Erotic Fiction by Navarre -- 01  

Navarre1972 47M
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4/14/2005 2:57 pm

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

Erotic Fiction by Navarre -- 01

by Navarre

I have a secret confession to make to you. I often speak your name out loud so that I may hear its sound. I don’t think it’s a conscious gesture completely. It just happens. But when it happens… to say it is close to consuming it. Internalizing it.
I say the name, and it’s like a small prayer, a whisper of a dream or a world long past -- like a chant in the forest primeval, a Goddess of the Earth brought to life in the Now -- gently beating within me like some new heartbeat.
I ache to whisper it to you in a song.
I ache to hold you to me and whisper it in your ear.
Either as a man holding a woman in a platonic embrace, or as your lover, entwined around, beneath, within as your face draws to mine in heat or passion -- and your ear rests on my lips. And the sighs I sigh -- and the hush of desire -- or the ultimate shudder or near-release as your name carries me to a vision of God. And I weep for the temporary death and rebirth into you.
And through you, Simone, am I made a man.
So I say it again and again, “Simone.”
It is my dream.
One name. This one woman. I hear it in my head, as an echoing path toward a secret hollow. Like the music of the spheres -- an ancient melodic meditation on femininity and beauty and love and lust and passion in hopes of seeing the face of the universe in the magnitude of sharing silence.
To gaze into your eyes, never wavering the intensity of a passionate scream in my mind for you to hear as an echo of my body rocking in beautiful agony. How you move beneath me, pulling the ropes of my essence out slowly, one chord at a time, until all that is left of me is my gaze into you. And all I can say is your name.
And the rest is silence.
The name in Hebrew means “one who hears.”
Hear me, woman.
“Simone.” Another Hebrew translation means “heard by the Lord.” The name in French translates to “God listens.”
Broken down into two parts, its syllabic essence: sim-one. In some cultures, the name is pronounced Simona, with an extra beat, adding the sacred number three and ending with the start of the alphabet. The letter “A” for Alpha -- One -- beginning. One slides into the name Ona, whose Lithuanian meaning translates to “graceful one.” Again, ONE. And there is Oona, whose Celtic meaning translates to “unity.” Then, take the first form, Si -- a monosyllabic expression translating to the word “yes” in many cultures. And then the twin: Simone’s male counterpart, Simon, which is derived from the Hebrew name Shim'on, meaning "hearkening" or "listening," adds a powerful ancient energy into its origin.
The name evokes so much that it would be foolish to take the woman who bears the moniker as anything but a heavenly messenger or angelic beacon, directly transmitting life and love to the ears of God and back to she who hearkens.
It would be a foolish man who mistreats or attempts to submit the force of nature she surely must be, and she MUST be -- as an ever-present beauty in the light of the world, delighting and celebrating moments.
A lesser man would leave the brilliance of her fire.
Or fail to see its warmth.
Or hide in fear of being burned alive.
I laugh and welcome that death.
A strong man would welcome the burning away of his flesh in order to melt within the blaze of Simone’s divinity, only to be reborn as a greater phoenix. A man reborn through Simone would be a man untouched by jealousy or fear or hatred.
A man reborn through Simone would be purged of all rage or petty selfishness.
Only the man with a pure heart, a courageous heart, a wild heart, a heart that conspires to listen with the endless, noiseless sound of pure white -- could pass through the threshold of this Goddess, to be renamed Apollo, forever bound to her by freedom and the celebration of passion and the endless vessel of a present life.
And in freedom, she chooses him again and again. For there is no tomorrow, there is no yesterday. Simone is the embodiment of what is happening in this uplifting upheaval of Beingness.
And I gladly say the name again.
That is my dream -- one of one-thousand.
And while I should ask permission to pass through your gates, I cannot speak -- I simply must unlock, open and move inside. My passing should be as a coming storm -- the thunder on the horizon -- the palpable electricity on the air -- the several million shades of green and grey as clouds gather into masses of billowing skyfire.
Passing through your gates is listening to the footsteps of Eros.
An un-named place.
A faceless star.
A bed of memory.
And you lie upon it naked, sleeping, silence.
Simone waits for me.
I announce my presence.
A word: “Simone.”
Your eyes flutter to consciousness; they rest their gaze upon mine. And I say to you: Moving inside you will be a complete birth to death journey encapsulated within a moment -- THIS moment. I will seize it now, as there will be no other like it before or since.
You smile. For you know.
And you see me naked before you. We take the sight of each other into our memory, burn it there as a candle to light in another moment. The eyes penetrate first, allowing the flesh to become like gauze, easily consumed, easily burned, easily torn to reveal the light of erotic fury. Once my eyes move from your face to your breasts to your hips to your legs to your feet, my hands must continue where sight becomes blind. Hands made into the anvils of masculinity, forged by the God of the Sun, heated with the warmth of lust and desire, fanned by the scent of your center.
The hands unlock the hidden treasures of your skin.
Tracing the outlines of the curvature of your body, the erupting heat of your need, and the quiet opening of your pussy, the moist river of our ecstasy.
My hands retire, for touch cannot feel the need for taste, and taste must define the moment now. The slow kissing, the lips parting, mine. Yours. The trail of my breathing from inner thigh to navel to breast and nipple to shoulder to the nape of your neck down the ridge of your spine to the small of your back to the top of your buttocks and beyond the crevice beneath -- and then the tongue that darts. The teeth that nibble. The mouth that waters.
And then the slow trace to the throat, the heat from breath and sigh, to the outline of your jaw and face. The soft kisses on eyelids, the eyes penetrate again as the hands move beneath and explore. And the lips, both lips, hovering above each other.
Your lips part and my lips part and the power of the connection pulls them together until I breathe your breath. The sweet taste of your mouth, the sound of your moans, my hardness becoming nearly unbearable.
Your hands move to touch my cock, and for a moment I let you touch me.
But I pull away. Your neck again, my lips to your neck. I must service you, my goddess. Please do not deny my devotion.
Then breast and nipple to navel and then finally to the outside of your lips, wet and quivering -- my tongue flicks the edges, the hooded top, the hollow bottom, and then the slow snaking inside. So slow there is no sound -- and then the pulling out.
For I only want to taste. And you must beg me, goddess.
I say it again -- your hands grab my hair and pull me into you as you open your legs wider, as you thrust yourself on my mouth. As you plead with me.
And I comply.
I plunge my tongue inside. And I drink deeply, so deeply -- I must consume you. I must drink from your chalice, as if it were the very blood of Christ.
I am whole again -- renewed. And I savor every drop of you until my thirst is quenched. And I pull away so you may see me again -- and my hand moves to my cock. I show you my strength, my need, my lust, my beauty and desire -- I show you that I am unafraid. And I want you to watch me touch myself for you.
Just for you.
But I want your mouth on me -- I need your mouth. And like a voice with no sound, you suddenly fall upon me until I am knocked backward.
We are made mad, Simone. This desire is a cataclysm of two souls merging.
I raise myself as you straddle my waist, and we sit facing each other for a moment. With one movement, I grab your lower back and swing you around and below, a dizzying surrender into the dance of making man and woman one.
I do not enter, for I must see your face for a moment, the sweat trickling from our fires, the pulse of our heartbeats, our eyes locked in worship and acknowledging the inevitable. You sense my movement, and you open yourself -- and I still gaze into you as I find your soft opening with my cock. The head, first. A slow entry. An unkind entry, for I go no further. But I smile, for fear I might weep.
I feel your hands on my back -- they cling with fingers fighting blindly for a grasp on my motion. To make me. Please, you say. And then, the hands find my lower back -- and then finally my ass. Where you guide each hand firmly on one side, then the other. You feel the muscles contracting.
You whisper my name.
I whisper yours.
And you pull me down and into you with a force unnatural as I slide into you without stopping. Until the very bottom of you, the breaking inside, the sudden arch we make, like a bridge or the threshold of a cathedral -- we both cry out together as the shock of our mutual separate destruction becomes apparent in our immediate reunion.
You thrash and moan as I plunge again, faster -- more urgent.
The need and thunder and the skyfire of the storm.
Again, the plunge. The hands on my back. The trembling.
Again. My arm moves beneath your thigh and lifts one leg higher so that I may go deeper.
Colors explode into rain.
I hear music.
I whisper -- and the cracks of the ceiling and the stones of the floor crumble.
You suddenly scream my name -- and just as suddenly, a silence so deafening, I never want to hear again. Your body goes rigid -- and I see the silence in you. Your eyes search mine for something to hold onto -- I watch you fall into pleasure and bliss. I see you succumb to the currents. I taste you in me and feel their pull. For I cannot find my own voice -- as you grind your hips into mine and demand I leave my body for you.
The slow motion.
And the whiteness.
“Please, Simone.”
The brilliant fire -- where I no longer have a name.
One last plunge.
I shatter into a million shards of light.
I cannot think for dreaming -- I cannot live for dying, nor would I choose to live a mortal life ever again. I am reborn. I let your currents wash me clean of all my sins. You are the River of Dreams. And in you am I baptized.
And as I empty into you, flooding you with my own waters, gazing into your beautiful face, I suddenly realize that I was born to exist in this one moment with you.
This one moment.
For every solitary moment is all we shall ever have.
So, I shall choose every solitary moment with you, and attempt to stretch it out to eternity. Whether I am with you.
Or alone.
All I need to do to invoke my godhood is say your name.
So, I shall say it.

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