This story contains sexually explicit scenes.
He came and it was summer...
The Earth was a palette of rich colors, an artistís delight of hues. The bright yellows of daisies and morning-light, the reds of roses and ladybugs that sprinkled the world for luck, the blues of perfect skies and crystal, clear waters, the greens of leaves and grass that had been watered and tenderly attended yet, with the heat of Solstice, were fading to brown, the lavenders of summer skies pleading not to be swallowed by the darkness of sunset, and the fuchsiaís of pansies and phlox dotting the manicured lawns. The spectrum of summer was a vivid background.
The air was thick and heavy with humidity that ignored the ground and hung suspended in the space around us. The heat scorched our lungs with every inhalation. The sun steeped our perspiring bodies like lobsters set to boil.
And we kissed...
The kiss was hesitant, not fumbling, but weakened by fear of rejection. Like a schoolboy in front of a class giving a report on his favorite subject and forgetting how he loves it when he sees everyone staring at him. Time settled in. The kiss lengthened. Our lips softened and molded together. Like that same boy, who remembers his topic and how much he loves it, then sees the looks of anticipation, so finishes with fervor; we jumped into our kissing with no less enthusiasm.
Mouths collided, vying for space to seek and discover the unknown. Our cautious tongues touched and drew back like turtles peeking from shells, then plunged ahead in courageous excitement. Unswallowed saliva seeped between, allowing our slippery lips to glide like oil-slicked bodies in the hot, summer sun. It went on forever until moisture was gone and all that remained was dry, chapped mouths that still searched for satiety.
It was the burn of summer, the burn of skin, the burn of kisses never before known yet emblazoned in memory.
He visited and it was autumn...
The tint of earth had muted to obscure shades in the Crayola box. The leaves were turning to brick and goldenrod and burnt sienna. Pumpkin orange speckled the porches with countless jack-o-lanterns. Orchards were heavy with juicy, ready-to-be-picked apples. Bales of hay, scattered over plowed fields, stood like soldiers proudly representing a job well done.
The world hummed with activity as kids dressed in newly store-bought clothes and armed with the most up-to-date supplies, hurried back to school.
We, too, hurried back to one anotherís embrace...
The kisses were eager and rushed like children trick-or-treating from house to house, remembering the indulgences that awaited them and begging for more. We greedily scooted our mouths into familiar positions, tightening together, and barely allowing a whisper of air between us. Our tongues mingled in gluttonous search of oral utopia and found it. We kissed until our lips were numb and swollen and unable to pucker.
It was the rush of autumn, the rush of children, and the rush of kisses that roused heartís immortal thirst.
He returned and it was winter...
The cold, north wind blasted through the streets, shuffling remnants of holiday past to the edges. Warm puffs of air were visual with every breath, and breathing was heard like the chug of a train, climbing uphill. A small number of people lumbered along, weighted down in bundled layers of clothing and outerwear. Most of the world hibernated, waiting for winterís tide to pass.
The achromatic land stretched as far as the eye could see. Naked trees with skeletal branches broke up the sameness of snow-covered earth. Snowflakes, like alabaster powder, dusted the tops of starkly, dark buildings. Charcoaled smoke escaped from chimney after chimney, foretelling of cozy, warm fires and snuggling couples.
We became one of those...
The kisses were soft and poignant. The venereal appetite remained, sated with simple petting from spongy mouths, but a little of the urgency had abated, replaced by a softer, gentler caress. Lips tickled like the vibrating reed in the embouchure of an instrument played. Tongue recognized tongue, lip recognized lip, breath recognized breath; the familiarity was vitalizing.
It was the concession of snow, the concession of winter, and the concession of life-altering changes when love is immeasurably avowed.
He remained and it was spring...
The passionate grip of Morpheus loosened as the world opened its dreamy eyes. The sun took possession of the sky and demanded a lengthier stay. The moon acquiesced and slid silently into the shortened night. Birds chirped in lustful tones, sharing the gossip of winterís passing. Blossoming foliage basked in temperate rays and drank heartily from clement rains.
Embryonic buds sprinkled the trees in pastel merriment. Daffodils, with cheery, yellow faces, stood like happy sentinels, lining the sidewalks. The cerulean sky became a backdrop for homemade kites that bumped upward in playful breezes. An enceinte Mother Nature conceived new beginning to life.
We had our own beginning...
The kisses were filled with anticipation, like children hunting for Easter Eggs, panting with excitement at the hunt, and shaking eagerly when one is found. Feathery kisses adorned professions of love and whispers of promised vows. An explosion of arduous need heatedly ensued. Mouths opened, tongues intertwined, lips smashed together in faultless alignment. The silhouette of love connected us in harmony.
It was a time of new beginnings, a time of new life, a time to share it as one.
Copyright © 1999 by Desdmona.