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... She came into his arms and talk was insignificant and quite
unnecessary. The soft, white arms wound about his neck, tugging fingers
pulled playfully at his hair and she smiled at him. His lips moved down
against hers and they were lost in themselves. He could feel the taut
pressure of her breasts playing against his chest and the firm roundness
of her thighs working against his.
Her strong fingers worked against the muscles of his shoulders, pulling
him down onto the cottony moss beneath the strange tree. The small
litheness of her body molded into his and his hands stroked her breasts
beneath the filmy cloth that covered them. Her hands moved upward to the
straps that swept over her shoulders and pulled them down. His eager
fingers helped her, working the straps down until the firm mounds of her
breasts lifted their rubbery, coral tipped nipples toward the sky. His
fingers worked them, kneaded the warm muscles, while his mouth worked on
hers. When he had released her lips, she pulled his face down into the
twin cushions of her breasts. His hand moved against the flesh of her
* * * * *
It was gone. Like that. A sudden flickering memory of some long vanished
event that might have given him some hope. It had been fantastic again,
the strange colors and the weird landscape, but he wanted it despite
that. She had stolen it, ripped it viciously from his mind; but she was
not to blame. He turned and smiled at her as she came into the kitchen.
She had turned on a soft light in the front room, but had allowed the
kitchen to remain dark. In the half-light of the room, he thought that
she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It would not be hard
to love her, he thought again.
He reached out and took her by the shoulders, pulling her gently against
him to kiss her. Her mouth moved against his, satiny with desire, until
"I'm ready, if you are," he said.
"For what, darling? The bedroom, or the car?"
He chuckled. "The car. The bedroom will keep until we're up in the
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