Saturday, December 27, 2008

With the gypsies in the mountains.

I held her hand as she steered her tiny white Honda Accord, nicknamed "Zippy," through the snow-covered and muddy dirt roads of the central Pennsylvania mountains. We were laughing one minute, kissing the next, totally enjoying one another's company and the unrestricted desire that comes with newfound passion. The love that we would share for several more years was still new, and life was excellent.

It was New Year's Eve 2003, and we were on our way to a party being held at the remote and rustic house of one of her SCAdian friends. Snowy miles would separate us from the nearest neighbour, and experience working at various Renaissance festivals already told me that the people we'd be celebrating with would most likely be as relaxed, deliciously bohemian, and friendly as we were. They were the "Clan of Wolf Gypsies," she was a member, and I was her guest.

After we finally found the house, bleats of joy echoed among the icy birch trees from a cluster of people on a frozen porch. I was in the Grrl's territory now, and after she received hugs and kisses from the dreadlocked and earth-toned and bell-bedecked sirens who greeted us, I smiled as their eyes smirked approvingly. Apparently, word had gotten out about me. I shook hands and hugged these my friends whom I had never met.

Amid the laughter, we entered the dark house, the scents of the roaring fire in the parlour, roasted turkey from the kitchen, sensual oils like patchouli and sandalwood from the bodies close by, swirling around us. Someone was playing a dulcimer. The hearth and a handful of oil lanterns provided all the light that was necessary, casting the parlour in a warm honey-gold glow. I passed the bottles of wine I had brought to our hosts, and for a very long time found myself introduced to one excellent person after another. A dozen conversations resounded among wooden beams and rafters as this reunion of actors, dancers, artists, lovers, poets, craftspeople, and assorted other sybarites and sensualists enjoyed one another. This was familiar ground for me during those days, and I immediately felt at home. It wasn't long before my lover was whisked away, so I succumbed to another passion of mine and found myself in the kitchen, baking sweet potatoes in a Chambord sauce with a lovely trio of buxom, laughing, haughty wenches.

There was no dinner per se. People cooked, came into the kitchen, ate, and returned to their conversations and their drinks. One dish after another would simply arrive on a countertop or a table and gradually vanish amid the popping of uncorked bottles, the passing of leather skins bursting with honey mead, the clackle of beer bottle caps falling to the wood floor. Everyone shared, everyone tidied, everyone laughed.

I shook hands with one of her former partners, a tall, thin man with dangling black locks and sad eyes. He nodded when he learned who I was, who I was to the Grrl, and while it was cordial and friendly, I'll never forget the soft, pained look on his face. Years later, I would understand.

The Grrl and I cuddled as we watched the party behind an upstairs banister. In the dark, her back against my chest, she reached around herself and lowered the zipper of my jeans. She snaked her warm hand into my pants, doing a poor job of suppressing her giggles as her fingers encircled around my relaxed cock. I brought my glass around her shoulder to place its rim at her lips, and she laughed as droplets slipped down her chin while she kept feeling me up. Others came upstairs with drinks or food or to catch up on conversations with either of us, and all along her hand remained at my cock, squeezing and tugging at me gently. Holding her close, I felt the heat from the fireplace below surge upward to my face while I watched and listened, sipping mead, and letting her play languidly with my dick. I bent my head into the nape of her neck and planted soft kisses on her tattoo there, relishing her warmth and the taste of her skin.

A young woman came up the wooden stairs beside us, her velvet medieval gown slightly trailing behind her bare feet. She quietly walked right up the the Grrl, tilted her head, and gave her a slow, sensual kiss. The Grrl's hand stopped for a moment, then gave my shaft a hefty squeeze as I hardened more. She then withdrew her hand, turned to kiss me, and asked to excuse herself. Leaning close and whispering into my ear, she explained that the woman was an old friend whom she hadn't seen in a long while, and would I mind...?

Later, giddy with excitement, she found me again and asked to invoke one of our rules: if one of us wanted to enjoy playtime with another, we would first inform and acquire the others' consent. The rule, like us, was recent, and I smiled and blinked when I realized what was happening. I gave her a kiss, and bade her adieu.

The Grrl was thrilled. I learned later that some of her past male partners had given her a lot of grief about her bisexuality, and I was glad to not be among them. She was gone for a lot longer than I might have expected, which also told me that she was probably really enjoying herself. As I mingled and drank and had an excellent time, some of the others would ask me where the Grrl had gone. When I mentioned the young woman in the velvet dress, I received several knowing smiles and silent nods of understanding. The humour of it took the edge of off waiting.

Midnight was approaching when the Grrl returned. I smiled, handing her a flute of champagne. Accepting it, she kissed me hungrily and grabbed my ass. Her kiss tasted like clean, joyful pussy. My cock hardened as I fed from her mouth and then she whispered in my ear how she had taken the little miss into a walk-in closet, went to her knees, lifted her elegant dress, and gave her sweet head.

Among these lustful, happy gypsies, we toasted 2004 together.

Later, we would join several of her friends in a massive, wooden hot tub. It was a friendly and sensual soak, but completely tame until the Grrl went back to secretly handling my naked cock. The room was in near-total darkness, but a candle or two and the moonlight glowing on snowy windowsills still pleasantly revealed the assortment of bodies around us. The Grrl's impressively round ass when she would stand and turn. A tiny brunette's cute little derriere as she moved near her boyfriend. Breasts, legs, penises, chests of all shapes and sizes. How wonderful it is to enjoy being with others without shame or guilt or pressure and simply take mutual pleasure in the watching of one another being naked and relaxed.

The night drew long, and the food and drinking took its toll upon us. The sun was just beginning to rise when we, and so many others, found ourselves stretched on cushions on the rustic hardwood flooring. Where the house had been filled earlier with laughter, now gentle snoring and the occasional discrete sigh could be heard. We fell asleep instantly, and like so many others, would not wake until very late the next afternoon.

After a lazy "morning," we prepared to go, and many were the hugs that bade us goodbye. Zippy waited for us in the snow, and soon we were chilled and making our way through the Pennsylvania mountain roads again. We were bleary-eyed but blissful, struggling to stay warm in our heavy clothes in that tiny car.

We got lost. After stopping in the middle of a muddy trail and consulting our maps, we found ourselves embracing as the sunlight began dipping in the horizon during what still felt like morning to us. The skyline bled gold and red behind the white birch trees, the waning light casting blue shadows against the snow. It started to rain.

I held her face in my hands as I kissed her. I reached inside her leather jacket and cupped her breast as her tongue darted into my mouth. Once again, I felt her hand at my zipper, only this time she was reaching to withdraw me from my confines rather than tease me with her hand inside my jeans.

She stroked me to hardness as we kissed, feeling the wind gently shake the Accord and hearing the drumbeat patter of cold rain on the metal roof. She lifted my wool coat from before me, and leaning over the stick shift, lowered her lovely head into my lap and wrapped her warm, wet, strong, soft lips around the silky head of my straining cock. Closing my eyes, I moved my seat back and angled my hips upward so she could most easily have access to all of my length. She responded hungrily, repositioning herself for comfort, and began a steady bobbing of her head as she sucked me. Her mouth felt incredible, and her swirling tongue curled itself around my dick in a way that left me in puddles. I thrust upward gently as she took as much of me in her mouth as she could, all the while slurping noisily and squeezing my glans with her amazing lips. I held her head, and soon she was bobbing it faster and faster, gulping, breathing through her nose as I felt the tension build in my loins and burst torrents of warm cum into her sucking mouth. She held the base of my dick steady as I came, moving her lips and tongue over and across my head while I was shooting, making me scream and see bursting stars. She swallowed my cum, continued bobbing slowly as I was left shaken under her, and eventually pulled away.

She looked up at me, her face red with exertion. She was breathing heavily, smiling naughtily, her eyes glazed over and glowing. Smiling, she cleaned her chin with the back of her leather-clad wrist, gunned the engine, licked her lips, and drove the car through the mud and the slush until we were back on the highway in the dark.


Aneris said...

That was a masterfully woven story.

Do you miss her?

Rogue said...


Merlin said...

Just how life should be, I think.

Why isn't it, I wonder.

Rogue said...

It's been my joyful experience that, for people who are unafraid to be adventurous or creative or nurturing or poetic, it can be. It takes awareness, laughter, and vision to get to that place.

Read Rumi. Read Hib and Kika. Read Osho. Read Bach. Listen to doumbeks and shawms. Listen to the crashing surf. Find the sacred in the sensation of touching your lover's skin. Make the air, the warmth of fire, the water in your tears, the earth who offers you everything you need, your closest friends.

Dance in the rain.