0 comments/ 23149 views/ 0 favorites Pay in Gold By: ProfessorR Dear Sophia, You seem to be enjoying working out in Marin County. Your letter about your experience with the 25-year old student at the School for Social Expression certainly sparkled. It reminds me, though, of part of a much larger story, one that I have only recently uncovered. I need to get it down on paper, and I think that it will interest you, so I'll draft it and send you a copy. You know that I always value your thoughts, and so I will be interested in your comments. -- Richard ===== ===== I think that I had mentioned Ela. On second thought, you knew that I was enjoying the company of a very special woman, but I don't think that I told you her name. She is working on a tv documentary for an independent production company, and came by my office to do an interview about my investigation of the Medicine Bow, Wyoming "space aliens" case. We had a wide-ranging discussion, as the diplomats say, and... I can see you laughing, but seriously... she is not originally from out West, but has really worked to understand it. We had a deep discussion about how people connect with each other in these wide open spaces and quickly came to agree that too often they don't do that. The sheer distances between people and places fascinate her, and with the Pagan perspective that she described to me, I began to realize that she was going to do a great job of explaining in video how the land, the Earth, influences people in this region. The Medicine Bow case as an example fit perfectly into her needs, and as we talked, I knew that I was meant to help her project in some way or another. I agreed to contact my confidential sources from that research and ask them whether she could interview them. We discussed how that might be done, and we found ourselves increasingly excited over the contributions that I could make to her project. Our voices raised, we became more animated. Her East Coast big city heritage came to the surface as she expressed her ideas so forcefully. It was getting warm in my dusty old Union Station office. I can't exactly explain it, but all of a sudden we just stopped. Stopped. Do you remember when we were up on the Continental Divide and a storm front passed over us? One moment we were in mild, breezy weather and then we could feel the pressure changing and a new wind blew over us. That is how it felt. I could almost swear that the papers on my desk blew slightly askew, even though the window was closed. We simply stopped talking and looked at each other for what seemed the longest time. I was looking deeply into her eyes when I caught a gentle, seductive motion. Her breasts were moving with her deep breathing; I remember realizing that I must be noticing them because they were firming up. Instinctively I lost eye contact and glanced at what I had already realized were her attractive curves. Ela's eyes moved with mine. "I think..." I began. "No," Ela smiled, "you feel," and she glanced down with a mischievous grin at the bulge developing in my slacks. I had not even been aware of it during our discussion. "While we were discussing my project and your possible contribution, our collective subconscious, as you might call it, was at work doing what comes naturally." She leaned over to kiss me, or perhaps for me to kiss her. Somehow we both stood up, and as I started to say something that was supposed to be intelligent and germane to our discussion, this interesting, brilliant woman put her finger to her lips to shush me. "You felt that fresh breeze, didn't you?" She said it in a low voice, but stated as a fact, rather than a question. "Sometimes it's time to stop talking and begin communicating." Her radiant face and the warmth pouring from her as we inched closer together suggested a way of communicating that would be irresistible. Her nipples pushed forward to touch me, and yet I again found her eyes drawing mine. It seemed that I did not need to look at her now, but rather needed, needed, to look into her. "The hotel where you live is close to here, isn't it?" she queried, again in that low, calm voice. I nodded. She must have read my erotic stories on-line, I realized, not just the scholarly papers to which she had referred. I took her hand and we headed for the grand old staircase like a couple of teenagers. As we walked out of the Union Station office wing I looked up 17th Street toward the historic Oxford Hotel, and I could not help but think of our wonderful times together. Ela turned her face toward me and her eyes lit with comprehension. "You have some beautiful memories invested in that building, don't you?" How had she known that? At the time, I supposed that something about my hand in hers had given my thoughts away. In a flash, I was acutely aware of her hand in mine and that we were supposed to just be business acquaintances, Before I could ask her about that insight, there was a sudden screech of rubber and the bang of metal meeting metal. A motorist in her 50's had glanced at we pedestrians blocking her way and for an instant lost control of her car. I would have said that we looked like any professional colleagues walking briskly toward our hotel, but perhaps she spotted something else. Her car smacked into the hotel's guest services limo, denting bumpers. Ela and I never really noticed that at the time. In our conscious selves, we WERE those professional colleagues, and in hindsight, I think that I also thought on a conscious level that we were those mature humans who know that we can confidently handle sex and the enjoyment that it brings, but would be trying to downplay its deeper significance. You know how much more is truly involved – we both have enjoyed talking about it and doing it – but it seems like the academic in me still tries to categorize Deep Meanings as just another file folder. We talk about it in conferences as if it is just a whitewash over our real needs that are in the Biological Science folder. So, we were caught in that emotional storm front and I, in any case, was still trying to objectify it. But, as Ela might have said, we were spiritually dancing like two dry leaves caught up in that swirl. The doorman snapped to attention and hurried to invite us in. Still just being colleagues, Ela and I chatted about something meaningless as we waited for the elevator. And as we did, the young woman behind the desk turned red and began breathing heavily. When Ela's knowing glance drew my attention to the clerk's natural response to our magnetism, I told myself that the air conditioning must not be working. We would have been alone in the elevator, but at the last minute a guy in his twenties dodged the closing doors and threw himself between us. He was clutching a bouquet from the florist's up the street. He hadn't really noticed us as human beings, just as obstacles to avoid hitting with the bundled flowers in his rush. Now he looked at Ela's glowing face and their eyes locked. I caught a glimpse of her nose wriggling cutely as she took in the testosterone scent that he unwittingly radiated. "She's special in her own way, isn't she?" Ela asked in that low, calm voice. "Uh, yeah, ma'am... Like she's very important to me." She had interrupted him in mid-thought and made him a part of her world at that moment. He looked at me as if to say, "What the hell am I doing carrying on a conversation that starts in the middle like this in an elevator of all places with people who are my parents' age?" I shrugged my shoulders as if this happened all the time. "What is your name?" The elevator was stopping for his floor, but Ela continued as though she owned time and could slow it down at will. "Roger." "What is your special one's name?" "Ashley!" The elevator was stopping. Ela touched his arm. "Roger, of course, you two are going to have lots of fun now, but you are also going to let Ashley feel how important she is to you." It was sort of a command, but said in such a nice way that it seemed to be a matter of fact. Ela glowed as she said it, and only then did she release his gaze. His eyes dropped with the same instinct that had pulled mine down over her breasts, and Ela sighed silently as he took in the view of stressed fabric that covered her excitement. Roger sucked in his breath, perhaps drawing in our own sensual pheromones, and almost leaped out of the elevator, caught our eyes in the hall mirror, then stopped for a moment as the elevator doors began to slowly close. He turned toward us, grinned, and trotted off down the hall like a man with a powerfully important message to deliver. Ashley would be deeply pleased, we could safely assume. I looked at Ela quizzically, impressed and charmed at the same time. It only increased my fascination. And it strengthened my determination to know her completely. We were in my room as if transported there— I don't remember how I got the key in the lock, the light on, all the little things one does when entering a hotel room, even a hotel room that is so lived in. Even in this hushed privacy, we said little, the warmth radiating around us intensifying as we began to touch. Ela glanced around the room, noting the papers and rough drafts and scholarly quarterly publications piled on the table and the desk. It was as she had imagined, I suppose—clean, but not neat. She saw the little picture of you in the frame on the desk, whispered something sweet sounding—prayer like—a thank you?—but said nothing that I could make out. Our kisses and tender stroking made it essential to get our clothes off. When Ela removed her bra, a flash of understanding penetrated my hormonal fog. There was something about the way that she did it that was different. You must remember me discussing my days with the coeds at the University of ____________ before I found it prudent to leave and before you taught me the joys of being with a woman my own age. It was wonderful when their bras came off, but there was as many kinds of body language associated with that as there were shapes of beauty. Overall, it was not uncommon, even for those young women who thought of themselves as experienced, to be a bit apprehensive or uncertain. And then they were wonderfully amazed at how much more sensitive they were to my touch than they had expected. That made sense, given that their experience was with hot, eager young men, but they would only begin to truly understand that as we prepared each other for my entry. To Ela, this simple act was bringing her closer to an experience that would restore her soul as a part of creation. In other words, it was a given that she would enjoy this time. Of course, I did not completely realize that then, but I sensed it in the way she responded as she held each breast to my lips for kisses. She was confident, in an attractive way, that she would enjoy my touch, even before my lips grazed the soft skin approaching her nipples. We had talked almost all day, so it wasn't just lust, although in the end there was enough desire to have swept us both away. We just really clicked. When my hands swept into her panties over her hips, they were ready for my embrace. Somehow we found ourselves on the sheets nude, as prepared as though we had known each other much longer. Did I tell you that I decided to try Viagra? You know how special those second or third times are, but the great irony is that as a man gets older, he should understand that more and more, and I want to assure that. I do love to see that sweet smile that forms on a woman's lips when we wake up in the morning after special middle of the night moments. So, Ela and I found ourselves becoming more and more closely attuned to each other with each turn in bed. She's in our age range, and she worries about her weight, mentions her white hair from time to time, mentions gravity in the same sentence as her body, and then turns absolutely sexy and none of that matters. When I feel her heat radiating as she presses against me, and when she nuzzles her lips over the smooth skin just inside my collar, my body starts racing to catch up. Of course, she knows things about herself and men that none of my coeds knew -- or perhaps they each learned one or two things, but Ela seems to have several life times' worth of sexual and psychic knowledge. And, of course, as you well know, that brings up the best in me. One early morning a few months ago, things all came together. You know how it is just before dawn, when my room gets light enough that you can kind of make out shapes, and the birds are chanting for the sun to come up? I was in Ela for the third time that night, and I could just make out her shape becoming more beautiful. Her breasts had already swollen in response to my lazy touching, before she had eagerly come down on top of me. Her nipples were outlined erect in the predawn light. My hand moved slowly and gently over them, and I cradled her hips with the other, enjoying the same curves that she had worried about earlier. She took my beckoning penis and caressed her hard button with it for an exquisite moment, and then as I reached fullness, this wonderful messenger of the Goddess spread herself over me and drew me in. You must remember how I would tenderly enter, pull back, and then move deeper as we felt each ring relax. Ela greeted me with a sweet, little sigh and then a welcoming gasp, followed by an enthusiastic deep breath that pushed her breast up as I filled her completely. Her alluring moist heat and pulsating opening signaled her readiness to accept my energy and all that I desired to give her. Ela opened her legs wide for me, pushing my manhood to her cervical opening, and with my hand pulling down on her hip I could feel the electric charge on her body. She did most of the moving, floating into the glory of her femininity. Her mouth watered -- I had raised my head to kiss her – and she moved instinctually over the full length of my erection, savoring the response. You know full well how much I enjoy being in the middle of a woman's orgasm, whether I'm coming or not, but this one caught up both of us. She shivered and moaned in a kind of ecstasy that I have rarely seen, and swept me into a delicious climax with her. Of course, by this point in my letter, you are wondering what the point is. You wouldn't be surprised by any of this, because you've done it with me quite wonderfully yourself. You know, if you weren't out there, and were right here instead, I wouldn't be writing at all, just murmuring. You and I would be doing the same thing. I want you to remember how we felt together, because that is the best way for you to understand what I am about to reveal. The unusual thing that requires me to explain how perfect everything was is that as she reached her climax, she began sighing in German-- something about the "hoehepunkt" and "du bist suess" and so forth. I don't know German well enough to concentrate on an orgasm and take notes or translate at the same time, so I really was not a very detached observer. In fact, I guess I was sort of an attached observer, as I was thinking about what in the world she was saying in a foreign language. It threw me from my typical Tantric orgasmic delay and I exploded joyously, deep within her. Afterward, as we were listening to the non-negotiable demands of the birds outside of my window - "we want the sun up or else!" - I trailed my fingers between her cooling breasts, and asked as gently as I could: "What the Hell was that German stuff when you climaxed?!" It was driving me crazy with curiosity. "You never said that you spoke German." "I don't," she whispered sweetly. Her throat was a bit dry from heavy breathing, and a whisper was easier. "What gave you the idea that I speak German?" "You spoke it when we climaxed." "No, I didn't! You must be remembering someone else." She shot me an eyebrow-raised glance that was given away by her accompanying laugh. "Uh, well I'd swear that you spoke German just when you were on the brink. I had my hand on your hip, and I felt your orgasm building, and then you were talking in German. Very good German, I'd say, too-- but kind of old-fashioned or formal, now that I think about it." "Dear Professor, you're supposed to be thinking about how wonderful we were together and planning to do it again as soon as you recover." "True... and I am. But my subconscious can take care of that." Sophia, you remember how I taught you to let your subconscious handle things for you. I did the same thing-- I inhaled the rose-like scent of her hair, let my eyes sweep over her charmed body and let myself think good things about how beautifully she lay there-- mentally told my balls to begin their preparations to offer more special gifts to her. I felt a surge in my tired sacs that told me the message had been accepted by my subconscious, and with it on the job, I could concentrate on figuring out Ela's story. Ela had been silent; then we both started to talk at the same time. It turned out that she was doing the same thing as I-- filing away this wonderful moment, letting her gaze fall boldly over me, enjoying the weary nods of my relaxing penis, and reveling in the man-smell that surrounded her. She had looked down at her vagina which had been so hungry, now sated for the moment, and mentally recorded the beauty of the sparkling moisture on them. The "dew of the morning" is what the Bible writer called it, she remembered, and it was as beautiful now as in that ancient time. The ancient time! That was what she tried to talk about at the same instant as I spoke. We fenced with each other for the moment, as each thought that what we had to say was urgent. Then we laughed and she yielded-- not really a concession, because she had psychically figured out that I was asking her to tell me what she had planned on telling me. "If you don't remember speaking German, what do you remember? And has this happened before?" Ela laughed and licked her lips in anticipation of my reaction. "It must be from another life that I haven't uncovered yet." I raised a quizzical eyebrow. "I am Vhyirmat," she said calmly. Her nude breasts rose and fell for a moment, her eyes changed color and the muscles of her face shifted in a way I can't explain. I took the information in. "And I have had many lives." I cleared my throat while I thought about this. For a time, I couldn't think of anything to say. "How do you mean?" I finally got that brilliant question out. "Reincarnation-- you've heard of it, yes?" "Yes." What else could I say? I nodded encouragement, as she explained. A cascade of pieced together past life accounts described a woman of great power within the context of the societies in which she had lived her lives. This power had been expressed in different ways, but always she had understood the need to hold onto her role in creation through expressing her healthy sexuality. While her sisters had fretted about whether to do it or who to do it with, or thrown themselves at money or the ancient equivalents of modern jerks, she had confidently selected men in each time who recharged her spiritually, as well as emotionally. + Sometimes, as a temple priestess, she had simply pointed to a handsome youth in the crowd, and his friends or family had pushed him forward toward the honor of joining her on the couch behind the golden screen. And, when the Goddess had been satisfied with his offering, he left with much knowledge that would please other women. + Once, it seemed, she had played a part in bringing together young lovers whose families had forbid them getting together. Ela remembered the young man's joy when he came to her and behind that screen found his lover serving as her assistant. And she remembered how beautifully her assistant applied her teachings as Ela looked on, knowing that she would now be linking herself to the same universal force represented in her as Vhyirmat. Pay in Gold + At other times, Ela-Vhyirmat was a quiet, modest woman in a public position and men came secretly to draw wisdom from her, telling them selves that they were not being influenced by a mere woman-- it was only for the wonderful sex that a man in their powerful position deserved! + A French king spared the life of a servant-girl who had been caught stealing food for her child. The king was so stressed out that he was impotent, until Ela-Vhyirmat found that he would relax as she caressed his chest. His subjects soon marveled at his compassion. The king's courtiers marveled at the whispers among court ladies about the king's newfound ability to command their performances in the royal bedchambers with something approaching his long-lost enthusiasm. + Another court marveled at a bold warrior who announced that his next project would be to commission construction of an academy. In that same court, a poet found his muse. And Ela-Vhyirmat smiled quietly and enjoyed each in his own way. The bold warrior developed a fascination with her ability to control her muscles around his manhood. His hard tool, as he had bragged to his men, had pushed into many beautiful captives. But this woman he told no one about – she took his hardness and transformed him into a tool of her pleasure. It felt so wonderful that he thought about her at the most awkward times and his legend-making member pushed upward like a young man's. + The poet spun out beautiful words to describe her and Ela-Vhyirmat smiled. She smiled as she thought about how Lit majors in future generations would struggle to make sense of what he wrote, how critics would debate the identity of his influential love, and best of all, she smiled and licked her lips as she thought of how she could command his silence. When his words had no further meaning, she would move closer and closer to him, and he would sense her warmth. And then, his mind would turn to lovemaking and his poetry would pour into her and her heart would sing the song of Creation. "It seems as though you were gently guiding History," I observed. "That's an interesting way of putting it." She smiled. "Yes, I have been nudging it in the direction that I felt the Goddess wants for us." Playfully, she nudged me. She finished the explanation with a quizzical look, as if asking herself a question. "But I don't recall a life as a German. Something about Britain, something about Arabs, I remember that. But it's just bits and pieces. And gold... yes gold. Jewelry? I don't think so... but lots of it... piles of it." She answered her own questions as best as she could. "So there are some lives that you can't account for?" "Yet!" She winked at me. "I learned in college that only the most special lovemaking opens my soul to these recollections." I whistled. Imagine, me, at a loss for words! "There's a pattern that I've learned." "And I fit into it?" It was my turn to whisper, as my voice too had turned scratchy. Lovemaking in Colorado's dry, high atmosphere has its quirks. "Yes!" She grinned broadly and leaned back contentedly against the pillows for a minute. My hands followed her movement, gliding over her nude curves. I could see that her mind was floating on the remaining pleasure that was ricocheting through her body. One of my hands seemed to float down between her thighs, as though with a mind of its own. Her warmth greeted me, led my fingers to begin stroking. I paused for a moment and whispered to her: "And your orgasm is the gateway, yes?" "Yes," she sighed and wiggled her body a bit to let her legs find a comfortable position that would open to my touch. "But not any orgasm." "How do you mean?" "Only my third orgasm, riding on top of my lover, on the night of the full moon....." I looked carefully at her – it was almost as if another person were speaking—was there someone else insider her not? Had she become someone else? There was much here for me to learn. "What?" I almost snapped at her and lost my concentration on her sensuality. "I think that's pushing it a bit. Talk about performance anxiety!" My fingers dropped off of automatic pilot and I found myself having to think of what to do. When I stopped stroking her something happened. "How dare you disagree with me?" She snapped back. "It's my body, and my lives. Why do you think that you can tell me what to do?" "True!" I laughed when I realized how foolishly I had behaved. I would show Ela otherwise-- I was not ready, even with the Viagra, to enter her again. I relaxed and my long fingers began their gentle, but firm, explorations, teases, rewards. She started to say more, but I held a finger to her lips and then kissed her firming nipple closest to me. I suppose that I grinned wickedly at the plan that had come to mind. I should have paid more attention to her tongue, licking hungrily about her full lips, and then I might have realized that she had anticipated what was about to come. Eagerly, she opened to my caresses, shifting to let me finger her in ever more inviting ways. Already sensitive in every part, her muscles tuned to draw in the maximum pleasure, Ela arched her back in my embrace. I concentrated all my attention on her needs, and applied every ounce of my experience toward the powerful force that crashed through her, extending it, stroking her into each of the lovely ripples that came afterward. She sighed a little sigh, and then went limp in my arms. A cooling wave of perspiration washed over her. She smiled, perhaps the same contented smile that had enchanted ancient kings and poets and warriors. But nothing ethereal had happened. No message from her former life. No reincarnated soul speaking to me. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?" I laughed. "Yes." She grinned. "You used David Shade's method, didn't you?" I did not answer, but from the twinkle in her eye, I think that she knew that I had. "Guys who find out about your past lives always try to do that, don't they?" I was figuring out why she was so promptly ready to be pleasured in this way. "Yes! If they know how." "But this way doesn't work for your past lives, does it?" "You're right." Somehow I still was dismissing this idea, and as you would suppose, it did not come up until the night of the next full moon. We were not seeing each other every weekend; both of us were too busy. She had to make several trips up into Wyoming on her project. I do not think it was conscious on either of our parts that fateful night, but perhaps our subconscious minds remembered what to do. The first time was urgent-- we tumbled into bed when she came by my place in mid-afternoon, her lace camisole still clinging to her curves, eager to reunite and restart our sexual clocks timed to each others' signals. The Viagra that I had slipped was barely down the hatch when my lips were closing over the soft skin under her jaw and teasing their way over the lace covering her warming breasts. I never thought about her story of past lives-- I was thinking of the male imperative that was even more ancient, although touched with the modern, scientific knowledge that my precum contained ingredients that early societies would have thought magic, ingredients that met ancient female needs. Ela wiggled sensuously when she felt my special fluid meeting hers, and opened naturally to me. It was a beautiful moment, one that would have been special enough had it been our lone time that weekend. I flexed my muscles inside her and coated her with my honey, moving over her, dipping into her, as she stretched out eagerly beneath me. I enjoyed our maturity in preparing each other and reveled in my ability to focus on her needs first, but as we moved together, our movements became ever more instinctive and then we gasped in unison as our orgasms merged. We lay in a tangled, warm embrace for a while. Ela murmured her approval, which I could only second. She talked a little about her reading and what she had learned from other lives, and that brought the reincarnation idea back to me. What she explained is that in her experience and that of her women friends who paid attention, some men's precum was exactly right for some women, and so on. In other words, to be technical about it, the chemical bond that developed between lovers enhanced the intimacy for the right couples. They were literally meant for each other. She could have done the same lovemaking with another guy, and it would have been fun, but not felt fulfilling more than the ordinary needs she and other experienced women understood they had. I floated the idea with her that perhaps this had evolved in ancient times, so that women would select the mate that gave them the most pleasure, even without sex manuals. She laughed and suggested that, no, only the most highly evolved modern women could detect this powerful influence! It was funny, she admitted, to tease men in this era with the thought that women did not really need men to carry on the species. But even as an interesting man turned flustered and tried to argue with her, she could feel herself yearning for the offering that would come with his sperm. Ela had thought a great deal about this, I came to realize. She pointed out to me that because most sex research was done by men thinking about how to avoid conception, there had been a sort of assumption that all that wonderful ivory stuff was just one of those "inert ingredients" listed on packages. Now that women were taking a role, she explained proudly, their need for the right male contribution was better understood. This came up during the lecture that we attended that evening. We learned that in pre-historic or oral history times, only a few women seemed to have been sensitive enough to take this special pleasure. In recent generations, there were more and more women with that ability. Still, they were a minority. "Somewhere," the lecturer explained, "at this moment there is a woman sitting wondering why her friends don't talk about their needs in the way that she feels them. And they wonder why she may act so boldly when the opportunity to meet a fascinating man comes her way. Their rules were not made for her and vice versa." Ela leaned over and whispered to me. "See, the Goddess is leading us to a new age." "One at a time, apparently!" I whispered back. "Wait till the pharmaceutical companies find out how to market millions of a douche with your choice of men's chemical gifts." Ela grimaced playfully and stuck out her tongue at me. This whole discussion, after what Ela and I had already discussed that afternoon had the effect that you would expect. It was a good lecture, but we were holding hands like kids when we should have taken notes. My hand was caressing her thigh when others were asking questions of the lecturer, Doctor Markus, the noted German sexologist. (You remember that he helped me with research previously.) I don't even remember what the title of his presentation was now, except that it had to do with sex. That part penetrated my thoughts and I was open to any suggestion that might be offered. When Ela suggested that we have some of the orange sherbet that I had at home, instead of eating out, I was ready for her. To her surprise, it arrived on my coffee table with whipped cream sprayed over it, topped by a red Maraschino cherry. We barely were able to finish this desert, before we were licking the last tastes of it from each other's mouths, my hand diving beneath her loose wrap-style skirt to find a hot welcome between her thighs. Her legs relaxed with the easy familiarity of trust, and my stroking hand captured and held her pussy. "You've never tried whipped cream with sex?" I asked, genuinely surprised. She had not, but she purred that it was time to find out. "It seems like everyone can enjoy something different with this hobby," was her eager reply. This was said as she pulled her camisole over her head. Her breasts gave an extra pointed quality to her words. With familiar urgency, I unwrapped her skirt. She kicked her sandals away. Gleefully, she presented herself to me, proud in her panties, wincing with comedic shock as the cold whipped cream jetted out onto each breast in turn. I warmed them with my kisses-- and my tongue scooped up the sweet, gooey stuff. As we embraced and licked up the remains of the cream, my hands found her waistband and stretched her last covering over her hips. She wiggled as I held her there. "I would have thought that the whipped cream would be put in an area below the waist, too!" She hungered for the maximum effect and I crowned her feminine center with a foam G-String. Ela trembled as I rolled it onto my tongue. Before long, it was my turn. She yanked my slacks off with my underpants caught in them. Before I could think about it, I was on the couch and she was kneeling to tenderly lick the whipped cream shroud that she had sprayed over my shaft. It had only been partly erect when she had first pressed the white jet in my direction, and the cold had initially discouraged my erection. But now I rose out of the foamy collar, warmed by her embracing lips. She coaxed me to my hardest point, and then as my fingers moved to bring her to another orgasm of her own, she guided me to a bursting climax. Sophia, you probably are getting increasingly excited by anticipating the third orgasm of the full moon night, but perhaps this is a good stopping place. Try not to let it get to you for a minute while I explain. Just remember those winter nights in the Oxford Hotel when we cuddled under the covers and talked about all kinds of things in the in-between times. Or, remember when you teased me by saying that in my stories I should always leave a quiet spot where you could stop and make your way to the little drawer in the bedside table and pull out the vibrator? So that you could finish... the story! Well, here is that quiet place. ======= ======= I had raised the question of Ela's past lives with Professor Markus, and he had explained some of his research regarding women's needs to me. At first, this did not seem like an obvious connection, but as you think about it, there is an explanation. Through a synthesis of the latest biological research and his own hypnotic interviews with a cross-section of couples, he had identified that women with strong past life associations also were able to obtain more enjoyment from sex. And in turn, they were more conscious of the connection that sexual intimacy gave them with Creation – not just with the man they had selected. Markus said that he was an agnostic himself, but that as a scientist there certainly was a link of some sort there. He was not sure – it was a chicken and egg thing – whether their past life experiences made them more knowledgeable about sex or whether, as I suspected, their comfortable acceptance of it as an essential part of life also opened them to new experiences and awareness of their ancient experiences. You could contact me if you find that you keep thinking about this and we will talk more about it. ======= ======= I was so tired that, in spite of my certainty that this would be a special night, I fell asleep. I was stretched out on the couch when I awoke. Ela's clothes and mine had been tossed around the room when they had become hindrances, and I had nothing on me except for Ela's hair. She was kneeling on the rug in front of the couch, bending over me and with sweet kisses, tenderly bringing my cock back to life. Her hair teased my tummy. I don't know where she had been or how long she had been there— there wasn't room enough on the couch for both of us to have slept. What caught my eye was the faint glow around her. Later, Professor Markus told me that it was just the moonlight silhouetting her. To me, the glow danced like the Northern Lights, outlining her nude form. As she warmed to her pleasure at bringing me back to readiness, it was as though I was watching an infrared image. The colors changed, the way her eyes had changed color each time we made love. And I could see the tints glowing red around her warmest places. She rose and stood before me, hands on her hips, inviting me to rise and come to bed with her. The aura moved with her and intensified as I shook the sleep from my eyes and stood before her. She looked me over approvingly, as I did her. It all seemed to be in slow-motion, but perhaps that is only how I remember it now. I remember it so vividly! We walked hand in hand to the bed. Our path through the strewn clothes took us past the full-length mirror, and to my amazement, I noticed that Ela's aura seemed to be reaching out over our entwined hands to include me. It could have been frighteningly strange, but it did not feel that way at all. Instead I felt closer to her than I had ever been, calmer, even though we were only holding hands. "Just a moment," Ela spoke quietly. She moved to the window and drew back the inner drapery. A gauze curtain filtered the mingled city lights and moon light that cast a beam of silver energy over the sheets. For a second, her shadow fell across the bed, and then she was in my arms. We lay down side by side and embraced, taking in the sense of each other so close. I felt her passion, but I also felt her comfort at knowing that everything was right about this. That was my sense, too. You know how it is when you are so well-tuned to each other that everything seems to happen on its own? That was how I felt, as my hand found her opening flowerlike as I touched her. She accepted my caresses with increasing sighs, and finally could take no more. "I want you..." she sighed, "to be inside me. To be a part of me...." She moved the pillows about, stacking them and the ever more intense aura danced about her. I straightened out and I found myself looking deeply into her eyes as she tenderly beckoned me onto her. Again, it seemed to be in slow motion. Yet you know how quickly that can be done! There was none of that "he impaled himself in her twat" or that sort of thing. It was a gentle enveloping of me in her warmth, as though she wanted to savor each centimeter of me coming down onto her. The scents of our sex needs perfumed the air around us. That was most of the centimeters into Ela, but as the sensual tension built, we suddenly felt a wave of power sweep through us both, and I felt my hips thrusting downward as she pushed up. A heavy dose of the masculine urges to set the pace rushed through me, and I began to move in ways that would please, ways that in another time or with another woman might have rushed toward a climax for both of us. I was losing myself in her, my body pushing her down toward the brink of ecstasy. But that is not what happened. It is difficult to describe, but somehow as we went deeper and deeper into intimacy, I began to be able to see both myself and Ela from above. It seemed like I was floating over the room, except that could not be, because I could see myself, my body, energetically fucking her below. Her hands were tracing my muscles as my hips flexed with abandon, her legs wrapped tightly around mine. And, I would swear, Ela-Vhyirmat was there with me as we floated above the room. Or her aura was. But I could see her down below, tossing her head back and licking her lips, shifting slightly from one side to the other in order to take the maximum pleasure that I was offering, offering her breasts for my hot caresses. Then I saw her move her legs under me, tightening her hold on my manhood. Her body was definitely down there! I saw my legs spread wide over her—my back arched and muscles bulged. And as below us, the tender trap of her vagina took in the power that she had released from me, we reached a climax as no other. The aura Ela-Vhyirmat floating with me, and I, suddenly rushed together as though a gust of wind had swirled two clouds of smoke into one. For a moment, there was a feeling between us—or through us— of indescribable bliss. We felt whole. I suppose that I heard angels singing, but I was hardly taking notes at that instant. That cloud of us was floating down, down, toward our orgasmic-tuned bodies. Pay in Gold And then suddenly I was looking down at her from my own self again, and Ela was looking up at me with tears of joy in her eyes as we shared our realization of what had just occurred. I was squeezing the last real dose of my precious fluid into her, as she joyously moved to draw it from me, and then, we were just a normal, happy couple again. Reluctantly, she slipped sideways from beneath me and once again, we lay side by side. Of course, I found her body attractive all over, but for some reason, as we cuddled, I found myself drawn irresistibly to place my hand firmly over her wet vagina. Ela smiled at me – I caught a glint from her eyes in the moonlight – and she moved her hips a bit so that she could relax with me holding her there. "That's a tribute," I whispered to her. "Ich verstehe." It was a matter of fact reply. It occurred to me that this had probably happened before. It was not a new experience for Ela, even though it was one that she still desired when she had chosen the right lover and made herself comfortable in his arms. "Du bist suess." She had switched to German. At first, I thought she was teasing me, but it was real. And then she spoke in English, with a British accent. "I remember it now." "Remember what?" Our discussions about her possible past life experiences came back to mind. "I am Miss Ela Worthing." Ela shook her head, as though shaking off cobwebs. "Excuse me," she spoke with her familiar voice and speech patterns, "I'm remembering more of the past life in which I spoke German. But it wasn't my native language. No wonder I was confused." "Which was your language?" "English... proper English, not the way you Yanks go at it," she said, back in her English accent. It was not Cockney, it was not aristocratic, but it was very polished. I do not know the various English regional and class accents, so I could not place it more closely. "This was special." She said it in her familiar voice. "My clit is still trembling. Of course, good sex is something I need regularly – something that many women need regularly - in order to keep everyday life in balance and enjoy communion with the Goddess. But this time She offered us much more than that." For a moment, I felt a renewed flash of energy hot between her thighs and saw the brief flare of her aura. She grinned lustily at me and then closed her eyes, as though to sleep, as though to dream, or perhaps to return to the arms of her Goddess. I was still trying to figure it out as I drifted off to sleep, my hand still resting on Ela's wet curls, the moonlight spilling over the both of us entwined in human bliss. ===== ===== This story is to be continued with "Ela Worthing" telling of her adventures as a World War I agent for the British secret services, hunting the Kaiser's gold, and of the German man she knew and taught. Ela-Vhyirmat gives history a nudge.