Squeezed, again. Three times. Harder.
The cookie popped apart and I hated myself.
It tasted sweet irregardless.
I awoke early, hot under the covers and cold with sweat.
Around me the others remained sleeping.
I stood up and walked out to the second half of the room, with the tables, and sat. The little clock display glowed out the time, and I was awake two hours early. Sticky, I left the room for the showers.
The floor felt cold on my naked feet. It was really quite amazing, the sort of textural details I was picking up. When I got in the shower stall I ran my toe along the ridges in between the tiles. Along the holes in the drain. And the soft, cottony feeling in the back of my foot as I pulled off my pants; the way it itched and pulled and traveled up my sides.
Stretched fingers, ears erect; nipples small and painful; fur on end and tail wagging, softly in the cold I shuddered.
It was like rain, with the same rocky smell of nitrogen and lightning, and damp mud and damp moss. Dark and heavy and wet, my hair clung together in long bands and fell across my shoulders, back and breasts, and droplets of water beaded down the fur on my face.
The normal minty, soapy smell of the restroom was still there, but somehow I could pick out the smell of clean oxygen too. The water was loud and the tiles were glowing, and everything seemed slower and faster all at once. So fast that it was blurring and I could see the blurs; past, present, and future--everything happening all at once, and all of it sang out in the name of god, and all of it was...
The black pine sap 'round the ring of fire was on my hands, on my face, beneath my eyes; scrawled out in patterns and verses obscure. Hieroglyphs from dark woods and heavy mists and hunters crossing downs and ducking under tamaracks in the thick red morning.
On horseback we rode.
Every muscle in the beast sculpted heavily and perfect; the solid rump bulging with veins, the loins like pistons, the thighs and what bobbed between them; the four legs beneath me, driving forward as hooves churned turf staccato. The back was steady; it supported my insubstantial weight uncomplaining, and it looked forward, head on thick nick looking forward.
The sky grew oily as the winds picked up and blew our hair sideways. Smoke, smelling of rendered porcine fat. The camp, the soldiers, the farmers, the traders. And in the distance, betwixt clouded mountains and the woodlands beyond, rose in spires, stony and textured, was the City.
Rain fell and blessed the land.
And I was left standing in the cold shower and furiously masturbating to the incomprehensible beauty of air.
Between second and third periods, I saw Zane. It was odd. There was a crowd of students, and I walked into it. I couldn't feel the crowd, then, and he was standing in front of me.
"Why do you fall in love?" he said.
I was going to hit his shoulder, but then I realized that he wasn't challenging me. His expression was almost kittenish, and quite innocent, and... whispy? Naïve? Scared and disappointed? There was no hostility.
"What?"
Something went on behind his eyes. You could genuinely see his mood changing.
"The psych homework? Have you had psych yet?" he said, with feigned desperation.
"I'm going there."
"Oh, never mind then."
"Do you need the homework?"
"Yeah, just tell me what the assignment... well, I could get it from someone else."
"No, it's really okay."
He walked off.
It was strange, but I thought I heard him mumbling something. But by that time, the halls were getting crowded again. It could've been anyone or everyone--white noise?--and when I turned around, he was gone.
The class room felt uncharacteristically cool when I entered it and took my seat. Softly, a mechanical string quartet played the national anthem over loudspeakers, and people shuffled and pushed things around noisily, drowning the music out. Finally it ended, and from someone's mouth (Mr. Kadas'?) fell words, clean and heavy, in a thrumming drone, and from no-one's mouth the question asked itself:
Why do you fall in love?
And the future answered.
But the magic in a sandstone rock, ringed by twelve candles (streetlights like tears?) flickering red spoke otherwise.
And harvest moon overhead smiled broad, but its sad eyes looked down.
In this circle we stood and faced, separate and bare; and in the middle we met and embraced. Faintly smelled the air of hibiscus.
Erect, the sheath retracted, as did the second foreskin; moist, bumped and red, the glans met my labia and parted my groin like the scythe to so many fertile fields abandoned at dusk.
With his hands pressed to my hips he pushed into the estrus, where something broke inside me and ran red blood and black down the white insides of our thighs; but the base expanded and knotted up, stemming the blood and locking us.
Awkward steps slightly taken as we met and turned, an odd half-dance to keep balanced and upright; and the dust of the earth worked its way into the fur and crevices of my feet, and on the soft pads I could feel its grit and color working. Against the texture of the stone I rubbed the thick parts of my foot till it felt scratched, and still the dirt itched between my toes and in my tendons.
My vaginal muscles clenched and loosened around his penis, and again there was an itch and unnatural force (magnetic?) and the burning feeling of blood forced tight and rapidly through small, engorged vessels; too much pressure--not enough. Tightening and releasing and bucking and shuffling.
Velvet skin on velvet skin, exposed, cloven and wet. Cold blood running on my groin and thighs, and hot blood throbbing through our sex; itch and desire, and tightening muscles' pressure; to the endless cycle, we drink each other.
The sweat on my feet, beneath my arms, on the hands digging nails into his shoulder, on the hands digging claws into my hip. Dust kicked up and in the air, thick and hazy and distorting the twelve dancing lights.
The moon looked down in smiled.
In milky drops the warm jets came, white and full of potentials. I tightened to the itch, and to his body locked, and the muscle spasms shot and shuttered, and the earth shook and the lights melted. Limbs stiff and limp and feet splayed and dug, and a new warm fluid that was my own.
Softening, loosening, and separating. Out of my vagina dripped blood and semen in loud, splattering drops, painting the sandstone.
The moon cracked and sucked itself out into the vacuum.
Inside me was the purpose, ends, and means; the species' future seed and all-encompassing representation of what life, love, and human meant. The sky parted to stars, and the fog and dust cleared away; the torches went out. Overhead and glowering and large to the orchestrations of a golden horn, the heavens sang, and the potentials shown; and the world green and the sky big, and the future and the past; the shape of the penis and of the vulva and the solemn, immemorial religious beauty and power--creation!--they held; the feeling of my breasts enlarging with milk; and two shapes--human--naked and bonded in something weird and sacred, and soon to be three.
And the third responded:
Oh, promise of species.
We children as gods.
And salty tears ran free as we licked each other clean and then finally lay in embrace, worn and ready for sleep.
From someone's mouth (Mr. Kadas'?) fell words, clean and heavy, in a thrumming drone, about theories on the family unit.
Ambivalently, I yawned, and the rush of endorphin was pretty nice. Everyone else was moving about. I swear, the boys' floors (we were all in one building. This doesn't make sense) were completely insane. Music blaring, shouting, jumping around like furry little retards. Crap like that. It was great, because it was also on the girls' floors (still doesn't make sense).
Troi was head banging to an anonymous heavy jam hewn by the rough hands of some sexy, foreign guitarist, who, invariably, would either have the most beautiful face ever or would be mind-bendingly ugly, and sexy only for his guitar heroics and large, calloused fingers.
Andari was prancing about on the table. She even hit her head on the ceiling, like, at least twice. She was laughing though; it was okay 'cause she wasn't hurt. I mean, I was giggling too. It was just this group-communal thing.
Oh, and there was this huge tray of baklava someone (Daecie?) brought in. We were all grazing off of it and silently--well, not so silently--fretting about our weight and whatever new, horrible chemicals--that, like, maybe weren't even discovered yet! Who knows?--were going to mess us up.
Yeah, communal fun. I stopped being a person, I guess, but we all did, so who cares?
"You're going to the game, right?"
"No. Homework." I grabbed a sheet of paper from under one of the tables. I actually did have some lit assignment about writing a poem. Or didn't. I can't remember.
Troi looked very disappointed. She probably wasn't.
"You're just jealous 'cause you suck at sports."
"I could kick your ass at lacrosse."
I couldn't.
"I could kick your ass in general."
Yes. Yes, indeed, she totally could.
We laughed and hugged and went back to head banging, and I still have no idea why any of this was happening.
I guess someone could've spiked the baklava. Or the water supply.
"Get that goddamn commander on the line!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Who is this?"
"It's the Colonel, you bastard. Now pay attention."
"You'll address me as Commander--"
"No. I won't. Because I hate you. Now listen, we've got our sights set on Ekkadae."
"That city in Jaekva?"
"No, the one on the moon. Yes, Jaekva, you fucking moron. Didn't they ever teach you geography?"
"Loudly, at this information, I sigh. What do you want? Tank columns? Attractive assassins? Ten-thousand knights brightly waving our stripes on horseback?"
"No. I have a better idea."
"What?"
"Mindfuck-37."
"Mindfuck-37?"
"Mhm. In the water supply."
"What about in the baklava supply?"
"Baklava's made with water, you lame, culinary-ignorant..."
Which wasn't really out of the question, although the last time they invaded it was, indeed, with tank columns. But putting hallucinatory chemicals in the water supply wasn't really out of the question, issues of effectiveness aside.
I hate tangents like--black smoke rising over the horizon, and tank columns forming up and lobbing shells, and eventually the whole prairie's ablaze and you can't do anything but sit there and wait till the help arrived. And all around you, marble pillars topple and tumble over each other and into the frothing surf, 'cause that's where they stuck the mass graves.
How many people are there underwater?
A lot, 'cause that's where they stuck the mass graves.
Shut up.
I was sitting on my bunk--a lower one--and the other girls were still... moving about happily? Continuing in their orgiastic shouts of glee and awe? I'd given up on that and been sitting down for some time by that point. Really, it was getting a little silly. Fun is fun until it gets banal. By this point, the arbitrary banality threshold had already been broken.
And it turns out it wasn't baklava in the tray. It was something with chocolate in it. Chocolate chips in phyllo dough, apparently. Odd combination, but not bad. A bit on the messy side, given the melting chocolate and greasiness.
I licked my sticky fingers, and then it was time to go.At the door, I hesitated, and then knocked twice.
Someone coughed from inside, and then: "Yeah?"
"Ciel."
"Oh. Come in."
Blue sparks jumped from the doorknob and crackled. I pulled my hand back--
--Back through the door I steeped. In a bedroom like trees, holy and white stood Darian, wearing an illusory red kilt and golden sash. His visage was that of a knight, with arching, cut eyebrows and angular jaw, and a marked specific angle of the upper muzzle. His fur seemed shorter; lustrous, straight, and the color of white satin. It shone in ridges along his knotted, equestrian thighs, and in the ridges of his loins, and along his buttocks and shanks. Hands shook with energy; gripped and released at nothing. Eyes like nebulae locked on my figure, and his mouth opened a little, and then closed, leaving a cloud of breath.
I took one step towards him, and he took one towards me, hands at the waist, unlatching the kilt. Another step and it was free, and his arms, shrugging sash of tufted shoulders, were reached out in inevitable embrace. And at his groin, unsheathed, red, and glistening with a religious light, it lifted itself up towards the heavens.
He was near me; against me; pressing at me. Arms locked, and his chest pressed against mine, rising and falling against my breasts with every foggy, wet inhalation. Navel-to-navel, abdomens furry and rubbing warmth.
We kissed.
I braced my legs apart.
His knees buckled, then straightened. Cold and hard it pressed against my tingle, engorged lips. Moist, poised, pressing. Again, he lifted until it split and opened, and--
--and, fingers still tingling with static, reached for the knob again.
Impatient trysts?
Bullocks.
Mind's been on too long, dear. Focus, shut it off, and slip a bit; you're only a person, so don't be afraid. Cut the pomp and the pretense.
Fingers clasped 'round the knobbed and twisted, and I entered.
It was dark. I stepped over some shapeless mass on the floor.
"Leave the light off."
"Why?" I couldn't see him. Back room?
"If the lights are on... well, we don't want anyone knowing we're in here."
"Yeah, good point."
I walked toward the bunks.
"I've got an electric lantern."
He was sitting cross-legged and naked on the floor, and messing around with it. It kept strobing between the two light bulbs.
"Dammit."
It was still strobing, although this time the light bulbs were flashing in synch. I guess I was staring at him a bit, and trying to get a good look at his thing, which was hanging out of its sheath (and I momentarily suspected he'd manipulated it like that). Most of the boys don't take clothes down to the showers with them (which's a shame. He's nice to look at, and so are a few others, but not all of them are so eye-friendly) so I'd seen his sheath a few times. It was squishy and fluffy, and I think I momentarily considered, once, sticking a flower in the little hole. Never seen the actually, well, penis before, and I really kind of wanted to.
Which was silly and a bit kittenish, I admit, but I was curious.
It was about five centimeters long, and with a noticeable left-bias. It had a waxy hue to it, and was slightly shiny in whatever sort of penis-fluids came out of the sheathy membranes. The head looked sort of longish beneath the foreskin, and it didn't seem to flare much. In the flickering lights, it looked strangely ominous, despite being generally soft and inoffensive.
He shifted around so that he was kneeling. I lost my view.
I seriously need a hobby.
"Bloody..."
The beam, on both sides, became steady.
"This enough light?"
I nodded.
Why didn't I care that he was naked--
"Cool. Uh..."
--especially when he seemed immensely nervous about it? The muscles in his shoulders were shaking; his chest and thighs were twitching. He was sitting on his tail and constantly readjusting himself in a weak attempt
I sat down next to him.
"So. Uh, sorry..."
"So..."
We leaned into each other and kissed for some reason. It wasn't really a long or passionate or interesting kiss. Just sort of a quick one, on the lips.
My clothes felt very warm.
"What...?"
I stood up and started unclasping my robe and tunic.
"This is..."
Very, very naked.
"Awkward?" I said.
"Yeah."
I noticed myself darting quick glances at his crotch. I guess he was probably doing the same to me. In a sense, it was sort of sweet. Horndogish, but in a twee, innocent sort of way. If that makes any modicum of sense.
Long pause.
"I love you," I whispered.
He twisted his head a little, looking at me. I flashed the most malicious grin imaginable and tweaked his nipple.
"The hell?" he said, falling back. I crouched down and smiled at him, snickering airily; approached him on all fours, head and shoulders low, back-end raised with tail wagging.
I looked up at him. Straight in the eyes.
I lunged at him and he rolled over and out of the way. Then he was on me, with his shoulder in the small of my back. I shook him off, and we were rolling and tackling and laughing like little kids playing a raucous, ruleless game of rugby. Whatever self-consciousness there'd been was gone. There was nothing awkward or sexual or dirty about our nakedness, then; we were just two people play-fighting and having some simulacrum of fun.
I was sitting on his chest and holding his wrists.
"Yeah?" I said, leaning low, shoving my breasts in his face.
"Get off!" he said, through a stifled giggle. "I can't breath."
I sat up, leaned over again, and kissed his forehead.
God, I love you.
"Hey, Darian."
"What?"
"I can see your penis!"
He pulled away and sat cross-legged, hands across his groin. Which was really funny given the context. So I giggled. In the silliest manner imaginable. Much like, you know, a little girl would've having just heard someone say "penis." Which I guess was appropriate.
"Oh, shut up!" he said, looking genuinely embarrassed. Then his mood changed a little. "Why do you talk like that anyway?"
Voice low, and with slightly squinted eyelids. I've I had to guess, it was some kin of concentration.
"What do you mean?" Which sounded incredibly corny because the intonation was entirely expected.
"I've never heard you say 'cock' or anything. You talk like a biologist."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I sort of wanna go into veterinary medicine," I said. He lay back, and I fell beside him.
"Oh, right. You're taking a couple..."
"Classes, yeah. Force of habit, I guess. Sorry."
Although that wasn't really it. I've always done that. And when I tried to figure out why, the only thing I got was a mental image of this little yellow notebook my mom kept, and it had the words I learned as an infant, listed roughly in the order I learned them.
Darian was standing at the foot of the bed with tongue lolling out and eyes half-closed in an odd, sexy wink. He ran his fingers through his long, white hair. Ciel was looking at something else, though; between his legs, his dick throbbed out of its sheath, and stood erect. It was at least ten inches long and, she though, almost as thick as her wrist. A little pre dribbled from of its head, and ran down between the cleft in the cockhead, past the foreskin, and down along the rigid, veined shaft. God, to taste that! Would it even fit into her mouth?
Almost subconsciously, she ran her finger across her cunny, stopping on her clit and massaging its sensitive nerves. And freely and wild her juices flowed against her hand and down her thighs, smelling thickly of femininity and arousal. Darian, breathing deeply with eyes closed, seemed to notice it as well; and with knees first, he kneeled onto the bed.
Ciel lay back against the bed, one hand stroking her ears, and the other hand fingering at her tight sex. Lustily she breathed and sighed, arching her back and grinding her rump against the mattress. Darian kneeled over her, looking down at her pink, wet pussy, and rubbing against the base of his cock. More pre dribbled out of the tip. Ciel sat up, looking at the thin liquid glistening like diamonds. She got up on all fours, briefly raising her tail up just a little to give Darian a good view, and turned around, facing him.
God, it was huge! She pressed her nose against it, absorbing the wonderful scent of his maleness. She caressed it with both of her hands. Darian moaned and shuddered as she pressed her tongue against the base of the shaft; and as she licked upwards, slowly, more pre ran out. She reached the head, licking the frenum and then moving up towards the tip. His taste, salty and sticky, was overpowering.
"Oh, god," she said. "God, I need you. Let me suck you."
"Yeah, alright."
His hips bucked forward, cock sliding against her muzzle and coating it with his juice. The aroma! The taste! She leaned back a little, firmly gripping the base, and wrapped her mouth around it. Slowly, her tongue ran down its length, tasting it, exploring it; catching every precious drop of its holy water. Gently, she brought her teeth in, slowly and gently scratching around the sides and beneath the flare of his glans. He moaned and shuddered again. She responded by gripping harder, moving faster, sucking deeper...
He began humping her muzzle, thrusting in and out first slowly and unconsciously, but then rapidly.
"Oh, god. I'm gonna cum. I'm g-gonna... cum!" he cried between moans and jerks. He ran his thumbs along the sides of his ears.
And she stopped. Darian panted heavily, warn but still aroused; his member, slick and shiny with spit, throbbed and twitched.
"Not yet, honey."
"Yeah, I know. Thanks. Can't shoot this yet."
"Saving it for me?"
"Who else?"
Ciel grinned. "Your dick is huge."
"Oh, it's not that big."
"No, seriously. Go to a horse barn sometime. You'd make the poor fuckers jealous."
They both laughed.
"Man, this is almost unbearable!" He said.
"Just a second. I don't want you cumming the second you get it in there. If, that is, you can get it in there. Hey, if you're really bored, you know..."
Ciel spread her legs apart, and with v-shaped fingers, split her pussy open. It glistened wetly.
"Yeah, okay."
Darian leaned down, licking her sensitive nipples and grabbing her ass tightly. He then back off the bed completely, chin completely even with her cunny. He licked around the groin above it first; slowly. Teasingly. Ciel moaned out something that sounded halfway between a prayer and a curse. He dug her hand into her rump again, claws jabbing in almost painfully, and moved down to her pussy, stopping and suckling her clit, and then licking her glowing, red lips. He did this for awhile, gripping the base of her tail; then his clawtip circled her tight tailhole, and as his tongue slipped into her pussy, a soft finger entered from behind. The warm feeling of being penetrated in both holes was unexpected and new; and his quick, sharp licks against her g-spot ("My god," she though. "Does he have his whole muzzle up there?") combined with the gentle probing in her backside was overpowering. She moaned loudly and cried out as she came quickly; shuddering, bucking, and spilling hot, feminine juices all over Darian's muzzle. He licked her clean, and slowly pulled out his finger; and as he did so, she almost came again. He stayed there for a moment, smelling her sex. Ciel wondered if her own aroma infatuated him as much as his affecter her.
"Oh, god," she said. "God. Fuck. I need you. Fuck me now!"
She groped her own breasts, rubbing her nipples, rubbing her finger through her slit; hips bucking at the air wildly.
"Do me now. Fuck me hard! Please!"
Darian gave her a look that seemed to say, "If you say so," and grinned. He kneeled over her, cock pressed against her belly, dribbling pre out over her fur and rubbing the warm juices in with the head. Moving back, he ran the turgid shaft between her lips, grinding against her sex, and lubricating it with her pussy juices.
"You want all of this?"
"Y-yes! H-hey. I thou-though you were modest about that!"
He grinned. "Sometimes."
He stopped for a second, and took a big breath. And then, like a piston on a steam train, rammed his cock into her. Halfway in and he stopped; the lips were spread apart, and juices were spurting out around his shaft. She was tight, and hot, and her pussy was clamped down around him. Hard.
"Don't stop now!" Ciel cried. "C'mon. Put it in me. Put it in me to the hilt."
Darian took another breath. "Loosen up a bit, honey. Your cunt muscle's a bit... too tight."
He felt it loosen up, and buried it all the way in. The base swelled up, further widening her sex. She cried out and moaned in ecstasy, gripping his forearms just as tightly as she gripped his rod. Again, he leaned over and ran his velvet tongue over her nipples, and squeezed her large, fleshy breasts.
Ciel raised one leg and sat it over his shoulder, and then another. He wrapped his hands around her thighs and pulled against them, pushing into her and pulling out. God, the way she clamped down! God, the heat! He breathed, quickly, shallowly; and then came a long, steady moan. It broke into a howl.
"Wait!" she said, breathless. He pulled out, and she turned over, kneeling on all fours, with tail raised, giving Darian an excellent view of her glistening, dripping pussy and tight pucker. He leaned forward, and licked both.
Ciel shuddered in pleasure as the warm, delicate tongue explored her nether regions. Almost too soon, though, the kiss broke. Ciel arched her as in the air, and Darian, grabbing her tail at the based with one hand and reaching forward towards her breasts with the other, mounted her from behind, sliding his cock into her sex again with a loud, slippery noise. For Ciel, it was the perfect position; he now had an excellent angle for her g-spot.
Perfect too was it for Darian. Somehow, it seemed more natural; more animal. His instincts too over. Thighs slapped loudly against thighs, and his penis noisily thrust in and out of her hot sex. Juices spilled out, muscles clenched, and his knot ballooned. And in his hand, he held her furry, soft left breast.
Ciel moaned again.
"Yes. Fuck. God, yes," Darian said, loudly banging into her rear. The raw, wet rubbing against his engorged cock was too much. "God, I'm gonna..."
Ciel felt the hot, white spurts of sticky cum shoot out of his pecker, coating her insides. He pulled out, spraying her back with it, and then reinserted, cumming some more. She reach back, feeling the wetness around their linked parts, absorbing the texture, the feeling, the very essence of his seed. She brought her hand to her muzzle; smelled the musky, bleach-like aroma, and tasted it. It was amazing.
He collapsed against her back, and they fell on top of each other; rolled over, face-to-face, kissed. He was still inside her, empty but still thrusting, both amazingly sensitive in the post-orgasmic haze. Nerves tingled and sparked, and she came again, and even he produced a little more semen. And then they collapsed; touching, holding. Laying next to each other and kissing, and basking in the powerful feeling of afterglow.
Wait. That's not right. That never happened. "'Yes. Fuck. God, yes,' Darian said, loudly banging into her rear?" Nobody talks like that. I hope nobody talks like that. That's creepy. And "turgid shaft?" What the heck? Stomata get turgid, I guess, but those look more like little tiny vaginas, so I don't know where that came from. Also, the finger stuff was... icky. No. That's not something I'd ever...
That was bizarre, thus I blinked.
I lay next to him. The room was silent save for our breathing and the constant air conditioning, and the dull pulse of something mechanical (electrical?). My arms crossed behind my head, and the dark coldness of the room, when tempered by a warm body, was...
And a thousand little air molecules rocketed around and kept everything going. Because, you know, entropy is the thing that stops all the air in the room from bunching up under your bed and making you suffocate. Air's, like the things beautiful, spiteful like that sometimes.
Darian sat up and said: "You're hungry too, aren't you?"
"I didn't eat much today."
"I didn't each much yesterday either, myself."
"Yeah..."
"Just... that?" I said, reaching over and running the back of my hand along the side of his belly. It vibrated softly with blood and veins, and rose and fell with every intake of air. He resettled himself a bit as I stroked his sides and chest.
"Lemme get up," he said softly. I set myself across his lap and looked up at him.
"Just a second."
Briefly, he bent and touched me; and in its lack of length it was very warm. I rolled off his lap and stared out into... nothing?
He came back a moment later and sat down. I rolled over and he tossed me a pudding cup.
"What do I eat this with?"
"In the lid? There's a little wooden spoon thing."
"This?" I held it up.
"Yeah."
It wasn't really all that different from the yoghurt. Just a bit thicker and it had rice in it, which I guess would've given it more protein, and thus made it more filling.
In silence we sat and ate.
Sixteen, naked, slightly horny, and eating pudding cups.
Is it wrong that I find that hilarious?
"Hey, Dar?"
"What?"
"You've got... hang on, let me get it."
I leaned over and licked the pudding off the side of his upper lip, and he leaned back. I pushed forward and it broke into a kiss. Further down he slid, and then I was lying atop him. And then I knew. I could feel the dull, pulling itch; the sudden cold, shrinking feeling; the wetness. I ground myself against his leg, sighing, nuzzling into his chest.
He rolled onto his side, and then he was atop me.
"Not here," he said. "Not on the floor."
He stood, and then sat on his bed, and I followed.
And for the longest time, we just sat and stared at each other, until spoke Darian:
"So, should we?"
He turned his head--such lovely blue eyes--and looked.
"I don't know. It's what--"
"--it's what we came here for. But..."
"But?"
"But."
We were still naked and lying on the bed. He shifted a bit and played around with his tail till I looked at him.
"Sorry," he said. Embarrassed? I reached over and petted it. He smiled.
"I've got an idea. Like, slide up a bit."
He leaned up a bit, propped on his shoulders, slightly tilted toward me, with his hair lying over one shoulder and his tail sticking out at an odd angle from his back.
"Why?"
"Your foot..." He ran the back of his hand against the side of my right foot. Slowly.
"What about it?" I turned over and straight-armed myself into some combination of laying and sitting; butt and lower back down on coarse sheets, with tail at a bad angle and sore shoulders. Was he talking about how cut up it was? The two gashes on the pad and the sliced heel?
"No, other way!" Smiling?
I smiled back, but--
"What are you doing?"
"Um... I, uh... well, guess I should... foreplay?"
"Foreplay?"
"We're supposed to... I mean..."
Adorable! I was grinning; laughing even? More of a soft giggle, but still... Adorable!
And he returned, with teeth flashed amiable: "Well, this is our first time. It should matter. We could just... well... hump, I guess, at leave, but--"
Impatient trysts; what romance is there in these place?
"--that just seems so... kinda shallow, yeah?"
"Yeah." Pause. "But what does that have to do with my foot?"
But the answer was obvious, so I turned over.
His thumb was in the arch of my foot, pressing in against the tendons. Against the cuts cold fingers feathered soft, and nails against leylines struck through parted fur. Beneath my chin my arms were crossed, and in the dark my eyelids were shut.
Unconsciously, I moaned.
"Mmf," and covered my mouth in bicepses. Eyes wide and ears hot, I heard him laughed softly, with a sharp intake of air (oh, incomprehensible beauty), and thus softly I closed my eyelids.
Cold fingers against rare flesh, and the paraffin calluses melted off and spilled away through the channels between toes splayed wide.
The joint of his thumb struck some queer nerve, or combination of nerves, and blue sparks shot through as my thoughts ran lucid then liquid then wild while my body exploded like a zing factory in purple. One-thousand stars in densely knotted muscles shivered in the heat, and ringed stars in a dark, hidden places shuddered and changed shape, twitching and quivering; milky drops of light flowed.
God? No. Great One.
Oh, my Great One.
I thought words, momentarily, and tried to force my lips and tongue and vocal cords to cooperate and voice, "I love you." And nothing came but a warm wash of self-conscious.
It was strange what he did, then. He lay, then moved down (he knew what he did. He probably saw me, so he knew what I felt) and was beside me, but offset a little, so that his head was about even with my belly. And then he sort of rested his head in the small of my back. Warm breath; quavering throat; soft vibrations spilling unknown depths and hidden shapes.
I lifted myself, slipping towards the edge of the mattress, feet against his thighs. Up at me he looked and licked across my bellybutton, stopping there; kissing; suckling. Saliva ran down in bubbled, viscous streams. Again we leaned back, and his chin rose every time I inhaled, and fell every time I exhaled.
It was recursion, though. Just repetition. Turning over; belly, butt, chest, back, okay, turn over again. Up, down, up, down; until one had their semen all over their hand or in the other's gut. More spit, more genitals, more non-words and odd sounds in a strange tone-poem. Just repetition.
But the holiest repetition there was; and holy were his eyes.
I knew then when words failed.
"I fell across him dewily like the starry, starry night--with the moon waning crescent, and soft whirling clouds--down a lighthouse which, on nights when lightning bolts flowed fast through thick fogs, would cast its milky beam out o'er the rocky, doubtful waters to a seaman caught adrift too far out.
"Then in the day it'd stand waiting between stoned outcroppings on the beach, where, as children, we'd walk without sandals and without hairties and leave prints in the sand. Then, one at a time, then two, we'd test the water; ankle deep, waist deep, neck chest deep, up until we could taste the water and realize just how salty it really was. Then one night we'd go out farther and get caught in the tide, where we'd sink, with limbs buckling, and heads bobbing; with saltwater in the eyes and dark thoughts of nowhere in the mind. Then the light, again, and we'd sink till we learned how to swim; and then we'd swim.
"Somewhere where, without the pretense and personae and societal obligations and needless hot garments, we could be together. We'd swim till we were there, and when we were, we'd look back and the lighthouse would be gone. Then the panic would set in, and the anxiety, and the questions. But I'd climb up to meet you half-way in a banyan, and you'd meet me the rest; together. We could fall to the ground and make love again, and a third time, just to make sure that we really weren't alone.
"And the sky would pull back and give birth, and the grasslands would march on.
"I guess the lighthouse didn't mean anything after all."
Gwen stared at me while holding half of a potato.
"Gwen?"
"What the hell are you on about?"