0 comments/ 66510 views/ 2 favorites Red Dust By: Hecate The red dust slowly settled on her white sneakers. How silly could she be? She had known well enough that it would be like this - hot and dusty, and not half as enchanting as the catalogues would have made her believe. But dutifully she followed the tourist group around the bus to take a picture of the red desert called the "Australian Outback". A distinct "hrmpf" could be heard as she followed that line of thought, getting her a stern glance from an elderly lady in pink shorts and a slightly lighter pinkish T-shirt that contrasted tastelessly with the earthy red desert around them. After only one day of travelling she was already the focus of suspicion among the group. A lady in her early 30's travelling alone and not even sporting the trace of a wedding ring on her finger sure was not what the other participants of the trip thought "usual" or "appropriate". The younger women travelling with their husbands and half-grown kids were sure not in favor of the attractive blonde with a self-conscious air about her, and the older couples had an air of disapproval about them whenever their eyes rested on her firm thought rather abundant curves. "What the heck .... " she thought, underlining her mental conclusion with a shrug of her shoulders before obediently digging out her camera and taking a snapshot which she knew would show another lot of red dusty nothing once developed. "Ohhh, Miss Sanders, here you are!" the excited voice of Paul, the bus driver and tour guide, startled her out of her musings. About five years her junior, Paul was a nice enough guy, sure, but she dearly wished he wouldn't focus all his attention on her at each and every stop they made. He probably meant only well, her being the only person of the group travelling alone and not being either caught up in sticky napkins and complaining kids or of an age to be his parent, but at times he was just too much for her. She took an inaudible deep breath and when she turned around to face him, only a polite smile was showing on her face, nothing betraying her earlier thoughts. "Miss Sanders, isn't it just lovely? And it isn't too hot yet either. We'll be at Cockaboora Ranch in another 90 minutes and shall have our lunch there, and will be in Billabong Lodge by tonight. Have you ever tried ostrich? Or kangaroo meat?" Seeing her shake her head in denial, he seemed to beam even brighter. "Oh, we will be going to an aboriginal festival this evening - right at Ayers Rock. Oh you will love it! It is really a magic place, you know? And it is all traditional, dancing and music and all ..." His words tumbled over in his mouth, eager to please her and to convey his deep love and pride for his country. "I am sure it will be lovely, Paul. Shouldn't we be going again? I think everyone is back in the bus already." Catherine Sanders observed. With a mumbled and regretting "Oh, sure..." Paul trudged off and squeezed himself behind the wheel anew. Back in the bus Cathy was left to her thoughts again. While outside the red, baked landscape slid past, her thoughts drifted back in time. Only three month earlier she had booked the trip with John - John, who was supposed to be sitting here now to share the wonders of the 5th continent with her. She and John had been together for three years, "the perfect couple" she mentally snorted. Both reasonably good looking, both from academic educational backgrounds, both following their careers with seemingly equal dedication and success. They had been the focus of friendly envy among their friends and co-workers. Life had been smooth and easy and it had seemed only a matter of time before they got married and lived happily ever after. They were not overly possessive about each other but did enjoy each others company. Even though the burning passion that had brought them together in the beginning had faded to a more steady glow they didn't feel the lack of anything, attributing the decreasing lovemaking to their demanding careers and the routine that had developed in their relation. At least that had been what Cathy had thought, until ... She shifted in her seat and brushed back a strand of gold behind her ear. After having taken a sip from the water bottle in the seat pocket in front of her, her eyes once again settled on the passing landscape outside, looking without seeing. John had been working late a lot, but so had she, never giving it a second thought. And when his business trips started to increase she had thought it unfortunate but inevitable, well aware that mobility and flexibility were the basics that were required of tomorrow's top management. She rarely complained, not wanting to add feelings of guilt to the stress he was obviously having, but instead jumped into her own career even further. It had been a fairly nice Friday last September, when things had started to go wrong - very wrong. John was in the office still but bound to be home soon since they had booked a weekend in the mountains, a little break from the strenuous work of the last months. While Cathy was busy finishing the last packing and made the last arrangements around the apartment, humming along with the music from the CD player, the ringing of the phone startled her. When she answered the phone though there was a brief silence and then the dial tone returned, indicating the other party had closed the connection. With a shrug of her shoulders she dismissed the interruption - it had happened before, maybe just someone dialing a wrong number and too surprised to excuse himself. She thought it to be a little rude but nothing to waste any thought on. Only two minutes later the phone rang again. And again the person on the other end hung up without a word. And then a third time only another two minutes later. Slightly annoyed, Catherine picked up the phone. "Sanders ..." Silence. "Hello?" A faint sound of someone taking a breath on the other end of the line. "Helloho ... " Cathy tried again. "Uhmmm ... isn't this the number of John Marshall?" a hushed and quivering female voiced asked. "It is, but John isn't home at the moment. Who am I talking to, please?" A strange sensation of impending disaster crept up on Cathy as she was waiting for the answer of the woman on the other end of the line. "Do you know when I can reach him?" the still nameless voice asked, ignoring the question in regards to her identity. "He should be home any minute. Can he call you back?" Catherine asked, the question of identity of the unknown caller seeming urgent for unexplainable reasons. The voice clearly hesitated, thinking. Then: "No, I will call again later then." "Well, if it can wait till Monday, sure. We will be leaving for the weekend as soon as he comes home." Breathless silence on the other end of the line again. "In that case - would you just tell him Donna called?" "Sure, on what topic?" "That is ... uhhh ... personal." "Oh - I see. I'll tell him." "Thanks!" And the connection was cut. Cathy fell back into the soft cushions of the couch, the phone still clutched in her hand, a big icy lump in her stomach. Donna? She didn't know any Donna. Maybe a relative? But she had met pretty much all his siblings and their offspring over the last years and couldn't recall any Donna from there. Could have been someone from John's work maybe? But they would call him in the office first so he would have gotten the call there. Unless he was on the way home already. Or maybe ... She cringed. John had been to his annual health check lately. Could there be anything seriously wrong with him? That sure would be news to be personal and not passed on at the office. She got up and started to water the plants, seemingly calm and serene. Her mind though was frantically searching for an innocent and logic explanation, fighting the certain knowledge of trouble rising from her guts. It must have been about 30 minutes later when the phone rang again. Half convinced it would be John telling her he would be late she picked it up. "Sanders" Silence - and the plop of the receiver being put down again on the other end. A few minutes later the crunching noise of keys turning in the door announced the arrival of John. He flung his briefcase into a corner and pulled loose his tie before putting a quick kiss on her lips. "So - everything ready to go?" he asked, putting a cheery note into his voice that his eyes wouldn't reflect. "Yeah - pretty much done. Ohh - and there was a call for you earlier. A Donna. Sounded like she needed you urgently to call back." Cathy's voice hadn't betrayed the turmoil inside but she kept her eyes fixed on him as she referred the message. Only the faintest flicker of surprise showed on John's face before he asked: "And did she say what she wanted?" "Nope - just asked you to call back. She said it was something... "Cathy paused "... personal." "Oh .. well, I guess I will call her and find out then before we go." The last muttered as he made his way to the bedroom, clearly intending to make his call from there. Alone. Still giving him the benefit of the doubt, Cathy went to the kitchen, fighting the urge to listen at the door. She actually didn't need to. That moment the door bell rang and when she opened, she stared into the tear streaked face of a young girl, her fragile form showing the first soft swelling of pregnancy. "Hi, how may I help you?" Cathy asked, the icy lump in her stomach abruptly changing to a fiery ball of rage even before she heard the answer. A sob came as only answer from the girl, but that was enough for Cathy to recognize the voice "I guess you are Donna then? Come in." A second later the bedroom door flew open and a completely confused John shot out. "What the fuck do you think you are doing here?" he shouted. Followed by a moan. "Oh my, what's wrong? Are you ok, baby?" his stance changing from wrath to caring concern as he became aware of the girl's dissolved state, pulling her into the living room and sitting her on the couch. Cathy stood still at the door, staring transfixed at the scene in front of her. Only the thump of the lock falling close startled her out of her trance. She didn't move though, her mind refusing to resume normal service. Slowly bits of the conversation, frequently interrupted by sobs, leaked through the cotton wool wall and drifted into her consciousness. " ... and when he found out he started to beat me, said I should never dare to return home. John, you said you loved me and would care for me and the baby - our baby. I ... I didn't know where to go anymore ... " Cathy felt distant, as if she was floating some place outside her body. There was her ready packed weekend bag standing at the door, the car keys hanging on the hook above it. Like a puppet on strings, composed by looks but simply hollow inside, she entered the living room. Her voice was steady and quiet, but must have held a tone that did not allow response. "I guess I need not ask who Donna is anymore, nor what was that urgent. I am going now and when I return on Sunday I don't want to see either one of you in here anymore." Like a wooden figure she turned around, grabbed her bag and left, not awaiting any reply or reaction by those she left behind - not that there was any more than stunned, thick silence anyway. She had driven to the mountain resort and spent the weekend there - the first night crying till she had lost all strength to sob, the second day drinking till she was sick. The third day she surrendered to the icy numb feeling that had taken a grip on her the moment she had opened that door, a feeling that would stay with her for the following months. The bus hit a pot hole and she bumped her head against the dusty window. "Fuck John!" she thought, as she stretched her stiff limbs and rubbed her head. She had refused canceling the trip altogether, just had returned John's ticked and swapped her reservation to a single room, from the difference buying some new lingerie and shoes she didn't really need. Cathy must have fallen asleep for a little, since all of a sudden the cheery voice of Paul announced the immediate arrival at their lunch stop, Cockaboora Ranch. A look out of the window didn't show any real change of scenery, but there were neat fences visible and then appeared the flat stone building of the Ranch. A few huge trees - maybe Eucalyptus, she thought - splattered inviting patches of shade over a few tables and benches on a stretch of dry lawn. A huge iron construction, supposedly the outback version of a grill, was sitting at one end of the lawn, tiny curls of smoke raising straight into the still air. The bus came to a halt and with the stopping of the engine the air condition too ceased its constant buzzing. Leaving the comparatively cool refuge of the bus was like stepping into a wall of heat, causing the sweat immediately to gather in the dip between Cathy's rather voluptuous breasts. Before following the others to the tables she took a deep breath and stretched, feeling the warm sun on her bare arms and legs, for a moment conjuring up the vision of rainy, gray February- London. From under the trees Paul was waving wildly at her, indicating the seat next to him and with a resigned smile she walked over to her fellow passengers, already settled at the tables. Lunch was light but delicious. Refreshing salads were passed around to go with potatoes and delicious, spicy chicken from the BBQ. Just perfect in the heat of the day. And when they were served a glass of light, cool Chardonnay she felt as if the ice block inside her was slowly starting to melt. Life was wonderful after all - with or without John! Lunch had passed in a friendly and relaxed atmosphere. Paul had been telling little funny stories and anecdotes about the bush and the animals living there, so there was not much personal conversation between the travelers which, Catherine thought, was just as well. Soon the once so inviting lunch was only remnants and before too long Paul shoed everyone back into the bus to hit the road again. After all there were another 200 miles of Outback ahead of them before they would be reaching Ayers Rock, the mystical and mysterious destination of today. Catherine gratefully curled up on her seat in the air conditioned bus, drifting into a slumber as once more the superficially monotonous red landscape slid past the window, the Chardonnay easing her way into dream land. A general gasp startled her and a quick glance around indicated that there must be something exciting to be seen out of the windows on the other side of the buss. She rose to her feet and looking over the shoulders of her co-travelers she saw a steep rock formation rise out of the flat ground. The Oooohs and Aaahhhs all around her seemed a little exaggerated and she felt a pang of disappointment as she looked at the brownish lump of rock ahead. That was it? The famous and mystical Ayers Rock? With a puzzled frown she glanced on her watch. That seemed strange - they should still be a good distance from Ayers Rock and although the land was decidedly flat there was no way one could see THAT far. Only a split second later the chuckling voice of Paul cleared up the mystery. "Well, Ladies and Gents, it is a stunning view, isn't it? But unfortunately this is not Ayers Rock yet, but only the little brother. We still have a bit to go and I can assure you - it is getting even better!" With murmured comments everyone returned to their seats and Catherine fell back into dozing, her mind tumbling with the pictures of red rock and black faces she had seen in the brochures. The sun was already standing rather low when all of a sudden a shout from a boy in the first row drew the attention. "There, there it is - mom, look!" And then the voice of Paul confirmed "We will do a quick stop in a moment so you can catch your first glimpse and take a picture of what in my opinion sure is one of the world wonders - Ayers Rock. And we even caught it at a perfect moment. If it is ok with you we will be driving right up to the vista point now to catch a scenic and enchanting sunset before heading to the Lodge." With these words he pulled over and released a bunch of awed tourists to the red dusty heat. The clicking of cameras and faint winding of video tapes was for a moment all that was audible in the vast silence of the desert. "We better hurry, else we will miss the most spectacular shades" Paul announced and obediently everyone returned aboard. The once slightly bored atmosphere was now charged with new excitement. Cathy watched the Rock grow, from a small knob in the red distance to a giant pebble, glowing in the bloody rays of the sinking sun, polished by centuries and centuries of wind, sand and rain. Although it was hot, in spite of the buzzing air conditioner, she felt a shiver run down her spine. It was as if she could feel the magic of the ancient stone, the heart of earth itself beckoning for her. The closer they got the more spectacular a sight they were offered. What first seemed a smooth, big chunk of stone now showed a mysteriously lively surface. The changing light and the odd cloud passing over the rock gave it the appearance of a giant animal, slightly moving in its sleep. Cathy was enchanted. Driving around the formation in a wide circle the bus came to a halt on a parking lot, where already another 5 coaches had found their space. Opening the doors Paul announced that the departure to the Lodge would be in 45 minutes from here again. Catherine felt no hurry any more now. Had she been as eager as all the others before to reach the vista point she now seemed strangely reluctant to step out into the sunset. A quick bang of regret struck her as she though about how romantic this would have been together with John - before ... Paul had caught up with her and gently touching her arm pointed to a little rise at the side of the general watching area where most of the crowds had found a spot on the few benches or scattered rocks. "It is the most stunning view from over there if you ask me, Miss Sanders. You sure get some different pictures than the ones in all the brochures." Paul beamed at her and with a smile she replied "Thanks - and .. call me Cathy, ok?" If possible at all his smile grew even wider and he guided her to a secluded spot in the bush. She had to admit he had been right. If she had seen the Rock in all its beauty as shown on the magazines from where the bus had stopped, this spot sure revealed a secret side. Not the smooth round shape with the flattened top that was connected to Ayers Rock, this spot offered a ragged and lively view that seemed to glitter and burn, displaying the deepest shades of blood red to orange and almost yellowish whites. At one point the rock seemed to move and shiver, and she stared, mouth hanging open, forgetting about taking any pictures. "Tumana qu'asali" a deep rich voice said behind her. With a start she spun around to stare into the dark, wide face of a man she hadn't noticed coming, caught as she was in the enchantment of the rock. He simply put a hand on her shoulder and turned her back to look - and she didn't resist. "The shivering rock" the hypnotizing voice intoned. "There is a little dip on one of the ledges up there filled with water for quite a long time since it lays in the shade during day. Only now, when the sun sets it touches the surface and reflects from the ripples to the steep wall above. You are a chosen woman, Madam, to make the rock shiver before you." Cathy shivered, he didn't touch her anymore but she felt his voice like a caress, wrapping her into a velvety cloak of magic. A last ripple and shiver of the rock above and the sun had passed over the magic spot. Cathy felt as if she had lost something, as if something precious had just slipped out of her hand and disappeared. She sighed deeply. Red Dust The voice of Paul broke the enchantment. "Tom! G'day, how ya doin' mate?" and a happy hand came down on the now no longer nameless shoulder. "I didna know you were home. How was Alice? Good business for Christmas? Oh , sorry, let me introduce you - Cathy, this is my friend Tom - Tom, this is Cathy, uhmmm ... Miss Sanders." "It is my pleasure meeting you, Miss Sanders." the black velvety voice said, dark eyes fastening on light blues. "Cathy..." was the breathless response. "So, will you be at the barbie later too, Tom?" Paul asked as they slowly started to make their way back to the parking lot, the last rays of the setting sun putting a halo around the red rock that slowly drifted into the shades of dark browns, turning to colorless greys. Catherine let herself fall back a little, following the two men who were busily chatting away in a slang she had a hard time understanding. While Paul was sure a descendant of the Pommies, his sandy, rustspeckled hair and comparatively light complexion even suggesting an Irish influence somewhere along the line, Tom seemed to be a pure line descendant of the Australian native tribes. Clad simply but clean in Jeans and a T-shirt and feeling obviously comfortable, the clothing nevertheless seemed to be oddly wrong on Tom. His long legs were disappearing in sneakers he wore without socks and his dark curly hair stood off his head as if he was a figure out of a cartoon who had put his finger into an electric socket only shortly before. Cathy giggled silently and almost bumped into the backs that had come to a sudden stop before her. Two pairs of eyes were settled on her in an inquisitive stare. "Uhhhh....pardon?" she stammered, blushing intensely about obviously not having heard the question. Tom's dark eyes mirrored the glowing ball of the disappearing sun, underlining his savage parentage considerably as his rich full voice repeated "I take it you will be our guest too tonight, Miss Sanders ... Cathy?" His burning eyes seemed to absorb her, his voice reached out to touch some secret hidden point. "I .. uhmmm, sure, ...I think so..." she gulped and almost forcibly broke the locked gaze, turning to Paul. "This is the festival you were talking about earlier, right? With the dancing and music and all?" 'Geeze, Cathy', she admonished herself, stop babbling! What on earth hit you? "Very well then - see you later! Paul, Cathy..." Tom nodded briefly into her direction before jogging away to a pickup truck parked close by. After a few steps Paul started to tell Cathy about Tom, who was a rather well known and sought after artist of the traditional painting style. Although never having studied officially he was a quite sought after capacity in regards of ancient cave paintings and pieces of art left by his aboriginal ancestors. Being the traditionalist Tom was, Paul continued with a giggle, he would return to the former tribe lands close to Ayers Rock and try to get across some of the ancient lore to the tourist during the busy traveling month, organizing semi-authentic feasts, as much for tourist entertainment as for the social reason to maintain some source of income to the tribe who would not be finding work in any city but be doomed to alcoholism and racist discrimination anywhere else. By then they had returned to the parking lot where the tourist group was slowly assembling again at the bus. And only a few minutes later they were on their way to the Billabong Lodge where they would be spending the night - or what would remain of it after the BBQ. They had about an hour to get to their rooms, shower and change before the bus would take them to the festival place at the foot of Ayers Rock. Catherine fell on the bed with a sigh of relief. The air conditioned room and the soft bed underneath felt luxurious after having spent the last hours in a hot bus on bumpy roads. She closed her eyes for a moment, recalling the views of the day, but soon the red earthy landscape was replaced by the splendid rock formation and then by a pair of burning eyes. "You must be a special woman" he had said, as they were looking at the shivering rock, and again she too shivered recalling the full velvety voice. The image of a primitive savage, hunting and haunting the vast red desert in tune with himself and nature seemed easily to come to mind, when recalling his firm body moving catlike under his shirt. His glowing eyes seemed to zoom back and then his face filled her mental field of vision. No beard, the distinct flat and wide nose that was so typical for his race. The skin was a black that reminded her of ebony, the eyes just as dark, but shining with a bright sparkling spirit. The wildest dark curls framed his wide face, and with a silent chuckle she imagined a little bird building a nest in them without difficulties. Then the focus of the vision shifted again. This time centering in on his mouth. His lips were dark too. Not the rosy color of the Europeans, she thought, but a deep earthy dark shade, almost blending in with his facial skin if not for the velvety structure. His mouth too was wide and his lips had seemed full, almost puffy, displaying surprisingly even teeth that had seemed to shine bright white in their dark frame. How would it be to be kissed by those large full lips? Cathy moaned and stretched, forcing herself out of her reverie. It was high time to shower and dress - and she sure wouldn't miss the event, specially since chances were she would be seeing Tom again. With a "plop plop" her dusty sneakers landed on the floor, followed by her almost equally dusty shorts and T-shirt, and a second later bra and panties joined the pile. When she entered the bathroom she caught a quick glance of her nude self in the mirror, and couldn't help but chuckle as she noticed the slight change of color where the sleeves of her T-shirt had ended. The red dust had settled on her sweaty skin like powder and gave her a light bronze glow where her limbs had not been covered by clothing. She reached into the shower cabin to turn on the water, careful to not be hit by the first , most likely cold, dash. Alas, there wouldn't have been any need for that kind of precaution, since what ran from the shower head above was not really a rush, more a trickle. Willing herself to positive thinking, arguing with herself that any shower was better than none at all, she stepped into the cabin. The water was left at a cool temperature - not really cold, but cool enough to make her nipples harden. Or was it more than just the cool trickle of clear liquid that made her body tingle? Catherine watched the little clear rivulet run down her shoulder and along her arm, starting to gather little red and gold crystals as it reached the edge where her sleeve had ended, leaving a lighter trace in its wake. She was reluctant to let her hands take up the business of cleaning, the traces painted on her skin by the running waters were so fascinating. Now there were light golden streaks starting to show in the dusty red cover of her thighs, just below the line where the fringed edge of her shorts had been, conjuring up the images of savage natives, covered in the colored patterns of mystical body paints. She felt her heart skip a beat as her vision summoned Tom, this time not clad in the garb of civilization, but in a loin cloth and the traditional body paintings she had seen in the brochures when planing her trip. Strange enough, this seemed to be a much more fitting image of Tom than the appearance he had displayed at the vista point. She felt her body shiver in response to the powerful and decidedly male charisma of this image. A thought dead tingle of sensual excitement spread from her tummy up to her ample breasts and down between the soft folds of her sex, leaving her trembling and surprised. With a gasp she noticed the time and quickly finished her shower, drying herself of and giving her hair the merest styling by shaking it violently a few times over her head and running her hand with a tad of styling gel through it. From her backpack she pulled a set of lacy bra and panties and a moment later her long shapely legs were disappearing under a layer of shining rust crash-silk while a sleeveless bronze colored matching top slid over her head and arms and like a hugging caress settled on her upper body. By the time she put on her sandals and finally a touch of lip gloss, forsaking all other make-up, she already could hear the people of her group walk past her room to gather at the bus again. A last check-up gaze into the mirror - and with flushed cheeks and shining eyes she arrived at the bus. Poor Paul was totally unable to tear his eyes from Catherine. Even though she wasn't aware of it her earlier "dream time" in the shower had left its traces in her big blue shining eyes and her still lightly flushed cheeks - and as she sat in her seat again, her eyes unfocusedly staring into the red desert a little shiver made her skin crawl … in anticipation? By the time the bus had arrived at the festival site the shape of Ayers Rock lay like the shadow of a giant sleeping primeval animal and the intense reds had given way to more mellow grays and pastels. In the darkening sky the first sparkling stars were already faintly visible where the horizon turned a velvety dark violet. Letting the others proceed, she deliberately stayed back a little, enjoying the enchanted scene as the voices drifted off towards the camp. The warm wind felt like a caress on her bare arms and for a moment she was tempted to just start whirling and spinning around as she had done when she was a little girl. The wind carried the omnipresent red dust, but with it the scents of hundreds of years, the whispers of thousands of stories and the promises of a million adventures. Catherine closed her eyes and inhaled - deeply - as if the night air was a liquid she could get inebriated on. Then the breeze carried something else towards her - the sounds of the Outback, the sounds that seemed to reach deep into her soul. A sound that seemed to radiate from the very core of Ayers Rock itself. Was the ancient giant moaning in his endless sleep? Vibrant, as if tentacles were reaching out to her, into her, the full deep humming sound of the Didgeridoo engulfed her senses, captured her in the ancient Dreaming. The night had come - fast and silent. Catherine turned around to join the group at the now crackling and blazing campfire, not least to follow the mouth watering smell of something yummy cooking on the BBQ. Just at the edge of the illuminated circle she stopped short though, her body reacting violently as the scene she was so unprepared for confronted her. On the opposite side the shine of the fire was dancing over semi-naked wild and untamed prehistoric figures. With unique grace the moving ebony bodies emanated barely controlled strength, knowledge beyond our modern day understanding and a fierce determination to survive. Savage symbols decorated the faces and torsos of the moving men, and illuminated only by the flickering flames they seemed to turn into unearthly ghosts and myths. Only when she felt her body desperately claim oxygen with an exploding gasp she realized she had been holding her breath. In that instant one of the dancers broke the trance and his eyes locked with hers. Again Catherine felt a shiver creep all over her skin although in the warm evening air there was no reason for it. The intensity in the aborigine's gaze startled her, disturbed her. And there was no way to avert her eyes. She was firmly locked in the hypnotizing enchantment and all her struggles to break free were in vain. She tried to close her eyes, tried to block out the vision, but there was no way to shield herself from the deep humming of the didgeridoo. And even though she couldn't see the dancing flames and savage bodies anymore the visions that had already haunted her in the shower now returned, magnified in their intensity, multiplied in their impact. The hot wind seemed to additionally carry the fire's heat. Unaware of her own vision Cathy stood and stared, oblivious to the world, perplexed listening to the suggestive, almost bawdy whispers coming from inside her, from places she had thought shut-up forever. For Tom though her appearance had been almost as startling as his had been for her. Concentrating on the ancient gestures and moves that told the story of the nomad adventures of his ancestors he too had been caught unprepared. Had Catherine been stunning in the afternoon already, she now simply looked magnificent. The shining material of the skirt and top she was wearing seemed to have leaped out of the camp fire and she appeared to be dressed in rust and bronze flames - immortal, a goddess. A marble statue of almost unbearable perfection who had been given life and whose skin started to fill with the glow of pulsing blood. Only the fact that this performance was a well practiced routine for Tom allowed him to finish while his mind was caught in other spheres. As if they were drawn together by invisible strings Tom and Catherine found each other sitting side by side, absentmindedly "functioning" as they had dinner - but they both knew that they were only maintaining appearances as they conversed with everyone around, and Cathy gladly fell silent as Tom in his incredible voice started to tell stories of "the Dreaming", how the Mala-people, the hare-wallaby tribes, used to come to Uluru for their rites, how the Pitjantjatjara and Yankuntjatjara roamed the lands and what became of their heirs in modern days. Cathy slid off into her own Dreaming, unfocusedly staring into the flames and letting Tom's velvety voice soothe the impassioned sensations that tormented her since she had first seen him. It didn't even occur to her to refrain from getting up and following him out of the vicinity of the fire and cheerful conversations when he took her hand and got up. In silence he lead her away from the party crowd and only a few steps further, as if they had entered into another time, the shine of the fire had disappeared, the only sound carried so far the once again humming evocation to the spirits by the didgeridoo that had taken over the evenings entertainment again. A silvery sickle of the moon was pinned to the sky, reflecting enough light for Catherine to see whitish and ochre symbols moving in the dark whereas Tom's dark skin seemed to disappear in the night, giving him an almost hazy consistency, as if he only was another of the fairy ghosts of the aboriginal lore. Catherine had to reach out and touch - hold - feel - to believe he was real. And under the watchful eye of Uluru they embraced and kissed. He felt like a statue made of stone, warm vivid stone, polished by eons of wind carrying red sand, leaving a cover of dust on it. But where her hands caressed he reappeared black and shining from underneath. His big ebony hand took her small white one. Her fingers tightly wrapped around his in the same contrast as was the pale sickle of the moon on the pitch black night sky. He led her through a ring of shrubbery to a secluded spot, a clearing of sorts. There the red sand shimmered fine and soft, like a blanket put down for Catherine to lay down and forsake her educational corselet, become part of the outback, follow her primeval instincts. Tom seemed to feel the transformation as he watched her - and before she could pull back into her societal turtle shell he pulled her into his arms and his violet lips met her rosy ones in a kiss that made her forget who and what she was. His hands swiftly pulled her top over her head and a moment later her skirt ballooned and finally fell in a puddle of molten copper around her feet. Tom gasped and let go of her - taking a step back. Her skin had seemed an alabaster white compared to his deep dark ebony, but now that she stood there, the light tan she had gathered set off her bra and panties in an almost fluorescent white. The warm wind caressed her until now covered body, her legs, her belly , the curves of her breasts. Tom, fascinated and enchanted by the fairy creature that had climbed out of the forging flames, almost absentmindedly undid his dusty loin cloth. Snapped back into a dreamlike awareness by this movement Catherine too started to discard the last layers of civilization and then they stood - facing each other in all their natural beauty – black and white - male and female - Ying and Yang. And just like the ancient symbol, representing the opposites but only being one, they were drawn together in the red sand. Her pale slender fingers seemed fragile as they ran through his dark stubborn curls. His black hand rested like a silhouette on the small of her white back. His proud black cock was disappearing in the clutch of her hand, a nymph's hand wrapped eagerly around the onyx shaft. The milky globes of her soft round breasts rested in his hands, for a moment reminding her of zebra stripes in the contrast of white flesh peeking through black skin. The pastel pink nipples hard and erect and begging to be sucked between his wide full lips. Down in the sand they lay, and like the Ying and Yang they entwined, black and white, the serpent who gave birth to Earth with the black and white pattern on her back His rigid black cock was sucked between her shimmering lips, giving her the appearance of feasting on a delicious chocolate bar. In reaction his face dove between her pale thighs, as if diving into a pool of milk. Their moans of passion where carried away on the humming sounds of the didgeridoo and the warm wind added his unique caress of millions of years to unfettered pleasure and passion of genuine love making. Soon Catherine didn't know any longer if she was dreaming or awake - if it was the night sky above her or another delicious piece of Tom's ebony body for her to devour. She didn't care, caught in the trance and secluded world of sensations his exploring fingers and tongue created. She abandoned her rational mind and drifted into the Dreaming, her Dreaming, something not part of her own experience only but of all her ancestors back to when they hadn't relied on anything but their instincts to survive. The sharp contrast of white limbs wrapped around black solid flesh added to her excitement, enhancing the unreality of this moment. And then Tom took her - his eyes, like the gates to the Otherworld, burning deep into her soul as his onyx cock slid into her well prepared pale milky pussy. Stroke by stroke she met his moves, in a feverish frenzy, the sweat mingling with the red dust on her skin painting the valley between her shining full breasts with the ancient symbols of passion, making her a savage, a female - a woman! The hunter was claiming his prize, his prey, under the stars and for the world to know. The warrior cried out his victory, answered by the howling of a dingo somewhere in the bush. And Catherine died. Died the little death in the black embrace of night personified, in the ebony embrace of primal urges and genuine passion, in the onyx embrace of male strength and infinite sensuality and overpowering sexuality - in the burning charcoal embrace that had purified her captured femininity from the taint of education and civilization. When she slowly spiraled back into her body she watched Tom's dark finger paint patterns all over her chest and breasts with the mixture of sweat and red dust, igniting a deep fire within her she knew she must never loose again. When he proceeded further down over her belly and finally reached her thighs, adding their mingled love juices to paint her body she knew he had given her something ancient, sacred. With a sad smile Tom kissed her, and mumbling something she didn't understand, he rose and pulled her to her feet with him. Still naked as nature had created them they embraced, knowing that the enchantment would be over as soon as they entered the camp. The howl of another dingo sent shivers over Catherine's alabaster skin and in a last tight embrace they stood - ebony and ivory, male and female, ancient and fleeting, night and day. Red Dust The wind carried red dust and the bodies dried. Catherine put on her top and skirt again, but the bra and panties went to the handbag. Those had been of the Catherine that had pleasantly died there in the sand under a diamond freckled night sky in the outback.