Message-ID: <13127eli$9807171653@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: o_rofrano@hotmail.com Subject: The Moly Blooms of Cythera Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <6omiro$m8d$1@nnrp1.dejanews.com> Title: The Moly Blooms of Cythera Author: o_rofrano@hotmail.com Published: July 16, 1998 ***** YES when he entered me I danced atop the needles head suspended by some immortal hand until gravity sent me barreling downwards like the time Rachel and Ingrid and I stepped off an airplane and with arms linked we soared like baby eagles leaving craggy eyries to discover flight like Daedalus the ground crashing towards us but it caught us and we landed light as a feather buoyed by a summers evenings breeze -- the same kind of breath that made our old porch swing squeak while Grandfather read me fairy tales not the ones in the movies where everybody lives happily ever after but the real ones where sometimes even good people die and if Id weep at what Perrault or Dinesen would do hed whisper that tears were the secret wellspring of laughter so it was okay to cry and the very first time I stayed awake all night I went to sleep eyes misty thinking about what he said and about Thorin Oakenshields goodbye to Bilbo Baggins that child of the kindly west and discovered that the Lonely Mountain had turned into a real place I miss him so very much but my favorite stories were definitely the ones dad would tell at bedtime about soldiers going to battle with their stabbing daggers and thrusting swords and firm bayonets their cannons all firing rifles shooting and cavalry charging headlong to die so many little deaths but never enough -- no never enough -- the day mother showed me how to scuba dive I thought I should die because after that how could I go back to the sandy beach when the warm ocean beckoned the waves breaking onto the shore an invitation to rapture -- I was terrified of the water once one summer brother Michael had pulled me down in the pool and I couldnt breathe and I thought Id drown but I didnt I havent but I will because I want to I need to I have to I must -- when junior high history was so boring and we just had to escape Mrs Muzzlebrain and the slender Egyptian kid who always raised his hand to answer her dumb questions even the rhetorical ones and snooty Heidi McConnelly and all the rest my best friend Sarah from fourth grade who I hadnt really spoken to in months took me to play hooky at her special spot by the lake and we traded daydreams there and whittled the afternoon away watching ducks dive and surface and plunge and sink and plummet and practiced kissing boys with each other because it was better than using pillows or water balloons at home -- yes that very skill put to such brilliant use years later with Bob under the desert moon during our road trip to the Grand Canyon spring break senior year when he tickled my neck with his lips and I searched out his tongue and devoured it -- his cum in my throat and belly like Jonah -- we first met outside the old library with the sun squatting low on the horizon shining right into my eyes and since I didnt have my sunglasses on and wasnt paying attention I nearly ran him over with my mountain bike and while I truly am sorry his backpack wound up in a mud puddle I still say he almost deserved it for the vomitous fulminations he uttered afterwards but to make peace I did buy him dinner that evening and when he didnt laugh even after I told him that the latest books I had read came off the childrens shelves I figured he was all right and wound up liking him although it didnt hurt that he was perishingly cute -- I saw him two more times before he kissed me at the concert at Morris Hall the orchestra played Bartok that night but it might as well have been something horrible by Wagner I didnt care -- before music there was light -- as we made love on my birthday he stuck his flat tongue seven miles up my hole and showed me something that no other lover had -- he also made me laugh and we took those long weekend walks through the woods with the reds and golds of autumn above us an infinitude of Seurat dots on the canvas of sky -- better him than another I decided and let the world begin anew as it hadnt since I first put on glasses in the eighth grade -- now see his eyes searching mine with a hunting cats gleam -- hear his resonant basso rumble and the matching sound of thunder deep within me the mad patter of our hearts like hot rain falling on parched earth and the syncopation of his balls slapping against my descending thighs his chest slamming into my hardened breasts -- feel our undulations and modulations -- the rhythm of sex is the rhythm of jazz -- mixing memory with desire time loops into itself slippery and hard as Gordius knot past present future entangle entwine because before during after the universe collapses merging this fragment with that this moment with another til all thats left is joy in perfect ubiquitous blissful congress with itself -- endless and eternal -- my love is a mountain flower -- I will live in thy heart and die in thy lap and be buried in thy eyes -- prithee be my god -- yes yes O Yes. ***** Author's Notes: As the title and form attest, this piece is informed by the concluding sentences of ULYSSES. I wanted to see whether my writing was mature enough to pull off a stream of consciousness interior monologue. It probably isn't: James Joyce's stream surges onward, overflowing its banks, drowning -- even as it brings life; at best, mine trickles along. A few phrases do sing enough for me to hazard publication and invite criticism, but go read "Penelope" to visit the dazzling, dizzying heights that language can ascend. Copyright 1998 by o_rofrano@hotmail.com. Posting of this article on the newsgroups does not place it in the public domain. This story may not be sold in any medium, but *unaltered*, *private* distribution and freely accessible archival storage are permitted. 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