the last installment.......

For the uninitiated, you're about to read chapters 5 - 8 of a book that started two posts ago, so if you want to start from the beginning go here -  http://spunoutpost.blogspot.com.au/2012/02/love-story.html   And I'm not sure I'm going to continue with this concept, because I seem to have lost most of my readers along the way.  In fact, I'm pretty sure that this is the end.  If you were one of the five readers who really loved this, then email me and we'll work out how to get you a copy. 

 

CHAPTER 5 -  Tremble in your arms....... 

And that’s when it happened.  The folding of faces and layers to sex and dark and skin warmth.  All of their best was tangled with blessings and tranquillity.  All of their worst was loved and acknowledged, seen for it’s heartache and seamlessly healed.

They saw all within.  The maiden the youth, the mother the father, the crone the wizened, the rapist the victim, the phallus the cunt[1], the father the daughter, the mother the son, the despair the elation, the sacred the profane, all interchangeable, all connected, all within.

And the interchangeable bits became so distractingly quick in their flux that the spin was dizzying.  Then the flickering slowed to deep moving waters of connection and sanction.  Belying all with the rocking uterine waters of the mother, seared by the phallus of the consort in deepening thrusts.

They fucked and sucked, kissed and slid, giggled and moaned.  He travelled her soft skin and supped her sweet nipples.  She folded him into her warmth.  He filled her inside in every way possible, sexual and spiritual, slow and quick.  She dragged him with her to spiralling heights to see the terrain below.

And around and behind them sat hordes of ancestors, divided they died, and united to watch.  To see this marriage of death and life, polarities melded within.

---

[1] Cunt:  Contrary to popular belief, this is not a derogatory name to denigrate a woman and her genitalia.  It’s actually derived from the Oriental Great Goddess Cunti, or Kunda, the Yoni of the Universe.  Also the root of words such as cunning, ken, cunicle ( a hole or passage ), cunctipotent ( having cunt magic ), county, kind, and often synonymous with woman, though not in the insulting modern sense.  In pagan Europe there were many shrines dedicated to female genitalia which Medieval clergymen called cunnus diaboli, or ‘devilish cunt’.  For more information read the entry ‘Cunt’ in ‘The Women’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets’ by Barbara G. Walker.   

CHAPTER 6 -  Soft Tranquillity

“Who are you?” he asked.

 She looked at him with a gaze of intense curiosity, and that open warm feeling you get after engaging in an extremely fine fuck.

“I’m magenta flowing life, streaming through the gaps and silky touching the fibres of people around me.  Inspiration and magical interlude.  Ancient past and new born babe.  Wearer of many faces and lifetimes, stories and memories, smiles and tears.”

 He looked her deep in the eyes.  Tall, sanguine, shine dark hair with glints of blood, line traced face, full skin lips, tree green eyes, and fine smooth nose.  Full soft body of belly curve, and gentle breasts.  Long white limbs and soft white hide.  And the strength of fire in her gaze.

“Who are you?” she spoke back.

He kept up his gaze in her eyes.  Dark pool eyes.  Endless reaching eyes.  He looked into her and murmured...

“I’m the dancer the laugher, the raper the light bringer, the wounder the wounded, the husband the lover, the violated the desexed, the bull and the blade.....”

She watched him as he talked.  Long velvet, dark hair, curled down a shoulder hollow.  Lean frame draped on the bed.  Hard line of muscle smoothed by soft satin hollows.  Grey blue eyes, holding grief and wisdom.  Elegant line of lip, over a fine bone sculpted chin.

She caught her breath and gently closed her eyes.

“I think I’ve known you before.”

CHAPTER 7 - Clouds, all are clouds......

Aware their time was limited, they exchanged as many signposts of their lifescapes as they could. 

Not that long ago, she’d sat on Sunset Rock, curved in a hollow of craggy ore, feeling herself drawn into the valleys and cliffs and vista’s before her.  She’d stared at a cloud and made it dissolve.  Stared at it so long and intensely, and imagined it melting till it did indeed start to disappear.  It wisped away before her eyes, and left no trace of it’s visit.  She moved her gaze to a larger cloud, and it happened also the same.  Then a larger cloud still, and it melted away to pre-existence.  It was only when she’d thought to herself...

“How can I do this?” that she found she couldn’t melt clouds anymore.

He’d spent a time at a night club on peyote, and become so involved in new views perceived, that he changed his form to become life force.  He’d moved his life force into a stranger’s body, speeding through veins and blocks, knot muscle and grief, till that body, as he watched from the outside, became looser and taller and cleaner.  Amazed by the outcome he’d moved into others, to melt through and unblock, feeling awesomely charged by his pursuits.

And inbetween all these stories shared and pictures drawn they kept up their loving.  Trying new poses and angles, movements and moist.  They entered the realm of an infinite world where past becomes present and futures diverse.

CHAPTER 8 - Back to the outside

It was time to part.  Dawn struggled it’s way through the steely clouds to warm the currents.  He wasn’t as free as her.  There were other lives he was dancing in, that weren’t quite ready to loose hold.  And he still had warfare’s, and bloodshed, to try and repair.  He was still God in some circles, that he had to remain in, till a gentle extraction was hailed.  But he knew he had found his sign.  He knew now where to aim his bow.

She on her part, had already travelled the masculine lands of destruction and blood, had driven deep down in it, and tasted the air there, sucked it in deep, and let it form itself in her words and tongue.  She’d cowered under the harsh rule, and licked her anger down.  As she’d been slave in that world, she understood him intimately.  Far more than he ever knew.  Being slave made it easier for her to drop that role, and step into another.  Far easier than forgoing the role of God.  And now she’d lost the skins she’d used to view him, he stood out beyond them, resplendent and new.

So they found it hard to part.  They held swift to mere distractions and whimsy’s, to cling to their time in the room.  The ancestors watching began to leave.  The main course was over, they were off for desert.

“When will I see you again?” he asked her.

“When you can I’ll be ready.  I’ve been waiting so long for you to see me truly, that any time now is timeless.  When you’re free come to me, but you must surely be free, for I’m not keen to feel pain again.”

They held onto each other as long as they dared, and even outside, in the cool morning light, they clung to what moments were left.  No promises, no treaties, just a silent agreement that what had been shared was sacred.