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Carnal Interlude


Robert Sermais


It's time for me to put some sort of order into my jumbled thoughts, since I've been living in a kind of hazy dream the past eight days, without concerning myself with anything else except creating a symphony of pure carnal harmony.

By now, I had attained, not the culminating stage, but the one that would take the most bravura. I had to watch over my feelings so as not to give way to some irrational stupidity. And I asked myself to what point I had let myself become involved with Claude. I conjured up the image of his beautiful fiancee to see if some tiny facet of jealousy whetted my appetite. No, in all honesty, I admitted that I had been wisely and wholesomely conceiving the future bliss of my temporary and probationary lover.

Until now, no real union had been established between us — by that I mean, to the point of his thinking me more than his initiatress. I had taken pains not to turn his head so that at no stage could he begin to believe that he desired me instead of the woman he was to marry. Our camaraderie had been strengthened, because from the very first day I had seen to it there would be no misunderstanding between us.

The first step was to be taken now: the most important, since it would be the cornerstone of the future edifice. Sexual contact must not become bestial rut. It must be for him a spiritual union which materializes itself in flesh. For the true lover, the gift of the body is a real communion. The two blood streams that are wed each have their own peculiarities; a woman is centralized in her belly and her real life extends below it. From there, she draws all her strength. She is earth, flesh, nature, emotion. The man represents fire and air, creative ideas, cerebral activity. For the egoistic climax of fucking to become voluptuous ecstasy, it must be built upon the closed and definitive circuit of the man and the woman in a true unison. Otherwise, a man would find only solitude and limitation. He dare not ignore this truth for his own future happiness.

This new day was beautiful indeed. Claude had taken out the car, and I came to sit beside him, pressing tightly against him. He drove rapidly, and soon we were in the verdant countryside. From the warm earth there rose a humid, odorous vapor. We stopped at a little inn to enjoy some white wine that lit a fire of hope in our hearts. Our mouths wove a wreath of kisses; our hands, wisely applied on the rattan table, awaited only the right moment to intervene in the game. Then Claude proposed we leave the inn, and we went on foot through the trees towards a little stream surrounded by thick moss.

“Will you remember these hours?†I asked as I regarded my lover's handsome, tender face.

“Yes, you'll remain in my heart as an unchanging memory of beauty,†was his fervent reply. And his hands sought my titties, but I quickly rebuffed him. “We haven't yet finished our day,†I said smilingly.

His grave expression told me that I ought not to trifle with his feelings, for in him, as with all youths his age, shame and virtue merge into a superficial and somewhat provocative pride.

However, he ought to have known how happy I was that his first essays of fucking hadn't been on the worn-out flesh of a woman for sale. So he could present himself to marriage knowing that he had escaped that kind of odious love which prostitutes offer. He would approach the gentle offering of his wife adorned with a freshness which had been untarnished. I place much importance on this, even if these days a man's virtue is considered fictional and laughable. You see, history has established the myth of a woman's virginity, but it never mentions that of a man. It says only, a girl is a virgin and a boy is a simpleton! However, the entire life of a woman is based on this simple natural contact of prick to cunt. Without me, I thought to myself, Claude's knowledge of love might have been left to some hazardous chance; perhaps in his lonely need for lustful appeasement, he might have sought some slut or else a girl who pretended to be a creature of passion but herself was inwardly frigid and hypocritical — and then what disaster it would have been for him! I thought of this as we walked back to the car.

Back at the house, the luncheon table awaited us, covered with a dazzlingly white satin cloth. There was a cold collation and seasonal fruits. I went upstairs to change and came back down in a little peasant dress of red linen, tightly belted and with a flaring, wide skirt. Claude had filled the crystal goblets, and I tasted a sip of sherry, promising myself not to try it to excess, since I'd already had wine this morning. But I did full justice to the cold cuts and fruits. After lunch, we stretched out on the grass under the trees, and I quickly fell asleep while he read.

When I woke, the sun's ardor had lessened, but the ground still retained its warmth. He was gone. I reached for the open book he had left beside me and I read:

“My wife has the gift of speech like that of a sacrificial vestal;
Like that of a doll that opens and closes its eyes,
Like that of an ancient stone that contains all wisdom.
My wife has eyelashes that flutter like a child's scrawl,
And eyebrows as soft as the edges of a swallow's nest;
My wife has slate-colored temples, and they furrow in displeasure...â€

Hardly had I finished reading these imagistic lines when Claude was beside me, holding out a glass of lemonade, a few mouthfuls of which I swallowed. I watched the ice cubes dance in the liquid, and a sensation of freshness surged along my throat and expanded through my body. I lay down again, with him beside me, breathing in the suave scent of honey which came from his fair skin. Around us, the sunlight still shone. On his wristwatch, the time read four o'clock. I put out my hand to feel his cock, to free it into air and sunlight. So gently that I scarcely felt it, he unbuttoned the buttons of my bodice, and then unhooked my brassiere to expose my titties, happy to thrust forth to the sun's gentle caresses. I scuffed off my shoes as his hand sought my garters, and then delicately he drew off my stockings. My skirt slid down, and my panties joined the little pile of clothes at the foot of the tree. In this pleasant warmth my naked skin took on a rosy tint, not because I was ashamed, but because I realized the voluptuous well being of this natural freedom.

Where we were was hidden from any intruders, and the concierge himself never came to this part of the huge garden, which was always reserved for the amorous rendezvous of couples who sometimes inhabited our house. Claude's hand roved over my bare skin, his fingers strayed through my hair, then back to the prominently jutting globes of my naked titties. Pausing an instant to tweak my nipple, he roamed his hand down to my navel, hardly pausing there at all, onward to the soft downy commencement of my cunny fleece. I stretched my body luxuriously, sighing, impatient to have him finish this delicious contemplation of my naked charms. Now he cupped my titties, shifting his palms over the coral aureoles of their peaks, flattering my turgifying nipple-buds. His tongue tip gently flicked each of them.

He was kneeling before me so as to have complete command of my panting bubbies. My hands, twisted in my yearning, groped to him, and my unbearable torment was to have to try to undress him. My fingers, swollen with desire, fumbled with his belt. Suddenly, at the height of my tension, I nervously pushed him away, and quickly I turned my back to him. His hands stroked my bottomcheeks, cupping and squeezing the globes. A finger glided into the ambery groove and halted at the dainty, crinkly rosebud of my asshole. My feverish desire kept me from protesting this far too intimate caress, but his hand soon wandered back to my furry cunny, and he palmed the soft pink petals of my slit. Then his fingers probed inwardly, and I tightened my thighs to halt this disturbing advance. Then I spread my legs, and his hand returned to my cunt-fleece. His fingertips parted the curls of my love hair, and an insistent finger suddenly wandered into my sheath, while his thumbpad found my clit and rubbed it, making me shudder. “No, no,†I thought to myself, “I don't want him to do that.†I needed all my efforts and will to hold off the urge to gush my love-cream, and brusquely freed myself from his caresses. I turned to him; he was stupefied by my sudden show of chastity.

“Strip naked!†I cried.

And with my own hands, I helped him undress till he stood naked before me. I made him stretch out on the grass, rubbed my cheek against the bush that surrounded his dear, sturdy, massive prick.

“Oh, how handsome you are, what a superb cock you have, Claude,†I breathed as I greedily stared at his throbbing lance.

My tongue quickly implanted a gobbet of saliva on his shaft, and my lips brushed it all along his cock, hastening his nearing the moment of hot spend. He, reversing himself on me, sucked and licked my cunny, till at last I flung myself down on my back, thighs yawning, my quaking cunt burning for fulfillment. Then I felt his chest flatten down my titties, and between my trembling, soft thighs, I felt the warm probing of his prick. My cunny lips opened of their own accord, and I felt the hard cartilage of his manhood macerate the soft fruit pulp of my cuntsheath. My emotion mounted, my juices boiled around this hard digging tool that grew within me.

“I'm yours, I love you,†I moaned.

Like a horseman off to a gallop, Claude rode me, digging in and out while I felt his fingertips gouge into my trembling, bare shoulders. Together, we rode towards the zenith, and I howled aloud as his spunk lashed the deepest recesses of my quaking cunt, which almost at the same instant gave down all my pussy-cream.

The shadows of eventide tinged our enlaced naked bodies, and nature was silent; even the wind in the trees had hushed its plaintive song. From afar, our house with its purple shutters seemed to summon us back, to give us repose, but the surging of our blood kept us from even moving.

And it was only much later when Claude lifted his head and wakened me from my sweet torpor. My body knew a blessed calm. No lassitude troubled my serene satisfaction, and I read in his eyes the same happy contentment.

“Thank you,†he said. “I feel myself as pure as when I knew nothing of a woman.†He put his cheek to mine and we both awaited the gentle night.