erotica
(In the galley of the ship, as it swayed from side to side, PPD felt his way, holding the rails, to his room.
His mind drifted elsewhere.
Years later, as the torn shreds of this letter were painstakingly put together by a couple of teenagers looking for a place for a romp, a story emerged. A story woven entirely by the overactive, sea-sick, imagination of PeePeeDoc. The letter read as below, translation losses notwithstanding.
Madame D,
It is the thought of being with you, some day, that has put power in my fingers and lightning in my brain.
I imagine a day, maybe in the very distant future, or maybe never, but I do imagine, and I imagine it with hope. That day, maybe in a small wooden cabin, out in the woods above the meadows of the Valley that I intend to visit, you and I spend a night together. By accident, not design. Maybe you were with your two best friends and got lost chasing a butterfly. And maybe I was in the meadow taking a break from proselytising the natives. Maybe it would rain that spring afternoon, as it often does, but then it would get cold and wet, and suddenly a storm of bleak snow would envelope the meadow and force people into their saddles and back down to the Valley. At that time you and I would be lost in the wilderness and find nothing but a log cabin nearby for shelter. Maybe then we would both reach the door together and force it open.
I would introduce myself and you would introduce yourself and we would sit. I would light the fireplace and offer you a seat nearby. I would look for something to eat and drink and keep us warm and find some blankets and a jug of water with some jars containing rice and tea leaves and flour and salt. Some jars would have gone bad, no one would probably know since when the cabin was abandoned. Maybe I would warm some water on the fireplace and give it to you in a brass cup. You would drink it and feel better, but your clothes would be wet and so would mine.
Maybe then I would find a blanket and give it to you, but you would be shivering and cold, and I would ask you to take your clothes off and put them on the floor in front of the fireplace and cover yourself with the blanket. Maybe you would do so with me looking the other way. I would then do the same with my clothes and wrap myself in the blanket and sit by the fire.
As you would sip the water, you would ask my name, again, and I would ask your name, again, and we would realise, that by accident, we were the same people who wrote and wrote and wrote a while ago, and now weren't writing because of a war in Europe and then maybe, you would look into my eyes and see my face for the first time. Maybe I would look back and see you and hear you laugh for the first time. Maybe we would kiss, gently first, and then ravish-ly a second later, catching up on twenty years lost in which balls were fried and ovaries fired, but it would probably not matter. Then maybe I would lay you down on the floor with the flames of the fire dancing in the room leaving long and short shadows and the gentle caressing sounds of the falling snow outside adding percussion to percussion. Maybe then I would trace lines on your skin and lead them below. Untie what kept you chaste and push it gently away. And maybe then, for a long, long, long, time, I would spend a while looking at you, breathing the same air, taking in the same scent, and kissing every inch of skin visible to the eye... And more. Maybe then I would lie on you and take myself down and unto what makes you, you. And maybe then I would plant a gentle kiss and a gentle tug and a gentle lick and a gentle nudge. Until something opens up and let's me in, slow and slow, and a place where, maybe, I fit my tongue, and maybe I lick more, and maybe I feel something flow and shake and shudder and scream and maybe then you hold my hair and ask me to go and find you joy. Maybe then, after a few seconds and more of this, without even moving my hands off the ground, I lick you to ecstasy. Just soft, gentle licks, of a soft, gentle tongue, gentle to perfection, gentle to joy. And more.
Maybe then, with the warmth of the fire and the warmth of the feeling, you would ask me for something to eat, and I would get up covered with sweat and a blanket, and look for rice and a bowl to boil it in.
The snow would begin to accumulate outside. The winds stopping and allowing the snow to love the meadows more as maybe, you would find love, growing in the snow.
Maybe.
Some day.
PPD.
We know that something twitched in the mind of the young teenage boy and he and his girlfriend kissed and cried at the same time. Was there more?)))
the Guest walked along the Castle gardens inhaling the winter chill. Tiny speckles of frost tickled her eye lashes and she exhaled a visible cloud. She chuckled in her mind's eye. When they were small, they would call it "smoking", akin to the wafts that would emerge from her Father's camel leather pipe, from a land far far away, where Pyramids cast their shadows on sand dunes. She has wanted to write in the outdoors today. So that the darkness would hide her letters, hide all distractions, and illuminate only her thoughts. She sat on the wrought iron bench below the coniferous canopy....)
My dear PeePeeDoc,
Blocks may be of all shapes and sizes: blocks of cheese with tiny holes in them to breathe, blocks of wood stacked neatly in piles, blocks that live in my imagination, made of attractive, bright colours in a country like Denmark which are yet to be invented.......
So once there was a very sea sick young Doctor on a mission half way around the world. He kept throwing up with the sudden jerks and crescendos and decrescendos of the ocean. Every lurch would make his stomach churn, making him retch! He desperately wanted to write to his friend in VolgoGrad, his patroness who sent him many Marks when his dog Bach required an orchidectomy they could ill afford. Last night he crawled his way to the wooden desk, dipped his newest acquisition (a fancy British pen) into the ink pot and began to write on the yellowing paper, when the ship shuddered! He saw his painstakingly written paper start to fly! He grabbed a huge stone that he found nearby and slammed it down on the paper. The paper tore into two! The Doctor looked anguished. He had spent the better part of the hour drafting that letter. He heaved himself back onto the stool and restarted. And again! The ship shuddered - the paper flew- he slammed down the stone block- he didn't know what to do! Second attempt, third attempt.
The ship shuddered - the paper flew- he slammed down the stone block- he didn't know what to do!
The Good doctor lay down on his bed, defeated. He would try again, another day. He looked angrily at the stone paper weight. "Asch- hole," he muttered to himself. This was the original case of a Writer's Block.
Case report subsequently published in the Journal of Journaling, Oscar S. Achtar, 1653:2:45-47.
I do hope you enjoy this piece of trivia. It is an old case report we tell our children, so that they may overcome situations like this, and return to the pen.
Warmest regards,
Madame D
((She found a beautiful barn owl sitting on the bark above her. She tucked her letter into his wing and whispered softly in his ear "PeePeeDoc". The owl gave her a wide eyed look, his pupils turning into vertical slits. He opened his wings and flew away! ))
(the Guest loosened the thick red velvet bow below her chin. Suddenly her corset seemed too tight, and the hourglass figure it conjured, threatened to break out off the seams. She wiped the beads of sweat from her upper lip and took her fingers out from the throb between her legs. She reached out to her ink pen and began to write .....))
My darling PeePeeDoc,
If we were talking imagination and fantastically impossible things, here is one thing I have always desired to try. It involves some human acrobatics, some primal instincts, and a whole cauldron full of passion. PeePeeDoc and the Guest woke up the next day entwined in each other. She felt like his hairy leg was emerging from below her wetness, her head was stuck close to his chest, hearing his heart beating. She raised her neck and found him staring down at her. She locked eyes with his. They just stared. They had waited so so long for this moment. His brown eyes had flecks of experience and wisdom, hers had stories of love and devotion, both melting into each other. She traced his profile with a single finger, coursing a trail from the bridge of his nose, down his chin, into his supra sternal notch, between his breasts, she moved it to the right and traced a circle round his tiny nipple. It sprung to attention. She licked the tip of her finger and tickled his nipple again. She put her finger in his mouth and wet it evenly, and applied his saliva on her nipple and gently rubbed her nipple on his, igniting the two electrodes. Sparks flew through them. He looked surprised. She smiled, excited that it had worked. She read it in a science book by M. Curie, many months before. She licked his lips and traced her lips down the same route her finger had taken, finally leading her to the soft mound of hair between his legs. She inhaled his scent. She looked up at him, as if in question. He nodded in reply. She deeply inhaled his gorgeous member which lay like a sea horse between his thighs. She gently licked his shaft with the tip of her tongue from base to tip. She felt him grow hard within her mouth. She traced the circumference of his scrotum with her tongue. He moaned. She looked up to see his pupils constrict and got emboldened. She took his entire, magnificent cock in her mouth and began to move it up and down inside her. She looked up at his face. It was a look she would never forget. He looked at her stricken with passion and clutched his fingers in her hair. He thrust himself into her open mouth and she hungrily drunk his precum. He was beginning to moan with loud plaintive cries of passion. She put her hand on his mouth to silence him. "Come here," he said to her gesturing her to turn in the opposite direction. He carefully lowered her flower shape cunt onto his face, gently caressing her buttocks, while she firmly sucked his manhood. She moaned and slurped while he licked her flower petal- vagina and then flicked his tongue over her clitoris. He then stuck his tongue deep inside her, while she probed his cock with her tongue. They were locked like ying and yang for a while, with only smacking sounds emanating from the cabin. They were lip-smacking good.
Years later, she was to find out that this fantasy could be a reality for some. If they only knew of a lucky number 69.
Have you ever imagined yourself capable of such feats?
Much love,
Madame D
((The Guest pulled her fingers out from under her skirt. They were wet with juice. It was a powerful climax. She gave a naughty look to no one in particular, and hesitantly licked on her fingers. She was unsure about her taste. Would he like it? She stuck the letter firmly in the feathers of the eagle, and whispered "PeePeeDoc" and bade it farewell.))
((The teenagers sat in bewilderment. The look on their faces smacked of lesser knowledge of a time long gone when people lived their fantasies with pen, paper, and heaps of imagination, and sent the imagination across continents to be opened and read again and again.
We would know of the effects of the letter sent by Madame D to PeePeeDoc from the crumpled paper that was once the envelope. PPD had sent it as a token of respect. Legend has it, he was holding it when he climaxed while reading the letter, and partly out of embarrassment from being too quick to discharge his load, and partly to testify at the success of the desired outcome of the letter, he sent the envelope back. A white and yellow stain told a story of DNA long since analysed and proven to be his with a 99% accuracy.
He also sent a letter along with the envelope.
The teenagers, now lost in the trunk, time-travelling to another realm, impatiently read its contents, the girl looking closely at the hands and crotch of the boy.
Madame D,
Your letter had its desired effect. I am sending the enclosed envelope as proof. Forgive the indecency, but if a Lady such as yourself were to make an effort such as you did, then it is becoming of a Man, such as myself, to inform the said Lady of success or otherwise, such as not to embarrass her.
I must say, I am proud of the feelings I stir inside you. They bring the best out of me, and I am grateful and thankful.
I also imagine such a day as you have written about, and indeed, I have written as such.
I imagine after we make that great number 69, I pull you up to me, lie you next to me, and place your legs on mine, and hold you in an embrace for long hours, with nothing between us but sweat and tears and nothing over us but a blanket and a wooden cabin roof. I imagine staring into your eyes and watching them close and open as you fall into flitting spells of sleep, and cling on to me for warmth and love as the snow falls outside and our clothes dry. I imagine holding your naked shoulders and caressing your arms with my fingers, feeling the hair stand on end as you shiver at the slightest touch. I imagine rolling on top of you, with a meaty, hard, pillow between us, lying on top of you, resting myself on my hands and looking into your eyes. I imagine looking at you from above, ah those beautiful breasts, sensitive to touch, divine in their shape, and, oh the colour of the mounds above them... I imagine taking one in my hand, and giving it a gentle lick, just to make it wet, and then to blow a kiss from afar and watch it grow, big, and pout. And I imagine holding the pouting nipple in a shape in my lips, and licking it, and tasting it, and caressing it - oh, everything imaginable that a mouth and tongue can do. I imagine that, a bite, a gentle bite, not hard, just to break the infinite climb to ecstasy and prolong the feeling... I imagine holding on to it... And holding you down as your body gyrates and asks for more, everywhere, from your hair to your eyes to your lips to your neck to your breasts to your navel to your beautiful mound in between, to your thighs, now wobbly with pleasure, to your feet, now arching with ecstasy, as you have one giant swoop of warmth pass into your tummy, and down to your mound and somewhere inside you feel the throbbing of muscle and blood and love all intertwined and, and, and...
I imagine there's a lot more to this story that is unfinished. Maybe, some day.
In a far off land, away from the cacophony of wars and power, maybe we will discover what atoms can do when they love each other.
Bye, Madame D,
Sleep well
PPD
The teenagers gulped and drank water. Their mouths parched. The girl looked at the crotch of the boy and he was hiding a wet patch. She smiles and laughed and cried in the same breath.))
((the Guest was unable to sleep. She tossed and turned in her bed, feeling the cold enter her bones. It was an all too- familiar feeling, the abandonment, the emptiness. This was not the first time, you see, she had been rejected. It was not the first time her heart had been trapped shut in a wooden box, sealed with a wax stamp and returned to sender.))
Dear PeePeeDoc,
I trust you have now reached your new hometown of Kashmir in the land far far away that you described to me, you so longed for. The journey seemed an arduous one, and i commend your fortitude in reaching there, in one piece! I can only imagine the trials of travel: from mosquitoes in Mozambique, to cannibals in Nicobar, to the Marwaris of Mumbai! There must have been vultures everywhere! You might be stunned by my world knowledge. Well, in our tiny school on VolgoGrad we had an orb, with Mercato's map imprinted, which I would stare at for many hours, my intrigue only increased by every small curve and dot marked on its even surface. Could it be possible for the world to be so smooth? When the troubles its people go through, are so tumultuous?
I am sorry to write to you so late, but I woke up from the most wonderful dream, where I was lying in your arms, breathing your smell, caressing the whiteness of your beard. All of a sudden, you abruptly sat up and left the bed chamber. I called out to you, but you seemed to grow fainter and fainter till finally you disappeared into thin air. I cried out in anguish, "PeePeeDoc!" But you didn't look back. I looked around me in the tent for traces of you, and could find none! It was almost like you left, without a trace. I could feel i was losing my mind. Were you just a figment of my imagination? I hunted left and right looking for some mark, some trace of you, some proof that you existed inside me. I could find none.
It was then that i realised that i was communicating with a figment of my imagination. A creation of my fantasies. A gorgeous brown eyed bearded man, with a heart and mind that mirrored my own, with a soul that looked deep into mine because he was nothing but an extension of me. A mirror image of myself, dropped on the other corner of the globe. Like Japan is to England, on Mercato's map.
I looked in the mirror and saw my own madness. How could I mourn the loss of a person who was my imagination? I clung onto that moment when I looked deep into your eyes that afternoon and saw them disappear into smiling slits. I once again imagined your beard caressing my face, as it had in my dream. Those were the happiest ninety seconds of my life. My life which is the blink of an eye on this planet. I hallucinated your voice, i felt your love. And by Sweet Jesus, if I may take the name of the Lord in vain, it felt so good. Even just to live those few days with an imaginary friend, made life worth living and gave meaning to my every breath.
Madame D
((The Guest's eye's were surprisingly dry. She knew she had finally lost her mind. Her imagination had conjured up a lover so real, it validated her deepest desires and need to feel heard, alive and wanted. She took the letter and her pain and folded it into the smallest square, and sealed it in a wooden box with a wax seal, to be kept away forever.)