Post by goldenmyst on Sept 24, 2018 22:24:19 GMT -6
Lovers in the Wild
I strap myself in the seat belt for the deep desert where my dreams are haunted by sandworms. He drives us in his convertible with the top pulled down and the wind rushing over my ears. We drive north along the dusty road. We then turn west to Abique. We pass over a dam, spotting out clear blue water in the large lake below. After passing the dam, we encounter the side of a barren red pyramid-shaped mountain, a thousand feet tall. The red color of the mountain is so rich and vivid that it seems to glow in the afternoon desert light.
After we pass through fantastical red rock canyons and knife-edged mountains, we pass into the Bisti badlands whose gray rounded hills and strange contorted black rocks resemble a moonscape. I have never seen such magnificent desolation in all my life. After that, we get to the Nageezi Trading Post. It looks like something out of the old west, but we aren’t here to sightsee and we pass on.
After Nageezi, we head south on a washboard dirt road. The car shakes so badly that it feels like it will fall apart at any moment. We travel deeper and deeper into the brown empty rolling desert land, not encountering any other vehicle but our own. A vast panorama stretches out ahead of us and I begin to notice the walls of a canyon on the distant horizon. We pass Navajo Hogans and herds of sheep roaming the wilderness. We enter Chaco Canyon. The yellow canyon walls look like they are about two to three hundred feet tall and are spread apart by a few miles. A huge jagged mesa stands behind us to the left towering over the yellow desert sandy plain. We follow the narrow asphalt park road through the canyon past Pueblo Bonito whose huge walls stand in silent witness to the ancient ones.
We park where the road curves back into a circle. We get out our backpacks with blankets, food, and other supplies to help us survive the merciless wilderness. He carries one pack and I another as we walk silently across the parched land into the wilderness. We follow an ancient Anasazi trail for hours ‘till the sun is low on the horizon. The trek is tiresome and the whole thing was done in silence, comfortable silence.
Finally, we come to a ruin whose brick stone walls stand on a rise in the desert. We walk through a gap in the wall and into the Kiva. It is a hole dug out of the earth and lined with stone bricks which stick up above the floor of the ruin. We spread our blankets on the dusty floor. We are covered in shadows from the ruin walls as the sun starts to sink below the horizon. I hear coyotes howl mournfully in the distance. Soon we are immersed in pitch-black darkness. The stars shine like millions of candles in the velvet black bowl of the night sky. I ask Paul, “Are you afraid?”
He says, “No more than normal.” We undress and wrap the wool blankets around us to keep warm with each other’s bodies in the cold desert night.
Suddenly I hear footsteps and a scraping sound. I stand up, look over the edge of the Kiva, and see two glowing eyes look back at me. I shine my flashlight and see a majestic mountain lion, muscles rippling in the desert night, perched on the wall of the ruin. I can tell her sex because of the absence of the black spot, between her hind legs, which signifies she is a female.
She opens her mouth and reveals huge sharp ivory incisors in the beam of my flashlight. We stand there, looking at each other for a moment, and I feel real fear. I can see the hunger in her eyes and it connects somehow with my own hunger. We stare at each other. I see her eyes glaze. My heart beats wildly and I freeze. The lioness leaps off the wall and I hear her running into the desert growling.
The fire we built is dying down, the fumes turning from the cool breeze. I blow on the glowing coals and try to get it to start again. Paul shivers and says, “Those critters are more afraid of us than we are of them. Don’t fret pumpkin.” He continues, “No campout is complete without a campfire. Stay here darling while I look for some tumbleweed to burn.”
I hold his arm and say, “No Paul. Please stay here. The lioness is hungry. I can see it in her eyes.”
Paul kisses me and says, “She’s probably hunting for deer.” He gets up and walks toward an opening in the walls of the ruin. I follow him with my flashlight. With the terror of recognition, I see the lioness in front of him. I say, “Paul. Stay still.” I can see she is stalking him. I take Paul’s colt 45 out of the pack and aim it between her eyes. She looks at me and I feel an empathetic connection with her. For a moment I freeze and then pull the trigger. She falls like a limp rag doll. Daddy taught me well and my aim was good. I got her between the eyes.
This is my first kill. I remember how daddy had the boys cover themselves with the blood of the first deer they killed. Paul stands still with his back turned to me and I take his hunting knife out of the pack. I walk up to the dead lioness and crouch down beside her as Paul looks on watching me with his flashlight. I pet her head and then grasp her ears to pull her head back and slit her throat. Blood pours out with a sickly sweet smell and I cover my naked body with it. My body becomes a red flag scented with blood to make Paul’s nostrils flare like those of a bull who lusts for his matadora. I coat my face, breasts, legs, torso, and even my sex with her blood.
Somehow the smell of her blood creates a deep hunger in me. My heart pumps fast and I drip with sweat. I stand up, turn around, and face Paul. He is naked too and I walk toward him.
He asks, “Are you going to seduce me with black magic?”
I put my finger to his lips and say, “Of course.”
I say, “You know with your high cholesterol and atrocious diet you are a prime candidate for a heart attack. I could give you a coronary I don’t want to Screw you to death.”
He laughs and says, “What better way to join the choir invisible?”
I feel him rise to the occasion in my hand. I say, “That’s not funny. Hey does that idea turn you on?”
He looks up at me. He says, “Don’t worry. My heart is as strong as an ox.”
I beam my lipstick smile upon him. I say, “Well your physician said you can have sex. So who am I to dispute a board-certified doctor?”
Then I ride my dragon into crystal blue nirvana. I look down at Paul’s face. The soft smooth roundness of his cheeks and the look of innocence in his eyes make him look childlike in the moonlight.
He closes his eyes and appears as though in a trance. He has the same look on his face as the face of the Buddha, sitting under the Bodhi tree, just before achieving enlightenment which I’d seen in a Nepalese painting.
The lioness’ blood drips from my body and covers his chest and face as I kiss him pressing my hard nipples against his firm chest. I raise my upper body and scrape his breast with my nails, leaving red streaks. He breathes hard and fast now.
The intensity of the sex is almost hallucinogenic. Something about these wild places brings out a primal force in me. I have left my civilized self behind in my delirium. My mind operates on pure instinct. I am a wild Puma devouring him.
I look down at him through my glazed eyes with pure hunger. I think of the lioness and her hunger. I felt a sisterhood with her. We were both hunters. Something comes together within me. I feel my Chakras fuse as I absorb his energy. I dig my fingernails deep into his chest muscles. I feel his body tense as the heat between us becomes an inferno.
I smell his musk mixed with the sweetly pungent scent of the lioness’ blood. Droplets of the blood trickle down my cheeks onto my lips. I lick the sweet blood off my lips as I violently thrust my hips, savagely taking Paul. My velvet cleft swirls in a butterfly kaleidoscope. My sentience swarms like a cloud of butterflies and my communal being coalesces into cellular heaven. His moan tears through the night like a tornado.
But his body falls limp under me. My climax is muted as his member goes limp like a soft spaghetti noodle within me. How could he send my fiery chariot crashing to the ground?
Something is wrong. He isn’t breathing. I feel his chest. His heart has ceased beating. I beat his chest trying to bring him back. But he lies there, cold and still in the desert night.
I am furious with him. Just at the point he is about to surrender himself completely to me, and fill the ache of hunger in my body and soul, he has left me with only this mortal shell. I am mad at him for leaving me in the throes of passion, so hungry and unsatiated. The signs of heatstroke were there but went unheeded in the heat of passion.
The first blush of dawn arrives. On either side of me, dust devils swirl like wraiths as though welcoming Paul to Hades. The cool morning air rushes over my naked skin. My bloodstained body bears witness to last night’s theater of the macabre. I don my apparel for the hike back to the ranger station. I am garbed in floral prints like a bridesmaid. How dare I dress for a wedding with vultures already circling overhead?
God must be a real Screwing bastard to let this happen to me. I sit in a butterfly pose and rip my skirt, exposing my panties for all the decent world to see. My black fleece brazenly pokes out from my undies which I rend into tatters. Then I tear my blouse to rags with my bra my only concession to modesty.
With the desperation of a madwoman who won’t let go of her delusions, I say, “Wake up Paul. It is time for breakfast. Let’s go home. Paul if you sleep late we’ll have to hike in the heat of the day. Your lithium could go toxic in the heat.” My voice cracks like a china cup. I shake his flaccid body trying to revive him. Yet he is limp as a rag doll.
My eyes glaze with the fog of tears in a tender breaking of delicate emotions. I feel like a vase shattering in slow motion which then lies broken on the dusty floor.
Then I retrieve the scissors from Paul’s first aid kit and cut off my long hair which Paul so loved. My tresses carpet the ground like molted feathers from a once beautiful blackbird. Let my beauty die with him. My hands tremble as I unpack Paul’s bandana from his rucksack. Like someone in the early phase of chemo, I cover the ragged clumps of my hair with his bandana.
My love is poison. I am Devil’s Weed. I killed him. My anger ebbs as sorrow floods my heart. I cradle his head in my lap and weep. Finally, I cover his face with the blanket while the sun rises like a succulent orange resurrecting my hunger for endless life.
I strap myself in the seat belt for the deep desert where my dreams are haunted by sandworms. He drives us in his convertible with the top pulled down and the wind rushing over my ears. We drive north along the dusty road. We then turn west to Abique. We pass over a dam, spotting out clear blue water in the large lake below. After passing the dam, we encounter the side of a barren red pyramid-shaped mountain, a thousand feet tall. The red color of the mountain is so rich and vivid that it seems to glow in the afternoon desert light.
After we pass through fantastical red rock canyons and knife-edged mountains, we pass into the Bisti badlands whose gray rounded hills and strange contorted black rocks resemble a moonscape. I have never seen such magnificent desolation in all my life. After that, we get to the Nageezi Trading Post. It looks like something out of the old west, but we aren’t here to sightsee and we pass on.
After Nageezi, we head south on a washboard dirt road. The car shakes so badly that it feels like it will fall apart at any moment. We travel deeper and deeper into the brown empty rolling desert land, not encountering any other vehicle but our own. A vast panorama stretches out ahead of us and I begin to notice the walls of a canyon on the distant horizon. We pass Navajo Hogans and herds of sheep roaming the wilderness. We enter Chaco Canyon. The yellow canyon walls look like they are about two to three hundred feet tall and are spread apart by a few miles. A huge jagged mesa stands behind us to the left towering over the yellow desert sandy plain. We follow the narrow asphalt park road through the canyon past Pueblo Bonito whose huge walls stand in silent witness to the ancient ones.
We park where the road curves back into a circle. We get out our backpacks with blankets, food, and other supplies to help us survive the merciless wilderness. He carries one pack and I another as we walk silently across the parched land into the wilderness. We follow an ancient Anasazi trail for hours ‘till the sun is low on the horizon. The trek is tiresome and the whole thing was done in silence, comfortable silence.
Finally, we come to a ruin whose brick stone walls stand on a rise in the desert. We walk through a gap in the wall and into the Kiva. It is a hole dug out of the earth and lined with stone bricks which stick up above the floor of the ruin. We spread our blankets on the dusty floor. We are covered in shadows from the ruin walls as the sun starts to sink below the horizon. I hear coyotes howl mournfully in the distance. Soon we are immersed in pitch-black darkness. The stars shine like millions of candles in the velvet black bowl of the night sky. I ask Paul, “Are you afraid?”
He says, “No more than normal.” We undress and wrap the wool blankets around us to keep warm with each other’s bodies in the cold desert night.
Suddenly I hear footsteps and a scraping sound. I stand up, look over the edge of the Kiva, and see two glowing eyes look back at me. I shine my flashlight and see a majestic mountain lion, muscles rippling in the desert night, perched on the wall of the ruin. I can tell her sex because of the absence of the black spot, between her hind legs, which signifies she is a female.
She opens her mouth and reveals huge sharp ivory incisors in the beam of my flashlight. We stand there, looking at each other for a moment, and I feel real fear. I can see the hunger in her eyes and it connects somehow with my own hunger. We stare at each other. I see her eyes glaze. My heart beats wildly and I freeze. The lioness leaps off the wall and I hear her running into the desert growling.
The fire we built is dying down, the fumes turning from the cool breeze. I blow on the glowing coals and try to get it to start again. Paul shivers and says, “Those critters are more afraid of us than we are of them. Don’t fret pumpkin.” He continues, “No campout is complete without a campfire. Stay here darling while I look for some tumbleweed to burn.”
I hold his arm and say, “No Paul. Please stay here. The lioness is hungry. I can see it in her eyes.”
Paul kisses me and says, “She’s probably hunting for deer.” He gets up and walks toward an opening in the walls of the ruin. I follow him with my flashlight. With the terror of recognition, I see the lioness in front of him. I say, “Paul. Stay still.” I can see she is stalking him. I take Paul’s colt 45 out of the pack and aim it between her eyes. She looks at me and I feel an empathetic connection with her. For a moment I freeze and then pull the trigger. She falls like a limp rag doll. Daddy taught me well and my aim was good. I got her between the eyes.
This is my first kill. I remember how daddy had the boys cover themselves with the blood of the first deer they killed. Paul stands still with his back turned to me and I take his hunting knife out of the pack. I walk up to the dead lioness and crouch down beside her as Paul looks on watching me with his flashlight. I pet her head and then grasp her ears to pull her head back and slit her throat. Blood pours out with a sickly sweet smell and I cover my naked body with it. My body becomes a red flag scented with blood to make Paul’s nostrils flare like those of a bull who lusts for his matadora. I coat my face, breasts, legs, torso, and even my sex with her blood.
Somehow the smell of her blood creates a deep hunger in me. My heart pumps fast and I drip with sweat. I stand up, turn around, and face Paul. He is naked too and I walk toward him.
He asks, “Are you going to seduce me with black magic?”
I put my finger to his lips and say, “Of course.”
I say, “You know with your high cholesterol and atrocious diet you are a prime candidate for a heart attack. I could give you a coronary I don’t want to Screw you to death.”
He laughs and says, “What better way to join the choir invisible?”
I feel him rise to the occasion in my hand. I say, “That’s not funny. Hey does that idea turn you on?”
He looks up at me. He says, “Don’t worry. My heart is as strong as an ox.”
I beam my lipstick smile upon him. I say, “Well your physician said you can have sex. So who am I to dispute a board-certified doctor?”
Then I ride my dragon into crystal blue nirvana. I look down at Paul’s face. The soft smooth roundness of his cheeks and the look of innocence in his eyes make him look childlike in the moonlight.
He closes his eyes and appears as though in a trance. He has the same look on his face as the face of the Buddha, sitting under the Bodhi tree, just before achieving enlightenment which I’d seen in a Nepalese painting.
The lioness’ blood drips from my body and covers his chest and face as I kiss him pressing my hard nipples against his firm chest. I raise my upper body and scrape his breast with my nails, leaving red streaks. He breathes hard and fast now.
The intensity of the sex is almost hallucinogenic. Something about these wild places brings out a primal force in me. I have left my civilized self behind in my delirium. My mind operates on pure instinct. I am a wild Puma devouring him.
I look down at him through my glazed eyes with pure hunger. I think of the lioness and her hunger. I felt a sisterhood with her. We were both hunters. Something comes together within me. I feel my Chakras fuse as I absorb his energy. I dig my fingernails deep into his chest muscles. I feel his body tense as the heat between us becomes an inferno.
I smell his musk mixed with the sweetly pungent scent of the lioness’ blood. Droplets of the blood trickle down my cheeks onto my lips. I lick the sweet blood off my lips as I violently thrust my hips, savagely taking Paul. My velvet cleft swirls in a butterfly kaleidoscope. My sentience swarms like a cloud of butterflies and my communal being coalesces into cellular heaven. His moan tears through the night like a tornado.
But his body falls limp under me. My climax is muted as his member goes limp like a soft spaghetti noodle within me. How could he send my fiery chariot crashing to the ground?
Something is wrong. He isn’t breathing. I feel his chest. His heart has ceased beating. I beat his chest trying to bring him back. But he lies there, cold and still in the desert night.
I am furious with him. Just at the point he is about to surrender himself completely to me, and fill the ache of hunger in my body and soul, he has left me with only this mortal shell. I am mad at him for leaving me in the throes of passion, so hungry and unsatiated. The signs of heatstroke were there but went unheeded in the heat of passion.
The first blush of dawn arrives. On either side of me, dust devils swirl like wraiths as though welcoming Paul to Hades. The cool morning air rushes over my naked skin. My bloodstained body bears witness to last night’s theater of the macabre. I don my apparel for the hike back to the ranger station. I am garbed in floral prints like a bridesmaid. How dare I dress for a wedding with vultures already circling overhead?
God must be a real Screwing bastard to let this happen to me. I sit in a butterfly pose and rip my skirt, exposing my panties for all the decent world to see. My black fleece brazenly pokes out from my undies which I rend into tatters. Then I tear my blouse to rags with my bra my only concession to modesty.
With the desperation of a madwoman who won’t let go of her delusions, I say, “Wake up Paul. It is time for breakfast. Let’s go home. Paul if you sleep late we’ll have to hike in the heat of the day. Your lithium could go toxic in the heat.” My voice cracks like a china cup. I shake his flaccid body trying to revive him. Yet he is limp as a rag doll.
My eyes glaze with the fog of tears in a tender breaking of delicate emotions. I feel like a vase shattering in slow motion which then lies broken on the dusty floor.
Then I retrieve the scissors from Paul’s first aid kit and cut off my long hair which Paul so loved. My tresses carpet the ground like molted feathers from a once beautiful blackbird. Let my beauty die with him. My hands tremble as I unpack Paul’s bandana from his rucksack. Like someone in the early phase of chemo, I cover the ragged clumps of my hair with his bandana.
My love is poison. I am Devil’s Weed. I killed him. My anger ebbs as sorrow floods my heart. I cradle his head in my lap and weep. Finally, I cover his face with the blanket while the sun rises like a succulent orange resurrecting my hunger for endless life.
Rich and Cat. Next weekend, 80s wootwoot!
Di, sorry your weather is not good.
