Message-ID: <11551eli$9805232152@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Richard Todd Subject: Candlemas Chapter 11 Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: richard@magi.com Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <356756F1.DA45000D@magi.com> The following text contains detailed descriptions of consensual heterosexual lovemaking. If you are not comfortable with such things, or if you are forbidden to read them by reason of your age or the laws of where you live, I must ask you not to read it. This is Chapter 11 of a novel in progress to be called Candlemas. As always, comments are welcome and appreciated. They can be sent to richard@magi.com. Eleven A warm wind was coming from the west, down the river. The humidity it bore was pleasantly caressing for people who had the time to relax by the river's edge. I was sitting on a bench in what I've always called Island Park. Funny, to this day I don't know what it's real name might be. Angèle lay on the ground before me, a straw hat pulled over her face, her legs resting on the bench between my knees and her skirt tucked between her thighs to provide a little public decency. Despite our recent resolution not to spend daytimes together, I had phoned Angèle suggesting that, since it was too hot to be doing anything productive, we should each cycle to the park and laze about. I got there first, installing myself on my favourite bench, and when she arrived a few minutes later our only greeting was an exchange of smiles. Leaning her bike against the end of the bench, she withdrew a tiny basket from its handlebar bag and sat next to me. The basket contained a variety of finger foods from celery and carrot sticks to olives and cherries and a jar of a thick homemade dip. Angèle fed us with her fingers, as was our custom. When a serious- looking young man stopped on his way by to stare at us with a censorious frown, Angèle spread ribbons of the dip on her lips for me to suck off. Now, a couple of hours later, we still hadn't spoken. It had become one of those games we played, each understanding the rules without having discussed them. I found myself absently caressing the soles of her feet, comparing the lines and curves there with the vees and eddies of the rapids I saw whenever I lifted my eyes. I was about to break the silence with some germane observation when Angèle lifted her hat and spoke. "Will this be a good night?" she asked. "For . . . ? Oh! My famous swim." "The moon is not full yet, but I think it will be bright. Will the wind be too much?" I shrugged. "It'll probably be okay. It usually dies down in the evening on days like this. Yes, I imagine this would be as good a night as we can hope for. I've worked it all out. I've even swum part way across to make sure my assumptions about the current were okay." "And you think it will be safe?" "Sure, unless there's a thunderstorm. In that case we'll call it off." The plan was simple. Shortly after sunset I would go down to the river and swim across to the Ontario shore where Angèle would be waiting for me. What might happen upon my arrival, I was content to leave to her devising. The execution was not so simple. In some places the current was faster than my swimming speed, so I'd spent a lot of time with a map and some hydrographic data trying to figure what I would have to aim for if I were to arrive at the point on Angèle's side of the river where we were to meet. It was some small distance downstream from her house and, more to the point, about two kilometres below mine. Even at that, I figured that I would have to angle into the current for most of the crossing, letting the flow carry me along the other shore if I overcompensated. I couldn't afford to get too close below the rapids by the park because, in the dark, the complex currents there might overwhelm me. And for that matter the air had to be relatively calm because I would not be able to adjust my breathing to approaching waves, which I would see unclearly, if at all. But careful though I might be in my plans, I wasn't especially worried. I left that to Angèle. She was enthusiastic about the idea as a fantasy, but in practical terms she considered it dangerous. No doubt she was right. She withdrew her legs and sat up abruptly. "So, it will take two hours, you say. Will you phone me before you leave your apartment?" "Only if I have to call it off. Expect me at eleven, right there at our spot. And what shall I be looking for as I approach the shore?" The suggestion of worry disappeared from her face. "Ah oui! I forgot to tell you, I bought five candles with big, fat wicks, and five glass things for them so the wind can't blow them out. I'm going to put them along our little shore maybe five feet apart. But I don't know if you will see them from far away. You have memorized some landmarks you can see in the dark from your side?" "How do you say 'don't worry' in French." Her only answer was to grin with a shrug and blow me a kiss. On my way home I became aware of how tired I was. Despite, or perhaps because of the heat, the last night's lovemaking had been engrossing and left little time for sleep. I resisted the temptation to nap, worrying that I might not wake in time for my rendezvous with the river. Instead, I busied myself preparing a light supper and organizing my Summa notes. When the time came for me to head down to the river, I had some sense of the potential gravity of what I was about to do, but it wasn't strong enough to make me reconsider. Except for a thin band of dark cloud partly obscuring the sunset, the sky was clear as I walked toward the shore. There was an intermittent suggestion of a breeze from the east, but the air was otherwise calm and still very warm. I came to the end of the road, scrambled up a small embankment and across the railway tracks, then picked my way through some bushes to the secluded spot on the river bank that I'd chosen for this venture. I took off my clothes, folded and wrapped them in a plastic bag, then hid them among some rocks. After testing the water and determining that it was comfortably cool, I waded quickly to the point where it was deep enough for swimming. The lights at the east end of Island Park were my beacon for the first half hour or more. During that time the current didn't seem too significant. I guessed that I was even a little upstream from my intended path. But by the time I had counted 1500 strokes, signifying about an hour of swimming, I found myself more or less in the middle of the river and having to swim more into the current to keep from losing ground. Suddenly I became aware that the water was moving faster and a moment later my left hand touched a rock. I pulled myself along the rock which, as it turned out, extended perhaps as much as thirty metres across the flow of water. It didn't break the surface anywhere, but in one place it was shallow enough that I could stand up without fear of the current knocking me over. I looked in every direction, first determining that I was still a little upstream from my intended path. The moon was some distance above the horizon by now, though it had a slightly orange cast to it that made me uneasy. My unease intensified when I looked to the west and saw that the band of dark cloud I'd seen earlier now blocked most of the evening's last light. I scrambled back into the water and worked my way along the rock until I was able to swim a bit. There must have been more rocks in the area because I sensed myself being swept up the river for brief periods and down at other times. But it wasn't too long before I found myself back in a mild, steady current and noticed that the distance to shore was looking increasingly manageable. Then I began noticing waves. In the space of less than a hundred strokes, an east wind had raised a definite chop on the river. Though the moon kept the waves from being as invisible as I'd feared, I had to swim with extreme care to avoid taking a mouthful of water. After a few minutes, during which I felt the beginnings of panic, I noticed an area where the waves were breaking, just twenty or thirty metres upstream. Guessing that the little breakers signified a shoal, I turned toward it, stroking with all my might for a minute or so, then crawling along the shallow bottom until I found a place suitable to stand. It took me a moment to find them, but Angèle's candles were quite visible, twinkling just above the water. The spaces between them were foreshortened by the angle from which I looing. They were about two hundred metres upstream on the shore which was about a hundred metres from where I stood. I jumped up and down and waved my arms while I strained my eyes trying to pick out Angèle among the lights. Then a sheet of lightning filled the sky. I wasn't quick enough to see Angèle, but she must have seen me. The middle candle rose, described a tiny circle three or four times, then retook its place among the others. The sight of lightning, distant though it was, put me in a state of high alert. I scrambled back into the water and swam as hard as I could toward the five candles. I was up to 300 strokes, a little over ten minutes of swimming, when I started encountering the shallows that lay off of our little piece of shore. I began crawling toward the candles, big, white and solemn, looking quite grand in their glass chimneys. I could not see Angèle, but her vest lay in front of the middle candle. It was carefully folded into small square. I felt the sloping rock that stretched from the shore down into the water and, knowing I was out of the mud of the shallows I'd just crossed. I splashed around to make sure I would be clean. Then I stood up an walked the remaining few metres to shore. Pragmatic thoughts had filled my mind for the hour that I was swimming pragmatic thoughts and notions of survival but as soon as I stepped ashore, I was poised to worship and adore. I looked around, but could not see Angèle. I knew that her invisibility was a light and simple test of my faith, and I felt her certain presence in everything I beheld. I knelt before the vest and pressed my lips to it. Then I waited. I don't know how long I waited. I was in a state of repose, full of the hope that something wonderful was imminent, but being in no particular hurry that it should come to pass. In due course, I felt hands caressing my buttocks, working their way toward each other. Fingertips explored the region between, countless little touches like tiny butterflies. A hand took my scrotum in its velvet grip, a finger traced back and forth from there to my anus with increasing insistence. Then there was the warmth of breath, the warm wetness of a tongue and the discomfort and pleasure of fingers entering me, first one, then two. I did not move. I held my lip to the vest with renewed fervour. The fingers massaged most deftly, finding points of pleasure that I had forgotten; then, when pleasure was about to yield to discomfort, they withdrew. For a moment I seemed alone, then I became aware that Angèle was standing astride my head. I looked up and saw the silhouette of her thighs and the outline of her vulva. I was about to kiss her legs when she broke the silence. "Ca va? Can you stand all right?" She stepped back a little to let me rise, then looked me in the face. "I was worried, you know. You look exhausted. Was it worth it?" I smiled. "That remains to be seen." Her features relaxed into a mischievous grin. "Okay, you've had your swim. You want me to drive you home now?" "Whatever you say," I replied absently. I was looking over the river, overwhelmed at last by the risk I had taken. "Still, if you have any other ideas . . ." "Stand still, just like that," she said. She picked up one of the candles and started to walk around me. "You are so beautiful," she breathed. "And you have come across the great, black river to make love to me. No, I'm not going to take you home so soon as this." She unfolded her vest and used it to rub me dry. Then set about extinguishing four of the candles, putting them together under a bush. Finally, she took up the remaining one and turned up a path that led through some bushes to a grassy area near the bicycle trail. I followed her to a spot that offered some degree of seclusion, doubtless sufficient that late at night. As I sat down on the grass, Angèle blew out the last candle then joined me. She put an arm around me and licked my ear very lightly. "How are you?" she whispered. "Tired," I admitted. "Close your eyes." I closed them and was immediately overcome by the sensation of my body moving in a swimming rhythm. My thinking grew hazy and I began to confuse the rhythm with that of lovemaking. "You should lie down," she interrupted my fancy. "Is it warm enough for your?" Instead of answering, I just lay on my back and closed my eyes. The swimming sensation came back instantly. Angèle began massaging me from my chest down to my thighs, using the palms of her hands in long, soothing strokes. Then she gave me a kiss on the forehead. "Sleep for a while," she whispered. "I'll stay right by you." Some while later my sleep began to dissipate into erotic fancies, mixed as ever with the reminiscence of the swim. As my consciousness took on a bit of focus, I became aware of the warmth of Angèle's thighs near my cheeks. She was moving almost imperceptibly back and forth above me, her pubic hair tickling my nose and tangling a little with my beard. Presently I felt her labia, dry and silky, caressing my lips. The motion began settling toward something predictable and I let myself doze for a moment. Her touch was so light and serene that I wished it to last forever, and so it seemed that it might for a while. Then I sensed a bead of moisture on her, and soon my lips were slick with her lubrication. I offered her my tongue, but she lifted herself just enough to indicate "not yet." She resumed her subtle movements for a few seconds, but then expanded her scope to long, exploratory strokes, as though she were trying to paint my face in some sort of ritual erotic pattern. I moved my head from side to side to and she began pressing harder, her motion becoming markedly more impulsive. Then, all at once, she moved her vulva back to my mouth and this time accepted my searching tongue. The wetness of her and of my mouth were one as she slowly increased the intensity of her motion. I licked and sucked as best I could and, when it seemed just right, I tasted as deeply of her as my tongue allowed. I could hear little gasps and groans now and then, but I sensed a kind of impatient restraint in her love making. It occurred to me that she was holding herself back to avoid hurting me. I grasped her buttocks, caressed them warmly for a moment, then worked a finger from each hand into her anus. She gasped as the second went in, and vocalised through her teeth as I stretched her from within. Then I pushed her hard onto my mouth and she let go rubbing herself with evident abandon. My well-situated fingers enabled me to moderate her motion up to a point, but it was still a rough ride from underneath. More than once I felt my teeth digging into my lips and for a moment I found the unmistakable tinge of blood among the tastes that came to my tongue. She lifted herself off and crouched above me, straddling my shoulders. Dark as it was, I could not see her well, but the outlines of her calves and thighs were clear enough, and her vulva, though largely obscure, was clearly transformed from the way I normally beheld it. In place of the round, serene and gently closed labia that smote my dreams and fantasies with their heart-stopping beauty, there was an overbearing font of energy, a ragged, fiery, sweating gap, that demanded what it desired and would not be denied. My eyes climbed as well as they could over Angèle's belly between her breasts, up her throat and about her chin. Distant lightning was teasing the sky, but at first I could only see her in rough detail. She was tense, poised to act the instant the impulse would come to her. Her face was a study in latency. Her breath was quick and wary. I lifted my hands to her and she gripped them ferociously, forcing them to rub her breasts with more pressure than I would have dared on my own. She gritted her teeth and moaned jerkily through them. Then a longer, brighter stroke of lightning filled the sky and the view of Angèle gave me a thrill of dread. Her mouth gaped with the same unrestricted lust as her vulva and her eyes were wide and wild with the dark light of a soul that has no memory of fear or of reason. Another bolt of lightening, a quick-following clap of thunder and I broke her grip to reach under her arms and pull her down on me. She landed hard, her belly falling on my face, knocking the wind out of both of us just as it began to rain. But she was not swayed from her course. She began sliding down my torso, pressing hard and stimulating her genitals whenever she could. It wasn't until her thighs began touching my penis that I realized what a monumental erection I had.( Later, Angèle told me that it was the sight of my "sleeping giant" that had inspired her lovemaking initiative.) In a moment I felt her vulva feeling my glans, positioning itself for an optimal conjunction. Then, with two or three tight, smooth strokes, she took me into her. She sat up and, holding me in as deep as possible, moved ever so slightly in a tiny circle so that my penis felt all about inside her. Then she began contracting and releasing her vaginal muscles in an irregular rhythm that drew many a gasp and sigh from me. By and by she added a little vertical movement and then a little more. She kept her grip tight and her motion slow as my whole body became tense and poised for the more vigorous thrusts I knew would follow. Quite suddenly, Angèle seemed overtaken by erotic momentum. Her grip relaxed a little, but the scope of her thrusts increased so that she seemed about to lose me each time she rose. Yet I understood that she would not lose me. My sexual excitement increased rapidly too, and I probably could have come with her, but I knew she would prefer that I finish on top, so I held back. Faster and faster she went, letting out cries with increasing abandon as the rain intensified. Lightning struck somewhere over the river and a second later there was a bone-rattling peal of thunder. Angèle seemed to be laughing in her lustful delirium; at least that's how I read the contorted features of her face. But suddenly she was off of me and on her back. She brought her knees up to her shoulders and, while it was too dark for me to see clearly, I had little trouble finding the part of her where I was most wanted. At first I went slowly, savouring the modified sensations I had from being on top. But the downpour created a sense of urgency. I was starting to feel a bit of chill, so I increased my speed. As my excitement began approaching the brink, I seized Angèle's ankles and brought the soles of her feet to my face so I could gnaw on them. She answered by reaching around her thigh and gripping the flesh around my nipples and tugging. We urged each other on, gnawing and yanking progressively harder. I knew that I would be sore when were done, but I was in no pain while my orgasm rushed upon me. A subtle shift of Angèle's pelvis, and I erupted into her. We each relaxed our aggressive attentions to the other. She lowered her feet to the ground and lay her arms asplay at her sides, while I slowed down my movements. I relaxed and heaved a big sigh. Angèle tightened her vaginal muscles to help me work out the last bit of semen. Then I stopped and looked upon her as I waited for the moment to withdraw. She looked utterly spent, though not serene in the way she often was at this stage. A couple of quick flashes of lightning gave me a glimpse of her face. Her eyes were still wild, but glazed over with exhaustion. She seemed insensible to the rain that splashed her face and run down her cheeks. Her hair was loosely tangled in the grass, some the ends floating in the tiny puddles that were forming about her head. My erection was receding and I was just about to ease my way out of her when Angèle extended her tongue in invitation. I put my nose against hers and our tongues caressed each other for a few long seconds. "We have to go," Angèle said at last. We disengaged and rose almost in one move. She scooped up her vest, but didn't put it on. The rain may have lightened a little, or perhaps it was just that we were no longer lying on the ground that made it seem so. We held hands and walked across the thirty or forty metres of grass and bushes that lay between us and the westbound lane of the parkway. Headlights appeared from around a bend in the distance, so we dashed across to the wooded median before we could be seen. The pace seemed congenial and we trotted across the eastbound lanes and the longer distance to the boundary of the park behind Angèle's house. I was reluctant in my nakedness to try to climb the chain link fence there, so we walked the block and a bit to a spot where the bicycle path issued onto the street. The sidewalk was largely shaded from the street lamps by stately maples, and the darkness of all the nearby windows suggested that we were in little danger of discovery. A delicious excitement came briefly upon me, only to disappear in my general exhaustion. We went to her back yard where she had left some garden lamps burning. I had started to feel at one with the rain, so I just stood on the garden path as she went inside for towels. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, submitting to the water pelting my face until I heard Angèle's voice coming from the porch. "You're so beautiful!" she said. I joined her on the porch where she wrapped me in one of her luxurious towels and set to drying my head and feet with another. I wanted to rub her down, but she stepped back so that the beam from one of the porch lamps fell across her shoulder. She began drying herself in a kind of dance, slow and sleepy, but beguiling all the same. "You know," I began, "a couple hours of sleep and . . . " She smiled. "Let's go upstairs then." The windows were open in her bedroom and a breeze bore the lovely scent of midsummer greenery. It was too warm for covers, though, so we lay on top of the bed, I on my back, Angèle on her side, her head on my shoulder, a leg across my thighs and her hand cupped protectively around my balls. I tried to think of some loving way to say good night, but fell asleep before anything could come to me. Copyright (c) 1998 Comments and correspondence are welcome and solicited. -- Richard, who invites you to visit his music, outdoors and other WWW sites at: http://infoweb.magi.com/~richard/ -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----