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Enduring Love

12/26/2005

“Hello, friend…you know, you are one lucky man, ” a tall
blonde man said as he interrupted my fifteen minute break.
<br>
I was playing bass guitar one night about ten o’clock at
a hole-in-the-wall Jamaican club and restaurant in New
Orleans. I sit in as bassist for open mic night on Sundays
at The Burning Spear for kicks and giggles. I’m a computer
hacker by day; hired by multi-million dollar corporations
to work on network security and keep people like myself
out of their mainframes.
“What is it you have that we don’t?” he asked
“Huh?”
“The lady, over at the bar…Every guy in the place has been
hitting on her but she ain’t havin it. But she has been looking
at you since she came in. Are you her boyfriend?”
I hadn’t had a chance to look at any of the girls yet but I suddenly
noticed that all the men in the club were, as one, staring
at the same woman. Their faces were intense, desirous,
and admiring.
Puzzled, I looked up and scanned her, and then I blinked
twice and bit my bottom jaw wouldn’t fall into my Bailey’s.
I’d seen a lot of beautiful women in my time at The Spear so
I quickly swept my wits together. I turned my head and deliberately
took a sip of my drink and waited at least five seconds before
casually looking up again.
It was true. She was incredible!
And more she was beaming happily at me as she rocked with
fast and graceful; energy to the beat of the music. I looked
down and pretended to stir my drink, trying to figure out
what the hell was going on. I was all the while vaguely aware
that some of the men were glancing in my direction.
Nonchalantly, I looked up again. I had my wits back in my
pocket. She had to be flawed– they all were; particularly
the beautiful ones who the world over are, sadly but invariably,
airheads, never having to develop their brains since they
were able to rely so easily on their boobs. But if this lady
had a physical flaw, I certainly couldn’t see it at a glance.
Quite the opposite, in fact, she was magnificent.
She was sleek and lean and beautiful beyond belief, her
dress a shimmering black satin that was a flimsy, teasing
second skin to the Chinese white that was her color. Her
legs flowed out of black high heels, their ankles strong
but delicate, their calves curvaceous and firm, their
thighs lithe and firm. She had a tight little belly on a long
slender waist, and higher, barely concealed by her dress,
swelled two proud and protruding breasts. Long, long jet-black
hair flowed to her bouncing bottom, surrounding her face
like a halo and framing two gleaming eyes and a perfect white
smile braced by two tiny dimples.
There was no doubt she was dancing for me.
Our eyes locked and immediately I was lost. I tried to turn
away but the joy and happiness I saw reflected in the flash
of her smile took me captive. I held her easy eyes as she lowered
her chin and danced down the bar to be in front of me. She
shook herself around, high-kicked and spun on her toes,
her hands high above her head, her elegant fingers now tracing
delicate arabesques in the air.
While awed murmurs rose from the crowd she shifted and twirled
around, always on the music’s very beat and always, again
and again those eyes and that smile flashing back at me.
While she danced, we may a well have been alone in my bedroom.
I could feel an uncontrollable sexual arousal starting
to rumble, my cock shifting, shuffling, and snorting,
seeking freedom from his cramped confines. She read my
face and smiled even wider as a gleefully happy laugh rose
with and above the music. She shot her hip at me on the beat.
Boom. Boom. Boom. I flushed and looked down. When I looked
up again, I could see in a glance that she was upset for having
embarrassed me.
The rock song segued into a slow ballad and she smoothly
transformed herself into a long sinuous snake, the music
melting and flowing through her; her hair covering her
face teasingly with only a cat’s eye glinting through.
Her hands caressed her thighs and breasts unselfconsciously
and I could see and feel her arousal. She was alone with me
in a room full of people, feeling beautiful, looking beautiful;
feeling sexy, looking sexy. She was aroused and raising
her arousal to its highest level, while the air in the room
crackled with her sexuality.
The song came to an end and the spell was broken. My hand trembled
as I raised my glass to my lips. I set the glass down and became
aware that many eyes were on me.
“My God you are a lucky bastard, ” my neighbor said incredulously.
I felt embarrassed again and mumbled something, my lips
like rubber. My heart was beating too loudly.
“I can’t stand to be this close to her, she can have my seat.”
He said quickly slipping of his stool.
She floated closer, looking much tinnier than she had before
and with a touch of shyness hinting at an inner vulnerability.
I slowly spun around on my stool until she was before me.
I was entranced by her eyes; they glistened like two unfathomable
gems, the intelligence behind them unmistakable. Her
nose was uplifted and pert, her skin as fine as silk and glowing
with health and vitality, her cheekbones high, and her
face , like the rest of her, voluptuous and perfectly proportioned.
Her thigh accidentally and electrically brushed mine.
It was a long moment before either of us spoke, and when we
did, she was the one who led.
“May I sit down?” she asked, embarrassment in her voice.
“Of…of course, ” I sputtered, feeling my face redden.
“Thank you, ” she whispered as she slipped easily onto
the vacant stool.
She gracefully crossed her long legs and shook her hair
into place. The flow of it reminded me of music, or poetry.
I was only partially aware of the stares around us.
“Could I buy you a drink?” I asked, finding my voice. It came
out with a rich softness that surprised me.
“It’s not necessary, but you can if you want.”
My eyebrows rose…something about the way she spoke. Her
accent was crisp and clean. I signaled the bartender then
turned back to her.
“Do I detect a hint of an English accent?”
Her smile suddenly glowed like the sun breaking through
the clouds.
“Yes, my family sent me to school in London where I studied
dance.”
My eyebrows rose again.
“Dance! Well I’m not surprised, ” I said with a chuckle.
“I’ve been accepted at Tulane, ” she added
“Oh, and what are you going to study there?”
“Music.”
“Music?" How did you ever get interested in that?”
“Because I live it, ” she said simply, offering no more.
“I’m a musician.”
“I know.”
“What? How do you know?” I exclaimed a little baffled to
think of anything to say. I had to get myself together.
“I came here to surprise a certain man, but he doesn’t seem
to recognize me.”
My heart fell.
“Oh, ” I said disappointed. “Who?”
“…You...”
If I had been taking a drink, I would have choked on it.
“Me?”
“You mean you don’t recognize me?” she asked, her face fallen.
“Am I supposed to?” I asked incredulously.
I had never seen her before in my life and I’d certainly never
forget a face like hers. I searched it for clues, crinkling
my forehead as the wispy hint of the most distant of recognitions
like a sweet and drifting childhood memory tickled the
outer edge of my mind. But in a moment it was gone and I was
left no further ahead. I swept my mind past a-thousand-and-one
girls I’d been with. Could she have been one of them that
I was too drunk to remember? Not likely. Had I seen her before
in London while I was there? No.
Then I realized she had been taking me for a fool. I shook
my head. A shadow of disappointment rose from her features
then dissipated, as if my response hadn’t been entirely
unexpected.
“If I knew you from before, you must have changed something
about yourself. I’d remember hair like this for sure, ”
I said, feeling its silken texture slip through my hand.
A glance down to her firm, flat stomach further convinced
me I didn’t know her. I would never forget a waist like that.
“Try to remember, ” she said, pouting and hiding in her
hair.
Her drink arrived and I thought I should finally introduce
myself.
“My name is Kellan…”
“Kohl, ” she said softly and cutting e short.
I almost spat out an ice cube and stared at her for a moment.
“And your name?”
She hesitated a moment. I could see she was debating whether
she would say or not. Then suddenly from the speaker came
a call for me to return to the stage for the next performer.
“Fuck, ” I said. “Wait for me please, I’m through at twelve.”
“I’m not going anywhere, ” she replied.
An hour later, playing like a beginner and barely making
it through the songs, my night was over and I went back to
where she waited patiently on the stool smiling that killer
smile and glowing all over.
“You were great.”
I smiled my thanks and asked, “So” I prompted, “your name?”
“Seleta…does that rig a bell?”
She held her neatly manicured fingers up as if she were tinkling
a tiny bell but when she saw it didn’t, she went on anyway
with a glint of hurt now furrowing her brow confusing and
embarrassing me even m
“I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been a long time, but I’m
not going to tell you any more!” she stated defiantly. “You
don’t even remember my name.”
A deep disappointment seemed to descend over her beauty,
but a moment later her intelligent eyes flashed and she
recovered.
“I’ve been coming here and waiting for you for over a month.
I knew you play here but you have been busy and away. Now your
back and you no longer remember me.”
She pouted while she spoke and I wasn’t sure whether she
was serious or not.
“How did you know I played here?”
Her soft, warm finger touched my lips, silencing me as he
mood suddenly changed. She held it there longer than necessary,
her touch communicating a wonderful surge of warmth. Slowly
she took it away and picked up her glass. Her hands were soft
and elegant, her nails carefully manicured and eminently
holdable.
“To good luck, ” she toasted in a whisper.
I wondered what she was thinking about.
“And good luck to you, too, ” I returned just as softly.
Our glasses tinkled and we took small sips. I was lost for
anything to say.
She wasn’t.
“Take me to your place, Kellan Kohl.”
<br>
<br>
<br>
“This place is nice but it doesn’t look like a house, ” she
said, her eyes scanning the twin-roofed affair with arching
dragons at its corners.
I told her about its Chinese past as a Buddhist temple; how
it had been abandoned, and how I had discovered it and fixed
it up. I led her to the cages of tropical birds and aquariums
of tropical fish I had collected on my travels. She seemed
impressed with the small garden with its shrubs, bonsai,
and flowers.
Zeus, my mastiff, ran up, his huge muscular rump wagging
back and forth, his tongue drooling happily out of the side
of his face. I introduced Seleta to him and he took a couple
of quick sniffs, liked what he smelled, and turned his attention
more to her than to me. Some friend. She crouched down in
her black satin dress and scratched him behind the ears,
her face a scant inch from his. Zeus gave her a massive lick
on the face and she laughed. I patted him a couple of times
and ordered him to stay outside. Then Seleta and I mounted
the wide granite steps that led up to the porch with its large
red pillars.
Her eyes broadened with delight when the great door opened
to reveal the expansive living room with its sofas, wool
rugs, and carved furniture from all over the Far East. Hanging
tapestries, porcelain from a variety of dynasties, and
thankyas as well as stone, terra cotta, jade, and wooden
sculptures decorated the open vaulted room. The atmosphere
was relaxed and calm which made it at juxtaposed opposites
to much else I my life.
“You have a very beautiful home, ” she exclaimed, as we
kicked off our shoes. “I like it very much.”
“Thank you, I’ve had the other large room renovated into
bedrooms, office, and so on. Have a look around.”
She slipped gracefully around the living room, slowly
fingering the surface of a Vishnu stele, taking in the low
teak furniture, feeling the rich kashmiri under her bare
feet, and touching this and that. I flicked on the subdued
lighting that accented pieces around the room, lit some
incense, and put on a cd of light melodic jazz.
“Is this a picture of your parents?” she asked, lifting
a framed portrait from the mantel.
“Yes”
“They’re a good looking couple. I think you have your mother’s
eyes. What does he do for a living?
“They just retired. Dad was in the Air Force.”
She quickly replaced the picture and moved on looking decidedly
upset. I wondered what I had said wrong. Quietly, she moved
on, a tentative smile returning to her face when she fingered
some old jewelry. She beamed as something caught her eye.
It was in a black lacquered glass case I used for keeping
some smaller objects d’art. I moved over to assist, but
before I got there she deliberately, it seemed to me, drifted
away, turning her attention to my other pieces.
She appeared at my side, her soft hand slipping effortlessly
into mine. Her hand felt so natural, her spirit, so light.
There was that something else about her too…an awareness,
a sense of joy, of trust, and of beauty beyond the merely
physical; a presence.
I squeezed her hand.
She slipped into my arms. She felt light and tender and smelled
like the most delicate of spring flowers. We stood there
hugging in the misty light and soft music while I softly
stroked her hair. It was very good; too good.
Slowly she pulled away and looked up at me her warm eyes on
mine, her open lips close. I kissed them softly, feeling
their rose-petal tenderness. They parted slightly and
our wet tongue tips touched ever so delicately before our
moths slowly closed on one another. It ignited a blaze between
my legs that took me by surprise. She sensed it and pressed
her sinuous body to mine. The blaze turned into a rage, and
my hand slipped down over her right buttocks, pulling her
in. I could feel her heat.
Then she pulled away from the kiss panting slightly. She
made a quick move and her dress slid down her long legs leaving
only a pair of black silk panties that accented the ivory
whiteness f her skin. Her delicate fingers searched out
my belt buckle…
In a moment we stood naked, our lips barely touching, both
of us gasping slightly as my manhood brushed against her
firm but soft skinned tummy. I lifted her into my arms. She
was light as a feather and trembling. I carried her to my
room and lay her on the large bed as a ceiling fan whispered
as it turned.
Nothing needed to be said. Words would have only been clumsy.
I lay down beside her and drew her to me. Our lips met as delicately
as before, our tongues touching, caressing. My fingertips
slipped down her long, slender waist, and caressed her
hips, her strong thighs, her back, and her full firm breasts.
Her sensitive fingers slid lovingly down between my legs,
her touch making me draw in my breath. She lightly held me,
squeezing imperceptibly, communicating her desire while
sending waves of pleasure coursing through me. We were
both now trembling.
My hand lingered on a firm breast. Its nipple was small but
erect. I slowly pulled myself away from her lips and bent
down. She laid back, her body open to me. My tongue’s tip
found her nipple and touched and caressed its small spiky
protuberance, probed the areola round and round to where
it met the firm curve of the breast. It responded by changing,
firming. I nibbled it. Her breathing deepened and soft
almost desperate sighs issued from her lips. Her hand became
tangled in the hair on the back of my head as she pressed me
to her. I sucked her nipple into my mouth. She breathed deeply,
her soft sighs growing stronger, and her grip on me strengthening
as she began to slowly stroke me. I sucked more and more of
her breast inside, my hand molding to it to feed me more until
we were both trying to get the whole of it in. She guided me
to the other, then back again.
My fingers slid down her long firm waist again, to her downy
little patch; her skin, her body, responding at each step.
Her legs parted to greet my hand as it passed slowly over
her soft silky mound. She arched her hips as my fingers gently
found their way down into her nest.
She nipped hotly at my neck as my middle finger traced the
line of her slit and on the second stroke was greeted with
a hot wetness. With each caress, it found more freedom slipping
into the slick little valleys on either side of her clitoris
until all was open, wet, and eager. My fingertip felt that
little point of hardness, which I lightly stroked. She
gasped and stiffened holding me ever tighter. I gently
probed the dwelling of her gods, my finger sliding slowly
into her wetness, her firm around it, and wondered how I
would fit when the moment came. She pressed her hot little
pussy against my palm forcing my finger inside her to the
hilt, first tightening herself around it then relaxing
her grip, and then squeezing again, rocking in rhythm.
I new it could be done and I could barely wait. She stroked
me faster and faster as her own temperature rose into the
red zone.
I slowly slid down her smooth body, my fingers and lips tracing
its smooth flawless beauty; down her tummy and along her
strong hips, lightly tickling my nose in her silky down,
sliding lower still, tracing and kissing the firmness
of her thighs. Her breathing heightened in anticipation
and her thighs quivered slightly as they parted to receive
me. I moved between them now kissing the smoothness of their
inner sanctum; moving up closer and closer, kissing lightly,
lovingly, but sometimes more firmly and strongly, smelling
the sweetness of her wetness.
She gasped in rich pleasure as the tip of my tongue made the
ever so slightest contact with the nub of her little magic
clit. I caressed its tiny, firm wetness and felt her entire
body respond. I delicately traced her magic line with my
tongue a couple of times then began to stroke slightly deeper,
moving with each slow, loving, enjoyable stroke to take
licks to one side then the other; probing deeper and ever
deeper then shifting to trace the smooth wider valley near
the top then skimming back down and probing into the mystery
of her primordial cave; feeling the firmness, the awareness,
and the sensitivity even around my tongue. I nibbled the
little button; teasing it, leaving it, and then with new
found determination probing deeper on the sides, to the
valley bottoms themselves, first on one side, then the
other as she grew hotter and hotter.
As her fires raged, I found the magic spot at the base of the
little rose bud where it meets the stem. Exhilarated gasps
and labored breathing greeted my tongue. I began to press
and roll her button lightly between my lips, and then munched
it, sucking more and more of it into my mouth as her body went
increasingly rigid. My erection was standing tall as it
rubbed against her smooth white calf. And as her hands on
my head pressed me into her, I was all but oblivious to her
moans and sighs of ecstasy. Then, all her vagina was around
my mouth sucking and my head moved around in a loving rage.
I could feel the build-up in the increasing tension in her
muscles and see, even in the dim light, the blush spread
over the beautiful landscape of her body while I grazed
and gazed adoringly up along her tummy to her upraised breasts
and thrown-back head.
Suddenly she gasped once then once more then stiffened;
her whole body rocking in rigid, spasmodic waves back and
forth down on me; her voice crying, and singing, and sighing
all at the same time.
Still hungry, she began to pull me onto her, my chest and
belly running along her prominent, upright little pussy.
She covered me with kisses then broke away, looking up at
me with wide open eyes so imploring in their intensity as
she guided my pulsating maleness toward her steaming little
cat.
She held me, stroking me up and down against her wetness,
finding the mark and wetting the head, our eyes locked all
the while.
Spontaneously she rocked her hips up to meet me: Deeper
and deeper into the sweetest, smoothest, and tightest
of quicks I slid until we were locked tightly together and
vibrating in each others arms.
Never had I felt such a body as this, such naturalness as
this, or such communication as this. She was the most beautiful
of the beautiful, the most unique of the unique, like a snowflake
with silky hair around it. We were a perfect fit. I felt completely
inside. I held myself up on my elbows, partly not to crush
her, partly to get the right angle for maximum penetration,
and partly to be able to look down on her ineffable beauty,
her firm breasts, her head on the pillow, her closed eyes,
and her parted lips while she sighed helplessly with each
long, deep stroke.
For two hours or more we made love; lying on our sides, helicoptoring,
doggie-style, her topside, sitting up together…alternately
pounding our gonads into hamburger, hen being gentle while
sometimes stopping just to rest and caress until she was
finally on her back with her legs together–an almost impossible
position. Faster and faster we moved, long-covered in
sweat, now, our bodies joined as a single entity, one body,
one mind, and one spirit.
Two more times her vaginal muscles tightened, her breaths
coming in shallow draughts. The third time I could take
it no longer…she pivoted her vagina up to me higher and higher
until she was six inches off the bed. Her lips were by my ear
and her sighing reached a crescendo just as her pussy clamped
and she began to spasmodically shake as an orgasmic cry
was torn from her.
I exploded like Mount St. Helens at the same time. The moment
felt eternal and in the ecstasy and the agony as my white-hot
semen spewed into her, I saw God. Then, after a long time,
eons, the pulsations slowed, gentled, and she took them
up herself and milked me dry with her beautiful little pussy.
When I came out of my reverie she was covering me with kisses
and there were tears in her eyes. We lay together like that
without saying anything, or having to, both of us slippery
with sweat and licking it off each other’s shoulders, lips,
and cheeks.
When we eventually disengaged, I lay back; incredulous,
exhausted, and stunned. I’d thought it was all over, done,
and gone; that I’d grown out of that childlike, insecure
need; that plague of emotions. I’d thought I was safe, that
it wouldn’t happen again, that like too much of any good
thing, you finally get enough of it. I’d slept with many
women: Short women, tall women, deaf, women, oriental,
tight , saints, semi-whores, married…that became the
novelty of the tumble; it had become, if certainly not dull,
then not like it had been in the car back in high school.
“You’re incredible, ” I finally said.
The words came out hoarsely with a touch of astonishment
in them. My own astonishment astonished me.
“You say the nicest things, ” she cooed, snuggling in closer
and kissing my shoulder.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see her smile and her eyes
flash with delight.
“No, I take that back. You’re not incredible.” She pinched
my thigh. “You’re spectacular. In fact, you are the most
amazing lover I have ever had.”
“You should know, ” she said with mock jealousy and giving
my penis a loving squeeze.
“In fact, you’re the most incredible, spectacular woman
I’ve ever been with.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls, ” she said with that
wonderful lilting laugh-giggling out from her. There
was no hint of insecurity in her. Her finger was on my lips.
I kissed it.
Long-inert emotions covered and dusted over for what seemed
like centuries were threatening to shake loose; the way
a long-dormant volcano rumbles and rolls before exploding.
It scared me. I was looking at that monster: Love. I was hovering
near its jaws again. If it was lust at first sight, then it
was love at first fuck.
“Will you tell me who you are now?” I asked as I began to drift
off.
“My name is Seleta, ” she answered teasingly, “now do you
remember who I am?”
<br>
<br>
“Do you remember yet where you knew me from before?” she
asked as she slipped off her shoes. I led her in and offered
her a seat on the sofa. I placed the rose she had brought me
in a bud vase on a mantel then sat down beside her.
“I’m afraid not, ” I said, scratching my head, “but don’t
think I haven’t tried.”
She looked at me, her eyes twinkling, and a tiny smile on
her lips.
“You want me to give you a small hint?”
She rose and glided over to the cabinet where I kept various
knick knacks. I recalled she had paused at the same one the
last time she was over.
“May I?” she asked, her hand on the latch.
I showed her my palm.
Carefully she lifted the lid reached in and picked up something.
She returned smiling and rejoined me on the sofa. Slowly
she opened her hand.
In her palm lay half of a gold St. Christopher medallion
which had been given to me many years before. She looked
at me, waiting, smiling, but saying nothing.
“Well?” she finally asked, probing my eyes.
I threw up my hands and shook my head helplessly in frustration.
“You’ll have to give me a bigger hint than that I’m afraid.
My brain is shot…too much wild living, ” I said, forcing
a chuckle.
“Who gave you this, wild-man?”
I looked at her and thought for a moment. Then I blinked,
my stare frozen on those dimples, and then my eyes bulged
with surprise. My finger jabbed toward her.
“It can’t be!” I exclaimed, half rising from the sofa.
I had forgotten her name completely. Then I fuzzily remembered
gawky young girl in the fifth grade with the enormous crush
on me. I immediately felt embarrassed that I hadn’t remembered
her.
She was laughing though, and while I half-stood, half-sat
speechless, she reached into her handbag and came out with
the other half of the medallion. A moment later she was looking
smugly at me and I was staring at the whole medallion she
had put together.
I began to laugh too.
“But why didn’t you remember me?” she suddenly pouted,
though I could see she was partially putting it on.
“Well, there are two good reasons right there, ” I said
pointing at the firm-nippled roundness lightly pressed
against the silk of her dress.
“That’s no reason, ” she said, looking down, “there’s
still nothing there, ” waving a hand dismissively.
“Do you remember what you looked like?” I said laughing,
as an idea sprang to my mind.
I stood and strode over to the black-lacquered cabinet
and pulled out a photo album from the days when I kept them.
Flipping through a few pages, I quickly found my pictures
from the summer of 1980. In another moment I was grinning
nefariously and extracting a photo of the fifteen-year-old
Seleta. It showed a skinny-legged little urchin; one in
a group of other scraggly kids all smiling uncontrollably
at the camera. I cackled with evil glee.
She was beside me in a second. She took one glance and tried
to snatch it from my hands. I held it high above my head. She
stood high on her tip-toes and pressed herself into my chest
as she tried to pull my arms down. Feeling her warmth and
breath, smelling her scent, I couldn’t stop them from descending
themselves. She snatched it from me and glanced at it then
blushed and pirouetted away, the dancer in her revealed.
“Now, how the hell could I remember you?” I roared in mock
anger.
“I haven’t changed that much, ” she said, her voice for
a moment growing serious.
She looked at the photo again, averted her eyes and flushed
noticeably, then sneaked another glance. Finally, she
tossed it face down on the coffee table and hurried to me,
slipping her arms around my waist and pressing her cheek
to my chest.
“I dreamed about you many times, ” she said simply. “I met
other men but they were too boring. I was often lonely because
there was no one I could really talk to or had the same interests.
I remembered my happiest times when I was a girl and I was
with you. You were always so much fun and always good to me.”
I held her and we began to rock back and forth. The caged cockatoos
were cooing and the glass wind chimes were tinkling; casting
a magic spell that drifted in from the garden.
I gently drew Seleta back down to the sofa. She hesitated
a long time, stealing tentative glances at my eyes. Then
her face screwed up and she was crying. Huge sobs welled
and billowed from her. She reached her arms around my neck,
her head falling against my shoulder. Bewildered, I held
her for a long time, gently rocking her, not knowing what
to say. Finally, the storm began to blow itself away.
“Come on, dry your tears. Tell me.”
She looked into my face as I dabbed teardrops from her cheeks
with a tissue. Her moist skin glowed and she looked as fragile
as the Ming Vase I’d placed her rose in. Her eyes were still
brimming, threatening to overflow. Her lips quivered
slightly. Our faces were inches apart.
She slowly shook her head and whispered, “I can’t…not yet.”

She dried her tears as I got her a glass of orange juice. She
took a sip. Wet, embarrassed laughter welled from her.
I hoped that tomorrow, after a cooling off period, she would
think differently. She relaxed a little now but I could
see she was still troubled. Her soft hands found mine on
my lap. I thought I noticed a change beginning to come over
her, as if something else had entered her mind.
“Well, maybe I should go home now, ” she said with sudden
shyness in her voice.
She didn’t look me in the eye the way she normally did when
addressing me. She was so delightfully obvious.
“Why don’t you stay here?”
“Maybe we could go to bed now?” she asked in a sensitive voice
with a twinkle in her black pupils as she looked up at me.
“That way we could get a good rest and an early start to the
lake tomorrow, right?”
“Right, ” I agreed in mock seriousness although it was
barely dark outside, “it really is quite late.”
A delicate hand touched the back of my hair as her moist soft
lips found mine. Then the world dissolved into chemical
magic….
We slipped out of our clothes and curled up together on a
soft futon, a sleeping bag over us. Her back was to me and
she was holding my hand to her breast. I was exhausted and
drifting down rapidly into sleep when the descent eased
to a stop. Her hand had drifted behind her, slipping down
and between my legs. She squeezed me twice, gently.
“Jeez, Seleta, ” I whispered, not having to try to sound
groggy, “I’m dead tired.”
She wiggled around to face me, her hand quickly finding
its way back to my manhood.
“This will help you sleep, ” she whispered back, her breath
hot. She was panting slightly.
Christ, we had banged our brains out the night before. She
was trying to perk my penis up. To my slight disappointment,
she was succeeding. But I still wasn’t sure if I could make
the earth move tonight.
“I’ve got a bit of a…‘head’ ache…” I said weakly. I wasn’t
kidding. After last night, the head was aching. I was so
sore that the friction of my pants against my crotch was
irritating as hell all day. Just the same, I realized I was
losing the battle.
“I’ll play the flute, and the music will help you to sleep, ”
she giggled.
“Ah, that sounds like a great idea, ” I whispered, relieved
I could drift off to slumber-land with this beautiful girl
serenading me.
That comforting thought disappeared in a puff of smoke
when she gently pushed me over on my back and wiggled my legs
a part. My closed lids popped instantly when she slid down
my chest and her mouth slipped delicately over my battered,
uh…flute.
Seleta gently stroked me with her hand while her head slowly
bobbed up and down like a Halloween kid bobbing for apples.
Her tempo increased as my erection rose almost instantly
like a trombone. A barely discernable laugh issued from
the orchestra pit while she tongued my stiffening instrument,
then began nibbling around the horn.
Returning to blowing the reed, she carefully stroked down
with her mouth until she reached the point where, if she
had sneezed, I would have been transformed into a kazoo.
The sensitive Allegretto of Beethoven’s Seventh gradually
built into the crescendo of the allegro con brio as I approached
the climax of her movement.
“S…S…Sel…eta, ” I said in a shrill whisper, “I’m…I’m…Slow…Slow…down…or
I’ll blow…the orchestra…a…part”
She pulled away just in time, then laughed hungrily as she
began to crawl up my body, straddling my axe. Her eyes gleamed
in the near darkness. She delicately spread her tiny lips
with her fingers and slowly leaned back, soft sighs issuing
from her open mouth. She had only made four or five strokes,
just enough time for my wet mouth to stiffen a nipple, before
she began to shudder, trying her best to stifle her passionate
moans. I let myself climax at the same moment.
Seleta collapsed on my chest. We held each other for a long
tender moment before she rolled off and curled up with her
back to me. I drifted back into reality and rolled over onto
my side, gently placing an arm around her. Her hand slipped
back between us to gently hold my crumpled flute.
“Seleta, ” I quietly whispered, a well of emotion filling
me.
I wanted to tell her something…no, needed to tell her. It
was stupid. It was too fast. I didn’t want to tell her yet
that I loved her, even if I felt I did. I did want to tell her
I cared about her. When she didn’t reply, I repeated her
name. The only sound was the ceiling fan spinning above.
Carefully raising myself on an elbow, I leaned over and
looked down on her face.
Moonlight seeped through the shutters softening her relaxed
features. She was breathing in deep draughts of air and
already fast asleep.
<br>
<br>
<br>
The REQUIEM was anchored alone. She’s a sixty-foot yacht
with a small galley and a good sized cabin. I had bought her
two years ago because I always loved boats and I needed a
place to escape the rat-race.
I heard laughter from down below and went down to find Seleta
in a cobra-skin bikini holding her sides in front of the
satellite TV.
“What’s so funny?” I said, noticing the channel was a PBS
documentary on Anthropology.
“He was talking about a cave where the found Tabon Man, ”
she hugged me and laughed again.
“Yeah, so? What’s so funny about Tabon Man?” I asked.
“I misunderstood and thought he said ‘Tampon Man!’” she
squealed, bursting into cascades of giggles again; her
eyes watering.
I had to hold her up to keep her from collapsing. I felt myself
loosening up and began to chuckle. That wasn’t bad.
“Tampon Man!” she squealed again, seized with the giggles.
A minute later we were leaning against each other both weak
with laughter. Then, an idea came to mind.
“Hey, do you want to see Java Man?”
She looked up at me wonderingly, and then nodded, her eyes
and teeth sparkling.
“Okay, stand back.”
She did, holding herself in the unsteady craft. I hunched
down like a gorilla, grabbed the coffee pot with my free
hand and held it out before me, and then began beating it
against my chest.
“Unga, Unga. Me Java Man, ” I grunted, making a face.
Her mouth and eyes opened wider with glee and she screamed
so hard with laughter that tears began to run down her cheeks.
I was spilling coffee from the pot all over the floor.
“My turn! You want…you want to see… Peking Man?” she asked
between sobs of laughter.
I took a ‘show me’ attitude.
Slyly, and with the most wicked grin possible, she moved
her fingers to one of the triangles that covered a breast
and with a quick motion popped the top of it down and then
back up.
“You are ‘Peking Man, ’ because you peeked!”
She did it again with the other boob and we collapsed into
each others arms again. Our laughter had hardly died down
when she noticed the front of my cut-offs moving. Her laughter
grew softer and sexier but was every bit as happy as she pressed
herself into me.
“It’s my turn again. How about I show you ‘Homo Erectus’?”
I said, my voice growing husky, “you be Lucy and I’ll jump
your bones.”
“You know why cavemen drag there women around by their hair?”
she asked giggling, “Because if he dragged her by the leg,
he’d get sticks and pebbles in her pussy!”
I laughed so hard I almost lost my grip on her. My hand slipped
down to caress a tight bun.
“Mmmmmm, cavewoman like the feel of your club, ” she said,
lustily unzipping my fly and reaching in. That now familiar
gleam was back in her eyes.
“…you Asian-American women, ” I whispered as she shined
my tool.
“…you Cock-Asian men, ” she giggled back.
I knew just how she meant it by the way she squeezed me. My
dick clamped on a bayonet as she smiled wickedly and guided
me by the blade into her sheath. An erratic wave came up just
then almost causing her to yank it right off except I tumbled
onto the bed with her instead. I wrestled my shorts of as
she slipped out of her bikini. No sooner were we back in each
other’s arms, my sword happily between her thighs, than
another wave almost dumped us over the bed’s cribbing and
onto the floor. I grabbed a storm rail just in time.
“This is gonna be like trying to make love in a washing machine, ”
I complained, holding her securely till the boat lurched
over to the side and rolled us against the bulkhead.
“I think if we try to do it in this weather we’re really going
to get banged up, ” I added, recognizing with regret the
facts of the matter.
Without a word she wiggled out of my arms, making me wonder
if I had said something wrong. I had already learned that
she did not like being said no to. While I tried to think of
something to say, she flipped open a drawer and withdrew
four equal lengths of rope.
“Hey! Great idea! That’ll hold you steady, ” I exclaimed,
reaching for the cords.
She shook her head and held them back from me, excitement
flashing in her eyes and smile.
“No, you’re too heavy. The boat might throw you around and
hurt me. I always wanted to try this.” Then she looped the
ropes around my wrists.
I let her truss me up and spread-eagle me on my back across
the bed. She could have tied ‘Ole Glory’ to my cock it was
standing so tall.
Kneeling down between my open legs she bent forward. I though
she was going to practice a new tune on the flute but instead
she lowered the firm, silky orbs of her breasts till I was
between their smooth valley; the boat’s heavy motion making
her sway back and forth and caressing my turgid tentacle
as it slipped from the firm hilltop to smooth valley to firm
hilltop. It didn’t take long before I wanted to feel myself
sinking deeply into the warmth and love and snugness of
her incredible pussy.
But she was enjoying teasing me, and in no hurry, taunting
me the way I had taunted her a few nights before. Bracing
herself with one hand, she used her free one to lightly nestle
and stroke the raging beast between her breasts. I met her
gently rocking motion and felt my own swollen member jerk
involuntarily. I tried to reach for her but my wrists could
only move forward a couple of inches.
“Oh…please…now…, ” I begged my voice full and hot in my
ears, “I want to be inside you, Seleta.”
She looked up and smiled impishly, her eyes shining, and
slowly, deliberately, she shook her head. Instead, she
drifted up on me slightly, sliding her smooth, silky stomach
back and forth against me.
I wanted her. I wanted to be in her now. I tried to pull at my
bonds, to free myself, to draw her down onto me, but it was
of no use.
She slowly slid back until she was again kneeling between
my legs, hanging onto one of my thighs to steady herself.
She began top lightly stroke me again, carefully studying
my rigid prick like it was a new toy she had never seen before.
Her silver bracelets jingled faster and faster as she stroked.
Now, she linked her eyes with mine, reading in them, and
in my helpless squirms, that I could take no more and was
about to blow the deck off the boat. Then she would slow,
or pause to caress my chest, only to continue sensuously
as soon as the wave had passed, keeping me, with her finely
tuned sensitivity, on the edge of exploding.
Finally, when I could plead no more, she smiled slightly,
as if to herself, and slid up into position over me in the
bucking, bouncing boat, and hanging on to the rail for support.
I thrust my hips to meet her as she slowly slipped down onto
me; that incredibly warm, wet, comforting pussy surrounding
me like a tailor-made glove vibrating with sex and love
and life, and I knew any stupid jealousies were for naught.
We lay with our bodies linked, our eyes locked, neither
of us having to move; the heavy motions of the boat rocking
us around.
It was then that I saw something new enter her dark, deep,
intelligent eyes–something that hadn’t been there before.
As we shared our open-eyed ecstasy, I saw it flowing into
her eyes from deep within, as if a damn had burst somewhere
inside her. I don’t know if it was something she saw in mine
that stimulated it, but the excitement in hers had given
way to a passion that was past sexual arousal. Her glistening
black pupils filled her irises and I felt like I could see
and feel her to her depths; fell in my blood the circular
flow of communication that passed from our eyes to our bodies
and back through our eyes again.
My emotions surged to meet hers. All we had been through
cemented the strong bond between us and we both knew it.
It didn’t have to be said.
“I knew…even when I was nine…that you were the right one
for me, ” she said hotly, “I just knew.”
Our bodies began to tighten and quiver and pulsate at the
agonizing apex of our ecstasy. And just as she collapsed
onto my trussed body, the words gushed simultaneously
from our hearts and lips in a rich and involuntary gush that
sounded like it would go on forever.
“I love you!”

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