|Blogs > sparkee58 > The Cunning Linguist|
chap. 20...keys in the song of life
chap. 20...keys in the song of life
In the mornings I would wake just after sunrise and opening the door was like peeking out from inside a refrigerator. The small ac worked hard as a man bailing a boat in knee deep water. Even early the tropical humidity fell like an invisable fog, nearly smothering in it's intensity. The air seemed charged with a kind of primative sexuality, like right before a thunderstorm. Daphne slept late and I paused by the door and took her in, her red hair flowing over the white pillowcase like white water over rocks, her short muscular thighs, red from the sun, escaping from the sleep warm sheets. I bent over and nuzzled her neck, kissed the soft skin and breathed her in.
"Go," she said, laughing. But serious.
So I walked north up Duval Street to buy the local papers and the New York Times at the news store and the lush folliage was sensually intoxicating; the groups of reds and purples and deep greens, the waving palms with clusters of green coconuts, the dancing sea grasses and bougainvillia all the colors of the rainbow. The streets were almost empty; just the hosts cleaning up after last night's party.
The slight haze burned off fast and by seven the sun was hot as it crept over the gables of the two story houses, many set up as Bed and Breakfast Inns. These were redone historical homes, each individual, with unique florishes and enchanting nooks and hidden, lush crannies. Here a crumbling old brick wall seemingly held together with a raging wildfire of red and purple bougainvillia. There an idyllic fountain, half hidden in a green jungle, tiled with royal blue and white and spurting cool water from a bronze nymph's cherubic lips. A middle aged woman set out a buffet on a wide front porch. She hummed as she worked, dishes clattered and she smiled when she saw me and waved. A large cat lay lanquidly on the aged brick steps eyeing a colorful rooster as he strutted across the street. A bicyclist wearing a backpack sped by and the complaining rooster raced back to the curb where he caught sight of a hen with a brood of pale yellow chicks. He chased her into the thick green stalks of an oleander bush that had exploded with red flowers. The chicks chirped excitedly and ran in all directions.
The street cleaners and city workers were busy cleaning and polishing the town. Bustling dark men wore blowers strapped to their backs and I watched as the beer bottles and cans, plastic cups, paper and the odd bits of people's lives were blown to the street where a large sweeper, subtle as a roaring lion, insatiably swallowed it up, wiped it's mouth and moved on another block.
I crossed the street and got the papers from the old Cuban lady who laughed when I counted out the money wrong. Walking back south I passed the old Chicken Shack, weathered as driftwood, with its signs and cages on the rickety porch and chickens out front like gang members. "CHICKENS ARE SAFE HERE!" a poster proclaimed. Farther on I saw the dirty white bottom of a tennis shoe poking out from an opening in the hedges and then I saw a jeans clad leg and then an oblivious bearded sleeper, an unspilled beer bottle still in his hand.
The water shimmered as I got closer; it called like stepping into a wonderful dream. It felt like that mysterious moment when we lay on the razor's edge of conciousness before we drift off to sleep. That surreal tingle that in it's own way is as sweet and powerful as an orgasm. A microrgasm, perhaps? The sun dappled the aqua water with golden light and, as I got near, it shimmered, shimmered, shimmered. It was a pirate opening a chest filled with dazzling gold coins and jewels and he grabbed a handfull and offered them to me.
At the end of Duval Street is a grand mansion, the southernmost house in the US, the sign proclaims, with a tall front turret and gables and a black wrought iron widow's walk on top. Workers were busy on it already. Scaffolds were being set up for repairs and wedding caterers ran around scratching their heads and checking lists.
A cement pier jutted out into the endless gulf waters. At the end the water was clear and there were pieces of half buried coquina and coral and the dull white sandy bottom. A young couple parked their bicycles at the end and were walking slowly hand in hand. They took pictures of each other and then I took a picture of them with the magical gulf in the background. A cruise ship passed slowly by, far away yet big as the full moon.
At eight the Duval Beach Club opened and I walked up the palm lined sidewalk past the stacked blue and white beach chairs and the lapping waters farther out. Kelp was washed up like loose, wet hay. The club was open on three sides with a rectangular bar. It was cooler in the shade. I sat on the east side in the sun where I read the papers and drank coffee and waited for Daphne.
A man driving a shiny blue tractor soon came and raked up the kelp and took it away. There was a large cement patio surrounding the bar with tables set up and they were starting to fill. The waitresses scurried around like efficient elves. I slipped off my shoes and let them drop to the floor. The sun baked through my cotton shirt. The man came back on the tractor and this time he smoothed the sand like finishing wet concrete. Soon he was gone and Tom started setting the chairs out along the beach. He wore a pair of yellow and black Baggies with an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt. After he set out a few he sat down in a wicker backed chair before a desk made completely of flotsam.
The four legs of the desk were pieces of driftwood lashed with black and yellow rope to a small pallet that formed the top. Plastic bottles of suntan lotion and sunscreen were lined up along with a wicker tip basket. A light pole beside it had a small weathered sign nailed to it that said, 'Chairs $5.00'. Another, larger sign, said, 'No Ball Playing on Beach'. Two- toned crabpot markers hung down from the pole like decorated dreadlocks. A windsurfer board was lashed to a Banyan tree. HobieCats with sunset sails fluttering in the breeze sat around like eager kids forbidden to get in the water.
A couple walked by me with a backpack and sat down close to the water. After they settled in and Tom had collected his money, the short haired woman removed her top and lay back down. She was tanned all over; her small breasts had pointed brown nipples that stuck out like points.
I turned and watched Daphne as she closed the iron entrance gate and walked across the sand toward me. Palm trees swung in the breeze like dancers behind her and horns trumpeted from the street. Lizards scampered on the vine covered white coquina fence at the edge of the property. An owl hooted close-by. She sat down beside me, picked up my orange juice and took a swallow.
"So, what ya want to do today?" she asked.
Her wavy red hair was tied up and she wore a loose cotton top with shorts. Dark, tortoise shell Ray Bans hid her big eyes. Her large mouth smiled as she looked around. She inhaled deep as if breathing it all in.
I leaned over and we kissed.
"What time is the wedding?" I asked.
"Tomorrow afternoon. Right here. Five o'clock," she said.
Daphne nudged me with her elbow.
"Uh-huh. I can see why you like this beach," she said. She looked toward the water.
"I hadn't noticed."
"Hadn't noticed what?"
I was silent.
"Oh, get that smile off your face."
Daphne nudged me sideways with her shoulder and picked up a menu. She raised the sunglasses and studied it as she chewed on a fingernail.
"Let's walk for a while. Have lunch on Duval," she said and lay the menu back down. She finished off the orange juice.
"My legs kind of hurt, Daph. I don't know if I can walk."
"Your ass is gonna hurt in a minute."
We stood up and I pushed the stools in.
"It's a miracle. I feel better already."
We stood there and looked at each other, our hands drawn together as we looked out over the wide expanse of the shimmering water. A small boat bobbed close to shore. A pair of jet skis zoomed across leaving a white tailed plume. A tall seawall broke the water on one side and the pier was on the other, so this was a manmade harbour. Farther out was the marked channel with floating buoys.
We hugged, her skin hot from the sun.
"You just stick with me," she said.
We stopped at The Garden with it's yellow framed windows and doors that led into a cool open air oasis with huge ficus trees and areca palms in brown clay pots. The waiter was tall with black hair and he led us to a table and hurried back to the kitchen. We sat beside a large mirror that gave the illusion of doubling the room. I looked at the other patrons in it as Daphne studied the menu. Two parrots, colorful as African scarfs, sat on a perch in a large cage. One pecked at a metal dish. The waiter returned.
"Would you like something to drink," he asked. He had a long handsome face and his smile was white. He was about twenty and exuded the innocent confidence of the young.
"What's good," I asked.
"The mango dacquari is excellent."
Daphne looked at me and nodded.
"Then that's what we'll have."
The waiter left and we were silent as we looked over the fare. Daphne's Ray Bans were on top of her head; escaping strands of red hair tickled her neck in the light breeze. She again attacked her thumbnail as she read.
"See anything?' I asked.
She turned a corner of her mouth up.
"Not really," she said.
I watched the reflection of a couple in the mirror. I felt as a voyeur, intruding on their private life. They seemed a robust team, each a beautiful specimen. I always liked to imagine the private lives of people, imagine their stories. What attracted them to each other.
The drinks came in a large, stemmed glass with a brown straw sticking straight up like an erection.
It was a thick, yellow frozen slush. The cool glass had a film of water outside. I watched Daphne as she stirred her drink and took a sip through the straw. She turned her head to the side as she savored it. Her large mouth formed an enchanting smile. She nodded her head and drank more.
I tasted mine. It had a rich, mango flavor, the sweetness balanced perfectly by the rum. It froze my throat like swallowing an ice cube. After a few sips to luxuriate in the exotic taste, I found that it flowed down like cool water and my glass was soon half empty. The waiter returned.
"I'll have that green parrot," I said, pointing to the cage.
"No. No parrot on the menu."
"Oh. I thought it was like a lobster tank," I said to Daphne. They both laughed.
"Get a drink to go and let's walk," she said, so that's what we did.
The street was bustling with people and traffic crawled through the lights, dodging bicycles and jaywalkers. Skaters on inlines silently slid by. An open trolley, painted bright and with the wooden detail of a master craftsman from another century, stopped and disgorged a motley assortment of tourists with cameras and backpacks. They had red faces and floppy hats and there were smudges of white sunblock on the forehead and nose of a man that stood, braindead it seemed, in the middle of the sidewalk. We walked around him, tight against the building.
"I would have had to go to his ass if I spilled this drink," I said. I turned it up while walking and the yellow concoction spilled onto my shirt.
"Let's see if we can get you one of those Duval Street bibs," Daphne said. "One that says 'I couldn't hang in the keys.'"
"It wassa assi...."
"Assident?" she said and stopped and laughed from her heart. It sounded as harsh as a donkey braying and people stared at her. She wiped her eyes and we walked on.
The doors to an art gallery were wide open and the cool ac blew out inviting as the gates of St. Peter. We went inside and looked at the paintings of seascapes and Key West houses in funky bright Carribean colors. A salesman followed us around like a Pinkerton detective. There were no price tags on anything. Daphne stopped before one picture and I heard a sigh of pleasure. It was a large canvas of just the head of a typical dark, striped cat. But the artist had put blue human eyes in place of the usual hourglass pupils.
"It's like it has a soul," Daphne said.
I took her hand and nodded and then kissed her neck.
We stared at it. I wanted to take a picture of it but I knew pinkerton would raise a ruckus and, besides, I felt I would be stealing from the artist who's vision made it possible.
Across the street was a restaurant called The Patio that caught Daphne's eye. We crossed the busy street at the light and walked back to the entrance where a menu was displayed under glass like the Declaration of Independence. We stood in the shade of a huge oak tree and studied it for a few minutes and then a 'dark haired beauty with big green eyes', to paraphrase Bob Seager, led us through the inner sanctum to a spacious open air patio with tables filled with busy tourists. There was a brown palm frond thatched Tiki bar at the far end. The ambience was festive Mexican with sombreros and colorful shawls scattered around for decoration. Castanets, then brass sounded softly through hidden speakers.
We sat at a small table under a banyan tree with overhanging branches that waved in the seabreeze and now high in the southern sky, the sunlight dappled the tiled tabletop like a surreal Salvador Dali chessboard with living, moving squares. Tall banana trees with brown, crumbly leaves like dead skin and red bougainvillia filled colorful clay pots that sat in every nook. Dark green ivy climbed a crumbling brick wall. Lizards scampered through the leaves like kids in the park. There was a soft murmur of many conversations and the click and clack of silverware on plates. Glasses clinked in celebration. A horn blew from the street.
She removed her sunglasses and lay them on the table. I took her in. The thick, wavy red hair, the big brown eyes, the slightly masculine face with it's prominent square chin that signified determination. She noticed the appraisal and smiled and that made her even more attractive. Her beauty was unconventional.
"I like this place," she said.
"It's like a jungle."
"I wonder if they have a good mango dacquiri?" I asked.
"The one at the Garden is going to be hard to beat," she said.
The waitress came, a big, tall girl in a white peasant blouse who gave us a genuine smile. We ordered; unsweetened iced tea for Daphne and today's usual for me. We looked over the menus.
"I can't believe Julie's getting married," she said.
She put the menu down.
"She's so independent."
"So are you."
"That's what I mean. We both are. We raised each other. Mom was off being crazy."
"So you don't think you'll ever get married?" I asked her.
"Never say never."
Her big green eyes sparkled with pleasure. They suddenly reminded me of a cocker spaniel's eyes. In the filtered sunlight her tied up hair where it fell around her ears looked almost like floppy ears. She took hold of my hand on the tabletop and I heard her sigh. A zephyr of breeze tickled my bare legs. I watched a small dark lizard climb out on a high branch and stick his neck out, where an orange halfmoon of skin furled and unfurled like a flag in some reptilian mating ritual. I kissed her hand. Her thumbnail looked like beavers had been gnawing on it.
Our drinks came and we ordered; a shrimp salad for Daphne and a blackened dolphin sandwich for me. The straw leaned to the side like a spent lover. I tasted it, crunched particles of ice and frowned. It was watery and weak and the mango flavor was subtle as a whisper.
Daphne raised her eyebrows.
"Not as good, huh?" she asked.
"Here, let me taste."
She lifted the heavy glass from the thin cardboard coaster that advertised Budweiser and sipped up the yellow potion through the straw. She swirled it around in her mouth like a fine wine. She swallowed and made a face.
"Blahhh," she said.
"Yea, I know."
"I sure hope their food is better than their drinks," she said and set the glass back down.
It soon came and it was.
After lunch we rented two chairs and Tom brought a bucket with ice and Rolling Rock beer and we sat back away from the beach under a cluster of palm trees where we were in and out of the shade as the day stretched lanquidly toward late afternoon. Blue chairs were scattered like idle thoughts near the calm water with small tables holding cups and lotions in between. Several women lay topless and after a few beers my imagination was in overdrive.
"You should take your top off," I said. Daphne wore a two piece. The tight top revealed a small mole on one half exposed breast.
"Just shut up."
Daphne had the heavy plastic chair adjusted so she could read her Cosmo and drink her unsweetened ice tea in a white styrofoam cup. We both looked out at the blue water. Tanned couples waded in the cool saltiness. The sun was hot in the cloudless sky. The breeze died and the dancing palms took an intermission.
"Let's get in the water," she said and we got up and threaded through the chairs to the lapping shore.
The water was cool and clear as we stepped over the washed up kelp and slowly walked in, walking on soft sand and stepping carefully over sharp, buried coral and broken coquina rock and waving green plants blurred by the water's depth. We walked out to our stomachs, the water tingling my shocked testicles, and stood there looking out at the Atlantic.
"I never want to leave," Daphne said.
She splashed water on me and then took my hand.
"It is nice."
"Have you thought anymore about what I said," she asked. Her eyes were unreadable under the dark glasses.
"I've thought about it."
"You'd like living in Raleigh. It's a fun town."
"It ain't Carolina Beach, though."
"Is there a woman holding you there?"
I let go of her hand and pulled her to me.
"There's a woman holding me here," I said.
She broke loose.
"I'm serious," she said.
"No. No woman is holding me there."
We walked back to our chairs and at the water's edge a young girl with cocoa brown skin lay on her back. A thin string ran up her prominent rear like a sleeping red worm. She raised herself on her elbows as we passed. Her small breasts were red from the blanket like the cheeks of a sleepy child. Daphne snorted comtemptuously. A small, naked boy ran to the water, his hair bleached from the sun.
I looked around and there were several different varieties of breasts. It was like a buffet. I didn't know where to start. Daphne pulled me by the hand.
"Come on, pervy," she said.
The ice had melted in the bucket so Tom brought more beer and ice and a Rum Runner for Daphne. And then another. And another.
The sun was slanting and people were picking up and leaving the beach. Soon, except for Tom, we were alone. A clump of small palms hid us from the bar. Tom sat at the flotsam desk with his back to us. Daphne lay back in the chair on a large towel. Her short muscular legs, red from the sun, had patches of light scarring. She saw me looking and covered them up with the towel.
"I don't like my legs," she said.
"Your legs are beautiful."
I sat on the edge of the lounge chair and took her leg from under the towel and kissed the warm skin of her calf. She tasted of salt and bitter lotion. She giggled and pulled away.
I traced my finger along the inside of her thigh to the elastic of her bottoms and slid it slightly underneath. It felt moist and crinkly with pubic hair.
"Would you stop," she said weakly. Her legs spread farther apart and the suit was sucked up inside her like a deep valley. I slid a finger up and down it, slow as the changing tide. She moved her hips slightly from side to side.
Daphne took off her sunglasses and lay them on the heavy plastic table beside the empty stacked cups. We heard voices and a couple walked by and sat down. A raven haired woman rumaged through a bag and pulled out a tshirt. The man then took the bag and gathered towels and lotions. The woman, tall and slim, unclasped her bikini top and stood for a moment facing us. Her breasts were large and tanned. Our eyes locked and then she pulled the shirt over her head and smoothed out her hair. I heard the squeek of the gate as they left.
"Bitch," Daphne hissed. She picked up the clear plastic cup and her head wobbled slightly as she brought the straw to her mouth.
"My tits are bigger than hers," she said and she clumsily undid the top and twirled it around her finger. It flew away and landed on the sand.
"Ooooops," she said.
And they were slightly bigger, firm with small pale, wrinkled areoles and soft big nipples. She lay back in the chair and they flattened and looked like inviting pillows.
"One old boyfriend told me my breasts were perfect," she said as she watched me admire them. She took them in her hands and pushed them forward.
"They are perfect, Daph."
I never heard the gate squeek. The next thing I knew, Tracy, the groom, was standing in front of the chair with a camera to his face.
He stepped back and held the camera behind his back. There was a wicked smile on his handsome, almost pretty boy face. He was big and blond, about two hundred pounds and was born and raised on a tobacco farm in the next county over from us. Daphne looked at me like bloody murder. She kicked me and frowned, her eyes flashing and full of fire. She pulled the large towel across her chest.
"Wooooooo! Woooooooo! Who's got the belt now?" he asked, dancing on the sand like Rick Flair strutting in the wrestling ring. "Who's got the belt now, wench?"
"Tracy! You bastard!"
He stopped dancing and his mouth fell open in mock amazement. He shook his head.
"Ohhhh. I don't know if I'd be mean and hatefull to me right now."
"Give me the film."
She held out her hand and shook it expectantly. Tracy slapped her open palm.
"C'mon, Julie's hungry. Let's eat."
Daphne introduced us and we shook hands. He smiled pleasantly and said hello. He walked over and picked up her top and started to give it to her, but then, as she reached, he pulled it from her grasp. He swirled it around his finger and it landed even farther away.
"Oooops," he said and laughed.
Daphne huffed, got up from the chair, dropped the towel, strode drunkingly across the sand and retrieved her top. She put it on. One breast was still half out.
"Damn!" she said.
She adjusted herself and looked at me. I nodded.
"You ready?" she asked.
I gathered up the magazines and we shook hands again. He had a firm handshake and a wonderful, genuine smile. His voice was downhome as cranking ice cream.
"About an hour, Tracy," said Daphne.
"I'm going to have a drink here," he said, pointing to the bar.
"I want that film."
"We might negotiate."
Daphne laughed and shook her head with what looked like admiration.
"Checkmate," she said. They stared at each other.
"Tracy, I'm glad you're marrying my sister. She loves you so much," Daphne said, her voice breaking with emotion. "And I love you, too."
Tears flowed down her cheeks and she stumbled across the sand toward him with her arms held out like a sleepwalker.
"Wahhhh. Wahhh," she wailed, as if her heart would break.
Tracy stood and waited for her. He looked at me and shook his head. His soft blue eyes were magnetic. When she got there he drew her in for a hug with one arm. She made a clumsy move for the camera and he mockingly held it high above her head.
"I know you, Daphne," he said and they broke loose. She kissed his cheek.
"I really do love you, you asshole," she said.
"But if you hurt my sister, I'll cut your balls off."
"I know that, too."
He smiled and said goodbye. Then he headed toward the bar.
She wiped her eyes and walked back toward me frowning but when she looked up there was a dazzling smile on her face.
"Julie's here," she said breathlessly.
She talked excitedly as we walked back to the room to shower and get ready for dinner.
Julie wanted to eat at the Hard Rock Cafe so we walked down Duval. Daphne couldn't keep her hands off of Julie, so they walked ahead, heads close together, while we followed behind. The sidewalks were full of people. It was twilight; the air became cooler and the streetlights began to blink on. Cars burned their headlights. On the way back we stopped by the Garden and had mango dacquiris. We sat outside in the enclosed patio. Tracy smiled after the initial taste and then it flowed down like water.
Julie was taller than her sister with long, dark blond hair. Her blue eyes danced with delight. She sat beside Tracy sipping her drink through the straw.
"Uhhhhh," she said and made a face. "I want a Miller Lite."
She set the heavy glass down and looked for the waiter. Daphne frowned. She looked at me.
"Julie would pour out cham-pag-ne," she said, making it three words.
"It won't go to waste," I said.
"Julie just got accepted into ECU med school," Daphne said.
I looked at Julie. She was beaming, obviously proud.
"I bet that costs money," I said.
"Scholarship," said Tracy. His hand hadn't left the cold glass.
"I'm doubly impressed," I said and Julie waved her hand to dismiss it.
"Yea, well, first I have to get through anatomy 101. We have to cut up cadavers."
"That's make it or break it time, " said Tracy.
"One of the students got expelled last year. Didn't they, Julie?," asked Daphne.
"Yea. He put red lipstick on one of the male cadavers. Just a joke. The girl that opened him up freaked. She didn't think it was too funny."
"Imagine that," said Tracy.
"Did Tracy tell you about sneakin' up and taking pictures of an innocent woman just tryin' to relax on the beach?" Daphne asked. She squinted her eyes at him. He ignored her. Julie looked at him intently and he shrugged.
"What?" Julie asked.
She looked at me and smiled. There was a question in her eyes. I saw the resemblence in their eyes. Julie nudged Tracy playfully.
"Okay. Okay. There was some harlot out on the beach this afternoon with her top off. I won't mention any names, but she has a little mole on her tit. Looks like a dead fly."
Daphne kicked him under the table.
Julie's mouth was open. The waiter walked close by and she motioned for him. He came and soon returned with the can of beer.
"Tits on the beach, huh?" she said.
"Sounds like a drink.'
"That's sex on the beach."
"I don't know. I could only have one sex on the beach, but I could have tits on the beach all day long," said Tracy.
"You better not be looking at any tits on the beach," said Julie.
"Tracy snuck up and took a picture of me with my top off. I was trying to get a little sun on my back and he ran up and scared me. When I jumped up he snatched my top and took a picture."
Tracy shook his head and looked at Daphne increduously.
"Damn, you're a good liar."
"The man's a pervert, Julie."
Julie was silent. She still looked at Tracy.
"I walk out to the beach and see Daphne twirling her top on her finger like Sally Big Tits over at the Mustang Ranch. It goes flying across the sand. Click."
Julie looked at me and I nodded. She looked at Daphne, who was studying the menu and chewing on her thumbnail.
"How do you know about Sally Big Tits?" asked Daphne.
Julie looked at her now.
"It was hot," she said finally.
"So that's why you went to get the film developed," said Julie. "Don't you be showing Tracy your tits."
"It ain't like I want to see them, honey."
"Jesus, Julie, he's probably seen mine as much as he's seen yours."
"Yea, well, you're going to have to start wearing clothes around the house now when you visit."
"It wasn't intentional," Daphne said.
"It never is."
"Well, I want the picture and the negative, Tracy," she said.
"Man, this is a good drink," said Tracy. He poured half the yellow slush from Julie's drink into his empty glass and then poured the rest into mine. We clinked glasses. Julie and Daphne got up to go to the bathroom.
"I could drink these all day," I said. We both watched a young, blond waitress as she walked by. Tracy looked at me and whistled softly. he held the glass aloft.
"I want to have these at the wedding."
"I brought a gallon of moonshine."
"Peach brandy, actually. It was lovingly cooked up by old Shane, the Lumbee Indian. Keeps his still near Percy Flower's store."
"Percy Flowers. Now there was a moonshiner extraordinare."
"Yep. He was the best."
"This should be an interesting party."
"To say the least."
There was an awkward silence. We swallowed our drinks.
Tracy looked around the patio. Tiki lamps were burning now, the flames dancing in the light breeze. We heard the sound of cars from the hidden street. The tables were full of suntanned couples and groups with maps and cameras excitedly talking and gesturing like playing charades. The green parrots looked on silently.
"You better watch out for Daphne," he finally said.
I looked across the table at him.
"What do you mean?"
"You just need to watch her. She can really get out of hand sometimes. Sometimes, hell. Most of the time."
I gave him a skeptical look.
"You wait," he said.
The giggling girls returned and sat back down. Tracy and Julie kissed. Daphne slid over close to me and put her mouth to my ear. She talked softly.
"I haven't given you a blowjob yet. I want to when we get back to the room."
I smiled and nodded.
"Sounds like fun," said Tracy.
"Dammit, Tracy, you won't supposed to hear that."
"Well, then shut your orifice," said Julie.
"You shut your own orifice."
Julie looked at me and her genuine smile pulled me in like Christmas at grandmas.
"A toast! A toast," said Daphne.
We raised our three glasses and one bottle in salute.
When she came out of the bathroom, Daphne had on a short, blue see through nightgown with no panties. I saw the muscles of her legs and the slight scarring. Her red hair hung loose. Her dark nipples were hard. She turned off the lights and crawled in the cool bed beside me. I felt her fingers as they gripped me and squeezed. She pulled the covers off and then, in the flashing light from the tv, I watched as she brought her head down and licked along the soft shaft.
I closed my eyes. My head was spinning from the rum. Snippets of the day's adventures, mixed as a litter of puppies, ran through my mind. I felt a wet whip on the underside and then across the head and then soft pressure. The gentle sucking continued as she held me in her warm mouth. Her tongue slid over and over me. She grasped the rigid shaft in one hand and then I felt her lips as they encircled it and traveled down slowly and then back up. They smacked loudly in the small room. I felt her cool saliva as it dribbled from her mouth and ran down the hard shaft.
My mind slowed and I concentrated on the sweet stabs of pleasure her tongue gave me as it whipped across the sensitive head. The funky smell of female excitement filled my nose. Her fingers cupped my testicles and she lightly lifted them and rolled them around. An involuntary groan escaped from me. She again held just the swollen glans in her mouth with soft but insistant pressure and her wet tongue licked and probed. She worked the tip around the slit and I lay still with my penis hard as stone and pointed towards the sky. Her head moved up and down again and she held me in her closed fist.
"I'm going to come."
I heard a muffled "mmmppphhh" and felt her head nodding as her lips tightened around me. I lay still and she moved on me, her tongue stabbing, and the persistant pressure of her sucking mouth bringing a pleasant tingling to my testicles. I felt the swollen head throb slightly. Daphne must have felt it, too, because she stopped moving and held just the end in her mouth. Her tongue lashed out. Soon I felt the waves wash over me and I arched my back and felt her throat swallow as the thick salty liquid filled her mouth.
I relaxed on the bed as my orgasm slowly faded. Daphne kept me in her mouth, softly sucking on the shaft until I became soft. She released it and squeezed it until a white pearl appeared which she licked away. Then I heard her sigh as she climbed up my chest and kissed me with a wide open mouth and her probing, well exercised tongue. I tasted the sharp essence of my seed and the male muskiness that lingered there.
I lay her on her back and moved my head toward her exposed red haired pussy. She caught me and pulled me back up.
"I'm tired. Let's just go to sleep," she said.
And she nestled in my arms and we soon were out.
The next morning I grabbed a cup of steaming coffee in a white styrofoam cup from the store across the street and walked down Simonton. I heard the streetsweeper working a block over on Duval. The sky was overcast with the pink glow of the rising sun. There was no wind this early and the palms were still, like they were sleeping. I heard a complaining rooster and then saw him sprint across in front of me like an impatient local.
I soon came to Hemingway's house and stopped and read the sign on the three story dull yellow stucco finished house. It was large and took up most of the block. I would have liked to go inside but it was closed. I continued on and passed the fire station where the crew were doing morning chores or sitting outside in chairs drinking coffee. Farther on I came to Front Street that ran parallel with the water. Boats were tied up to the docks, a sheen of morning dew on their hulls.
I walked up the curving brick road behind a hotel and there was a closed Tiki bar with it's padlocked liqour cabinets. Stools stood on their heads on the bar. There was a wide wooden dock with empty tables and umbrellas. The sun had pulled off it's covers of cloud and was now peeking over the tops of the two story buildings with it's red eyed stare. At the end I stopped and looked out over the calm water.
I thought about Daphne back in the bed and smiled.
And then it struck me.
I hadn't thought about Kami for two days. Nothing. Not a single thought.
Now she came back to me like a bittersweet ghost rattling melancholy chains, waking that image that was seared in my soul. My heart sank as I remembered the kiss. The flippant betrayal.
I sighed deep.
Daphne's image suddenly pushed it all away. I saw her in the bed, groggy with sleep. I wondered if I gently nudged her awake and repayed last night's favor, if she would mind.
I hurried back to the room, oblivious to paradise, with only her face on my mind. I needed to see her, feel her, kiss her, smell and taste her. I wanted to capture her soul in a glass jar like a firefly.
It was a strange feeling.
5/8/2006 4:13 am
Wonderful post, Sparkee. I could just imagine the whole scene, drawn into it.|
5/8/2006 12:27 pm
Oh, this is so IT. Loved this.|
Yeah, I'm still [blog 1hotwahine]
5/8/2006 12:28 pm
Hey, how did you make the pictures do that?|
Yeah, I'm still [blog 1hotwahine]
5/9/2006 3:09 am
you gonna make me beg? |
for the picture info of course
Yeah, I'm still [blog 1hotwahine]
5/9/2006 11:21 am
enjoyed this...a good read|
5/25/2006 2:51 pm
Amazing writing.. you really make the visual come alive.I have lived in Florida for over 10 yrs..never been to the keys.. Hopefully this summer|
under the stars
We choose to write
you choose what you comprehend.
read twice and be nice
every key stroke... has a heart beat