The Forfeit, part 2

(While this can be read as a stand-alone vignette, it is intended as a follow-up to this story.)

I massaged him first, anointing his flesh with faintly scented argan oil. From memory I recited the poetry of Rumi and Neruda, and parts of the Songs of Solomon, sensually guiding the words with their vivid imagery into his mind. I left no inch of him untouched, and when I finished, his body was completely limp with the exception of his cock, which I'd brought to full attention.

It took some effort to rouse him up off the massage table, and when he was vertical I had to help guide him over to my bed, where I put him on his back and bound his limbs with silken sashes. When I kneeled next to him on the bed his eyes fluttered open. They were warm and lustrous, the pupils dilated. He smiled at me, a slow, sensuous smile that brought my attention to his lips.

I leaned over him, slowly lowering my head until my lips hovered over his.

"I love you," I said, and as I said it I opened myself completely, letting the love flow from me.

"Mmm.... I love you too," he mumbled back almost drowsily, and pursed his mouth for a kiss.

How do you describe a kiss that commingles elements of the sacred and profane: awe and love and passion and desire? It was all there and more as we breathed each other in and let the energy flow between us.

I straddled him, and as I lowered myself onto him, as I worked the wedge of him into me, I felt myself splitting open on so many levels: physically, emotionally, spiritually. A prayer came to my lips unbidden, and as I sat, unmoving, upon him, I slowly recited, "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul..."

His eyes opened, and he watched me, and his expression transformed from uncertain to transcendent in a few heartbeats. He felt it, I knew, that sense of the sacred that seemed to pervade our joining.

I leaned forward, moving my hands so they pressed into his upper arms, so the weight of my upper body restrained him further, and my eyes holding his gaze, I put my inner muscles to work. I sat unmoving astride his immobile body and yet we moved together, our PC muscles undulating. His cock twitched within the fist I made of my pussy, and it was intense, oh so intense.

We maintained the stillness as long as we could, but eventually his thigh muscles were clenching and releasing and I was swaying. I brought my hands up to my nipples and with one tweak I went off like a fireworks display, keening louder and louder. He convulsed under me, his entire body straining, pulling at the sashes that bound him to the head and foot boards. He lifted his head up off the pillow, his eyes wide and wondrous, and then his face contorted and his hips raised, lifting us both up off the bed. The power of his orgasm awed me, blew through me like the breath of God, and left me tingling with profound joy.

I untied his arms before I curled up next to him, drowsy and sated in a way that was soul-deep. My love for him and what we'd shared radiated from within. I felt like a small sun had been born inside me.

"We should do that more often," I whispered into his ear.

"Peace, woman," he gasped in response. "There is only so much God and sex the human body can take."

I smiled ruefully and nodded my head against his shoulder. I wondered briefly how many people really experienced Divine Sex, then drifted off to sleep.

The Forfeit

We met at Sutro Heights Park.

I waited for him in a sunny spot on the foundation of the old mansion, watching the ocean I'd recently flown across, the ocean that had stood between us for three weeks.

He surprised me by slipping his arms around me and burying his face in my hair. I relaxed against him and smiled, basking in his warmth.

"Missed you," he said into my ear, and I turned and burrowed further into his embrace, until at last I caught the scent of him and sighed.

"I missed you more," I said and smiled up at him with a bratty expression on my face.

In answer, he slipped his hands up under my shirt and pressed them against my low back. I gasped at their coldness and tried to squirm away, but he held me tightly. His fingers pressed deeper into my sacrum, pushing my hips forward and up. He wiggled his hips a little, brushing his hardness against me.

"Three weeks," he groaned into my ear. "I hope Japan was worth it, because I hardly slept for all those erotic dreams I was having."

"Mmmm.... it was amazing." I put my arms around his neck and kissed him, softly at first, with tenderness and love, and then I sucked on his bottom lip and scraped it between my teeth.

He growled "wench" and swung us both around until my back was pressed against a gnarled old tree. He gathered my hands together above my head and with his free hand teased my nipples. Such sensitive nipples. The touch of his fingers electrified me, making me vibrate with jolts of pleasure.

"Fuck!" I gasped against his mouth.

He pulled back and smiled.

"My place or yours?" he asked.

"Neither. Here. I can't wait."

"Here?" His eyes widened.

"Well, not right here, but there is this spot down below here, where the foundation is sheltered by trees...."

I pulled a hand free and started down the steps and then up a little trail. I glanced at my watch. 9:16 am.

"Here," I said, leaning my back against the rough stone wall and pulling him toward me by his belt. I had it unbucked and his pants unfastened in record time. My hands dove down into the open vee and pulled out his cock and balls. The sight of him engorged and bobbing made me dizzy and suddenly I was on my kness with my mouth on him, moaning deliriously.

He leaned his palms against the wall and watched me, his body occasionally arching, his thighs tensing and releasing under my hands. Too soon, he was pulling me up onto my feet and turning me around to face the wall. He raised my skirt and his searching fingers felt between my legs, delved deep until he found my wetness, and then he entered me slowly, releasing his breath on a long, low moan.

He reached around and found my clit, rolled it betweein his fingers. I yelped and thrust my hips back against him. I heard my voice, heard my self whispering to him, telling him how much I missed the feel of him inside me, begging for him to fuck me, to make me come. And fuck me he did, hard and fast, ramming himself into me while he tormented my clit. My orgasm slapped me like a rogue wave, tumbled me, sightless and breathless, into a realm of sensation. I threw my head back and screamed silently up into the sky. The feel of me clenching on his cock was all the invitation he needed. He flattened me into the wall and thrust long and deep, raising me up on my toes and sending a jolt of pain through me.

"Too deep," I wanted to say, but I had no breath, and so I clung to the wall and worked my body around the axis of impalement, milking his cock until he shuddered against me and moaned like a man in pain.

"Never again," he panted into my ear.

"Never again what?"

"Never again will I let you talk me into masturbating to the edge without cumming for three weeks. It was torture."

"Ah sweetie," I said, as I slipped away from him and pulled a packet of wet wipes from my bag. I glanced at my watch. 9:19 am. "It wasn't torture. It was teasing and denial."

He groaned and leaned his back against the stone wall, catching his breath while I cleaned us both up.

"I won, by the way."

"Oh?" he asked.

"I told you that you wouldn't last 5 minutes." I tapped my watch. "You managed three."

He growled and made a clumsy swipe for me.

I laughed. "Are you trying to get out of your forfeit?"

"No," he said. "I honor my bets. An hour tied to your bed it is."

"Sweet!" I bounced. "Lets get you back to my place."

He groaned. "Insatiable wench!"

"Hey, I figured after 3 weeks without sex, edging the whole time, you'd finally be able to keep up with me."

"We'll see."

She would be 59

Its that time of the year again, when I remember my mother on her birthday. She would have been 59 today. It is a tough day in so many ways, very poignant with Tammy gone. I began my day with a call to my other sister who is her daughter, too, and we spoke of the love and pain and loss. Her death in September 2001 seems so long ago and yet, it seems just months ago, as raw and new in ways as Tammy's death a year ago. She was a difficult woman, my mother, a woman who pushed with one hand and pulled with the other. A closed person, she nevertheless exuded a compelling warmth and wisdom. She was available to others (but only so far) and she never allowed herself to need others. Her emphasis as a mother was teaching her children to be self-sufficient as early as possible. She loved, but it always felt remote, as though she loved from a distance so as not to get her fingers burned. What I knew of love and being a woman I absorbed from her, and it took many years to unlearn it. She died with silence between us, a major regret in my life. She had done unacceptable things to innocent people and I punished her by removing her from my life. At the time it seemed the right thing to do, but the silence carried on for years until it became an insurmountable wall. Knowing she was dying, I still refused to speak to her. I remind myself of this once a year because the lesson I learned about silence is one I should never forget: Never allow silence to stand between myself and someone I love, because I will regret the lost chance to tell them I love them one last time. I would celebrate her life, but the truth is, I never really knew her. I didn't even know that her favorite color was orange until after she died. Another year has passed. I can say with confidence that I have lived this one more fully than the last. And somehow, I think that is the best way I have of honoring her and celebrating her life--by living, truly living, mine.

Back from vacation

I enjoyed Japan immensely.

The first thing that must be said is how overwhelming I found Tokyo. It is a huge city. It was a huge city of over a million people 4 centuries ago. Now it is over 30 million, and even from the top floor of the tallest building in the city, I could see no end to it. The language, both written and spoken, is completely foreign. Fortunately, the subways make announcements in English as well as Japanese, and maps usually have both languages posted. The public transportation is superb. There is less traffic in Tokyo than in San Francisco or Portland. The crowds made me sweat. Going through the subway stations during rush hour was like being in a crowded stadium in which everyone is rushing onto the field--as politely as possible.

The second thing that must be said is how homogeneous the culture and people are. I saw more racial diversity in Portland, Oregon, which is a notoriously "anglo" city, than in Tokyo. Foreigners stand out, and for a city the size of Tokyo there aren't nearly as many non-japanese as I would have thought. I was in a sea of dark hair and eyes, a sea in which my curly hair might as well have been a beacon. The only other person I saw with curly hair in my 3 weeks there was a red-headed child. All young business men wear black or very dark blue suits. I developed a theory, after hours of people-watching, that the more successful and self-confident a businessman was, the lighter his suit. It is a male dominant society--men take the seats on the subway first--they do not give them up to women--and they go through doors first, too, for example. Women showed a lot of diversity in their choices in dress and shoes. Some of the clothing combinations were atrocious, and the shoes, well, somehow "fuck-me" heels didn't seem appropriate for long walks through the subway tunnels, and yet there they were.

And then there was the cigarette smoke. Japan has apparently made a lot of changes in the past 5 years, but depite the creation of "non-smoking areas" there is often a pall of smoke shrouding hotel lobbies and restaurants. I found it very unpleasant.

My first week I loved the food, but thereafter, the food was sometimes difficult for me. I love sushi and sashimi and yet something I was served at a kaiseki feast in Kyoto disagreed with me so strongly that I was sick for days and rarely able to eat traditional japanese food afterwards. They use a lot of oil in their food, to the point that even a bowl of udon noodles and tempura was an ordeal to eat. They pickle a lot of their vegetables in a manner that made them odiforously inedible. I ate so sparingly (for nearly a week I lived on toast and sugared tea/soda--I couldn't even eat eggs for protein) that my energy-level bottomed out several times a day due to the physical demands of being a tourist. I was cranky about feeling tired and ill so much. My travelling companion was very understanding and solicitous, but he got impatient after a while, which was good, because he often pushed me to do things I felt too crappy to want to do, and as a result I saw more of Japan than I otherwise would have.

The parks, temples, and shrines are beautiful. For centuries the Japanese have lost buildings and artifacts to fire and war and they have continually re-built, preserving a unique spiritual and architectural heritage that awed me on numerous occasions. My companion is kinetic. He does not know how to still his mind, how to empty it and let it fill the space he is in. He does not know to take in a place with all his senses and more just by being, really being present, and so I left most of the places that appealed most to me with a sense of longing. My reluctance to move on eventualy became a reluctance to initiate the process of truly appreciating where I was, and in some ways I became a tourist, marking another sight seen off my list, eager to move on to the next one, because when the day's list was complete I could rest. In the evenings I often soaked in the tub to rid myself of a chill so deep the beds of my fingernails were blue.

The festivals -- I hope Japan continues the traditional festivals -- the carrying of the floats through the streets with the chanting, the drum beating, and the costumes. I hope they continue to keep their young people engaged in it, because the festivals are truly moving and unique, and it saddnes me to think that they might some day be lost, as geishas will be, before the century is out. I saw Kabuki, and Noh, and Bunraku. A tea ceremony, an ikebana demonstration, many museums, wood block prints of incredible intricacy, and the deer of Nara. I saw the 1001 life-sized statues of Kannon, all similar but each unique, with with 40+ arms, in a rows that stretched longer than a football field. I was moved to tears by the sight of those statues and the thousands of man-hours of work they represented, awed by what we can accomplish that is creative instead of destructive.

And some nights I wept at the news out of Washington DC. The outrage I felt at learning about the torture that was conducted in my name resurfaced, and as the details became known, I was horrified. I was reminded of Nietzsche's warning "Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster" and was deeply saddened by the knowledge that we lost the war on terror so soon after the 9/11 attack. We lost our moral high-ground. We became the animals we sought to fight. My Grandfather fought the Japanese during WWII and had nightmares every night of his life for 60 years afterwards. Nightmares about torture. He heard the cries of soldiers in his sleep and many nights he woke me with this thrashing and shouting, and to know that what was done to him and men like him was done to others by Americans in the name of America--it gives me a grief as deep as the loss of my sister. My anger rises at the staunch defense of these tactics by Cheney and Rove others, and all I want is this: Every man and woman who formulated, perpetuated, and perpetrated the policy of torturing prisoners should themselves be water-boarded 183 times in a month. And anyone who defends it to this day should be waterboarded 80 times in a month. And then, and only then, when they themselves have been subjected to the treatment they advocate, will I give any credence to anything they have to say -- provided their minds haven't splintered into a thousand points of light.

April Vacation Notice

Hi, this is Silken, and the first thing I want to say is: Wow, my AudioSensual podcast is really taking off. As of today there have been 55 thousand downloads of podcast episodes in the past 3 months, and more than 6 thousand unique visitors. Amazing!

Secondly, I would like to point out that I produce this material partly as a labor of love, and partly as a desire to earn a living at what I love. So if you would please visit audiosensual.com or silkenvoice.com for a look at the wonderfully erotic full-length audio stories available for purchase and download, I would greatly appreciate it. Your purchases help keep me writing and recording.

Lastly, the April 5th and April 15th Podcast Episodes will not be released, as I am on vacation in the Orient for a few weeks. The next podcast should be released on April 25th.

Thank you for listening.

Want more Silkenvoice?
Site: http://www.AudioSensual.com
Podcast: http://AudioSensual.blogspot.com