Message-ID: <45270asstr$1068513008@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <20031110083407.80651.qmail@mail.com> Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit From: "Robert Sedgewick" X-Originating-Server: ws1-6.us4.outblaze.com X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Mon, 10 Nov 2003 03:34:06 -0500 Subject: {ASSM} Sticks and Blossoms [M/F rom cons] Date: Mon, 10 Nov 2003 20:10:08 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, hecate -- __________________________________________________________ Sign-up for your own personalized E-mail at Mail.com http://www.mail.com/?sr=signup Search Smarter - get the new eXact Search Bar for free! http://www.exactsearchbar.com/ <1st attachment, "katrin.txt" begin> Sticks and Blossoms [M/F rom cons] (c) 2003 Robert Sedgewick Some years ago, I found a story about a young couple on their honeymoon. Though I have searched, I cannot find the story now, so I will summarize what I remember of it (the names invented names because I cannot remember the originals). I will call the couple Katrin and Jacob. It was a period piece from the late 18 or early 19 hundreds. When they arrived at their vacation cabin, Katrin and Jacob walked through the woods and found another couple bathing nude in a natural pool . At their invitation, Katrin and Jacob, strangely brave in their new married status, stripped naked and joined them. Katrin was a proper virgin before marriage and even at that moment, for they had not yet enjoyed the first wedding night. As she compared the physique of the other woman (Judith) with herself, Katrin found herself much better shaped, with larger and fuller breasts, rounder hips, and a flatter belly. She decided also that she was prettier than Judith. On the other hand, the physique of the man (Gunther) was much more desirable than her own husband. He was larger, hairier, more handsome, and more muscular. He also had a set of marital equipment that held Katrin's gaze, such that she had trouble looking away from it. It was, like the rest of the Gunther, larger and more handsome than her own husband. As the days and nights went by, Katrin lost her virginity and learned to enjoy sexual pleasure with Jacob, occasionally climaxing. Jacob was an average man with average blessings. Meanwhile, the couple they'd met at the pool stayed in the connecting cabin and their sexual activities were noisy and very erotic, obviously enjoying more passion than Katrin was in her marriage. One time Katrin happened to see through a crack in the door Gunther riding his woman from behind. Judith had her head thrown back, gasping a groaning with glee while her man worked her. One day Jacob was sick. Left on her own, Katrin decided to go for a walk. On the way, she encountered Gunther. Gunther's wife Judith was also not feeling well, so Gunther and Katrin walked together. After a while they held hands. When they got to the pool, Katrin could not resist the temptation, tore off her clothes, lay down on her back, and insisted that Gunther make love to her. The ending was a disappointment to me. I wished the story had maintained the characters and plot more faithfully, so I have rewritten the latter part as I thought the story should have gone. ===== It was late morning on a brilliant autumn day when Gunther left the community of cabins by a small trail into the wood. He had no idea where it led, but he was not concerned -- the wood was bounded by roads, and he was fully prepared to walk for hours. He'd been cooped up with his new wife for more than a week doing little more than eating, sleeping, chatting, playing cards -- and of course, coupling. It was enjoyable at first, but he was restless to return to his habit of vigorous sports and challenging adventures. Gunther was already a little weary of coupling with his new wife. Not that she was unresponsive -- far from it. If sex were a conversation and orgasmic climax were laughter, Judith would be laughing at everything he said. Everything. It was simply too easy to please her. She offered no challenge, no contest, and simply no invitation for Gunther to exert himself. In a word, Gunther was growing bored. He had had no experience with sex before his marriage, and already he would rather play cards. If he could find a trail to get himself lost, he would probably follow it. But after a half hour of easy strolling, he could see his path winding back to join the main trail. The absence of adventure, though expected, was disappointing. To his delight, however, he found Katrin on the main trail in search of her own adventure. His joy in seeing her was instantly multiplied by the happiness that appeared in her face as she recognized him. However, given the circumstances, it was important for both to understate their emotions with nods, smiles, and dull pleasantries. While these were exchanged, the unspoken message of mutual pleasure was exchanged many times. Katrin was a truly beautiful woman. Obviously bright and educated, she also had depth of character that made her pleasantly unpredictable. She blushed slightly as she went through the empty forms of greeting, then blushed vividly when the few pat phrases stopped. With an iron will, she recovered and indicated they should continue together along the road. Gunther recalled that day at the pool, and he thought he knew the cause of the blushing. Of course she was properly embarrassed at having to appear naked in front of a stranger, and to meet him again under polite circumstances was a shock to her modesty. He found the intense blush utterly charming. As he walked beside Katrin, Gunther recalled the nude swimming incident from the beginning. Gunther and his new wife, Judith, had come upon the pool that day in a mid-afternoon stroll, much like this one, and Judith had insisted they undress and bath as she used to do with her brothers and sisters. To Gunther, Judith's lack of modesty as she undressed in broad daylight was a little unnerving. He had no hesitation himself and he had seen her body, for this was their second day of marriage. But he expected modesty in women, and he associated female nudity with sexuality. Judith's frank and sexless nudity was a cold affront. When Jacob came along with Katrin, Judith stood in the water, bear-breasted in the sunlight, utterly without shame. "Join us," she called. Gunther looked at Katrin and his heart leaped. The woman was a goddess. Then he looked at Jacob's uncertainty and it came to him in a flash -- Jacob was a follower, easily persuaded by stronger people into doing foolish things. So Gunther pitched his voice lower by half an octave, slowed his speech, and addressed Jacob like a hearty fraternity brother addressing a pledge. "This is my newly married wife, Judith, and I am Gunther. We are staying in a cabin just down the road and we have just started a new tradition among the newlyweds. Every couple must bath together in this pool in the nude. Please join us and make it a party. Then together we will tease the other honeymooners into doing the same." It was a challenge thrown directly at Jacob, with a subtext that said big boys do this and little boys wouldn't dare. And it worked -- Gunther had read Jacob's soul right to the bone. Jacob turned to Katrin and said, "Let's do it, dear." Katrin looked at her husband and began fiercely and silently shaking her head. Jacob glanced at Gunther, then back at Katrin. "Of course we will, Katrin." Katrin exposed only a brief moment of angry protest, but then she followed her husband into the trees to undress. Looking back on that day, Gunther considered the wife's oaths of marriage: "Love, honor, and obey ..." A strange bargain if ever there was, for a husband who requires obedience gives up all claims to the wife's love and respect. When Katrin emerged nude from the trees, Gunther took care not to look at her so that Jacob could bear the full weight of her annoyance. Gunther swam, dove, and splashed with Jacob and Judith, but watched Katrin only from the edge of his vision. He did not trust himself to look directly at her -- if he became obviously aroused by this man's wife, consequences would not be good. Gunther's caution was not entirely necessary, however. Except when she swam a few strokes, Katrin squatted so that the water hid her from the neck down. After a little while, she told Jacob she was cold and wanted to get out. When Gunther finally looked over as they were leaving the pool, Katrin was standing on the bank facing him, her feet slightly apart, shoulders squared, looking Gunther in the eye. He looked at her face and did not look down to her body, not even a flicker. Like two adults among children they looked at each other, and their gazes said many things in that moment. Katrin: Look now at my virgin body, for my husband wishes to throw away my modesty. Gunther: Until you wish it, I will not look at your body. Katrin: I blame Jacob for his weakness, but I hold you blameless for your strength. Gunther: You deserve better than Jacob. Katrin: My friend, you are a man. What a prize she is, thought Gunther. Jacob is an undeserving fool. His marriage only a few hours old, and already he was dishonoring her in front of strangers. If Katrin every did love Jacob, it probably flamed out in that moment. As Katrin strode along the road beside Gunther, she also thought about the incident at the pool. For though Katrin had not discovered Gunther looking at her, Katrin had stared at him until she was afraid his skin would itch. He was a magnificent blond giant, hairy and well-muscled, so much more manly than her smaller dark-haired husband. And what a horse he had between his legs, too. It swung like a sausage in great arcs with every movement, halfway down to his knees. Arming it on either side were testicles as big as hen's eggs, sufficient to impregnate the entire population of a nunnery and still have sauce leftover to keep a couple of milk-maids happy. Katrin found it fascinating to watch and difficult to look at anything else. All of that came back in a rush when she met Gunther on the road. Is that why Judith was so audibly pleasured in their bed? She felt the blush come to her cheeks and thought, if I do not stop blushing, he will know I am thinking of the horse in his pants. And when as she looked in his eyes she was certain he knew, and she almost fainted with embarrassment. On the other hand, she thought as they walked along together, Jacob's equipment, which she saw for the first time that day at the pool, was all shrunk up into a tight package. There was no swing there. Of course, it expanded when they had marital relations, but it could not compare to Gunther's portion as it looked at the pool. She felt as though she was a guest at a restaurant eating porridge, while a woman at the next table was served roast beef. And now it is too late to change my order, she thought. She also remembered other parts of that day. It would be hard ever to forgive Jacob for making her undress in public. It was not the humiliation. It was the fact that he was so easily led. How can you forgive a man for a weakness like that, she wondered? She had seen it in him before, but now she knew what it was: To save face in front of his betters, he would sacrifice anything or anyone, including his new bride. If so ordered, would Jacob go to war and stand up before the enemy guns like all those other patriotic fools, wasting his life in a heap of gore upon the ground? But of course he would, as many others do. If called upon by public opinion, would he send his sons off to war to feed the canons? Again, Jacob had shown he had no strength to resist a fool's summons, and Jacob was a fool. He would probably feed his children to the fires of Moloch like the ancient Hebrews if the laws of fashion demanded it. At one point as they walked, Katrin climbed into a ravine after a virgin pink primrose. She broke off the blossom and wove the stem into her hair. When she climbed back onto the path, Gunther offered his hand and pulled her up. Two minutes later they were still holding hands. The feeling in his chest was both laughter and fear. It was a little like courting death on a dangerous horse, or climbing a stone mountain, as he sometimes did for sport. He wondered, and why do I feel the delicious thrill of danger now? Is Death calling me by name, or is that only the sound of my own blood pounding in my ears? Of course it is the thrill of defying the gods of marriage, but friends can hold hands and we are just friends. She is only a young girl who knows not that she teases and entices. But she is a marvelous woman, and she must know she is teasing me. She is not Judith, swimming nude and expecting no sexual response. She is Katrin who knows the power of her body over men, and she chooses now to use it on me. What can I do to raise the stakes in this game? He told a story that required both hands to illustrate, then he put his hand by his side again. And her hand was there, and it closed on his fingers. She is married, too, he thought, and she knows I am married. She hasn't the faintest thought of being unfaithful to her husband. But the butterflies still ticked inside his chest, and the danger pressed like a knife edge against his flesh. Flirting with death is fun, but flirting with this woman is delicious. Perhaps danger only reminds us in some vague way of courtship with a woman, for Adam knew Woman before he knew Death. Woman is the archetype: beguiling, deceptive, delightful, double-intended ... the Unknown that beckons. And so his thought continued as a subtext, while he chatted and smiled and made pleasant speech. And Katrin tossed her pretty head, saying something that was maybe nothing but might have been more. And she looked at him from the tail of her eye with slightly lifted brow. The "something more" that might be there he understood perfectly. And so he answered the "nothing" with nothing words in return, and he answered the eye with a smile and a slow nod of agreement -- that might be mistaken for nothing by a girl, but known to be more by a woman. Thus they continued down the path through the wood and along the side path that lead to the pool where they had bathed before. As they reached it, Katrin felt at once giddy and desperate. Apart from holding her hand, Gunther was obviously going to be the perfect gentleman and the moment would pass. Gathering her girlish genius, Katrin conjured the sort of lie a person tells herself who is going have just one more piece of cake, or who wants to look at a certain piece of jewelry just one more time. It was designed to fool only Katrin's ancestors and silence the voices that made of Katrin a prisoner of proper behavior. Katrin said to Gunther, "Would you like to go bathing again?" And she reminded her ancestors that she and Gunther were both adults, they had already seen each other nude, and to presume illicit intent was quite uncalled-for. The ancestors, shocked at this impertinence, were momentarily silenced. Taking no chances with Gunther's shy advances, Katrin did not wait for an answer. She stepped behind the root mass of fallen tree and began taking off her clothes. If I am excited, she said to her ancestors, it is only because this has been an invigorating walk, the weather is warm, and bathing in the pool promises a moment of pleasure. The voices, unable to keep up with changing events, were still silent. As she took off her last stocking and turned to walk to the pool, there was Gunther facing her, his handkerchief tied over his lower face. He stood there silent with his hands at his sides, only a few feet from her, a blond giant, magnificent across the shoulders with pale hairs down the chest and belly. His marvelous wedding pole stood erect almost to his navel, purple and carmine. It was so large, it was hardly a member of his anatomy -- it was almost a full partner. For the space of a heartbeat she stared at it. It was not excited or enraged -- it was serenely violet like a rose or an orchid. It stood upright as the proud and magnificent fan of a peacock wooing his lady. It might have spoken to her, for it said, "I find you beautiful, and I have chosen you." And she blushed, and the blush went from her cheeks, across her breasts, stiffening her nipples, down her belly to the newly discovered pleasure between her thighs, already aroused, blossoming in answer. The lips of her vulva swelled and turned outward, revealing the shining stamens and pistols within. And it answered him in greeting: "I am your Psyche," it said, "and you are Eros, my God." Katrin had never felt as she did now, the tingling reaching even to her fingertips, her breasts burning like carriage headlamps. There was no guilt in this thing. For this she had been formed in the womb, and for this had she walked the Earth searching. In the next heartbeat, Gunther stepped forward. He had seen the blush, and this time he knew what it meant. He touched her cheek with his fingertips. He felt her jaw line and the pulse in her neck. She did not look up, because this was between her and his lovely organ, pulsing and nodding to her. He touched her throat with his thumb and stroked down across her breastbone with the back of his fingers. Missing her nipple, his fingers cupped under her breast as they had her jaw. They were beautiful breasts, perfectly round, sweet, tender as petals and full as skins of fine wine. The pink, puckered nipple was aching to be touched, but he did not touch it. He brought his hands down her sides, tracing the ribs beneath the skin, her childlike belly and woman's hips. Still, when he looked at her eyes, he saw only the lids and the lashes, for she was looking down at her newly found God, and there were tears on her cheeks. So he reached behind his head and untied the kerchief. Holding it in front of her eyes, he folded it twice over to make a blindfold. He said, "You must not see my face." And he stepped forward, and the molten head of the Organ touched her belly and prodded her lightly under the breasts, for she was shorter than he. And he tied the blindfold around her head. And then he lifted her chin and kissed her. Within her strange stupor, she could not move her arms or hands. But she could move her lips and tongue, and her mouth felt like a vulva to him, warm, wet, and slippery. Now he embraced her and put his mouth to her ear. He spoke again, and his voice was like the deep tones of a church organ (that word again!), rumbling through her own flesh, quiet and patient, shaking her breath and heart. "Some might say you came into the woods to make love to a man not your husband. But you came into the woods alone, and the man surprised you from behind a stump with his face hidden in a kerchief. You could not fight him off because he was larger and stronger than you. You could not call out for help because every time you opened your mouth, he stopped it with kisses." And he pulled her head back to kiss her again. Everything he said was true, becoming true as he said it. "You could not denounce the man afterward because you did not see his face. How would you describe him to the police?" And the Organ nestled between her breasts like a bird, pulsing its message. Her nipples were tickled by the hair on his belly, and the nectar of her rose ran down her leg. "After all," said his voice that was a church organ, "the man might have been your own husband surprising you for fun. Would you denounce your own husband?" But it was not her husband, and she was remotely surprised by this mistake -- and then she knew that this man, this perfectly suited man _was_ her husband, more husband than Jacob could ever be. Despite her marriage to Jacob, this man was her perfect and secret husband. He put his hand under her bottom and lifter her tenderly. Her knees opened and lifted around his body, and he lowered her onto the Organ. She was so wet and slippery, he could not miss the opening, and the Organ simply followed home. And she lowered her face and kissed down on him from her lifted height, and the kiss was as wet and slippery as the kiss below. There was no see-saw, no back-and-forth, no in-and-out. He simply entered her, a long, long, slow, and infinitely satisfying adventure, and she felt every pulse, every blessed inch of this march into Jerusalem. It was a triumph, and it seemed a thousand women lined the streets, throwing flowers, robes, and palm branches at the feet of the Organ as it moved and pulsed along the passage, and the passage took forever as he lowered her. There are children in the seaweed and they are wearing rags and flowers, he thought, and every inch was a journey with Katrin grasping, teasing, and ticking him internally, trembling and fluttering softly against him. It was immensely stimulating, and he felt, so soon, the boiling and the roar inside that preceded his climax. Finally, they came to the end, both to the end of his length and to the end of her passage. It seemed she had been waiting for it. Though she had never felt it before, she knew as it touched and pushed at her cervix, and it triggered her climax. Her vagina grasped and milked him, again and again, tensing and relaxing, all over her body including her vagina, milking, grasping, rolling, loving, and releasing his Organ, only to grasp it again. It was enough for him: His climax came with the opening of his cock pressed against the opening of her womb, and the flood of semen surged into the door of the Temple. It came not as a weakness in him as so many times before, but as a wave of clarity and strength. And he held her there in the forest, one hand behind her shoulders, one under her gorgeous peach-like bottom, split in two halves of perfection and one half fitted perfectly into his hand. He pressed his nose into her neck behind her ear as she sang her aria of cries and gasps, and he found the warm hearthy smell of her flesh like baking bread. For many heartbeats she clung to him and he to her, and the forest held its breath. She was happily spinning like a maple seed coming gradually to earth. On her awakening, she remembered it had been two weeks since her period, two days since her last mating, and her Time was due, probably today, possibly now. This was the time for her to form a child and suddenly she knew it would be now and this man would be the father. And she wished for many sons, all built like this man to bring this pleasure to future generations of women. She thought how fortunate are the bees: they find a perfect drone, mate once, and then bring thousands of children to life. It was right: This God was the perfect husband for her, and not Jacob who was but an earthly effigy usually no better than her own fingers and often worse. She must contrive to remain friends with Judith so that Gunther could always be found to father more sons for her. She became aware of Gunther holding her, licking her ear, chewing sweetly on her earlobe, and singing his organ notes into her body, speaking the meaningless reverences that some lovers say to their women. He leaned back against the fallen tree trunk, gradually relaxing. Her thighs were still clamped to his sides, but his marvelous organ was slipping from her grasp, and she knew the moment would soon be over. Soon she must step back into the world of her tepid pleasures with Jacob. She would be greedy. She would not let this moment pass. She began herself to tease his neck and ear with lips and tongue. And then he turned to her, and she took his mouth with hers, filling him with kisses, imploring him with her mouth and belly to fill her again, and again if could be. She took him like a succubus, demanding with her tongue, brushing her awakened nipples across his chest, and teasing his libido into the open. It was in just this way the succubus had come to him in his youthful dreams: predatory, rapacious, and irresistible. She rolled her hips gently back and forth, so gently that he would not fall out, but enough to tickle her parts against his pubis. Then her own libido it took on life of its own, rolling and stroking him internally, calling the drowned swimmer back to life. He was not a god anymore, just a marvelously perfect and perfectly sexual man. She wanted from him his honey, his seed, his aura, and anything else that was not nailed down. Would she consider wresting the whole man from his mold, tearing her own life loose of her moorings, and escaping with him like two windblown leaves between the buildings of proper society? But that would not be necessary. She might not be able to endure this intensity daily, continuously. But like the bee, she could enjoy this once a year, or once a lifetime, and keep the seed of this eroticism alive in her own body to enjoy for many months to come. The sexual passions caught her up like a hawk on a draft, and she sailed into them, higher and glorious, proud of her conquest of him, proud of her joy, and eager for the fall she knew must come. But when the passion arrived, it tore her wings from her like Icarus falling into the sea. She was still blindfolded, and the only thing she knew was his body surrounding her and holding her off the ground, and within her, filling her and pressing against her cervix. This time her cries were like sobbing, and her spasms took the wind from her. She was blind and she clung; her body triying to wring from him the treasure he still held with a clutching, needy pleading. The passion grabbed her like a terrier takes a straw doll, and like a terrier it shook her until she was weak and shapeless. Then it sucked her down like a paddle-wheeler and beat her under the waves. She was without strength, will or courage, so limp she could not cling to him anymore, but he held her and she did not fall. Only her vagina was alive, tickling, feathering, caressing, trembling, and clutching, until he too, climaxed. And it was a mighty drawn-out swelling, and then release, over and over, holding her with painful strength, crushing her vulva and clitoris, pressing on her cervix, and directly filling her womb with his semen. Then the voiding struck him as well, weakening his knees and he almost fell. The tree trunk held him from behind, and there he stayed, leaning and holding her, pressing deeply on the inside and clutching -- almost crushing her with his embrace. This time, she was a ship-wrecked sailor crawling onto the shores of an bleak uninhabited island. Still blindfolded, her first emotion was a profound loneliness. At that moment, she could not have survived without his warmth and strength, curled against him as she was, knees drawn up and breasts flattened against his body. But he was to her little more than that. It was all gone -- the pride, the lust, the power, the beauty. At that moment, his softening penis relaxed and fell out of her opening, and that small loss triggered her grief. She was no more that a poor virgin married a week gone by, and now so much less, stripped of her ancestors, her heritage, and her experience, as naked and helpless as a poor oyster stripped of its shell. She clung to his chest like a baby monkey, and she wept in great silent gasps. She reached behind her and pulled the silly blindfold off her head. The moment she would not let pass was now passed, and now she could look forward to a lifetime of regret for her stupidity. And it _was_ a stupid indulgence -- what had she lost with this foolishness? Bleary daylight assaulted her eyes, and the first thing she could see was the forest of hair on the man's chest. He was still breathing deeply, lifting her with each breath, and she knew him only as a total stranger, a great sweating, hairy man with whom -- with whom -- she had just played the harlot like the shabbiest woman of the streets, off in the forest while her husband slept. Her tears, running hot with anger and cold with grief, ran down her face and onto his chest, some dripping onto her naked breasts. She had known Jacob since childhood, and now she had thrown it away for a moment's pleasure. She might even be carrying this man's baby -- a thought that brought more cold tears. Plain and simple, what she had done was a criminal act, punishable by the courts. If Jacob decided to divorce her, she would be a destitute mother of a bastard child and no one would have her. This merry dance in the woods had brought her to the end of a very short plank, with only a wet, cold grave of a life ahead of her. He felt her tears running down his chest, and for a while he just let her weep. A woman's weeping is a delicate thing -- doing something can be as dangerous as doing nothing, and no man knows always the right thing to do. He leaned there against the log, holding her, knowing -- without seeing -- the beauty of her frame, delicate bones under a blanket of smooth flesh, soft buttock in his hand, breasts and cheek pressed against his torso, and long honey hair in a plait down across his arm. He knew it was partially the excess of emotion that had set her off, but the pit of infamy on which they teetered could not be denied. He himself faced serious difficulties if this was not managed well. Unless ... what if they left the woods together and never went back to their spouses? It made for pretty romance, but people are not chess pieces. He had his fabric of family, friends, and business partners, without whom they would be paupers. He must go back with the same woman he had wed. Starvation had little romantic appeal. Katrin had, in the meantime, reached the same conclusion. She was sweaty, slimy, sticky, and disheveled -- a condition that no husband could mistake. She could not return to him, but she could not run away. She was ruined, all for a few moments of pleasure. Curse me for nine times a fool, she thought. I've never spared a drop of pity for women who did this and now look at me -- rutting like a tavern wench with a stranger, and I don't even have a coin to show for it. I should be horse-whipped -- if that were my only punishment, I would take it gratefully. She straightened her legs and tried to stand down, but he held her firmly against his chest. She struggled feebly, tying to get loose, but still he held her. The chill of fear crept into her malange of misery. In an instant, her situation changed from keeping illicit company to one of profound isolation -- the victim of a very real rape. It was then he began to speak. He told her she was wonderful, strong and golden, precious and delightful. He told her she smelled of new mown hay, and that her hair was like sunlight and honey. She heard his voice through the air and through his chest, and it vibrated her wind because their chests were pressed together in his embrace. Her eyes were closed, but she could feel the sunlight on her back and his fingertips caressing the flesh of her shoulders and back. He told her how happy she had made him. He said she was lovely and sexual, and his voice was like a cello, deep and resonating, sweet and powerful. He was not asking for anything, simply serenading her with comfort and rhythmic speech, showing her the beauty that he saw of her. She could feel the rumble of his voice in her ribs, her belly, her public bone, and her nipples. She could not ignore the sound, but she was able to listen and think her own thoughts at the same time. She was still furious with herself, terribly frightened, and yes, ashamed. But of course, she had no idea of the overwhelming pleasures hidden there in that foolish patch of hair. It is no wonder that such pleasure is called shame, because that is what it brings. And the tears still flowed as she ducked the lashing of her conscience. Shame was this horrible whipping she was giving herself. A woman's shame -- and she recalled the scholar's word for a woman's thatch of hair and all the wonder and misery that came with it -- pudenda, meaning shame. Why was this ferocious pleasure locked behind this terrible shame? Oh, she knew why-- Genesis said that man shall earn his bread by the sweat of his brow and woman shall bring forth children in -- what? pain? shame? Something. But why does shame deserve such secret treasures as the thrills she felt just moments past? It was a strange comfort to realize how many of the world's women shared her shame -- she had joined a vast sisterhood. Here it is, then, the secret that had ruined so many fallen women -- and men, too. But she did not think of herself as fallen, exactly. It was more that she had tasted Eve's Apple, the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Bad -- in particular, she now had Knowledge of good and bad sex. Her knowledge would surely make her dissatisfied with poor Jacob. He had not and he knew not, and if Katrin kept her mouth shut, he would never find out. Meanwhile, here was Gunther, among the most magnificent of men ever written by the author of her days, certainly the finest ever written into Katrin's young life. And here was she, in a rare moment of privacy with him, having just enjoyed the most spectacular screw she would ever likely have, and she was leaking and blubbering like a widow at confession. She wondered if he could do it again -- or maybe twice more? Through her lingering tears, she noticed his nipple just in front of her nose. Nipples on a bull? And the thought made her stomach flutter in suppressed laughter. What do you suppose it's good for? Slowly and carefully, she held the nipple with her teeth and teased it with her tongue. Nothing seemed to happen, so she continued. Nipples are nipples, after all, even if they can't give milk. After a moment, the soles of Gunther's feet began to burn, then his urethra and the crown of his penis. It was stimulating, but also annoying. In only a little while, his penis woke up and rolled over like a drunken sleeper, thumping against her thighs. He stopped talking and lifted her so her face was level with him. She looked at him, nose to nose without smiling. God, he thought, she is gorgeous. Triangular face, huge blue eyes, fine nose, beautifully arched brows, finely curved lips. So he "closed her eyes with kisses twain," and knew exactly why the poet wrote those words. Two soft touches, as gently as a reverent groom might give his silk-wrapped bride. In that moment, she felt more beautiful and loved than ever in her 19 years. For a moment she stayed and breathed the peace of all the forest, then she took control and wriggled down his body to the ground. There she curtsied low and returned his kisses, lifting each testicle in turn with infinitely gentle fingers and touching it with her lips, soft as a butterfly. The she rose and turned and skipped over to where her clothes lay on a bush. She cleared an area of stones and sticks, then took her petticoat and then her dress, spreading them and smoothing them on the forest floor. And as he watched, he decided he had never seen a woman so perfect. Or so perfectly nude. Like a dancer, every movement was purposeful and graceful. Long, straight muscles on her thighs molding into her hips, her tiny waist and flat belly, swelling ribcage, tear-drop breasts, and sweet pink nipples in their own blushing circles. He watched her beautiful bottom as she bent to pick up the petticoat, then turned and knelt with one leg to smooth and straighten the cloth. She moved like a fine racehorse, and he wanted her again. So there is the irony of this life, he thought. If I had not married the wrong woman, I might never have met the right one. Marriage is not always the perfect destiny for a perfect love. Let Jacob worry about her groceries, paying the coal man, her sickness and her health, and sweating his daily bread until she is old and gray. And let poor Judith work out her years over the pots, the mending, and problems with servants. My flower will remain forever young, forever sweet on this day in the forest, dappled in the sunshine -- dreaming, proud, and beautiful. And then she turned to him with a small smile, holding out her hands. Will you have me again? Please? This time, when he was done, he was truly done. He looked at her body, shining with sweat, and he thought of the racehorse again: "Tossing mane and whisky eyes, slippery foam on prancing thighs ..." He lay beside her on the forest floor, studying her slippery thighs, the round of her breast against her ribs, and the tiny blue veins marbling the white flesh. He watched the measured rhythm of her breathing and the subtle pulse of her blood as it washed through her body. Beauty is of the bone, he thought. It is in every sigh, every limb, every freckle. One sexual climax on a beautiful woman is more interesting that three climaxes on a plain one. But of course, that is also true of a yawn. Then he thought again. How could I live without this beauty, now that I have known it? Without Beauty, a man struggles through life, blind and miserable. Beauty is life's salt, its very savor. When Adam ate the Forbidden Fruit, he suddenly knew the difference between life and death. Now that I have tasted it, I know the difference between a life worth living ... and otherwise. And his mind returned to his daredevil sports with horses and mountains. It is not that love is like death, for that makes no sense at all. It is that the risk of death brushes aside the trivial and gives us a brief, shy peek at what we stand to lose -- the raw beauty of life. That is the gift that danger brings us. Had I beside me this breath, this flesh, this blood, this passion, I would never need another angry horse to frighten me into remembering my love of life. She drifted, peaceful as a petal on the tide, gradually bobbing to the shore of wakefulness. When she opened her eyes, he was there, holding her on his arm and smiling down at her. She felt very beautiful. She was aware of the spangled sunlight, the breezes on her body hairs, and the tiny noises in the forest. So it is true what they say, she thought. Once is too many, and twice is too few. But three times? Mmmm. Three times could become a lifelong habit. She said, "You really will like Jacob, once you get to know him. You will be the best of friends. I know I will love Judith. Our families must visit each other often." She reached up for a light kiss on the lips, then kissed his chest below his throat. "Phew!" she said. "You stink. Time for the bath I promised you." She rose, took his hand, led him down to the pool, and washed him everywhere, marveling again at the perfection of his race. When he had washed her in turn, they went ashore. When she had donned her clothes over her dripping wet body, she explained to him the simple truth of her afternoon: "I came walking alone and found myself at the pool where my husband and I met you folks when we first got here. I saw a beautiful blossom floating on the water, but I could not reach it." She took the flower from her hair and tossed it into the water. "So I fetched a stick and leaned out to the flower, but I lost my balance." She picked up a stick, leaned over the water, and plunged in, fully clothed, letting the stick float free. Then she climbed out, scuffing her one remaining shoe in the mud, and smearing mud on her apron. Her dress and hair were a ruin. No one would suspect she had spent the afternoon wedding and bedding in the forest, nor that her dress has served as the wedding sheet. "When you are completely dried by the sun, dress as you were, give me an hour's grace, and return to your wife. It might help if you smoked one of two of your cigars. Don't forget your handkerchief." When Katrin returned to her husband, still wet to the skin, she was shaking and chilled. In two days Jacob was well enough to continue their marital activities, but between Katrin's headaches and coughing, Jacob and Katrin did not have sexual intercourse again for the remainder of the honeymoon, not until they returned to their new home a week later. Nevertheless, in eight months, Katrin gave birth to the first of their four sons, each of whom was taller than Jacob, blond, and magnificent in every limb and member. As they grew, they became singularly popular with women friends, touching at times even on scandal. Jacob and Katrin also raised three daughters, beautiful and graceful as dancers, and unusually knowing before their years. Gunther and Judith raised three daughters and two sons. It was rumored at times that Jacob and Judith spent more time together in private than would be seemly for people not married to each other. But the few times these rumors were brought to the attention of Katrin or Gunther, they were confidently and completely squelched. The two couples were inseparable. They spent all of their free times together, until the day the Destroyer of all things came for them and laid them quietly in their graves. <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. 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