“Virtue! A fig! ‘Tis in ourselves that we are thus and thus. Our bodies are gardens to which our wills are gardeners;”. Shakespeare, Othello.
(I have lost hope in my ability to make links. The time I waste trying is time that I would rather be writing. This is Part 4 of my story…feel free to jump back or just take it from here.)
There I was under the fig tree, oozing, warm, thick like syrup. My Will was reaching incredible heights. Nothing could stop it. As for my Virtue, it was like a distant memory, fading away with every passing second. My Garden was ripe, a cornucopia, a bountiful offering. The Gardener begged for the harvest right at the very moment that the fertile soil yielded its reward. My will was to be labored like rutty soil and I must say that I really was. He worked my body like a farmer plows a field.
His strong hands cupped my ass, pulling me into him. My knees rose in a silent chorus around his waist. Feeling him so close to me brought tears to my eyes, the urgency of his gesture, the pulsating rhythm of our movements…the fierce desire bringing us together like magnets! We were fully clothed for a moment and then suddenly we were naked, in a park under a fig tree. Complete strangers riding a wave of lust, a tsunami ravaging the coast of my existence. As if everything else up until this moment had been taken out to sea, discarded like an old dress, still magnificent but somehow wrong on my silhouette. Outdated.
I clutched his shoulders, his ass. He was my pumped up life-vest and I was holding on to him in a sort of survival instinct. His fingers slid eagerly between my legs and the lush, slippery sensation made me gasp. It was as if he had known what I wanted before I even knew it myself. He sensed exactly how to touch me, and where, all doled out in varying intensity. He took me so far away and then dropped me abruptly and then swooped down to pick me back up. I was soaring on his wings yet I was firmly planted below him.
He penetrated me, my body and my soul all at once and then he fucked me with such raging fury that I lost myself in the frenzy of his forceful pumping. My hair was wet and sticking to the back of my neck, my body was slick in his hands. He dislodged something so painful hidden deep inside my heart and as it passed my eyes teared up and a small cry escaped me. Then I came and it was so beautiful that I was terrified by the happiness it procured. I knew that anything that exquisite was not intended for me, yet it was for me. Somewhere beyond my animal sounds there was a moment of deafening silence, a calm before the storm. His orgasm rose up and met me half-way. If I remember right, there were fireworks.
I will never imagine public transportation in the same way. Get out of your gas guzzler….the good life is waiting at the bus stop!
Terminus. End of Story