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AUTUMN stretch the period foreplay out


This story is (C) Copyright 1998 by David Lawrence. It may not be
reproduced for commercial purposes without the express written consent of
the author. Permission is granted to copy and post the story, so long as
no fee is charged for it's use.

This story contains explicit sexual material, and should not be read by
people under legal age in the areas where they reside, and by people who
are offended by such things.
Autumn Sonata

by David L


First Movement


When he awoke, the sky looked grey and portended snow. By the time he
left work that afternoon, the cold low clouds had opened up and big white
flakes fell on the just and the unjust in the small Southern town where he
had lived nearly all his life. It didn't snow often there, especially in
December, so the schools let out early and the children filled the whitening
streets with shouts of joy.

On his walk home from work to his small apartment, he noted the
contrast between the happy children and the lowering sky, and reflected that
his mood too often matched that of the sky. In the six months since the
death of his mother he had kept on keeping on, but sometimes it seemed the
night just kept lingering a little longer into the day with each passing
week, and if it weren't for his friends there wouldn't be any day left at
all. His twenty-seven years had been lucky ones, but in the last one it
seemed the bills for all that luck had come due at once. His girlfriend,
whom he thought he still loved, had left him only a month after his mother was gone. She said she couldn't cope with what she called his darkness.

Now he lived alone, carrying on with the help of his friends,
especially those who lived close by. He didn't date, didn't really have the
energy to. His work took up most of his time, and it was interesting work he
loved doing, so it was his refuge. Or one of them. The other was the home
of his close friend Janet, and it was her number he dialed as soon as he
arrived and removed his coat.

"Hi. Is this Autumn?" he said to the voice on the other end. He
already knew it was her, for she had a voice that was so distinctive you
couldn't possibly mistake it for any other person's on the planet. That
voice, he had once thought, was as calm and clear and peaceful as a woodland
lake on a windless summer afternoon.
"Yes." she replied. "Hi David."
"How do you like the snow?"
"It's really nice. I've never seen it before.".
"Wow, really? It must be neat to be seeing something like that for the
very first time." he said, making a little conversation.
"It is."
"Is janet there?"
"No, she's out walking in the snow with the kids."
"How come you aren't out there?" he asked.
"I just felt like staying in by myself. Maybe I'll go out later."
"Ok, I just thought I'd like to stop by and see Janet. I didn't know
you would be there, I thought you were scheduled to work."
"I'm done for the day. Nobody was coming in anyway, so they just told
me to go home and enjoy the weather." She worked as a waitress in a mom and pop restaurant downtown.
"Of course, I like to see you too. I'll be coming over shortly, as soon
as I can get dressed for the weather. Maybe we can find janet and the kids
and snowball them." he suggested, trying to be playful.
"Ok. Well, I'll see you when you get here." she replied.

As he hung up and started to change his clothes, putting on long johns
and extra socks for the snowy walk, he thought of janet and her friend.

Of course janet was out with the kids; she was a natural mother. And
had been a good friend of his since high school, although they had been
separated during the seven years of her marriage to that Navy man. But when
she returned from the worldly travel you sign up for when you marry into the
military, she had nothing but two young boys, a separation agreement, and a
fierce determination to make her own way in the world without anyone having
power over her.

And of course, Autumn would want to stay inside alone. Even with the
snow outside that she had never seen, having been born and raised in
southern California. She and janet had met in San Diego, both wives of Navy
men. They became close in a way that doesn't fade with time, and when
Autumn's marriage came apart in a way that made the word disaster inadequate
to describe it, she took her kids and boarded a bus for Janet's town, an
entire continent away. She arrived that September, without more than two
changes of clothes, and less money, and even less hope. janet set to work
to heal her, but only faith and time and trust, it seemed, could ever bring
this wounded bird back to flight.


He walked up the hill, passing Main Street where the town's business
was done, and through the silver-grey canyons made by the tall snowy pines.
He'd dressed well, and not even his feet were cold by the time he knocked on
the door to Janet's apartment on Connecticut Avenue.

"Come in." Autumn said as she opened the door. "Do you want something
warm to drink?".
"Sure. Are they still out?"
"Yes, they'll be back soon I think, they've got to be getting cold by
They adjourned to the kitchen, where Autumn put a pan of water to
warm on the stove for chocolate.
"How come you're not at home?" David asked, just to say something.
He knew she had rented her own apartment after getting the waitress job, not
wanting to impose on her friend. The apartment was about ten blocks away.
All three friends lived within easy walking distance.
"We came up to visit earlier, and once the snow started the kids wanted
to play.". Her children got along great with Janet's. He could imagine them
laughing and playing outside, the youngest four and the oldest eight. He
would have liked to go out and hunt them down, but since they'd be back soon
he just decided to wait.
"Are you feeling Ok?" he was solicitous.
"Yeah. I think some of this chocolate will help, anyway."

As she heated and then poured the steaming liquid into two white mugs,
he watched her with interest. She was not beautiful in the classic sense,
but she had a angular quality about her that could have been attractive if
she'd wanted it to be. Very attractive, in fact. But she really didn't, and
so he had respected her unspoken wish during the three months he'd known
her, and never allowed himself to think of her in sexual terms.

Oddly, the hat helped. Or at least, he thought it had.

She wore it all the time. It was an old brown fedora hat, the kind
that men used to wear in the thirties and forties. On another woman, it
might have been a sexy affectation designed to get attention, but on Autumn
it was a warning sign: "Keep Away -- I'm Not Your Type". Since her dress
and manner backed up this interpretation of the fedora, he didn't feel she
wanted to be a sexual being, and so he respected this even in his private
mental world.

They drank in silence until the front door banged and the silence was
shattered by the racket of four cold but happy kids, three boys and a girl,
two of Janet's and two of Autumn's.

"Hiiiiii." janet greeted the two adults, in that very southern way of
hers that stretched the vowels almost to the breaking point.
"I didn't know you were coming over." she mentioned to David, "But I'm
glad you're here. Is there any more water for chocolate?".
"There's always more water, sweetie" he said, and went back to the
kitchen to fix some for her. Outside in the living room, the mothers did
their mother thing with the kids, being sure they put their clothes where
they belonged, and didn't drip melted snow all over the house.

"My parents have invited us all over for dinner, would you like to come
too?" janet asked him.
The thought of a free dinner was nice, but the price of having to
possibly spend the night at her parents' due to snow-bound roads was not
"Not really. I have a good bit of work to catch up on." he replied.
"Well daaaamn. Autumn's not coming either. She wants to go home and
straighten her apartment, so she says." Here she looked at Autumn, who did
not reply by word or expression.
"But I think she spends too much time alone, and too much time
brooding." janet continued, with just the slightest edge to her voice.
Silence for a second or two, then Autumn replied, calmly as always:
"Well, maybe, but that's what I want to do. Is it okay for the kids to
come with you? I know they want to play with yours, and I really do want a
night alone."
"_Of course_ it's alright. Don't let me tell you what to do. I'm just
your friend, and trying to look out for your well-being." janet was getting
close to mother-mode with Autumn, a failing she was prone to.
"Thank you" Autumn said.
"Are you sure you're going to be warm enough in just that coat on the
way home?"
"Sure. The cold hasn't really bothered me yet. I kind of like it."
"Well, if you need anything, borrow it from my closet."

Observing the falling snow, thickening on the ground and on the roads,
Janet decided no time should be wasted in starting the five mile drive to
her parent's large house. Taking her chocolate with her, and re-bundling
the so recently unbundled kids, she herded them all towards the door. In a
minute or so, it seemed, David and Autumn were waving goodbye on the porch.

"It's cold." she said as the car faded from sight in the falling snow.
"I thought you said you liked it." he replied.
"I did. But it's colder now."
"It is, but you aren't dressed for it." he replied.
"What am I missing?"
"Well, long johns for one, and a heavier coat."
"I've gotten by so far."
"Yeah," he said, "but you don't have to just get by. I have spares of
all the above. I think you should let me loan them to you."
"No, no need for that. I can get some later."
"But you need them now. You've got ten blocks to travel in the snow.
At least, come with me by my place since it's more or less on the way, and
I'll pack up a care kit for you, so you'll be able to walk around in the
cold without suffering. I have plenty to spare, and since you're my friend,
I want to help. Let me."
"Alright." she said, in that clear voice that was as calm and as slow as
the snow falling all around them.

The light in winter fades fast, but this afternoon it seemed to linger
as they walked the four blocks downhill to his apartment. The snow was just
starting to get thick on the street, but it was already about an inch in the
yards where the heat of the asphalt didn't melt it as it was starting to
stick. They walked in silence, except for the crunch of an occasional
footfall in a deep spot.

His apartment was tiny -- just two rooms, a living area and a bedroom,
with a microscopic kitchen that couldn't really even be called a room. But
it was warm inside, and Autumn was glad to get there. Three blocks into the
walk the cold had gotten to her skin, but she didn't admit it to David. Nor
did she show any particular relief at getting into the warm air, but she
felt it. She suppressed a shudder.

"Want something warm?" he asked. "To drink I mean."
"No." she replied. "Thanks."
"Well, let me see what I can find then."

She sat in the living room, taking off the fedora and carefully placing
it on the single table. She gazed out the window at the snow as he rummaged
in the disorganized dressers in his bedroom for the unopened pairs of long
johns he had recently bought, knowing how essential they are in the winter

"You Californians just don't know how to handle winter." he exclaimed as
he threw wads of clothes about.

"That's true." she replied.

He just couldn't get much conversation out of her. Typical, he thought.
He sort of wished janet had not gone, so he could take a long winter walk
with her. janet was an interesting conversationalist.

Finally, he emerged with a pair of long johns, still in plastic, and
one of his heavy coats he didn't need. Autumn apparantly believed in the
Ghandian concept of not owning more than you can easily carry on your back,
but he was hoping she'd at least accept these as a loan for the winter. She
would rarely accept anything from Janet, even.

"How about these?" he asked.
"You sure you don't need them?"
"Well, okay, how about if you could put them in a paper sack or
something, so I could take them home."
"Why don't you just wear them?"
"Oh. Okay."

She was acting stupid, he thought. But she was not a stupid person, in
fact, he thought in her own way she was brilliant. But he knew enough about
human nature to know that emotions, of every kind, can get in the way of
one's native common sense. No, acting was the wrong word. She would
never, ever, act. Every thought and movement and word was genuinely from
her heart, whether you liked what you got or not. But almost always, what
you got was very little.

"Go on in the bedroom, excuse the mess, and put these on. You'll be
glad you did on the walk home." he told her.
She took the package and went into his bedroom, and closed the door as
he waited in the tiny living room. He stared out at the falling snow and
the dimming light until the door opened and she emerged, looking the same as
before except maybe a little puffier.
"Now, do you have two pairs of socks on?" he asked.
"Well, here, sit down" he bade her, and she sat in one of his two
chairs. "I thought not" he muttered, as he pulled off her shoes and rolled
a pair of his heavy socks over her thinly clad feet. She made no protest.
"Now," he said after that operation, "these shoes are way too light to
keep you warm. You need a pair of boots."

And boots he got her, and tried to put them on her. The first pair were
too large, but he had another older pair and they were workable. She sat
passively, letting him handle her legs and feet. But the touch of his
hands, even felt through the layers of cloth, felt comforting in some vague
way. It had been such a long time since, that was a thought she
suppressed. A dangerous thought.

"Now you're ready." he said at last, once the coat was in place.

She looked into his eyes, and said, "Thank you, thank you so much". And
a small smile curved the corners of her lips in an upward direction. He had
rarely seen her smile.
"You're certainly welcome." he relied, "And thank you for letting me
help you."
"Well, I'll be going.".
"Don't forget this." and he handed her the fedora.
"Can't forget that." she said, and plopped the ugly brown hat on her

Second Movement

Adagio, un poco mysterioso

He stepped outside on the porch with her.
"Let me walk you home." he suggested.

Of course, she thought. He was always being nice to her. He was nice
to everyone, probably too nice. She didn't really deserve all the
attention, and he had practically forced her to accept the clothes already.
So she replied:

"No, there's no need at all. It's still light out, and it's way out of
your way. You'll just get cold. Stay home and stay warm."

"I'm going for a walk anyway. Where I want to go is in that direction.
Won't you let me at least be with you till we get to your apartment? Then
I'll just go on my way."

It was impossible reasoning to deny. She said, "Alright.". But, she
was thinking, sometimes the walks with him, or Janet, seemed a bit strained
to her. She felt an obligation to talk, to keep up a conversation, and that
was something she just wasn't good at doing. She responded to their
comments, but in between she was never sure if her companion was comfortable
with the silence or not.

He got his coat and hat, and together they started their journey. True
to form, neither spoke, they just walked side by side. She was grateful for
this, at first, because it let her have a start on the private space she was
seeking tonight. The snow fell softly and silently, but somehow, though she
did not intend it, her thoughts kept turning around to her companion. The
feel of his hand on her calf, as he worked with the socks and boots. The
warmth of the room, after the cold walk. The times when they sat and talked
the night away with Janet.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, out of the blue.
"Oh, about what a difference having warm clothes makes. Here we've
walked for several minutes and I don't feel even a little chill.".
She broke her usual rule, and turned to look at him.

He was exactly her height, rather short for a man. Longish brown hair
tumbling out of the big red sock hat over his head. Glasses, and a
close-cut brown beard making the thin face look kind of bookish. The face
of a thinker, she had once believed. Since she had known him, nothing had
contradicted that impression. Her happiest memories, of the few happy ones
that did not involve her children, since her arrival were of janet and her
and David keeping late-night hours around the kitchen table, after the kids
were asleep, discussing philosophy and life and relationships. David had
been seemingly open about his beliefs and experiences, and nothing he ever
said or did made her uncomfortable, except maybe for his excessive kindness.

She wondered about the kind attentions he showed her. Was it just his
way, or did he care for her? She would like to think he did care, but not
too much. She was comfortable only when safe within the shell she'd
learned, from six hard years of marriage to a domineering man, was the only
way to have any identity at all.

"See, I told you I knew what I was doing." he rejoined.

"Well, now I see how you could enjoy walking in the snow on a cold
winter night. I had thought you were lying about wanting to take this walk
with me, to have an excuse to escort me home.".

"I wouldn't lie to you, not even to be nice. I'd probably lie to a lot
of people, for good enough reasons, but never to you." he replied.
"Why wouldn't you lie to me?" she asked, not believing.

"Because you would never lie to me" he replied with such a sense of
conviction in his voice that she no longer disbelieved him.

"Thank you" she said, and no more. Silence reigned for another half a
block or so. He believed she'd never lie, she thought to herself, when only
one minute ago he had asked what she was thinking and instead of telling him
the truth, which was that she was thinking of him, she'd lied. She
regretted it already. But to have confessed the truth right then could have
been dangerous.

"Are you enjoying the walk?" he asked.
"Yes" she answered truthfully. "The snowfall, the trees all green and
white and heavy with snow, the kids in bright coats throwing snowballs and
yelling -- it's all like a Christmas card. It's pretty, and relaxing at the
same time."
"Enjoying it enough for a short detour?" he asked.
"Sure, if it's really short. Where to?"
"Just three blocks out of the way. I want to show you where I was born
and grew up.".

Daylight was fading, and as it grew dimmer the falling snow took on a
more mysterious appearance, as if a curtain of mist was slowly descending on
the town. As they turned north, down a street she'd never been, it seemed
there were fewer children about; probably because it was near suppertime and
their parents had called them in to eat.

"Was this the house your mother was living in when she passed away?" she
asked him.

They came to the middle of the third block, in front of a white
two-story old home, tucked back from the street in a yard filled with
overhanging trees. The windows were dark, and a forlorn-looking sign on the
street, partly covered with snow, said "For Sale".

"That was where our family lived when I was born" he said simply.

A shallower person might have seen it as spooky, but what she percieved
there was the sadness. Once, those windows were lit, and a family lived
inside them. The man standing here beside her had played and grew and
laughed and cried inside those walls. There were Christmases there, she
didn't know how many, but she could imagine the tree in front of the picture window, happy children opening presents.

In a way, it _was_ spooky. There were ghosts here. She knew about
ghosts. She wondered if there could ever be a day when she would tell
anyone about them.

They walked into the yard, and past the porch to the back, where an old swing set stood rusting, covered now with snow. He said nothing, but she
knew what he might be feeling. She would like to have comforted him, but
she didn't know what to say. So she asked,

"Can we go inside?"

"No, I haven't got the key with me." he replied.

"Why are you selling and not keeping it?" she asked.

"I have a brother and sister. They don't live here, but they wanted to
sell and split the money equally between the three of us. I was

"That's sad" was the only comment she could think of.

"Well, it's too big for me anyway" he said, not convincingly.

He then was silent, but stared so long at the swing set that she asked,

"What are you thinking?"

After a pause of nearly a quarter minute, he finally replied,

"That it's a fucked-up world.".

She looked at him again, and this time he turned to look at her. Their
eyes almost met.

"Yes." she said in that clear, sweet voice that was as calm as a blanket
of snow on a midwinter's night,

"It is a fucked-up world."

"Well, we agree on that." he replied. "Let's go. I don't know exactly
why I brought you here. I guess I just wanted to show you a part of my

"Thank you." she said "I enjoyed being with you.". She knew the instant
she said it that enjoyed was the wrong word. Damn, she was clumsy with
speech. Better to keep your mouth shut.

"I enjoy being with you." he replied, unexpectantly.

She said nothing, but no longer regretted opening her mouth.

"Well," she said, thinking inwardly as they walked back out on the
street that she started too many sentences with the word 'well', "I took a
detour for you, will you take one for me?"

"Sure" he said.

"It's not too far, just up to the park." was her reassurance.

"It doesn't matter how far it is." was his response.

They walked together, back south, and started to climb up the hill where
the town's main public park was located. The daylight faded at last into
night, and the streetlights came on. Her nose and ears started feeling the
chill, although her body was warm in the long johns he had loaned her. She
pulled the fedora down tighter, over her ear tips, and when she did a shower
of snowflakes that had been caught in the brim cascaded around her.

In contrast to her mood when they started the walk, she now felt some
kind of compulsion to talk. It was unusual for her, but she didn't fight
"You know," she said, "A friend of mine once told me she thought that
rain represented the tears of God."
"So I was wondering, if rain is the tears of God, what is the snow?"
She wondered what he might say.

"The dandruff of God?" was what he said.
It was so unexpected she laughed aloud. The sound was musical, like a
wind chime echoing over the silent snow. He could not remember a single
time in the three months he had known her when she had laughed out loud.
He was very pleased she had thought his dumb little joke was funny.
"Yes, that's it. It is the dandruff of God." she confirmed.

"Where are we going?" he asked as they started to climb the gentle slope
of the hill.

"Just follow me." was all she would say. She didn't know why she was
doing this, but she felt a need deep inside that she just couldn't deny.

The park was nearly deserted, just a few people walking, wandering in
the snow, which seemed to be falling even harder now, with even bigger
flakes. She did not take any of the trails, but chose instead to walk
straight up into the open area in the center, towards the highest point
around. There were no footprints where they walked, and theirs, side by
side, were the only mark of humans in that place, except for a streetlight
or two. She moved on with steady purpose; he walked beside her

At the center of the park, at the top of the small hill, they stood in a
world of relative darkness. The lights that illuminated the benches and
trails were all beneath them. But plenty of reflected light from the town
shown from the low clouds, despite the snow, and they could see pretty

"It's around here somewhere" she remarked, as she stopped, "But the snow
makes everything look different."

"What's here?" he asked.

"It's buried here." she replied.

"What is buried here?"

"Janet knows. I know. We are the only two. But now you will know."

"Know what?" he asked again.

Silence, and then in the dim light she looked at him.

"My wedding ring." she said. "I buried it here, on this hill, a few
days after I got here."

"Well, we won't be likely to find it under the snow." he said.

"I don't want to find it" she replied.

"I'm sorry." was all he could say.

"Thanks." she replied. They looked at one another and then awkwardly
away again.

"What did we come up here for?" he asked.

"I'm not sure." she replied, "I thought since you showed me a little part
of you, I should show you a little part of me."

"Why did you bury it?" he asked.

"I don't know." she replied after a pause.

He said nothing. Into the silence she felt compelled to keep speaking.
She couldn't stop it, it seemed. It was like another part of her entirely,
insisting on being heard. He just listened.

"Because it's history. Buried. Along with my dreams." she looked out
at the lights beneath them, out into the snow.

A mighty dam can hold immense amounts of water, but let a single small
rivulet trickle unrestrained, and eventually, the stream will widen with
the irresistable force, and the whole dam will burst open. The longer the
water is held back, the greater the force, and thus the sooner the breach
will do it's work. This particular rivulet, coming unexpectantly from her
lips, started a torrent she could not control.

"But no, not the dreams." she continued, "The dreams won't die. They're
gone, but they keep holding on, coming back to haunt me, like ghosts, like
evil ghosts." she spoke not to him it seemed, but to something out in the
snowy air.

Something inside her wanted to stop, to not speak, to keep it within.
But something else, something stronger, made her go on.

"Not dreams like night dreams, but dreams like hopes, like plans. Plans
to have a family, a home, a Christmas tree, all that stupid shit like the
white picket fences. Things I never had as a child."

Her voice sounded as calm and clear as ever, but the words didn't stop,
couldn't stop now.

"Things like you had, in that house back there. Things that are gone
for you now, but not really gone. Not gone, because you have the memories.
Memories I can only imagine."

A pause, then she continued:

"My mother died when I was five, and I have only the memory of her love
for me. After that, I only had my father, and he was not often there. We
just kept moving and moving, to different places. I'm an only child. I
grew up without friends, really, because we were never in one place long
enough to know anyone. I loved him, but I hated him. I still do. Both."

He only listened. Her voice seemed the only sound in the world.

"And then I met a man; the first man, really. And I married him, young,
to get what I had never had. And had his children, which I don't regret,
and was patient with him, and put up with him, and did everything I knew how
to get within a mile of those distant, mocking dreams. But all I got for
all of that was a kick in the face. More than one kick. But I put up with
it, until I couldn't do it any more. I just couldn't. Not for the kids,
not for the dreams, nothing. So I'm here, but the dreams just keep
following; like ghosts, mocking me."

He wanted to say "I'm sorry", but it would sound so pathetic that he
couldn't bring himself to speak.

"And the worst damn thing is, no one really cares. Not a single atom in
the universe really cares. No, you don't know what I mean." she said,
fearing he'd say something banal like 'I care'.

"What I mean is: you're born into this world without any choice in the
matter. Who you are, and where you are, and your circumstances, are just a
matter of a crapshoot. Some are lucky, some are not. But no one, outside a
few friends maybe, cares. There's no justice. There are vicious fuckers
right now, out in that world in front of our eyes, that are beating their
kids and living the sweet life. And there are others who have done nothing
but good all their lives, and they are dying a painful death. Right now, as
this snow falls on this hill."

He had never heard her anger before. There was a wild beauty about it.

But he could not help but speak:

"Some say there is a God that cares."

She was silent for a moment, staring out into the void.

"Well," was her reply, "He is mighty choosy about his caring, it would
seem to an objective observer." Her lips pursed as she considered her words.

"No. I can't believe in a God who watches over all of us." she
continued, "Because if He is that closely involved, He has far too much to
answer for. I'm not talking about the evil men do, I'm talking about the
case where a granny has her prayer answered when she digs up a diamond in
her back yard, but five innocent children die in agony that very day in the
same city of natural causes. Have you ever been to a children's hospital?".

"Yes." he said, quietly. "I have no answers for you."

She was silent again, staring out into the falling snow.

He had thought these same thoughts, but had never heard them expressed
out loud. He looked around, at the tall silent pines covered with snow that
had so recently felt those angry, questioning words echo from their
silver-grey bark.

Nothing had changed. The snow still fell in the same steady rhythm, and
the trees still stood tall against the grey sky. There was still silence,
except for the distant sounds of the town, muffled below.

He looked up at her, and saw on her cheeks the streak of a tear. As he
quietly searched his pocket, she slowly and silently crouched down onto a
sort of squatting position, the fedora around her head like a halo with the
white snow settled in the brim.

He couldn't find anything in his pockets, so in desperation he reached
inside the sleeve on his coat, and tugged the wrist band of the long johns
out until the end covered his hand. He then bent down next to her and used
this makeshift rag to wipe the tears from her face.

"You're going to have a cold face if we don't wipe these away." he said.

After a few minutes of silence, she stood up.

"I'm sorry. So sorry. I don't know why I brought you up here. I just
got carried away. Let's go back down." Her voice sounded embarrassed and

"Don't be sorry." he said as they started a slow walk towards the lights
below, "I've had those same thoughts, and I didn't mind hearing them from

"Well, " she said quietly, the anger drained, "I sounded like some
character from a Strindberg play up there. I don't usually do that. I ask
that you accept my apology."

"I don't accept apologies from Strindberg characters," he replied, "They
have far too much to answer for."

"What do you know about Strindberg characters?" she asked

"More than you'd imagine."

"I didn't think more than about ten people in the entire country had
ever heard of him."

"Maybe fifteen." he said.

"Maybe fifteen." she replied. "Thirteen if you don't count us."
The two sets of footprints, side by side, tracked down the hill until
they merged with the prints of hundreds of other snowbound walkers. If you
could have followed them, they would have led through the park, back to the
street, and then east the five remaining blocks to the apartment where
Autumn lived. But the snow kept falling, and not long after any track was
made, it was filled and faded away under the relentless sea of time.

Third Movement


Autumn lived in a Victorian mansion, of a sort. Set back from the
street on a heavily wooded lot, it's proud nineteenth century builders must
have designed the fanciest house they could afford: two stories with a
wraparound porch, and a hexagonal turret on the left side. All told, it
must have had about fourteen rooms originally.

But time had not been kind to the house in the twentieth century, and
it had undoubtably changed hands many times. Now, the original boards were
covered over with a light green ceramic siding put on sometime in the
1940's, and most of the gingerbread ornamentation had crumbled off the porch
eaves. It was now an apartment house, divided into four separate three to
four room suites. Autumn had rented the top one on the turret side.

From the street, you had to pass through a cave cut through the maze of
old trees to reach the house, which was barely visible outside it's curtain
of foliage. She and David walked in the snow through the cave, past the
turret, to the long and rather ramshackle set of exterior stairs that led up
to her apartment.

"I guess I'll go on now." he said.

She paused on the first stair, and turned to look at him again.

"Won't you come in for something hot to drink?" she asked.

"Sure, I'd like that." replied.

She led the way up the stairs, stopped on the tiny porch to shake off
the snow, walked into the small kitchen, and turned on a rather too-dim
light. He took off his hat and coat, and laid it in one of the three
kitchen chairs around the tiny table as she turned on the electric stove.

"All I have is tea, is that all right?" she said more than asked.
"Be fine."

She shed her coat but kept the fedora on as she rummaged in the
cupboard for a small box of tea.

"It's pretty cold in here." he mentioned.
"It's always cold. It's poorly insulated." she replied.
"Have you checked the radiators?"
"I didn't know you had to."

"Well, if it's too cold, that's the first place to check." he said.

What he wanted to say was: goddammit, how could you live in such a cold
place with inadequate clothes and not check the heat, or at least bitch to
the landlord until it was fixed? But he didn't say that, he just took it
upon himself to work his way around her four rooms, boots echoing on the
hardwood floors, feeling the radiators and making sure the control on each
was fully turned on. They were all warm but not warm enough to combat the
cold of the first winter snow. But he would have to deal with that in the
morning. He? Or she would. He returned to the kitchen just as the water
on the stove started to boil.

"The radiators are all turned on, but they aren't giving enough heat.
It's the landlord's problem. You need to contact him in the morning first

"Thanks" she replied. "I will.".

"In the meantime, let's build a fire." he suggested.

"I've never tried the fireplace."

"You've been missing something then." he said. "But we'll need some
wood." He reached for his coat and hat.

"Have some tea first." she tried.

"Take it in the turret room next to the fireplace. I'll have it when I
get back." He pulled on the coat and hat, and walked through the door out
into the snow once again.

She got down two of her three total cups, and poured the hot water into
them. She didn't know how he liked his tea, so she just thought to take the
box of tea into the fireplace room. Rummaging further, she found her one
little book of matches, because she knew they would need them, and walked
down the short hall to what she called the hexagon room.

The room had, as her name for it name suggested, six walls. The three
outer walls comprised the exterior walls of the turret, and each had a
window in it. One of the other walls was solid, where the fireplace was
installed, and the other two had doors, one to the hall that led to the
kitchen and one bedroom, and another that just led to another, smaller
bedroom. But the room was small, and had for furniture only one old overstuffed chair, one strait-backed chair, and old small table.

Autumn sat in the stuffed chair, and felt the warmth of the teacup in
her hand. The one she had for David steamed on the table beside her. She
just stared out the window at the thickly falling snow, until she heard the
noise of the opening door, followed by banging and thumpings, and at last
the sound of his boots coming down the hall towards her.

While she waited for him, she relected that while originally she had
only wanted to be alone tonight, now she found comfort in his being with
her, at least for a little while. janet had accused her of being
inflexible, but she thought this was a fine display of flexibility. She'd
have to mention it to her friend tomorrow.

He walked through the door carrying an immense armload of logs and
sticks of every size, it seemed. It fell with a crash beside the fireplace
as he dropped it. Bits of snow showered down with it, making the cold room
look even colder.

"Luckily, someone has split some oak logs in the backyard some time
ago," he said, the breath visible in the cold air, "and we can steal plenty
to get you through the night."

She watched his hands as he split the little sticks and piled them on a
wad of paper at the bottom, then put several logs on top of them. She
handed him the matches and he lit one to the bottom of the paper, and in
seconds it seemed a bright fire had lept up in the place that had formerly
been so cold.

"Have your tea now." she said. And he took off the coat and hat, and
crouched down on the floor beside her chair. The fire did not waste time:
it felt instantly warm on their cold faces and hands. The steam of the hot
tea mingled with the exhalation of their breath in the small room.

As they stared into the fire, it started to go down, and lose it's
former fierceness. The heat dropped as well, and she said:

"Oh. It's going down."

"It'll pick up again." he reassured her, "The paper has burnt off but
the sticks are starting to catch. When they get hold, it will be back
hotter than ever. And when the logs get going, you'll have a fire that will
make this room nice and warm, gradually."

She felt better, but there was silence as they sipped the tea and
warmed themselves. But she felt uneasy somehow, and the things she had said
before kept nagging at her, so she could not keep silent but had to speak

"Those things I said.", she quietly stated, in a small voice even
clearer and slower than usual, "Back on the hill. I'm sorry. I've never
opened up like that to anyone."

"Why are you sorry?" he replied. "I feel honored."

"I didn't mean to." was all she could think to say.

"Are you sure?" was his quiet reply.

"No." she said, "I'm not."

Once again, the fire seemed to fascinate them, and silence again
decended. But again, the silence could not hold. She didn't know what was
wrong with her, it was so unusual, but again she had to speak.

"You must think I'm an atheist."

"Not at all. You just said out there what I've thought inside my head
many times. I've just never had the guts to proclaim it right to the skies
like you did. I admire you."

She thought: no one has ever said that. No one has ever said anything
like that they admire me, for anything. It was a nice word, admire. It was
a word she'd like to keep; to hold on to.

"Do you believe in God?" she asked.

"Yes." he replied, after a pause, "At least, I think I do. But my God
is not necessarily the God that preachers expound on from the pulpit."

"Which God do you believe in?"

"I can't answer that. It's a mystery. Maybe one day I'll know --
hopefully before I die and find out for sure."

"Maybe we both will." her voice was quiet, "But I just can't believe in
the God our father who answers every prayer. It just doesn't fit the facts
as I see them."

"I have to agree." he said. "But a lot of people take comfort in that

And they lapsed into silence again. But the room was getting a bit
warmer, particularly near the fire, so they shed their sweaters so that both
were more normally clad, he in jeans and a flannel shirt, she in one of her
two pairs of jeans and wearing the green one of her three pullover shirts.
Those five articles, plus one dress and a few undergarments were the full
extent of her wardrobe, not counting one coat she'd bought and two pairs of
shoes. She had the money to buy more, she just didn't believe in material

"What else do you believe in?" she asked, her eyes seemingly intent on
the dance of the fire as the sparks broke loose in little showers and rushed
up the chimney.

It was his turn to pause, and for a long time. Then he said:

"I believe life is like a great river, with the current rushing strong
in one direction, endlessly. And we are all like people in small one-man
boats on that river, all jumbled together. The current is too strong for
anyone to move upstream, and the banks are steep and you can't land and
climb out. We all have no choice but to follow where the river sweeps us.
Each person in each boat knows not only that if they fall out and can't get
back up they're lost, but also that the boat itself won't last forever, and
in the end, one way or another, we'll all drown."

"Interesting." she said.

"But we can move our boats, within the limits set by the surrounding
boats, and our own strength to paddle. Some just drift aimlessly with no
effort. Others like to lash their boats together for strength, but still
others fear that contact will upset them and douse them in the water, never
to recover."

"Yes." she murmured, but he continued,

"You and I, I think, might be of that latter group."

She could not deny it. "We are. At least I am."

During all this, they had not looked at one another once, preferring
instead to look into the fireplace. And they continued to do that, as he
paused again and then, measuring his words carefully, he said:

"But I also think that, right now, our two boats have bumped together.
And I also think that, right now, I don't even want to think about trying to
paddle away."

He stared into the flames, and only at the flames. He waited in the
silence of the hexagon room, watching the sparks rush up the chimney. He
was watching intently when he heard her say:

"I don't want to paddle away either."

He turned at last to look up at her, sitting hunched forward towards
the fireplace in the great overstuffed chair. She was still looking to the
fire, and the flames seemed to dance in her dark eyes. But there was more
than a trace of wetness to them, a set of tears that did not flow, but
lurked in the corners, trying, but failing, to dampen the flame.

Now, he saw, her defenses were down. The citadel deserted, the gates
flung open, and the guards tossed to the wind. She sat there almost
trembling, her very life it seemed dependent on the trust she had chosen,
almost against her own will, to place in this man.

She did not look up as he stood, and sat on the arm of the chair, next
to her. Nor did the wetness in her eyes abate as he looked into them; nor
did it abate as he bent slowly down to kiss her. Nor did it abate even as
she lifted her face to his to receive that kiss. Not even as, softly, their
lips touched one another's for the first time.

She was surprised to feel herself so numb, at such a time, but
something within her still held back, beyond her concious control. She felt
his lips touch hers, but there was no real thrill, just the waiting for the
inevitable tongue thrust she had learned was part of every man's kiss.

But, there was no tongue. Just the soft touch of his lips on hers,
pressing so gently, like a whispering wind on a summer day. She felt the
restraint in him, and suddenly, somehow, the numbness began to recede. She
herself pressed her lips back to his so gently, but so firmly.

And then she felt the touch of his fingers on her cheek, and the subtle
feeling was like a golden fire. She had not known that such a simple touch,
in such an ordinary area, could communicate so intensely.

But the lips did not go away, they just stayed pressed to hers. It was
on her volition, and at her will, that her own tongue ventured slowly up to
the boundary made by the juncture of their mouths, and slowly across it so
that it touched lightly on his lips. And he felt it, for she could sense
his own tongue emerging, as if cautiously, to just probe the tip of hers;
like two shy animals greeting one another by feel alone.

Once touched, the touching moved further, as the two tongues probed
ever deeper at one another. She felt that fire that had briefly been on her
cheek kindle somewhere deep inside, as she lightly but with an increasing
fervor licked his tongue with hers. His shyness, if shyness it was, seemed
also to recede as he licked back, causing an unutterable longing to grow
amid what she once thought were the cold dead ashes of her desire. It had
been so long, so fact, no man had ever kissed her like this. They
had always been probing, aggressive, wanting her to respond quickly and how
they wanted it to be. But not this: in this she felt a partner, not merely
a provider.

And when at last they broke that first kiss, which after all can't go
on forever (despite the wishes of the participants) he looked again into her
eyes, and this time saw not a trace of the wet tears that had been lurking
there before. Only the flames danced there now, and they appeared to dance
even more brightly.

She looked back up at him, and knew that while she had denied it, to
herself, this is what she had wanted so badly. Wanted now, in the
firelight. Wanted then, on the hill where she had heard herself pouring out
her pain. Wanted it even weeks ago, sitting at Janet's kitchen table in
the late hours of the night, talking life and relationships with her
friends. But she could not admit it, not even to herself in the quiet
aloneness of her bedroom, where often what she called her Dark Strangers
came and played in her mind as she masturbated, leading her to the only
thing close to sexual ecstacy she had ever known.

She had never expected much from sex, and it had pretty much always
lived up to her expectations. The high school boys wanted to neck and probe
with their tongues in her mouth, and their fingers in her pussy. They
wanted more, but she didn't give it to them. The man she married had seemed
so much more mature, so much more caring. She gave her all, but in the end
it came down to a few kisses, and few feels, and several minutes of
thrusting on his part, followed by the inevitable roll-off and snoring. He
had even stopped cuddling soon after their honeymoon.

It was there, in the dark of night lying beside him snoring, that the
ones she called the Strangers came. She called them that because they had
no names, and often no faces. Sometimes they were men, and sometimes women,
and sometimes both at once. Unlike the people in the real world, they were
interested in her pleasure as well as theirs. They were always in control,
talking the responsibility from her, but their orders were only for her to
do those things she wanted to do. Even nasty, dirty things that she had
hardly known about they would order; and she would obey, with no guilt
because you had to please them. And when you pleasured them, they would
pleasure you back. Until, holding as still as possible two feet from her
sleeping husband, she would rub herself until she came, sometimes more than
once. He never knew.

And that was the good part. It had been years since he touched her
tenderly, and she had even stopped her masturbation except in times of dire
need. She just closed it off in a corner of her mind. She didn't really
want to, but she felt she had no choice.

But now, in this firelight, with this man David sitting over her, whom
she did not really know, she wanted it all back. The life she hadn't had.
The good sex. Her circumstances, well, that was a hard thing to change.
But here in front of her eyes was, maybe, even for one night, the answer to
at least one of those mocking ghosts that haunted her.

She reached up, and putting her arms around him pulled him down into the
chair with her, so that he fell into her lap. His head fit naturally into
the V between her neck and her shoulder, and there he rested it briefly,
only to turn slightly and begin a kissing and licking of that very sensitive
juncture. The effect on her was electrical. A tingling spread through her
whole body, and seemed to collect down in between her legs, where she could
already feel some wetness spreading. She pulled away from the tongue, and
before he could react, began licking his ear that was closest to her. It
wasn't a subtle, gentle licking but a strong insistent one, which
corresponded with her mood.

The licks made him tremble, and she could feel it. He pulled away after
a few seconds, and then sought her mouth again with his. This time, there
was no hesitation. Who could say whose tongue made first entrance before
the other? It seemed a tie to her, but she wasn't keeping score. This
time, the kiss just went on and on, and the heat between her legs grew more
insistent. She could feel his hand groping towards her breasts, and trying
to feel her nipple through all the layers she was still under. At this, her
own hand sought him, and she felt between his legs to detect and carress the
hardness she found there.

All this padding was in the way.

"Let's get down by the fire." she said, breaking the kiss reluctantly.

They both scambled off the chair and crouched in front of the hearth, he
on the left facing it, she on the right. She reached up and took the
blanket she had been wrapping herself in for weeks off the chair, and threw
it on the hardwood floor beneath them. They both climbed on it, on their
knees, facing one another.

She was the first to act, taking off the fedora and tossing it violently
against the far wall. Then, looking into his eyes, she pulled the green
shirt over her head, and it followed the fedora, but less violently.

He matched her garment for garment. He unbuttoned his flannel shirt,
and tossed it aside. They were both in their long john tops. With hardly
any hesitation, she reached down and stripped it off too, taking with it
the t-shirt she had underneath. They went the way of the fedora and the
shirt, against the far wall.

She was now bare to the waist before him. She simply looked into his
eyes. Those same eyes which observed her white upper body, the firm breasts that were not large put pointed pleasingly in different directions, capped
by rather small brown nipples. He stripped his long johns off too, and as
the pile of discarded clothing grew, they were bare breasted together. To
take advantage of this, she knee-walked the few feet to him, and they both
fell into a tight embrance, her hard nipples pressing to his hairy
chest. Again, the tongues found one another, and again the kiss stroked
her inner fire, as did the feel of his bare warm chest on hers.

Backing off again, she stood up, and this time undid her pants and
dropped them to the floor. He did likewise, and once the long john bottoms
were gone too, they had nothing but a pair of briefs and a pair of thin
panties covering the last stronghold.
"Let me." she said, and kneeled before him.

She hooked her fingers under the elastic, and slowly pulled downward.
This had the effect of raising the curtain, as it were, on his hard and
ready manhood. As soon as it was free, it sprang up --there is no other
word-- proudly at a forty-five degree angle from his body. She looked it
over from close range, and it was beautiful to her. Neither overly long,
nor overly short, it was red with blue veins and a lovely velvet purple head
at the top.

She couldn't forbear kissing it, which she did three times -- once at
the tip, once in the middle, and once at the base.

"Can I?" he asked.

"Yes, please." she replied, and she stood up before him.

He knelt before her, bringing his face to within a foot of the curl of
hair barely visible but mostly hidden by the panties. To his joy, he could
see the patch of wetness soaking the whole stretch of thin cloth between her
legs. Like she had, he hooked his fingers in the elastic and slowly pulled
them down. When he got them around her ankles, she stepped out of them one
sock-clad foot at a time, and he then returned to his kneeling position.

She stood naked before him, thinking that since a piece of her soul had
already been bared, it was a joy that her body was also. It was a relief to
feel she no longer had anything to hide. Looking down at the bearded man at
her feet, she could see him lean forward and gently but passionately kiss
her pubic mound; and there too she could feel his tongue sensuously moving in
the little valley made by the tops of her thighs and the bottom of her
torso. She spread her legs a little to give him more access, and the result
was a delicious slip of pleasure as he touched her most sensitive parts.

But she didn't let it last. Placing her hands on the sides of his head,
she drew him up to her, standing in front.

"The socks have to come off too." she said. "We must be totally naked.
Nothing must be hidden. Nothing. It's important to me."

So they stripped off the double pairs of socks, and stood totally naked,
looking into one another's eyes again. It was nice, she thought, that he
was her height. Neither had to look up to the other.

"The watch too." she said to him, "Nothing must be hidden." He took off
his wristwatch, and placed it on the tiny mantle.

"Now make love to me." she said, and they closed the two feet of space
that was between them, and embraced in a tight, hot, passionate tangle. The
mouths once again met, and tongues once again licked one another

Kissing is underrated as foreplay, she found herself thinking, and the
tingling heat between her legs began to call to her in a voice that could
not be denyed or delayed.

"I need to feel you inside me." she told him, breaking the kiss at last.

"Is there a rush?" he asked.


She could see a look of disappointment cross his features.

"We will play later." she reassured him, "Right now, I need you inside
me more than I need anything in the world."

With those words, she dropped to the floor, and sprawled on the blanket
before the fire, feeling the hard oak beneath her back under the thin fabric.
She then simply spread her legs in the most obvious invitation imaginable,
and looked up into his eyes as he stood above her in wonder.

His wonder was at the mysterious force that could have transformed the
deliberately sexless person he knew from twenty minutes ago into this wild
wanton woman who was inviting him shamelessly into her most imtimate areas.
He had always made it a practice to stretch the period of foreplay out as
long as possible, both because he enjoyed it so much, and because it gave
his lover the gift of being as aroused as he was when the act began. But
here it would appear that if anyone needed to catch up, it was him. It
would be later, when he thought about it, that he would realise that the
foreplay this night had started much earlier than he had first thought.

He knelt, almost as if in prayer he thought briefly, then brought his
body forward and with his hand guided the tip of his cock up to the pink
shining lips of the place that wanted it right now more than anything else
in the world. He then removed the hand, and settled himself above her so
that his belly was pressed to hers, and his eyes looked down into her dark
ones, where the reflection of the firelight still danced.

"Please." was all she said, in that clear calm voice that sounded to him
like the most gentle and sweet of all musical instruments.

Without taking his eyes from hers for a second, he pressed his hips
forward, and the tip of his cock slipped between the lips of her pussy.
This first meeting of their bodies was something sweet and precious, and he
wanted to keep it in him it forever. He knew he could not remember the
feeling in a way to give it full truth, but he could remember the vision of
her face as it happened.

His hips moved forward slowly, a half inch at a time. At each tiny
movement, the pleasure radiated from their sweet juncture and spread through
both their bodies. The transformation of her face was a wonder to see. The
dark pools of her eyes lit up even brighter, as her mouth opened slightly
and her lids closed partially. As the progression continued, the lids
dropped more until the eyes were closed entirely.

When the last half inch had been inserted, and his hot and sensitive
cock was taken up fully inside her warm tight nest of love, and their little
patches of hair mingled together, and he could feel his balls pressing
against the lower parts of her labia, he felt the need to say:

"Open your eyes."

She did, and the spark that passed between them at that moment was one
that neither would forget until the day they died. In both their bodies the
bolt of feeling shot from the eyes down the spine, to lodge itself somewhere
in the vicinity of the heart, there to kindle and burn; sometimes less and
sometimes more brightly, but never fading entirely.

After a long pause to savor the pleasure, she felt her need grow still
more impatient. She knew she wouldn't come with him inside her, she knew
that did not happen. But she was eager to enjoy the feelings the sliding
cock inside her would generate, until he came, and she could enjoy his
pleasure. Then maybe afterward he might use his tongue on her to make her
come. But the feeling within her would not wait so she said:
"Do it."
"Do what?" he asked.
"Fuck me." she answered.

And so he slid his cock back out of her, until just the tip was touching
her, and then pushed it back in all the way until his balls nested against
her labia. And again, he did the same thing, in a gentle rhythm that made
the sweet pleasure flow to every pore of his body.

She closed her eyes to enjoy the feelings as he rocked back and forth
within her. His rhythm was something she had never felt before. He would
stroke her five times, then pause for a second or two, then five more times,
then another pause, and on and on.

Bathing herself in the pleasure that swept over her, she lay passively
underneath him, waiting for him to come. She would enjoy the time when he
came inside her, but she was hoping he could last longer than the few
minutes she had been accustomed to. It just felt too good to end now.
But the steady rhythm did not vary. He did not speed up or become more
frantic in his movements. The friction between her legs began to produce a
new feeling, one she hadn't felt before. She felt a lift of her body,
almost, and a rising up beyond the plateau she was used to. The fact that
he did not stop, and did not change his motion, made her feel she could
trust him. That maybe, instead of a quick roller coaster, she was riding a
rocket that would ascend and ascend and not stop.

"Don't stop." she heard herself say.

"I won't." he promised above her, without hesitation.

She began also to move her own hips, heaving gently back up at him. It
almost wasn't under her power. Slowly, she began to give control from her
mind to her body. There was a wild, free feeling of giving. Giving him
pleasure, but allowing herself to fill with it also.

As the sweet rubbing continued, she found she could no longer think, but
only feel. And the feelings were almost unbearable. And yet, he did not
stop, nor speed up, nor slow down. Long past the time when he should have
come in her and stopped, his hard hot cock kept sliding in that agonizingly
sweet five-stoke rhythm.

My God, he is not going to stop, she thought with the last shard of her
conscious mind. I'm going to have to come, I won't be able to avoid it. I
don't want to avoid it. Please let me come.

He felt himself on the edge. But he rode that delightful edge, sucking up the feelings his body offered, but not so much as to cause the pleasure
to peak and burst and die away. Under him, he could feel her tense, and she
began to move her hips back to him. But he did not vary the motion of his
loins. And soon, little moans began to come from her lips.

And the moans formed into words:

"God, you feel so good...don't stop, please..."

He kept moving as she moaned again, stronger, then:

"Yes...please...please...yes...more please..." Her voice was strained
with the effort to speak.

The hot slick cock kept sliding in her tight velvet tunnel.

"Fuck me...oh I'm dying..."

He held her more tightly as he felt her tense even more.

And then it happened.

"My god, my god, oh my god...MY GOD!... YES!! oh... oh... oh."

Her hips heaved up powerfully, and he held her and stilled himself
inside her. The arms around him squeezed with a mighty force.

The orgasm removed her from her body. The waves of pleasure that built
and built and then exploded were like nothing she had ever imagined. She
felt she was floating somewhere else in time, trying desperately to survive
an unworldly ecstasy that seemed deadly in it's intensity.

Then a sensation of falling, but falling gently, in a golden mist that
softly deposited her once again back in the world formed by the hexagon
room, with it's bright hot fire and this man holding her in a warm and
tight embrace.

She could feel her chest heaving as her body fought for air. She could
feel his warm body close to hers, his arms on her shoulders. And she could
feel the warmth of the fire, almost too hot, on one side of her and the
gentle chill on the other. Consciousness returned. She opened her eyes.

His eyes were above her, as they had been when he first entered her. His
eyes were a comfort to her.

They lay together, not moving. And she reached up to gently stroke his
cheek with her hand, and realized with wonder that his cock was still fully
hard inside her.

"Did you come?" she asked.

"Not yet." he replied.

"I want you to come inside me." she said with affecting simplicity.

"I will."


"Will you sit on top of me?" he asked her gently.


When he pulled his cock from her, they both looked at it, shining in the
firelight. She then got up, feeling a little stiff from the hard floor
pressing to her back, and a little dizzy from the orgasmic ride she had just
taken. He took her place, settling himself down on the blanket and holding
his cock up in air. It felt slick with the coating of her natural

She crouched above him then, and took the cock from his hand and held it
in hers. Guiding it to the entrance of her place of love, she then began
lowering herself slowly. The head slipped in, causing him to groan and her
to smile. And then on down, until he was taken up again fully in the warm,
tight place where he belonged.

She bent forward, and held herself above him on her arms with her hands
on either side of his face. Again they locked eyes, something they both
delighted in. But then he raised his head, and she could tell his mouth was
seeking her nipple. So, to help him, she raised her arm and cradled her own
breast in her hand, and moved it to his mouth. It was as if she was feeding
him, and the thought of that was so moving she again felt a special tingle
between her legs.

His lips met her nipple, and he sucked it gently, almost like a baby
would. But then stronger, like an adult does, and the feel of his tongue
and lips sent thrills all over her. Such wonderful sharing, she thought.
Such a gift, to be able to share such pleasure with another person.

Once he sucked his fill from one nipple, she fed him the other. She
thought how nice it would have been to be able to have really fed him, with
her milk, when she was lactating. But this was just as good. Perhaps he
wouldn't have liked the taste of her milk.

She could have sat there for a long time and enjoyed the feel of his
warm cock in her pussy, and his tongue on her nipples, but he was getting

He stopped licking and sucking, and put his head back down and said:
"Do it."
"Do what?" she asked, smiling.
"Fuck me." he said, urgently.

"Like this?"

And she lifted up until she could feel his cock just at the entrance,
and then sat back down. And then again, as it was before, she lifted and
fell, in a gentle rhythm.

"I'm fucking you." she told him.

"Yes." was all he could say.

"I love fucking you. I love giving you pleasure." She also liked being
able to say the work 'fuck' without shame.

He could only moan in response.

As she moved, she watched his face, and watched the pleasure mount
there. She could visibly see the tension build. Now that he didn't have to
worry about her, he could just let go and feel it fully. And she loved
being able to give like this. Not concerned with her own orgasm, she could
use her body to give him his pleasure time, as he had done for her earlier.

He had held his feelings in check until she came. Now as he released
the discipline he felt the stings of outrageous pleasure on his cock,
quickly mounting towards release. He didn't do anything to stop it, and
heard himself say "Yes... feels incredible... fuck me and make me come,
baby...yes...yes... YES!"

And then his body went rigid and his hips rose up from the blanket. She
stopped moving and held him tightly. She could feel him tremble a little,
and moan, and then she could feel a gentle pulsing at the point where the
base of his cock was pushed tightly against her sensitive inner lips.

Gladly receiving his sperm, the essence of his body, she kissed his
face in little pecks even as he was still coming. He felt almost helpless
in her arms, first tight and rigid, then relaxing and languid. His eyes
were closed, so she kissed his eyelids ever so gently and lovingly.

His chest slowed it's labored movements, and he gradually began to wake
from his pleasure trance. When he opened his eyes the first thing he saw
was hers, looking down at him.

"Did you like that?" she asked.

He could only sigh.

Fourth Movement


So they lay together silently, she on top of him, his cock still inside
her, for some minutes. She found his face fascinating, and frequently
during this quiet time she would use her sensitive fingers to trace it's
contours, almost like a blind person would to discover his appearance. Not
content with the exterior, she even put her fingers inside his mouth and
felt about in there. He made no protest.

When she pulled her fingers out, he said,
"I've got to pee."
"So do I." she replied, "But the bathroom will be freezing."
"No colder than anywhere else we could go." he said.
"I suppose.".
"So who goes first?" he asked.
"Why don't we go together?"

She climbed off of him, and together they rose, and naked went down the
hall to the bathroom, which was a tiny room between the small bedroom and
the kitchen. There was no radiator in there and it depended on the hall for
heat, and since the whole apartment was cold the bathroom was particularly

But it seemed initially that their bodies had some magic protection
against the cold. They did not feel it at first on their skin, only on the
soles of their bare feet on the hardwood floor. He couldn't help thinking
that it had been silly to take off the socks, or to not put some clothes on
before running down the hall.

Since Autumn was first in, she dropped the commode lid, and squatted
above it.

"You guys have it easy, being able to pee standing up."

Bracing herself, she then said "Here goes." and sat down on the cold
toilet seat.

"Whoooo." was her only comment.

He watched her there, sitting naked on the toilet. Somehow, even
though they had just made love, it seemed an intimate thing to watch. To
say something he said,

"Well, it's cold here waiting for you."

"You don't have to wait."

"Why not?"

"Come here, I'll make room for you."

She spread her legs slightly, to make a space between them.

"Sit on my knees and pee in here. We can do it together."

Intrigued, he moved forward and did as she asked, spreading his own legs
to overlap hers.

"What if I pee on you?" he asked.

"It won't hurt. Here, I'll guide you."

Then she took his cock in hand, and pointed it between her legs. As she
did, she released her own muscles and they both heard the stream of her piss flowing into the water.

"Go ahead and go." she urged.

So he too released his muscles, and slowly a trickle emerged and began
to mingle with her stream.

It was an unusual and intimate act, one he'd never imagined. He found
himself being aroused by it, and could even feel the first surge of blood
into his cock, starting to harden it.

He knew she could feel his cock starting to stir, but he didn't care.

"You like this." she said. It was a statement not a question.

By way of answer, he leaned his face forward and kissed her. She
responded passionately, kissing him back with fervor, their now familiar
tongues licking one another again. All the while, she continued to hold his
pissing cock, and the sound of the watery cascade from both of them filled
the little room.

Soon, both streams subsided, but his cock was now almost halfway to
being fully hard again. She pulled back from his mouth to say:

"Your kiss is hot, but my ass is cold. Let's go back to the fire."

So they both jumped up, she pausing only a second to briefly wipe and
flush, and then they both padded quickly back across the cold hard floor to
the hexagon room. The magic spell had worn off, and the air seemed very
cold to both of them. They were glad to see the fire still going, but it
had died down some.

"Need more logs on the fire." he said, as they crouched down close to it
to gather the warmth. He set about breaking some more little sticks, then
after throwing them on, he picked up a few logs and carefully rolled them on
top. As he rolled the last one on, he looked back at Autumn, to notice that
she had bent over and backed her rear towards the fire.

"What is this?" he asked.

"My ass is cold, I'm warming it up."

"I'll help warm it." he said, and gave her a playful little slap right
on both her cheeks, which was really quite gentle but in the quiet room made
a loud slapping sound.

"Ow!" she exclaimed, though it couldn't have hurt her.

"I'll get you, you ass-slapper." and she quickly spun around and gave
him a slap on his bare cheeks.

"Alright you..."

A flurry of movement ensued, as they tried to position themselves to
best paddle the behind of the other. Both faces had smiles, and the
resultant blows did no damage. In the end, they ended wrestling together on
the blanket, both careful not to hurt the other while managing to multiply
the points at which their bodies touched and rubbed.

He ended on top of her, almost in a missionary position. He looked
down, and she smiled back up at him radiantly. She had a beautiful smile,
he thought, why had she kept it hidden so long?

"Uncle?" he asked.

"Uncle." she replied, then slapped his ass again.

He just looked down at her, and said,

"Do that one more time and I'm going to kiss you."


So his mouth came to hers, and before he could get his tongue inside,
hers can thrusting through his lips. They duelled inside his mouth for a
while, then she retreated strategically and he followed, licking at the
inside of hers. The feeling sent thrills all over her body. So this is what
happiness feels like, she briefly thought.

His body felt the thrills too. By the time they broke the kiss, his
cock was fully hard again and pressed warmly against her leg.

"I feel something down there." she said.

To answer, he rubbed it on her leg.

"I think I _like_ it." she said when he did this.

He rubbed some more. It felt really good, rubbing on her smooth leg.

"I think it's playtime." she said with a different music in her voice
than any he had heard. He felt his heart being charmed just by the sound

"Roll over." she requested. He did, rolling off of her to the side
closer to the fire. She then turned to him, and bent down so that her face
was near to his waist. Then taking his cock in her hand, she moved it about
and examined it minutely.

"It's so pretty." she said, almost to herself.

He only watched. Her hand felt good on him.

"And it feels so neat. So hard on the inside, so soft on the outside."

"Hard for you." he said.

"Mmmm. Can I have it? Is it all mine?" she asked playfully,

"It's all yours." he answered, "Your fun toy."

"Let's see how it tastes." And she extended her tongue, and licked at
the purple head as it flanged out just outside her circle of fingers.

"I like it." was her verdict. "I want more."

She then brought her lips over the head, and suckled it into her mouth.
He was amazed at the warmth of her mouth, and the wave of feeling that
washed over him and she did this. But he kept on looking at her, and she
moved her lips down until his cockhead touched the back of her throat. When
it did, she gagged a little, then got it under control and backed off a bit.

He couldn't help but moan a little.

She then took him out of her mouth, and again looked the cock in her
hands over carefully. This time, it was shiny with her saliva. She then
changed her attention to his ball sack, which she gently stroked with her

"So amazing." was all she said, before she bent down and carefully
kissed each testicle.

He simply lay there and let her play with him. She seemed as fascinated
with his genitals as a child with a new toy. He wondered if she knew just
how much a man had to trust a woman to let her play with him in this way.

And her play went on and on. She kissed his cock over and over, then
took it in and sucked it softly, then harder, then took it out again and
licked it up and down like an ice cream cone. Then sight of it was
beautiful to him in the flickering firelight, and the wet sounds were a
delight to the ears.

During one oral session that seemed to go on longer than any previous
one, he said to her:

"If you keep doing that I might come."

"Is that a problem?" she asked.

"I want to play with _you_ first." he said.

"Ok." was her reply, "Where do you want me?"

"Let's switch positions." And they did, she lying down where he had
been, and he took a position above her.

"Are your nipples sensitive?" he asked.

"Yes." she replied.

"Let's see." and he ran a fingertip around the left one. He was
delighted to see it harden under his touch.

"I like that." he said, and he did the same to the other one. It too

"I do too." she murmured.

"Let's see how they taste."

He bent and licked her left nipple several times, then opened his mouth
and sucked the entire areola, causing it to pucker up inside his lips. He
then used his tongue to flick at the tip of the pucker. The result was an
approving moan from his partner.

"Tastes great." he told her. "But I bet it would be even better with the
special flavor topping."

"What's that?" she asked.

"Let's see how much there is." he answered, and she felt his hand
brushing over her thigh. His fingers found their way to her slit, and
then they worked a little circle around her vaginal entrance before gently
worming directly into her.

"Oh, there's plenty of it to go around." he said with a smile.

Extracting his finger, he brought it up to her nipple and carefully
applied the shiny sauce on, and all around it. This act was so sexy it
almost made her tremble. After coating the entire brown circle of her left
areola, he bent down and once again sucked it just like he had before. Only
this time, the burst of tingly pleasure he produced in her was even greater.
She couldn't help but moan again. Down below, she felt her honey flow even

"Mmmmmm. Much tastier." he said in a sexy voice. She found herself
becoming more attracted to his Southern accent, something she had not found
appealing when she'd first met him. But it had a way of growing on you with

She wanted to do something equally sexy back to him. She did not want
to be a passive partner, not with this man who almost alone among her
past partners seemed to want to treat her as an equal.

Reaching her hand down between her legs, she inserted her own finger
into a pussy that was wetter than she had ever known it. Working it in, she
tried to extract as much of her sex honey as possible, then brought the
shiny finger up to his mouth and spread it all over his already wet lips.
They both knew that her tangy sauce was mixed with his own salty come.

He licked his lips with his tongue, slowly, to let her see him take the
taste of their mixture into his mouth. But that wasn't what she wanted, so
she said,

"No leave it there." and again she coated her finger and again painted
his lips. This time he just watched her, as her finger when back down to
the source of the delicious sauce, and returned to her own lips where she
rubbed it on as if it were lip balm.

"Now kiss me with the flavor topping." she requested, this time allowing
her voice to be deliberately sexy and seductive.

The kiss that resulted was the most passionate one yet. Their mouths
met almost frantically, and their hot kiss told each how furiously aroused
the other was. But both were determined to carry on with the sex play as
long as possible. As he lifted his mouth from hers, almost dizzy with
passion and arousal, she said:

"Bring your cock up here to me lover."

He didn't hesitate, but shifted his body around and brought his very
hard, very longing cockhead up to the vicinity of her mouth. But she did
not lick or suck it, but instead once again dipped her finger in the hot
spot between her legs, and brought it up to his cock where she spread the
slick honey all over the sensitive head, making it shine even more in the
firelight. As she did, a drop of precum emerged from his tip, and she took
it and mixed it with her juice.

"Got to taste this." she said huskily, in a tone of voice he had never
heard from her before. She then pulled him to her and very lewdly kissed,
licked, and sucked on the velvet purple head. She didn't do it shyly, but
made a point of making slurping sounds as she sucked.

The sight, the feel, and the sound of it, plus the sheer sexy wantoness
of her actions, made him feel ready to come right then and there. To
prevent it, he had to pull his cock away.

"I don't want to come yet." he told her, "Let me lick you first."

"Eat me out lover." she responded with obvious strong arousal in her

Though this was the second time she had used the word 'lover', it was
the first time he'd really noticed it. As he scrambled down between her
legs, the thought that she'd used such a word to mean him pleased him almost
as much as all the sexplay they were engaging in.

She spread her legs for him, raising her knees up. He positioned
himself prone between them, with his face up to her very wet pink lips.
Following his own personal tradition, he first showered little kisses on her
inner thighs, and on her pubic mound. The idea, he thought, was to build
anticipation for the greater pleasure to come. But in this case, he could
tell from the amount of lubricant, and the swollen condition of the outer
and inner labia, that his partner did not need, and would not want, very
much teasing.

So he did not delay long, but extended his tongue and placed it as far
down in the lower part of her slit as his face could go. His nose was
fairly in the middle of her overflowing pussy, and the wonderful scent made
his cock throb with excitement. He then slowly and carefully made one broad
lick from the bottom right up to the very top, where he could feel her hard
little clit surrounded by a halo of pubic hairs. He loved the long low deep
moan this brought from somewhere up above.

He licked her again this same way, but this time even slower, and this
time he paused over the opening and inserted his tongue as deeply inside as
he possibly could, licking at the tangy walls.
Autumn had been orally pleased before, and had always enjoyed it; in
fact, this had been always been the way she had taken the most pleasure from
sexual contact. But no one had ever made her feel the way he was, because
no one had ever enjoyed it the way he was. It was not only her pleasure in
taking, but also her pleasure in giving.

"Yes." she moaned, "Do it like that." The sensations coming from down
below seemed beyond anything she had ever felt. She simply lay back and let
herself drift willingly, no longer trying to control her reactions, no
longer thinking but only feeling. This was the new part, the letting go of
control. Swimming in freedom.

She spread her legs wider, to encourage him as he made love with his
tongue to the most sensitive parts of her body. And that was the
difference; others had licked her, made her come. But no one had ever done
it so gently, and with so much love. He caressed her folds, the tongue
snaking into places she hadn't even known about, it seemed. But avoiding
the most sensitive spot, which lay waiting and wanting.

But he kept getting closer and closer to it. The tongue would move into
her, and out, and all around, sweeping upward and then around her clit. As
it did, she would long for him to lick it, to touch it, but he didn't,
teasing away to find other nerves to trigger. The result of this was a
building of lust within her like a rising tide. She found herself unable to
just lie there. As he came close again, she moved her hips to press herself
on the tantalizing tongue just where she wanted it. The resultant burst of
pleasure made her moan and beg.

"Please, please lick me there. Make me come. I need to. Please." her
voice sounded pathetic to her, but she could not hide the honesty of the

And true to her desires, he did. His tongue began gently and
rhythmically to pulse right on the pleasure-trigger of her clit. The
steady, even strokes made the sweet agony climb and build still further,
until she felt even more desperate for release. But once again, in the way
he had done before when he was inside her, he just kept right on giving her
what she wanted. She didn't have to fear disappointment. She knew she
could trust him.

It wasn't long before her pleasure peaked. As it did, just before her
muscles tightened, her last thought was "Oh, you bastard, you sweet
bastard.", and then the killing agony ripped through her, causing her hips
to lift off the floor as the spasms drove her concious thoughts to the

After several spasmodic hunches, her loins settled back to the floor,
and he knew the orgasm was over. He simply lay there and tried to ignore
his own throbbing organ of pleasure as he very softly and lovingly kissed
her open labia until he felt her arms reach down and her hands tug gently on
the sides of his head. In response, he gave her one last gentle kiss and
rose up until his face was in front of hers.

She again looked into his eyes in the firelight, and as he looked back
he saw a more gentle, languid, and yet fiery glow there than he had
remembered ever seeing before. He bent to kiss her, but her fingers stopped
his face right at the point where his lips were about to touch hers.

She could smell the intense scent of her own musk in his beard, and the
way the traces of her own juices moisened his red and hair-lined lips gave
her a wild fancy. She held his face there, and began to tongue his lips the
way he had licked her own between her legs. In an instant he realized this
and just let his mouth hang slighty open as he felt her licking her own
taste wantonly. It was another small unique sexy thing that she did that he
had never done or even imagined before. It made his rigid cock, which lay
warmly in the furrow between her legs, but not inside her, pulse with even
more need.

Once she had cleaned his lips, she inserted her tongue into his mouth as
if seeking even more. He met hers with his, and the hot sexy kiss that
resulted melted their bodies into one another with an intense heat. She
spread her legs further, bringing his cock into fuller contact with her
pussy, so that he could feel the heat being generated there.

She broke the kiss, and said rather fiercely, "Put it in me."

He complied gratefully. Rising slightly on his knees, his rigid cock
sprang naturally into the correct position. It was nice of nature to
provide the male and female bodies with this kind of wonderful compatibility
he thought. He had only to bring his hips forward slightly to bring the
head into contact with her shining slick lips. And once in contact, the
lips themselves seemed to joyfully yield in such a way as to guide him into
the entrance to her tunnel of love.

He wanted to just thrust it in, but instead he just slipped in the head
and held it there, and began a small motion as if to tease.

"More." she asked, and he complied, pushing more in. They both sighed
together at the sugary delight this generated in their bodies.

"All the way." she asked again, and his loins gave gentle agreement as
the last few inches vanished into her nest.

Together again. This is the way it was meant to be, she thought.
There is no point in denying, or fighting, or even fearing it. My body has
told me, and I will listen. I will not deny myself any longer. I was meant
to be a vessel of pleasure, and I will fulfill my destiny.

She was aware of his chest pressed to hers. She thought --no, she was
sure-- she could feel his heartbeat against her own. Her hands moved
sensuously to his back, and caressed him from his shoulders down to the rise
of his hips, held still within her. The hands moved back up to just below
his shoulder blades, and pressed and hugged him so that the two chests were
glued to one another as if she wanted her body to fuse into his entirely.

"Fuck me baby." she whispered in his ear, "Fuck me like fried potatos
on the coldest God damn night of my life."

At that, he began to move within her. The feelings were incredible,
and he feared he might come before he wanted, so he took it slowly. But the
very slowness of his motion was like a sweet torture. He moaned and began
to pant. But he kept, somehow, his control as he struggled once again to
ride that fiery edge of orgasm until his lover could feel her own.

Within her she felt the joy of opening. The feeling of giving, her
whole body and whole soul without reservation. Her very posture reinforced
this feeling, as she lay underneath him with her legs spread open wide.
It was the sweetest and most joyful surrender of her life. It was a feeling
that had never been, and might never be again. But right now, it could
not be stopped. The earth might shake, and fire fall from the heavens, but
this moment would not yield to those petty interruptions. The merging would
have to go on until it was complete.

There in the firelight, both bodies undulated and sweated as the two
lovers gasped and panted and moaned. Both lost to all the world except the
small world of the other's flesh and the ecstacy produced by their uniting.

When at last, the unbearable peak of joy came upon her, she felt first
as if she was lifting, as if the whole room began to sink beneath her.
Then, with a force that was overwhelming her whole soul was torn joyfully
out of her and went bursting up through the turreted roof and out somewhere
in the infinite cosmos, to merge with the bursting and explosions of a
billion fiery suns. She was aware in the brillant haze that somewhere far
off her former body was screaming, and that also her lover was screaming
with her. It was her last awareness before the blackness came.

The darkness still was upon her eyes, but the sound of the gentle
crackling of the fire and the more ragged sound of her lover's breathing near
to her ear reminded her that she was still counted among the living.

She opened those eyes at last, to see the ceiling of the hexagon room
glowing a shadowy flickering reddish with the light of the fire. Outside,
beyond the dark windows, the snow still fell gently in the cold night. She
felt her arms still wrapped around the totally still body of David, lying
over her as if he had passed out. Only the feel of his chest rising and
falling on hers reassured her that he was still among the living also.

It was a moment she wished she could bottle and keep with her forever,
but of course nothing is forever not even the earth and sky, so it was that
eventually he stirred and slipped from her grasp, but not without a tender

They both sat up, a bit unsteadily, and looked at one another's naked
forms in the firelight. Two separate forms of two separate bodies that
could not be merged together, no matter how strong the will both of them
might have been to accomplish it. Two separate people, who could only try
like all of us do to know and love one another.

"The fire needs another log." he said, and got up to put some on. The
result was another shower of sparks and increased light. She said nothing,
but watched him moving naked in the firelight. Eventually, he returned to
her, and sat right next to her. and put his arm around her.

They did not speak. No words were really necessary. They sat together
in complete comfort and joy at one another's presence and enjoyed the
afterglow. But it was late, and soon they both sank into a prone position
before the fire, and stretched out to sleep on the hard but fire-warmed
floor on the thin blanket. She was nearest the flames, and he behind her,
spooned into her body in such a way that the maximum amount of his flesh
would be touching hers.

Just before going to sleep, he could not refrain from asking the
question that haunted his mind since conciousness returned after their final
act of lovemaking.

"Autumn," he whispered gently to her, "do you think this is the end of
a story, or the end of a chapter?"

Her answer came so quickly, and made so much sense to her, that it
surprised her. "We'll know the answer to that by the time the sun sets

He did not reply. At first he thought her answer cryptic, but then he
knew it was the truth.


A passerby that night, on the street outside, would have had to look
closely down the narrow cave of the driveway to see the dark old house, and
even more closely to notice that the only sign of light there was the dim
flickering of a fireplace in the upper room of the turret. The passer would
move on, in the cold snowy night, never knowing that up in that tiny room
two people had found the courage to make for themselves, against the odds, a
small circle of light in the darkness; a small circle of warmth in the cold.

My thanks to my wonderful wife, who proofread this with care, and also to
Kristen, without whose help the story would have many more defects than it

If you liked this story, or even if you didn't, send me some email as
feedback. It's the only way we authors know we're reaching a public. And if
you liked it, read my other stories, which I periodically post to and Or, check out my web site at

My email address is


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