The Hanged Man: Part 3: Samhain
Post #15: In which a youth lies with a woman ...
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“I don’t think I know much about feelings,” said Morfran slowly. “I’ve told you that was Creirwy’s role in the family—to express feeling. I’ve always been better at using my intellect. Maybe I’m afraid to feel. Maybe I’m just unskilled. How does one make friends with one’s feelings?”
“A good question,” she said.
While they’d talked the sun set. The cat departed. Looking up, Morfran saw a sky filled with stars. A fruit tree branch sheltered the place where they sat.
“Do you possess a lantern?” he asked impulsively.
“Of course.”
“Will you light it and bring it out?”
She picked up their empty mugs and returned to the house.
Morfran took out his bedroll and laid it on thick grass. When he lay on his back looking up at the sky he felt like an animal, bedded down, safe and warm and protected. This was a good place.
A small flame of light approached. She’d thrown a wool shawl over her shoulders for warmth and carried a blanket. He hung the lantern on a slender branch, making sure it didn’t scorch the fading leaves.
She spread her blanket with his and held out her hand to him. “Come,” she said and drew him down. They lay side by side, looking at the sky. “You’ve told me about the man with the blue beard,” she said.
He remembered the shock and sense of deformity he’d felt when he realized the color of stubble on the stranger’s face.
“He felt wrong,” he said. “He felt unnatural. When I circled above him and looked down, looked into him, he was empty, a great abyss of hunger and darkness.” He shuddered, remembering.
“Were you afraid?” she asked quietly.
“I was…I was appalled. I felt horror. I wasn’t afraid for myself but it was terrible to know a human form could hide such emptiness. I was shocked. I felt sick!”
“And when you found Creirwy,” she said gently, “her body was emptied.”
“She wasn’t there,” he said, his voice desolate. “She wasn’t there. When I held her body she was absent. She was like a shed snakeskin or a worn-out piece of clothing. Her light was out.” Stars above him blurred and tears ran down his cheeks, wetting his ears. She laid her hand on his without speaking.
Morfran groped for self-control. Crying wouldn’t bring her back. Crying wouldn’t help anything, couldn’t change anything. But his grief swelled beyond his ability to restrain it and he wept.
Gradually, he calmed. Night air cooled his wet cheeks, his ears, his temples. He took a deep breath and felt eased.
“Morfran, you experience feelings. You can call them by name. You can have a physical experience with them. You’re connected to your emotional life.”
“But I tried to stop feeling just then,” he said. “I don’t want to feel that kind of pain! I don’t want to cry!”
“Why?” she asked simply.
“It hurts me,” he said, like a child.
“Does it hurt you now?”
“No. Now I feel better.”
“Isn’t Creirwy worth your grief?”
“Of course she is!”
“Well then, give your tears and pain freely to her memory. Give her life meaning. Or choose another way. Turn away from grief and pain because you’re unwilling to endure discomfort. But Morfran, if you do that you also turn away from joy, from laughter, from desire, from all the feelings that shape our world and our experience. And if you do that you’re only a step away from silencing a songbird.”
He lay there, stars filling his eyes, sound of the river in his ears, feel of her hand covering his, and he heard truth in her words. He looked up at the flickering lantern flame and shape shifted into a moth with fragile dusty wings. He joined other moths attracted by the light in a fluttering dance, but for him it wasn’t a dance of self-destruction. He danced for joy.
She gasped as he shifted and sat up to watch him, lips parted as she followed his graceful movements. He flew down to her. In his moth shape, he was acutely aware of her warmth, her aliveness. Pear juice stained her fingers and lips with their scent. He flew about her head, brushing her cheeks with delicate wings. Lamplight fell on her amazing hair, loving it into shining strands of gold and silver. She raised her chin and closed her eyes as he flew around her, exploring her ears, stirring loosened tendrils of hair against her neck, brushing her eyelashes with his moth wings. He left her head and explored the soft skin on the inner wrists below her rolled-up sleeves. He fluttered around the thin gold bangles.
He left her arms and flew to the neck of her shirt, surrounding himself with her scent of clean earth, the grasses they lay on, the smell of cotton and the unique chemical imprint of her living body. Morfran felt drunk with it. She lifted her hands and loosened buttons, letting the shirt fall open. She lay back on her elbows, offering herself to his gentle, persistent exploration. He brushed against a nipple and she gave an involuntary gasp. He explored her breasts, flying in a fluttering circle around each of them, now and then brushing a nipple.
With a soft sound, as though a great wing brushed the air, he shifted back into himself, youthful and lithe, dark, a little twisted.
“Ever since I first met you, I’ve wanted to run my hands through your hair,” he said in a low voice.
She reached up and tugged at the strip of cotton holding it in place. Loosened, it spilled over her shoulders in a river of silver and gold. He cradled her head in his hands, combing from her scalp down to the ends with his fingers. Her hair covered her breasts and he caressed them through the strands with the palm of his hand, feeling her jutting nipples. He bent his head and put his mouth to a nipple and she lay back, guiding his head with her hands.
He moved from nipple to nipple, brushing her hair aside. She arched her back, breathing unevenly as his tongue explored the sensitive tips of her breasts and surrounding areolae. She put up her hands to cup herself, offering herself to his mouth, and he ran his tongue along her fingers. They were hardened and rough with calluses and he tasted pears.
He was fiercely, achingly aroused. He wanted to prolong his exploration of scent and texture but didn’t think he’d be able to wait. He rolled aside to loosen his clothes and when he turned back, she’d raised the hem of her skirt.
Morfran put a hand on her sex. Her hair felt coarse and curly and her lips swollen and moist. He’d never touched a woman before in this most private place. He wanted to see if her hair grew silver and gold like it did on her head. He wanted to fill himself with her scent, explore the inside of her thighs and her belly… Something gold glinted in the lantern light and he felt a thin chain draping low across her hips.
For some reason this hidden chain, this secret adornment against her skin, inside her clothes, pushed him into a spiral of need and desire he couldn’t delay or deny. For a moment he hesitated, trembling, but she reached for his hand and opened her legs to him. He felt warm wetness beneath his fingers. With his knee, he nudged her legs further apart. She grasped him gently, running her hand up and down his shaft once…twice…and then guided him into her.
She closed around him, wet and warm. Blindly he thrust, overwhelmed with sensation, excitement roaring within him. She matched his rhythm, clenching around him as he pulled back to thrust again. He wanted to weep, to shout, even to bite. He heard himself groan, thought again of the hidden chain around her hips and felt the wave of climax approach. Her hands were on his buttocks, pushing him more deeply into her. He began to empty himself inside her warmth, spasm after spasm, and she tightened her muscles, milking him with each ejaculation.
They both breathed hard. He lay still for a moment and then rolled off her and gathered her against him.
“Teach me… in a minute,” he whispered and slid into light sleep.
He wakened. He smoothed a hand over her tumbled hair, over her ear, down the curve of her neck, her shoulder, her ribs, the soft indentation of her waist. He found the chain and followed it with his fingers.
He put his hand up to her face, felt wetness on her cheek.
He rolled onto his elbow and looked down at her.
“I’m all right,” she said quickly. “Only happy.”
“I wasn’t finished exploring you, but you were too exciting. I couldn’t wait. Now I want to kiss you.”
He lowered his mouth onto hers. She relaxed under him, submitting to his playful teasing with tongue and lips and teeth. He felt her smile. She began to kiss him back.
“I want to look at you,” he whispered, and slid down between her legs. “Is your hair here the color of the hair on your head? It’s too dark. I can’t see.”
“Yes,” she whispered back, “only more silver and coarser.”
She opened her legs.
“Now I know what you smell like,” he murmured.
“Now you know what we smell like,” she said, laughing. “Feel me. That’s both of us, what you feel.”
He explored gently.
“Talk to me. Teach me.”
As he moved his fingers over her body, she guided him. He put a finger inside her, then another. She gasped. He leaned over her, closely, closely, dark head just above the center of her. She groaned at the touch of his tongue.
“Here?” he whispered. “Like this?”
“Do it again,” she whispered.
He covered her with his mouth and sucked gently, moving his fingers in and out of her. She cried out. Her body moved with his fingers, tightening around them. He sucked. His fingers moved. She pushed herself against his face. He sucked. His fingers moved.
“Don’t stop! Please don’t stop!”
He sucked. His fingers moved. She cried out, arching up, tightening around his fingers in spasms, rubbing herself against his face.
He raised himself and laid on her, gentling her with his weight, caressing the side of her face, kissing her. Tears ran down her face. She caught his lower lip between her teeth and gently bit down. He kissed her fiercely, his arousal hard against her belly.
She rolled him over onto his back and covered him with her body. She let him feel the weight of her breasts, her nipples brushing against him. She supported herself on her elbows and let her hair flow down over his face and neck. She kissed him with hard lips, aggressive, dominating. She straddled him, knees on either side of his waist, and let him feel her sex against him. He reached for her and she took his wrists and held them against the ground above his shoulders. He shuddered. She ran her hands down his arms, combing through the hair at his armpits, teasing the outer edge of his nipples. She bent, making her tongue a hard point and flicked each nipple, making it stand up. She moved lower. She paused at his navel and explored its tight creases, pressing against the shallow cup of it with her tongue. She flicked the tip of his penis with her tongue and tasted him. He jerked and groaned. She moved up and let one breast fall onto his penis, rubbing his shaft with her nipple. He opened his legs and felt her breath on the soft skin beside his testicles. He pushed himself against her face but she backed away, only letting him feel her breath. His own breathing sounded harsh and excited. Gently, she cupped his testicles, soft in their sac, rolling them in her palm. She brushed between his penis and anus with her finger, then ran her tongue along the place with fleeting pressure. He groaned again.
She leaned over him, letting her breasts fall down on either side of his erection. His belly was wet. She let some of her weight down onto him, making her breasts tight around him. Reflexively, he jerked his hips, sliding between her breasts, wetting them. She moved down again and touched him with her tongue. She circled him slowly with her tongue, tasting. She took his shaft in her hand and pushed the head between her lips, her mouth warm and slick. She took him in deeper and deeper until he nudged against the back of her throat and held him there, tasting the fluid he secreted. She let him slide between her lips, swirling her tongue around his head. She reached up with both hands and found his nipples, skimming over them with her palms to make them hard and then pinching and teasing, rubbing them between her fingers. She stilled her tongue and held him in the warmth of her mouth, not moving her lips, applying no suction, breathing quietly through her nose. The muscles in his thighs and buttocks were hard and clenched. He felt suspended in the starry night. River flowed. Frogs chorused. The heavy smell of sex filled his nostrils.
He moved subtly, flexing his hips so he slid between her lips. Gently, she sucked on him, just for a moment. He moved again, more positively this time. She supported herself on her knees between his legs and cupped his testicles, massaging gently. He began to move in a slow rhythm, thrusting in and out of her mouth. She released his testicles and nestled a fingertip against his anus. When he thrust himself into her mouth, she withdrew her finger until she barely touched him. When he pulled himself out of her mouth she pressed against his anal opening. His pace quickened and he gasped, thrusting. His testicles tightened against his body and he began to climax. With every spasm, she thrust her finger deeper into him. He jerked his hips again and again, crying out, filling her mouth, and then at last he finished and she opened her lips and gently released him in a mouthful of warm salty fluid, moving up his body to lie against him and pulling blankets over them both. He gathered her against him with his right arm and she pillowed her head on his shoulder.
Morfran woke from a dream of a golden bird trailing glowing feathers. Juliana lay turned away from him onto her side, breathing deeply. The blanket had slipped down from her shoulder and her hair lay in a tangle. He pulled the blanket up over her and moved closer, pressing himself against her back. Her round bottom rested softly against him. He ran a gentle caressing hand down the delicate bones of her spine and she stirred and turned to face him. She traced the shape of his mouth with her finger. He kissed the finger. She relaxed and shut her eyes.
He woke in dim dawn. The river whispered cool, damp secrets. He held Juliana in his arms, her back warm against his chest, hair a disheveled glory of starlight and sunlight. He pressed a lock of it to his lips and kissed it. She breathed evenly, her body relaxed.
Today he’d set out again, but he’d found some part of himself here in this quiet place next to the river. He felt a new confidence, but also sadness. He could never go back to being the young man he’d been just a day before. His body, softened and still with sleep, now knew desire, given and received. He felt grateful and humbled. She’d been generous with her experience and her vulnerability. He’d take the memory of her and what she’d given with him, but he couldn’t stay with her. To build a life next to the river in the house, grow the garden and orchard and feed chickens and gather eggs seemed like a good life, a beautiful life. But it wasn’t his life.
He lay quietly, holding her, while birds sang the dawn chorus. Awareness came back into her body, but she didn’t speak. He kissed her between her shoulders and rubbed his rough cheek against her warm skin.
He didn’t know what to say, feeling shy and triumphant at once. What did one say to a woman after such a night?
In the end, he didn’t need to speak. She turned in his arms and kissed him and then rose without a word and went naked to the river, where he heard her splashing as she washed. He dressed himself and folded her blanket, taking it and the lantern into the house. He rolled his bedroll and carefully shook out her skirt and shirt, draping them over reeds at the river’s edge, where she combed damp hair with her fingers. He entered the house and put water on to heat. When she appeared with her hair smooth and plaited over her shoulder, he took his turn at the river to wash.
As they ate, they spoke of the garden, a hen that wasn’t laying, the good crop of plums coming on. She was open and affectionate and he realized she didn’t expect him to stay. He helped her tidy the kitchen and brought in an armful of wood.
When he stood before her with his bundle on his back her eyes filled with tears, but she smiled. He smoothed her beautiful hair one more time with the palm of his hand.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
“That’s what I was going to say!” she replied. “Go well, Morfran.”
He turned and left her.
(This post published with this essay.)