Cenobar Trinordis (Part 9)

I taste her breathe, and it is deliciously mute. Her saliva has a faint flavour of spiced tea and honey. My initial awkwardness collapses, making room for my excitement, as our mouths become pleasantly enraptured.

I am not sure how long we kiss. She is so open, this woman, so ready for the adventure of knowing. Despite my reserved nature, I find myself unafraid of intimacy with her. Our lips part, our tongues dance together, our hands and fingers make love. A door opens into my youth, allowing a more passionate, courageous version of myself to step through.

The kiss ends slowly, reluctantly, with many miniature revisitations. Then Phethala gets up and walks over to the archway, beckoning for me to follow. I love her use of that gesture, the graceful, subtle dominance with which she beckons. I get up and follow.

The rain is still steady outside, and there are pools of water and mud everywhere. The sun is just starting to slice its way through the clouds, making everything quite warm. Phethala watches me seductively as she undresses, her clothes falling off almost before I realize what she is doing. Naked as the storm, she walks with the elegance of a queen and the joy of a child into the sheets of drenching water.

I can tell by the way she walks straight away from me, her buttocks sashaying provocatively, that she wants me to follow her. No beckoning is necessary; Nature’s message is obvious. Still I hesitate, the stuffy cogitations of years of isolated study and self-abstraction causing me to linger on the edge of myself. Then, it is as though a picture is suddenly brought into sharp focus, and I am inside myself, completely. I tear off my clothes like a madman and dash into the rain.

We are children playing in the rain, we are young animals in heat, we are ancient deities performing the cosmic dance. We fling our arms about and laugh and scream and jump for joy, making mighty splashes in the endless puddles. We fall and get up and fall again, and our bodies are anointed with warm mud. We rise, dripping. Our fingers touch; our hands clasp together. Our lips join again, and the rain pours down our faces, around our kisses, trickles from our hair down our necks and breasts and bellies. My erection is pressed against her wet abdomen, and she moves her body sensuously against it as we kiss.

Soon we are on the ground again, and she is almost submerged in a deep puddle, her face barely above the surface, when I thrust myself inside her. We are crazed with the lust of the rain, and she growls with animal passion as she wraps her legs around me, forcing me deeper.

We moan together, louder and louder, our bodies writhing in unbridled lovemaking. She digs her nails like claws into my back as I ram myself inside her with the repressed passion of decades. All of the sublimations coalesce to direct expression as we reach our climax in tandem, a hot, wet explosion nestled in the warm rain.

Panting, we lay for a while in the puddle, holding each other. I am still inside her, and her legs are still wrapped around me, when the rain starts to die.


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