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From: "Robert Sedgewick" <rsedgewick@mail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Sticks and Blossoms [M/F rom cons]
Date: Mon, 10 Nov 2003 20:10:08 -0500
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<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.
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