3 comments/ 18735 views/ 8 favorites Absinthe By: Akerbeltz They say that you never forget about your high school crushes. Personally, I don't know about that so much. I think that the best years of my love life came about while I was in college. So many great memories there. There was this nursing student from the Philippines, an art school girl who liked to be tied up and strangled, and a big breasted redhead from my archaeology class. Talk about sowing my wild oats... But none of them hold a candle to Rachel Tokarczyk. I'll never forget here. Rachel was a really cute girl. A curvy little redhead, Rachel was your stereotypical Goth chick. You know the type; wore lots of black, especially corsets, fishnets, thigh high boots and the like. She listened mostly to Siouxsie and the Banshees, Joy Division, Sisters of Mercy, Christian Death, VNV Nation. Yeah, a real Goth, back in the days when that still meant something. She even had a piercing in her nose, and another one through her lip. Now, I had first met Rachel back in my first year on campus. She was in my English lit class, and we'd pretty much hit it off immediately, sharing similar interests and musical tastes. Of course, being a horny young twenty year old male, my interest in her wasn't entirely platonic. I'd dreamt about nailing that sexy round ass of her's since day one. The only snag there? She was dating some asshole named Mike. I know that I'm probably a bit biased there, but "asshole" would be about the only way I could describe Mike. He was one of those jealous, controlling types. He didn't like Rachel talking to other guys, especially not me, but he felt more than free to talk with other girls. Truth be told, I always suspected that he was cheating on Rachel, but I never wanted to bring up the subject. You know how badly those things always go. Anyway, just about every Friday night, my friends and I would hang out at Absinthe, the local Goth club. The cover charge to get in was cheap, and they didn't serve alcohol, so a twenty year old like me could get in. That and the fact that it was one of the only two clubs in the entire freaking state that actually played real Goth music (with an occasional smattering of Industrial, Punk and Dark Wave) made it pretty damned appealing. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Rachel was also a frequent patron of the club. Unfortunately, so was her asshole boyfriend Mike, so we never really got much a chance to socialize there. That is, until one day just before Valentine's Day. I'd gotten to the club a little later than usual, but then considering that the place didn't really pick up until about midnight, that wasn't a huge problem. I quickly scanned the club, looking for any familiar faces. My friends were all hanging out over in our usual corner, or on the dance floor, but I didn't see Rachel anywhere. I wondered if maybe she hadn't showed up tonight. It would have been a bit of pity, but it wasn't exactly uncommon either. But then I found her. Sitting down at one of the tables away from the dance floor, she looked like she was crying. Making my way over to my little group, I went over and asked my friend Jim what was going on. He told me that Mike had apparently broken up with Rachel right here in the club a mere couple hours ago. And on the day before Valentine's Day no less. I probably shouldn't have been so happy about it, but the first thought that crossed through my dirty little mind was that this was it! This was my first and perhaps best chance to finally hook up with Rachel. It wasn't more than a fraction of a second before I was making my way back across the club and over to Rachel's table. I sat down next to Rachel and started with the usual small talk. You know the routine. Hi, how are you, is there anything I can do to make you feel better, I want to fuck you. Okay, maybe I wasn't quite so blunt about the whole thing, but that thought was lingering at the back my head the entire time. At least I got Rachel to stop crying. We had a couple sodas, talked for about an hour or so. I was so wrapped up in conversation that I barely even noticed Mike coming over. He said he was taking off, and some crap about hoping they could stay friends. Well, I'd had just about enough of that smiling jack ass and his bullshit. I quickly stood up and got in his face, confronting him about what he had done to Rachel. "This doesn't involve you," he said, pushing me aside. I responded by calling him an inbred mother fucking retard. That was probably the biggest mistake of my life, because he immediately turned around. His eyes were more full of hatred than just about anything I've ever seen in my life, but I didn't get much of a chance to look because the next thing I know, he threw a punch at me. It hurt. A lot! I wish that I could tell you I was brave, but the fact is, I went down almost immediately. If you've never actually been in a fight, they usually don't last long enough for both parties to actually throw more than one or two punches. It's nothing like those old action movies. And unfortunately, I was the one lying on the floor, the taste of my own blood on my lips. Before I could even get up, the bouncer had come over and kicked Mike out of the club. Rachel slowly helped me get up to my feet. Deep down inside, I was hoping that I had somehow managed to impress her in my stumbling, awkward way. Instead, she just glared at me. "Why the hell did you do that," she asked me "What was going through your head? You could have gotten hurt!" "Sorry," I coughed at her, still trying to catch my breath. "It's just that I couldn't stand that asshole anymore," I continued, "I mean, what the fuck. He actually broke up with you on Valentine's Day? How big of an asshole do you have to be to pull that sort of crap on someone?" My entire face was sore. It felt like I had just been hit by a God-damned truck, and I could feel a trickle of warm blood dribble down from my nose. I just prayed he hadn't broken anything. I looked over at Rachel, wiping the blood from my face. "Actually," she said smiling, "That was kind of sexy, you standing up for me and all, even if you did get your ass kicked in the process." I just sort of chuckled. "I think I need to go to washroom and clean up," I said. With Rachel's help, I got up and made me way across the club to the back, where the bathrooms were. Rachel came with me, her arms wrapped around me the entire way, probably for support though to be honest I was feeling a bit more physically competent by this point so I didn't really need it. Not that I was complaining. Instead of going to the bathroom though, Rachel and I immediately wrapped our arms around each other once we got to the back of the club. As we passionately embraced one another for the first time, I could feel her hand reaching down to grab my ass. I obligingly returned the favor, squeezing that sexy round ass of her's that I had fantasized about for so long. I could feel the cold chill of metal from her lip ring pressing up against my face. Damn was that hot! My cock began to stiffen in my pants. Aroused by this turn of events, I snaked my hand up her little miniskirt and brushed against her cunt. Rachel must have known what was going on, because she moved her hand towards my crotch, stroking my erection. In response, I not so subtly fondled her breasts. Rachel broke away from me, looked around for a moment, and then lifted her shirt, giving me a nice view of her milky white tits. To my surprise, her nipples were pierced. I squeezed them, eliciting a squeal of pleasure from her, then she leaned forward and began to kiss me again. Between the taste of her lips and my own blood, I was going wild. Rachel began to kiss my neck, slowly going down to her knees. Then she stroked my still rock hard cock again, quickly grabbed my belt and before I knew it, she had my pants down and my cock out, right there in the back of the club! Thank God nobody seemed to notice. For her part, Rachel brought her lips up to the tip of my cock head, gently licking and kissing at it. The sensations she was sending through my body were unbelievable. Looking down, I grabbed her by her short, neon red hair and enjoyed the feelings and her head bobbed up and down on my cock. I could hear her making some sort of mumbled sound as she continued to suck me off, but couldn't really make out what she was trying to say. Frankly, I didn't really care either. Rachel began to deep throat me, the back of her throat brushing up against the sensitive tip of my cock. That, combined with the taboo nature of having sex in public for the first (but thankfully not the last) time, was enough to send me over the edge. Soon I was shooting a load of cum deep into her belly. To her credit, Rachel swallowed pretty much my entire load. Rachel got to her feet, a small dribble of my jizz trickling down her lips as she smiled at me. "That was amazing," I said, staring into her eyes. "I thought you might appreciate that," she said. "Maybe," I said as I leaned over and grabbed her ass, "Maybe we should go back to your place and finish this." We didn't make though, but at least we got out to the parking lot. It was cold out there, a chilly February wind nipping at my sore face. We sat in her car, listening to the radio while she tried to warm it up. I couldn't contain myself anymore though, and soon we were going at it again like wild animals in heat. Rachel stripped off her shirt, exposing her juicy breasts as she tossed her shirt into the back seat. I follow suit, dropping my pants to my ankles and taking off my shirt as well. Rachel moved across the seat and straddled me, her fishnet-clad legs wrapped around me. That was the first time I noticed the tattoo across her back. Rachel was just full of surprises... I won't lie to you. It was pretty damned cramped in there, and I'm not entirely sure how other people manage to have sex in a car, but eventually, I entered her and started fucking away. She bounced up and down on my cock, shouting obscenities as I pounded away at her tight cunt. I reached up and squeezed her breasts, causing her to moan in pleasure. As she wrapped her thighs around me, I shot yet another load deep inside of her. It was turning out to be a good night, the blow to my face notwithstanding. As my now naked new girlfriend got off of my slowly deflating cock and sat back down beside me, I looked at the clock. It was 2:30 in the morning. Just then, I realized that it was already Valentine's Day. I looked back over to Rachel, who was still trying to catch her breath. "Happy Valentine's Day," I said to her, "Bet you didn't expect it to turn out like this." "No," she replied, "I didn't... but I'm glad it did." So was I. Absinthe 2: Doorways of Perception The rag doll stood on the table, its small tattered feet sliding silently back and forth along the thick, shiny enamel paint. Its scratched button eyes stared out of the faded fabric of its face, as the small head rocked side to side. 'Marlene,' the doll began speaking, in a soft, childish voice. 'Not Marlene,' was the reply. The woman who spoke sat on an old couch, toying with her black skirt. She held another rag doll, one that looked just like the one standing on the coffee table in front of her, the one that spoke. 'I told you, it is Absinthe now.' The row of painted dots on the face of the moving doll twisted into a smile. 'I know, Marlene. I know what you told me. I also know who...who and what you really are, and I can only address you in that manner.' The doll shook its head, then continued in a sing-song voice. 'You unlocked your true potential last night, Marlene. You have begun to experience the real world, and you must learn your place in it.' The woman in black looked up at the moving doll, squeezing the doll still in her hand even more. Flickering candles on the coffee table lit up the anger in her face. 'I have already seen the real world,' she said. 'I have seen the monsters that live there, draining the life out of normal people, crushing us in their petty wars and rivalries.' She looked back down suddenly. 'I'm not one of them, dammit,' she spoke quietly. **** Smoke curled from the dark cigarette in her hand as Absinthe paused in her story. Quiet music came from dark corners of the gloomy café as she sipped on her coffee. The man across from her blinked. 'So, your doll speaks to you,' the man began, slowly. 'No, I already told you, Desmond,' she said, putting down her cup. 'I was holding my doll. Whatever it was that spoke, it was something that looked like my doll. I used to just dream about it, but now I see it when I'm awake...' She took a drag from the cigarette. 'I need to know what I am, why I see this talking doll, and why...' Desmond took a sip from his own coffee. 'Why you think you conjured up a fictional character...' The woman slammed a lace-gloved hand down on the table, hard. 'No, dammit, I do not think I conjured it up! I know I did!!' The other patrons, mostly reading or sketching, looked at the angry young woman in a black lace dress. Ignoring them, she lowered her voice again. 'Look, you know about shit like this, don't you? I mean, you hang out with those other freaks...' Desmond looked hurt. 'May I remind you, dear, that I am also one of those, as you say, 'freaks'. And let's not consider your recent acquaintances as being terribly stable, either.' Absinthe took another drag on her cigarette. 'Point taken. I'm sorry.' 'So, as you say, you conjured up a fictional character. This...this Apostolis.' He smiled. 'You know, I had forgotten "The Stone Knight". I never had much use for nursery rhymes and such.' Absinthe became lost in thought, remembering the night of passion she had with Apostolis. The thought of his slightly-rough skin against hers, his enormous strength yet extreme gentleness, filled her with a warmth that had nothing to do with the cigarettes and coffee. A slight moistening began in her vagina, and unconsciously her hand began to stray to her breast. Only a gently tapping sound roused her from her reverie. Desmond tapped the silver ring he wore on his right hand on the table. 'When I was studying with my sensei, he did tell me stories of creatures created from imagination, of dark spirits of creation. I always thought he was misinterpreting the ghosts,' he waved his hand, 'the ghosts that surround us, those who won't pass on. But now...' Desmond ran the fingers of his right hand through his closely-cropped black hair. 'He also talked about people that move outside reality, those that can move it and shape it to their own designs. Hell, I think that I and those other 'freaks', as you put it, were working for some of them.' Absinthe looked down at that. 'Well, they are supposed to be different than the ones you fought before. Whatever these 'Wizards' are, they aren't the creatures that killed your old friends, the ones that caused you to see into their world for just a second. These Wizards are still human...well, more or less, I suppose.' Absinthe picked up her cup again, but put it down when she realized she was shaking. 'I'm just worried about turning into one of those monsters that killed Jenny and Terence and the rest of them. They looked human at first, but I could see, for just a moment, mind you, what those creatures really were. And I'm worried... 'I'm worried about what I look like to someone who looks. To someone who really looks, like I did at those creatures...' Desmond smiled, and touched her face softly. 'You look like a beautiful young woman.' **** Long stony fingers ran through Absinthes' hair as she gasped. 'Apostolis,' she murmured softly. The tall stony man continued brushing her hair as he stood behind her. Together, they stood beside the crypt where they first met, on the cool grass of the cemetery. The night air, still warm even in these waning days of summer, blew over both of them in the dark. 'Conjured isn't the right word, my lady,' the man spoke, his voice deep and soothing, seemingly out of place from what looked like a statue that moved. And yet, it also seemed to be the perfect voice for one such as he. 'I think it would be more appropriate to say that you called me. I have been here, in this world, for quite some time. I suppose since the writing of "The Stone Knight", but I'm not certain.' Absinthe, feeling herself warm as he played with her hair, closed her eyes. 'So, the author conjured you? He was someone like me?' She laughed quietly. 'I wonder if little dolls talked to him as well...' The statues' brow furrowed. 'No, I don't think he did. I think it was more from those who have read the story. I'm not quite sure where I was, or indeed what I was before I came here, but I am fairly certain it had more to do with the longing and desire of those who have been affected by the story. That nursery rhyme was read by quite a lot of people.' Absinthes' eyes opened suddenly. 'Wait, hold up, does that mean that there are lots of literary characters running around out there? Does Hamlet still wander around Denmark somewhere?' His quiet laughter caused her to warm even further, and she touched her breasts through the fabric of her black dress. 'Possibly,' he said. 'I believe that a lot of people have to really believe in the...the idea of the person, though. In the same way that they had, in earlier times, caused cottage fairies to appear. If someone left saucers of honey out for imaginary beings long enough, eventually these fairies began to show up to consume the treats.' She began to chuckle. 'I guess that means that if enough kids put milk and cookies out for Santa, that Santa will also start putting toys in their stockings...' 'That's what he tells me,' Apostolis said. Absinthe froze. Turning slowly, she looked up at the living statue. Seeing him smirking, she began laughing, punching him in his massive chest. 'For a centuries-old children's story, you sure are a smart-ass,' she said, jumping up to kiss him. The living stone kissed back, passionately. As she gripped his neck, keeping herself off the ground, Apostolis began gently kneading her back and legs with his fingers through her lace and cloth dress. Soon, he pulled off her boots, tossing them casually aside as reached up under the lace to pull down the black stockings she wore. Absinthe slid down the stone giant, her bare feet nestling into the soft grass. Continuing down to her knees, she hooked her fingers into the top of his trousers, and began to pull them. Kissing the warm, textured skin of his abdomen, she pulled the pants down below his stiff penis. Tracing the length of his member with the tips of her fingers, she smiled up at his face, then quickly licked the tip. Just like the rest of him, the tip of his penis was also warm and with a slightly gritty texture, but certainly not stone-like. Running her tongue along the length of his shaft, she began flicking her tongue along the underside while gently caressing his testicles. Making her way back to the tip again, she slowly took the head of his member into her mouth. As she did this, her left hand reached under her skirt and inside her already-moist panties, as she began to slowly massage the length of her vulva. Pulling her head back, she again thrust it forward and took in more of his penis. Matching the bobbing motion of her head, the fingers of her left hand manipulated her clitoris, occasionally dipping slightly into her vagina. After a couple of minutes of this, Apostolis gently pulled her head back and got down on his knees on the ground. Kissing her, he then reached his own right hand to pull down her panties, exposing her left hand, still working on herself. As he entered his index finger into her vagina while she still manipulated her own clit, she again took his erection into her mouth and began sucking and bobbing again. Using two fingers inside her vagina, Apostolis replaced her hand on her clitoris with his thumb, and a small orgasm shook her body. Adjusting them both slightly, he then began using his tongue on her clit while moving his fingers inside of her. This sixty-nine position continued for a few more minutes, slight shrieks escaping from Absinthes' mouth around Apostolis' member. As he thrust his tongue deep inside her vagina, another orgasm took hold of Absinthe, and she began to suck and bob even harder. Both the action of Absinthes' mouth and tongue and her reactions to his own ministrations began to build up Apostolis' own climax. Sucking on her clitoris, he orgasmed, filling Absinthes' mouth with his salty fluid. **** They both sat naked in the cool grass against the crypt, Absinthe cradled in Apostolis' strong arms. The full moon cast a blue glow over the tombstones and statues that surrounded them, and the sound of a slight breeze could be heard in the trees, their leaves preparing to turn for autumn. 'I wish I knew how to help you, my lady,' Apostolis began, in his quiet voice. 'I have only seen others of my kind and a few of the wolf-people. I know nothing about the Wizards your friend spoke of, nor about the life-draining monsters you encountered.' Absinthe moved her hand up and down Apostolis' arm. 'There are many unusual and fantastic sights in this world,' he continued. 'Many of them are horrible and terrifying, I'm afraid. You should be wary of others like myself, as well.' 'I was thinking about that,' Absinthe said. 'I mean, it sounds like it might be possible to meet Dracula...except that he wouldn't be an actual vampire, but one of your kind...' Apostolis paused. 'It might be possible,' he began. 'These creatures might have been others like myself, like those cottage fairies, like mermaids, and others born from imagination.' Absinthe shuddered slightly, curling up closer to Apostolis. 'I guess it is all about how you look at things,' she said, almost to quietly to hear. fin. Absinthe and Analingus We laughingly started analingus night with an absinthe drink. It seemed to relax me and make me horny as well. My girlfriend was so beautiful and seductive. As we drank and joked, I could feel myself getting semi-hard in my shorts. I suggested we go up to the bedroom. We each striped and separately went to the bathroom to shower and took enemas until we were clean. I got out a Liberator wedge for the bed. I wanted to go down on her and her scrumptious ass first. But she ordered me, "Get on the wedge so I can play with you." I laid on my back and propped my butt up on the wedge for her. She started by going down on me. She loved making me hard and it was so good to see the fullness of my cock in her mouth. She coated my cock in her saliva and precum. I always enjoyed seeing my wet veiny cock getting serviced by her. She then traced her tongue down my perineum to my sensitive ring. I could feel my hole twitch as she first traced it in rimming. I moaned and enjoyed the sensation. She then started lapping with her flat tongue on my sphincter. It was very relaxing and I could feel my hole opening up for her ministrations. Just as I was comfortable, she penetrated it and started fucking me with her tongue. I could feel my face flush. I think it was embarrassment at how good it felt and how taboo and wrong it was to enjoy it. Her tongue didn't hear my thought. She continued to pump my little hole with her stiff tongue. Then she suddenly stopped to get some lube. She approached my raised ass and squeezed out some lube into the crack between my cheeks. "I'm getting you ready," she said as she pushed the lube into my anus. She slowly put one finger in while she continued to trace her tongue around the muscle ring. As she thrust it in and out, I moaned longing to feel the fullness of her finger reenter my ass. Each time she applied more lube into me. I wondered why was she applying so much lube and why it was this feeling so good. She took my cockhead back into her warm, wet mouth. She swirled her tongue around the hood, licking into the pee-slit and then began sliding her mouth up and down the shaft of my cock. Her fingering and sucking began to pick up and my moans of pleasure started to come from deep inside my chest. Damn! I was really getting heated up! I started swaying into the rhythm of her sucking and thrusting, feeling my hot load building in my balls. My cock began to twitch in her mouth and my balls started to suck-up when suddenly she let my cock slip out of her mouth. Ugh! I wanted more. She then began to pump two fingers into me in time with her jacking my cock. My gawd! I was losing myself with the sensations she was giving me. I could hardly believe what was happening!! This was more than I had ever imagined! It felt so fucking goooood!!! My ass felt so tender and awake! My ass was so responsive to her! My cock was aching with the build up! I could feel that I was getting ready to unload. My cock started to swell even bigger with the heat of our passion! This was it! My back started to tense as the cum boiled in my sack...and she stopped! She slowly pulled her hand away from ass, a sucking sound coming from my hole as her fingers slid out. She released my cock and began to stand up. She proceeded to lube up a curved metal undulated dildo of modest width. It had four bloops increasing in size to about 1" at the widest and a 1/2" wide stem between each bloop. It has a soft S-shape to give it a nice curve to reach the g-spot or p-spot. She started slowly and intently watched as the dildo entered and exited my ass. I love giving anal sex and I'm always fascinated how the sphincter grips my cock as it retreats. It looks like the ass is begging it not to leave. I never understood how vulnerable and submissive being penetrated was. I felt like I was melting into a puddle as she controlled me with this toy. I don't even think she realized how much power she had at that point. My asshole twitched involuntarily as each bloop entered and exited my ass. Waves of euphoria welled up in me as my guttural moans continued. I could smell her sweet pussy dripping. The smell of her pussy and my precum in the air was intoxicating. I wished there were a girl's face she could mount while she fucked my little hole with her tool. I would have loved to see a girl make her cum. She said out of the blue, 'I wish there were another girl her to go down on you while I do this.' Me? Mmmmm. She is so giving. Why does this feel so good? At last my hole was filled with her tool. I played with my nipples as she completely owned me. Every once in a while she would bring her mouth to my cock to give it a swirl. She knew exactly how to keep me on that edge with my balls sucked in tight and ready to explode. She would speed up, slow down, stop, or resume watching her tool thrusting and stroking my cock with her hand. I couldn't help moaning like a dog in heat. I felt totally open to her and so weak and vulnerable. She said, "You like it, don't you? Yes, of course you do. Cum if you want. If you want to cum while I'm fucking you, do it. Just enjoy it. You'll see how good it is." I almost immediately sensed the orgasm build up from my prostate to flow outwards across my entire body. I was red with embarrassment at how good it felt. Fuck, this was going to be messy! My asshole spasmed involuntarily on her thrusting tool. I could not and did not want her to stop. I wanted her to keep pounding me deeper. I just wanted to give her so much of my cum. I did not say anything to warn her apart from the long deep orgasmic moan. My head threw back and my back arched as the first spurt of cum hit my mouth. Then long, thick, warm, white ropes of cum streams striped my chest. . My whole body shook as the orgasm continued to rock me. It seemed like her tool was milking every last drop in an explosive manner. When I opened my eyes, there was my cum everywhere! It appeared as though it was the mess of at least two men. I closed my eyes in orgasm as she slowly slid her tool out of my ass as the last of the twitches ebbed away. My body tingled in the warm afterglow and I tasted the cum on my mouth hoping she did not see me. My balls were much lighter and were tight in my sack. My ass hole felt so good after the fucking and I knew that I would recover very soon to go again as the scent of all our bodily fluids filled the room. She ran to get a washcloth. She came back and enveloped my softening cock in the warm washcloth. It felt so comforting. She then wiped up all the cum and commented that I must not have cum in a while. I told her I whacked off that morning but she made me spew at least twice my normal volume. I saw the proud gleam in her eye. And I was eager to service her. Absinthe & Seduction from my supernatural~romantic novel set in Regency England from the diary of Betsy Corning, Darlington, England, September 1815 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I am undone! I have given into temptation and trod the left-hand path. I did not tarry there long, I yet have a semblance of a conscience. But little good will it do me - I will be punished for it sooner or later. But oh, should any ladies read this, perhaps you, at least, will understand what provocation I had endured and grant me some forgiveness. For this world is a man's world and a woman is expected to wait for a man to take action. But I took action. In the grimoire I found there was an entry on bending another's will to one's own. And strangely, the grimoire seemed to bend my own, for immediately I began to imagine how I might use this to influence Oliver's behaviour towards myself. And I will not deny it - was a most sublime experience, almost worth the certain knowledge of what I will endure for my transgression. Yesterday Chesterton had been trapped in the rafters of the green-house and I asked Oliver to fetch him for me. He was very rude to me at first but finally relented. It was so good to see him, and while he was working out the best way to retrieve Chesterton, I determined to try the recipe on Oliver that very night. I invited him to dinner and he was finally persuaded. I had absinthe on hand, and this was one of the ingredients needed, as well as catmint, ladysflower, St. John's wort and wormwood to add strength to that already present in the absinthe itself. The wormwood gave some trouble in the attainment, but I had finally succeeded. While waiting for my servants to prepare dinner, Oliver amused himself playing with Chesterton and my other, very shy cat Griselda (Oliver was the only person besides myself and my late husband whom she allowed to pet her) and this gave me the time I needed. I quickly created a tincture and poured it into the absinthe. We had Oliver's favourite dishes for dinner, and a good stout Burgundy. He was already in a pleasant and sophorific state by the time we retired to the study. I presented him with a humidor of the finest Cuban cigars and I sat and watched him smoke. Then I said: "Oliver, my dear, I wish to serve you absinthe - have you ever had it before?" "Alas no, Betsy my dear" he replied most amiably. "But I sense that I will remain absinthe virgin only a little while yet." It occurred to me that I might succeed in seducing him at that moment without the help of my conjuring arts, so mellow was he, so sweet and accommodating - but I did not wish to risk any rejection and I was very curious to see what results I might obtain from the recipe. I invented a lie: "Well my darling, it is haunted by a spirit, the spirit of the Green Fairy, and we must call to her through an incantation." He broke into a grin - "Betsy, you did not tell me you were a sorceress! Yes, do let's have an incantation!" "We must have fire." I said and I lit a small candle. I poured some of the entinctured abinthe into a silver bowl and held it over the candle. I waited for it to begin to simmer. Then, as advised by the grimoire, I breathed in the vapours and recited the incantation: Je crois boire un vin de Boheme Amer et vainqueur Un ciel liquide qui parseme D'etoiles mon coeur Directly after I said the last word, there was a moment of perfect stillness and I felt the forces of the left-hand path gathering within me - the feeling is quite different from the forces of the right-hand path - an invigorating, martial impulsiveness took hold - a will that knows no bounds. I caught a glimpse of myself in the wall mirror - my pupils were dilated so that there was no iris visible - they were as black as blackest night. I noticed Oliver gazing at me with a look of concern. I turned and faced him full-on, staring directly into his eyes - pouring my will into him through his eyes, overcoming his own will. I felt my relentless influence over him, but I addressed him with all courtesy and sweetness: "Oliver my dear would you kindly remove your cravat?" He did not hesitate for a moment - did not ask me why I should request such a thing. He simply murmured: "But of course" and did so immediately. It almost took my breath away to have my request met with such immediate and incurious compliance. "Of course" he said, as if it was the most unremarkable thing in the world for an unmarried woman to request that an unmarried man remove an article of clothing. And so great is my desire for Oliver that the simple event of his removing his cravat - his neck still covered by his high collar - was enough to heighten my lustful impulses. And because I enjoyed it so, and because I wanted to test my powers further, I said "Oliver, darling, could you please put your cravat back on and then remove it again, but very slowly?" "Of course, Betsy" he said and did as I had bidden him. I congratulated myself on a spell very well cast, but felt somewhat disquieted. Normally Oliver would, at the very least, inquire why I should ask him to perform such a pointless repetition. It was a strange sensation indeed to be obeyed so readily by Oliver, of all vexatious people. "Would you kindly unbutton your shirt, Oliver my pet?" "But of course." "Is that all you can say: 'of course?'" I asked, a bit irritably. "Of course not" he said, and smiled. "What else would you like me to say?" That dear smile comforted me - this was the Oliver I knew, not a mindless automaton. He unbuttoned his shirt and undid the top button of his waistcoat in order to unbutton the final button of his shirt. Literalness of interpretation in response to commands, I discovered, is one of the features of this particular spell: I told him to unbutton his shirt, and so he must unbutton it entirely, as I did not explicitly declare otherwise. And well I did not for now an exquisite "V" of exposed chest was visible to the bottom of his breastbone. I had an irrepressible desire to put my hand on his chest, and I stepped right up to him, almost nose to nose. He did not withdraw, he simply smiled at me. I returned the smile and slipped my hand into his shirt and pressed my palm directly against the center of his chest. I closed my eyes in pleasure and stood a moment, enjoying the touch of the warm skin and the silky hair on his chest. I noted his scent, sweet as always with a deep note of masculinity underneath. I might have stayed like so for hours, but for the anticipation of many other delights. I shivered a little with excitement. I did not mean to kiss him right away, but standing so close to him, his dear beloved face before me, I seemed to fall into him, to blend into him, to plunge in, ravenously, as if dying of starvation and suddenly presented with a dipper of most exquisite honey. I kissed Oliver for quite a long time. He was perfectly content to allow me. For an instant I did sense his will attempting to reassert itself, but I stared into his eyes until it was quiet again. Surfeit of kissing, I moved on to other pleasures. I stepped away from him for a moment to enjoy the sight of my prize. He is not an especially handsome man, but he is always very well-dressed and this adds immensely to his charm. Although he endeavours to behave casually about his wardrobe, I know him well enough by now to understand that he is very aware of how he is attired. He does not as a rule dress flashily, but even so he is something of a fashion plate, Darlington's very own Beau Brummel. I find it unbearably charming, his sartorial vanity, especially as it is so rare in men. I stood and admired him in his creamy white shirt, still unbuttoned most enticingly halfway down his chest, and his waistcoat, made of a lovely embroidered doe-skin brown silk. His trousers were form-fitting and equally well-made and he wore dark-brown riding boots. His hair was a bit tousled (my hands were not idle as I kissed him) and this added to the aesthetic pleasure - the counterpoint to the carefully selected and well-cut apparel. And Oliver's hair is one of his best points - lovely chestnut brown, thick and silky. All this, and the look of uninhibited (for once) arousal on his face combined to make him the absolute pinnacle of beauty in my eyes. He was Desire incarnate. "Betsy, why do you stare at me so?" "You are pretty as a picture, dear heart." "I don't know about that, as I am rather disheveled at the moment." he replied and attempted to rebutton his shirt. "Don't!" I cried, with more vehemence than I had intended, and my sharp utterance caused his hands to fly away from his shirt as if propelled by a great physical force, throwing his arms out, fully extended, as if he was being crucified for modesty. After a moment of surprise he dropped his arms and was in full possession of his limbs, but the event startled us both. I realized that this was the result of my preternaturally augmented will, and vowed to myself to take care to avoid such unpleasant side-effects of the spell. I returned to him and took his right hand in both of mine. His hands are another of his superlative features. They are not feminine in any way, but are possessed of rare grace and sensitivity. I love to watch his hands when he is petting Chesterton, or holding a cigar or glass of wine. I kissed his right and then his left hand and said: "My darling, I am going to undress you further. This is amenable to you... of course? "Of course Betsy" he said, with another of his devastating heart-breaking smiles. Oh to have sway over such a paragon of masculine charm. I unbuttoned his waistcoat and removed it, and then slipped his suspenders over his shoulders and down his arms. The suspenders hung from his trousers, which were so well-fitting that they stayed up entirely sans their aid. In a motion I pulled his shirt out from his trouser-top and over his head and stopped to gaze in joy at his bared torso. I fell upon him, kissing his belly and his nipples and chest. I pushed him down onto the sofa and proceeded to kiss his exposed flesh in a state of absolute erotic ecstasy. I know not how long I lay on Oliver kissing him everywhere from the top of his trousers to the top of his head and back again. I was in a kind of erotic trance and time meant nothing. He meanwhile was threatening to burst through his trousers and was moaning very prettily. On several occasions he attempted to wrap his arms around me, but I would not let him - a whispered "don't" was enough to instantly move his hands away. I wanted to revel in him as long as possible, to make up for all the months of privation, and allowing him any further response would bring the proceedings to a sudden ending, I well suspected. But at last my conscience got the better of me and I wished to give him relief. And I wished to see him, finally, entirely naked. "Oliver darling" I said, standing up "kindly remove your trousers for me." He removed his boots first, and then slowly slid his trousers down. His member was at full mast - it bobbed a little as it was released from its fabric enclosure. I looked at it for long moments - it was larger than my late husband's, the only other engorged male organ I had ever seen. Once again I stepped back. There he was in full naked glory, like a god of heavenly delight. I ached to mount him, to introduce him into my little thatched hut, but once again my conscience dominated. Dread monstrous conscience that can master even my own augmented will! What sin had I committed to be damned with such a pitiless conscience? It told me that what I had done was bad enough, to take Oliver so far against his will, but to risk becoming pregnant by him, against his will would be to go one step too far down the left-hand path. I had heard of a practice in France, something they called "faire une pipe" and resolved to attempt to perform this myself. I knelt before him as if praying at the altar of an obscene pagan god. I buried my face for a moment in his groin, breathing in his savory masculine aroma, and then took his organ's shaft in my right hand, and with my left hand I lightly tickled his bullocks. I tilted the head of the member towards my mouth and licked the tip, around the opening. Oliver groaned, gasped suddenly and immediately my face was baptized by a great deal of male essence. I choked and gasped for air from the deluge. "Betsy! I do apologize!" he said, as if he had committed a terrible faux pas. He found his handkerchief in his jacket pocket and handed it to me. Then he collapsed back onto the sofa. Absinthe Dreams "To me it's not really a green. When I think green, I think of grass. That's more like lemonade color." Erica's nose was far too close to the glasses for my taste. Pouring the nearly clear absinthe over the rough-cut, cane-sugar cubes I favor, I tapped my spoon for a second to get her to back up. I wished I had my full setup here like I have at home, my Absinthe fountains water drippers are missed when I began to try and slowly pour water over the sugar cube. "Don't you light it on fire?" she asked. "Never." "But I've seen that done?" My hand steady as I could keep it, I glanced up at her eyes. "That is Bohemian style, I don't do that. That's to caramelize the sugar and add that flavor; I use raw, cane sugar cubes to get the same thing." "Flavor? HA! Suck on a Ricola cough drop and you'll taste the same thing." Timothy's laughter came from the kitchen with the sound of the refrigerator slamming shut. I heard him pop open his beer from across the room. I saw Erica give her husband an annoyed look that make me ponder their marriage's possible duration. Together not six months and she was already giving him that kind of look? Alrighty then. "Why was it called the Green Fairy?" "Because some of the bottles had a green fairy on them," answered her husband, incorrectly, as he walked in taking slugs of his beer. "Duh." I didn't bother to enlighten him ... or her either for that matter. He was, and always had been, the type of person that had to prove he was right. If I tried to argue a point he would argue for two days to show me I as wrong, especially when I wasn't. And she had married ... him. Besides I was too enthralled, as always, by the smoky fog of the louche clouds in these two glasses. I was carefully watching the dripping water falling through the holes in my century old slotted spoon. "Seems a lot of work for one drink," she said when I--with a small flourish--handed the milky glass to her. "The Devil is always in the details," I told her with a grin. She gave me a smile back. She was cute in a slightly odd way. A never could quite place just wasn't perfect about her face but there was something there that did not blend, I just couldn't find it. And that little detail kept her from being called beautiful, but made her all the more interesting at the same time. She was out of Tim's league by miles. Normally mine too for that matter, but that flaw ... whatever the hell it was ... made her seem more accessible. Hell, before they married, I might have even asked her out, if I thought she had two brain cells to rub together. Call me a weirdo but I like a woman to be able to hold an intelligent conversation once the sex is over. Don't get me wrong I like a woman with her curves and valleys. But, a few brain cells helps to pass the night when the fucking is done. And, at times, a few seemed to be all that Erica had. I looked over at Timothy--sitting on the couch scratching his crotch, looking at his wife's ass, taking shot-sips of Miller Highlife--and knew that he didn't feel the same as I did. He didn't marry her for a conversation. He would often brag, in her presence or not, that she was spectacular in bed or he would have never have "put a ring in her nose" as he put it. And she put up with that shit? To each their own. Watching her take tentative sips, I lifted my glass and let a long, slow sip wash my tongue with the anise flavor. I closed my eyes breathing deeply the black liquorish scent that was under my nose. Enjoying the "Ricola" like herbal smell that had first driven me to drink this once forbidden drink. The artists drink. Behind me Tim finished his fourth beer, and belched. Not an Absinthe fan, old Tim. He had tried it once spit the sip back into the glass and said it was nasty. I saw that his wife didn't seem to agree with his tastes either. She was making odd faces but seemed to like it. Tim went for his next beer, pausing to take a pass by the bathroom for a piss. I looked at the color of the beer in his bottle when he came back and mentally chuckled at the fact it was probably the same color coming back out as it was going in. Piss yellow. Even when I drink beer, something that is not often, I am more a fan of Stouts and Porters. Shoe leather black Guinness and Avery Mephistopheles stout topping my list. As I watched him guzzle this beer down as well I mentally sighed. Apparently volume, not taste, seemed to be more his style anyway. I looked at Erica realizing she was similar to his taste in beers. I smiled as the inward mental clarity of my favorite drink began to appear and I felt the buzz forming. So different for all other alcohols I had tried. "I like it ... I think." Looking over to Erica, I saw her give her head a nod and take a longer sip. I smiled and raised my glass in salute. "À votre santé." She grinned and gave me a wink. "À la vôtre." Well ... well, could I have been wrong about her brain cell count? Humph. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** The night had been as insane as the eve to All Hallows in New Orleans could hope to ever be. We went to a play house and drank the cheap wine they sell there. Then we stopped by Fredric's and spent hours sipping his Cognac, talking of the show, and smoked his cigars. His old ex-slave maid brought us sweetmeats tidbits and candied fruits. Then, giggling the whole way, we drifted to The Absinthe Room to let Cayetano Ferrer mix us far too many Absinthe frappes. And now we were here, where ever that is, and my worlds was all softness and anise spiced. I had decided to simply let myself drift into total decadence tonight. I had long ago freed my breasts from confinement and now my skirts were gone as well, though I know not when or how. I cared not either. The cool air on my cunny felt delicious. That air was sick with the sweet stench of Chinese pipes, perfumed bodies and sex. Oh, and the smell of sex. That delicious musk. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** Randal had shown up with enough weed to get all of Orleans Parish stoned. A few others had drifted in and out never staying long. There were too many wilder parties than this little gathering to haunt this Halloween night. Timothy was tore-out-the-ass drunk. He had been his normal life of the party for hours, laughter grating enough to make paint peel. Joining him in that state was a half-dozen others draped in various poses of lubricity. And nudity. The constant chatter was on everything but nothing of interest. Randal had almost everyone that walked in the door stoned and happy. Me? I was a mixture of drunk and stoned but neither to a level that I wasn't functional. Looking around, I noted that Timothy's wife, Erica, had vanished at some point. Drifting off into the back of their apartment maybe seeking some alone time. I had noticed that the ever changing guest had seemed to get to her nerves. She was possibly not used to her husband's type of party yet, but how that could since she had met him at one I couldn't fathom. She had liked the Absinthe. Picking up Erica's empty glass, I began to make her another and myself one more at the same time. As she had said, it was a bit of work for a drink. Especially when you stop in mid-mix and just stand there looking at the spoon. A hundred plus year old relic, I had picked it up in an estate sale. The seller had no idea what it was and had placed it in a box with common silverware. Gazing at my own reflection in the metal, I popped a sugar cube in my mouth and crunched it into sweet sandy grit wondering how many drinks this one spoon had made. Thousands surely. I set it down on the glass and let the water poor over the sugar, quicker than I normally would have. A glance at the couch showed me that Tim was out. Dribble down his chin out. Sitting next to him Randal kept talking, but I'm not sure he was any more awake than Tim. In fact I'm pretty sure he was just too slammed to know to stop talking while asleep. The other guests were either in a similar state or gone. Finishing my glass I went to find Erica, I wanted a conversation, I wanted to talk to a woman, I wanted ... who the hell am I trying to kid, I knew what I was wanting. Her. The alcohol fumes had taken away any normal level of decorum in me. Leaving Sleepy and Dopey, I followed the sound of soft music to its source. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** There was the sound of someone playing on a harpsichord. Leaning back on the velvet covered divan, I absently toyed with my button, enjoying the slickness of my cunny as well. I was wanting a man inside me, but the boars! They were all too drunk, or sleeping off the smoke of the Chinese pipe, to be bothered with the wishes of a woman. Then he appeared. I smiled seeing the drink he was bringing me. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** Leaning against the doorframe I stood and watched her. A smile that was half-grin on my face. Gone were the too tight jeans from earlier. Now she was in just a long t-shirt and panties. A pink lace thong, which her right hand was under, her fingers moving slowly in circles. "Want some help?" Her eyes popped open suddenly and her hand shot out of her underwear as if scorched. I held up her glass. "I've always said this was the perfect lubricant to help get the juices flowing." Walking over to her, I held out the glass so she had to take it with her left hand. Then, sitting down on the mattress next to her, I watched her take a sip. When she was occupied with her drink I moved my hand to her right wrist. She gasped. "What are you?" "Shush. Timothy is sleeping. Wouldn't want to wake him." I dipped two of her shiny wet fingers into my glass and then brought them to my mouth, sucking the anise taste and her juiced off them. Erica was watching the enjoyment of that taste on my face with a slow building smile on her face. "Tim's asleep?" With a nod I turned her hand loose and looked at that pink covered valley. Her panties were wet spotted. "Please continue. I was enjoying watching you." She took a big sip of her drink, looked at the door, smiled a randy smile, and leaned back into her pillows again. Erica was grinning at me when she slid her hand past her bellybutton, down her bare belly and her fingers went back under that lacy edge. Her mouth parted as her fingers made contact. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** "Enjoying the show?" I asked the stranger bringing me libation. He was a handsome man, styled in the new ways, the new fashions. "Very much so." He grinned a white smile under his mustaches. "Don't let me interrupt." I pulled at my slick folds, slid two fingers between them to caress the opening to my cunny. I loved the lewd look in his eyes when I pressed those fingers inside me, my body swallowing them. Scooping up the wetness, I brought them back out all covered. "You brought me something delicious, can I offer you a taste?" He grinned, nodded and then opened his mouth to let me put the two wet fingers in. His tongue, fine and pebbly, licked and hunted at the webbing once he had sucked the fingertips clean. I loved how wonderful that felt and envision what it would feel like on my cunny. His lips needed to be on my button. "Please, Mademoiselle. Don't let me interrupt." Feeling delightfully sinful, I went back to toying and fingering myself. His watching me made me all the wetter. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** Sipping my drink I watched her. The air around her was sweet with a perfumed musk that I knew was coming from her pussy. My mouth was watering at that scent. The one taste had not been enough. I wanted more. I took one last sip for courage. This could end very badly, I had to acknowledge that even as I set down the empty glass, knowing what I was about to do. I leaned in and placed a kiss atop her moving fingers, letting my lips stay there against the warm, damp, pink silk fabric. The smell of her was overpowering that close and I nuzzled my nose against the cloth. Then her hand was gone and her fingers were in my hair, pushing my face down into that hot fabric. Mashing my lips against the puffy skin hidden underneath. I kissed her pussy through the panties, even licking the wet cloth, but then could not stand them being in the way anymore. I pulled the lacy, pink thong to the side and buried my nose into her warmth. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** He needed no prompting to do what I wished. That one taste from my fingers and now my open thighs were all the invitation he needed. That, or maybe the sight of my wet cunny was too much for him to bear. Leaning back into the lacy pillows, I sipped at my drink as he sipped at me. Enjoying the rekindling of my dreamlike state that wonderful taste brought to me. How rich was sex when coupled with Absinthe. That, drifty world of soft fluffy clouds. Holding his head, I opened my legs wider adrift. How soft was his tongue, how soft was everything. Only his nibbling teeth were hard. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** After that first heavy lick I couldn't have cared if her husband walked in or not. Timothy might have been one of my best friends, but she was delicious. Her pussy was cool water to a man in the desert. Sweeter than ice-cream, and more flavorful than any steak. Over and over I plunged my tongue into her, trying to flood my mouth with that taste. Oh, she was divine, and her fingers were digging into my scalp to hold me in place as I licked. Needless, I had no intentions of leaving. At least not till she pulled on my hair. "He's asleep? You're sure?" Looking up at her, my mouth shiny I had to doubt my eyes for a second. The woman I was with was not Erica. Blinking, I felt Déjà vu wash past me and then it was simply Erica, with a hungry look in her eyes but a slightly worried expression as well. "He passed out on the couch." She smiled then, squirmed her hip on the sheets. "Then come here. I don't feel like being licked anymore. I was already wet enough, I was fantasizing about being fucked. Make my fantasy come true." Wiping my face on my hand, I considered that for all of a half-second before standing up and undoing my pants. My cock was terribly hard and my underwear smeared with precum. In fact though, I did give Timothy a full second's thought as I crawled between the thighs of his wife. Erica smiled up at me and I remembered his bragging about her in bed. Well, let's find out shall we. With my pants down around my knees I felt it when she hooked her foot behind my ass, and then she was pulling me into her before I could ever give a thrust. "Fuck me good," she said with a throaty purr as I pushed into her. "Please." Well, never let it be said I'm one to disappoint a lady begging to be fucked. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** He was of a good size for a man. Not the biggest I've had but by no means the smallest. But then, given the randy languidity he had found me in, he could have been as endowed as a Dutch plow horse and I would have given him a go. I kept him pulled tight too me as he thrust, enjoying the feeling of his weight and the heat of him on top of me. His face was right before mine and when I looked up at him my befuddled eyes betrayed me. Swimming in drink, as they were, they could never have mistaken this man for the other, he was shaven. I looked at this new face trying to understand if time had passed and I was in the arms of a second man, was I that inebriated? I touched his face and he paused looking down at me with startled eyes. "I know you not stranger." ** ** ** ** ** ** ** The woman my cock was in was not Erica. Who, or how, or exactly what was going on here, I could not fathom. But of that I was very certain. This was not Erica. She was caressing my face, her eyes taking in my every angle. She seemed to like what she saw there. She smiled and, after a moment, lifted herself up to touch her lips to mine. I tasted absinthe on her lips. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** I tasted absinthe on his lips. Faint, dreamlike, a lingering flavor to his kiss that made me wish for many more like it. Who was this man, or was this simply a dream? A ghost of too many sips and the lingering effects of far too many nights like this one. I looked into his eyes, those beautifully sexy eyes. I ran my hand along his side. He seemed real enough. Certainly his cock in me seemed and felt real enough. Was this all happening in my head or was I being fucked by this stranger who tasted of heaven? "If this is a dream let me never wake." I begged him as he pushed himself into me again and I felt so incredibly full. He smiled and placed a small kiss on my lips and then whispered by my ear. "And if I am awake let me never sleep." I clung to him suddenly, wanting to not let go of this dream. Here was in my arms a man that was a part of me, I sensed it in him even as I felt him in me. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** Her hands on my back, her nails in my skin, the pleasure pain of her holding me so very tight. I couldn't make my mind comprehend just how this was, how we had come to be here, but at that moment I could also not care in the least. This woman, who ever she was, when I looked into her eyes, when she looked back I felt like a string was being tied to me. Delicate fingers making a ribbon bow around my heart. I wanted it and feared it at the same time. Who was she? This dream girl. I had never had a dream this vivid. This lucid. I kissed her harder. I pushed into her deeper. I felt myself rising towards levels of pleasure I had felt only a few times in my life. It was as if she moved in rhythmic motions with me designed to give me the most enjoyment, while at the same time, if I could judge by her face, she was in blissful ecstasy. I wanted this to never end, no matter how it had begun, I wanted her. I wanted her with a fierceness that told of desire for long nights coupled together. Passions shared, explored. Sins earned with gleeful laughter. Whoever she was ... I wanted this woman. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** Oh, what a lover. Oh, how fiercely he uses me, and how tenderly he see to my own lustful needs. No quick exchange, no matter how hard we are both driving towards an end neither wants, but his endurance is what I dream of when I dream of sex. A man, a true man. Born of fire and given to me as a gift. That is what he is a gift. His lips taste mine with a raw energy that makes me whimper. Again my tongue brings me the taste of heaven. Is that what this is? An Absinthe dream. I have heard the rumors that such is possible, but did I at last consume enough of the Libation of Life to have one. Oh, how I would drown myself in anise if that were true. If this man was forever at my beck and call just for a few sips. Behind me, the grand tall clock in the hall struck the midnight hour. I smiled when I felt his thrusts drop into the rhythm of the bells as they chimed. "Love me," I begged him. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** Feeling a growing need to finish building in me, I hated it. I wanted this moment, this lingering phantom of a dream, to never end and I could sense that it was tied to the bridge of my flesh that joined us. We were caught in a moment together, this Halloween night when the veils were at their thinnest, we had--with spirit alchemy and passion--broken through to a door of time that man was not meant to cross. I held her to me, tears in my eyes. She was part of me. I could feel it. This woman and I had a connection that had been there long before this bridge of time. Who was she? Then, to hear her sweet voice pleading with me to love her. I did. It was suddenly as fierce in me as any love had ever been. More. I wanted her! No. I needed her. I didn't even know her name and I knew of nothing about her, but all that was beyond the smallest of facts. This woman was a .... Absinthe Dreams ** ** ** ** ** ** ** Oh, the delightful ecstasy of the connecting that had formed between us ... two strangers on this strange night. Was this a ghost of the past in my arms? Some lost prince from a kingdom of dreams? How his eyes glowed with unshed tears, I too was weeping. I clung so incredibly tightly to him, it broke his thrusting, He was at the deepest part of me and I needed him to stay there. To stay there forever and ever. I looked out the curtain of my hair and his, digging my fingers into the thick muscles of his back. I feel my body adrift, my whole world softening into cotton fluff around me. Only he was hard. Only he was real. He was .... ** ** ** ** ** ** ** With a startled snap my whole world crashed in upon me. I tumbled from the bed I was in, looking up from the floor at the naked body and red, panting face of Erica. She gave me a grin. "I said just don't cum in me, not that you had to stop." She laughed, pulling the sheet up covering her breasts. "And certainly not that you had to do a summersault out the bed." Getting to my feet, I pulled my pants back up and buttoned then, shifting my cock back inside and zipping up the fly. She was looking at me puzzled. "Was it something I said?" she asked when I ran out the room. "Hey!" Out in the living room, I plowed into a stoned till he thought he could float Randal. He fell backwards and crashed into Timothy, knocking heads with him. For a brief second I saw Tim awaken but then he was back out. I fled the apartment for the so very crowded streets of New Orleans. All around me were the expelled contents of ten thousand Halloween parties. Their costumes a mixture of all things dark; be it past or modern. They were alive with revelry at this the night of Hollow's eve. Drunk on life, the party goers were caught between that moment when going home seems like the best thing, but the need to party was still alive in them. The streets themselves had thus become the venue of their delight. But not for me. I was a lost soul walking streets like a wisp of fog, a veritable wrath of lost desires. A part of me was missing. Had been lost in that vision, those dream moments. Drifting to a streetlight, I clung to it, weeping at the loss. Not for the part of me missing but for the woman I had held in my arms. But then she was one and the same. A hand came to rest on my own. ** ** ** ** ** ** ** How strange the air smelled. How odd were the clothes of these people. Their very words rang upon my ears with odd lilts and tones. But I paid none of it moment of my time after I saw him. He clung, like a lost waif, to a lamp. A lamp, which glowed with such fiery oil that I could not look upon it. Through these bizarre people, I passed, caring not that I pushed them or they me. And then I reached his side. I touched his hand. He looked up, this piece of me, this man from a dream. He looked up at me in wonder and then, with as masculine a rush as I could ever covet, he was upon me, enwrapping me in his arms. His kiss was brutal in its haste, but then mine-own was no less. His sweet lips tasted of absinthe .... ** ** ** ** ** ** ** Her sweet lips tasted of absinthe. Absinthe: Love like Stone The cool darkness of the crypt was pierced by the harsh glare of a flashlight. With deliberate purpose, the circle of light traveled along the pale beige walls, down to the grey dust-covered floor, revealing long-concealed divots in the stone. The light shook slightly as the black-clad woman carrying the flashlight started at the sight. With the sharp click of her high-heeled boots on the cold stone the only companion, the woman walked over to the markings on the floor. Dropping a large black carryall bag to the floor beside her, she looked around, shining the long, black flashlight on the harsh surfaces of the tomb. Reflected light from the walls flashed in her grey eyes. A determined look on her pale face, she knelt down and opened the bag. Setting the flashlight down, the woman began pulling items from the bag and setting them on the floor. Soon, she lit three black candles and placed them in a triangular pattern around herself. Turning off the flashlight, she put both it and the now-empty bag to one side away from the candles, and began shaking a small vial of powdered incense in a circle, leading from one candle to another. The orange light of the candle set off the paleness of her skin against her black lipstick and eye makeup as she carefully drew the circle completely around her. Tossing the vial into the carryall, the woman opened a small ornately-fashioned book with her lace-gloved hands. Leafing through the worn pages, she selected one particular passage. Carefully, she placed the open book into the divots her flashlight had earlier revealed on the stone floor. Hesitating in the stillness, the woman looked up at the patterns of light and shadow the candles cast on the ceiling. She closed her eyes, turned her head down to the book, and opened them again. Softly, she began to read aloud from the book. A nursery rhyme from her childhood is what she read. A short lyric tale of heroic guardians, of the spirits of the earth; of castles and knights, of maidens and creatures both fey and terrible. Primarily, it was a song of imagination given life, of human hope and desire animating that which did not live on its own but now moves and lives and loves. With each line she read, the air surrounding her began to shimmer and change. As she read the rhyme, a faint sound began seemingly from the walls of the crypt. It was as though the pale stone began to take on a life of its own, powered by the candles, by the incense, by the story, but most of all powered by the pain and hope in the voice of the woman reading the story. Her tale finished, the woman closed her eyes. Opening them after a moment, the candlelight flickered over the film of tears just forming. 'Why do you cry, Absinthe,' a low, soft male voice said in front of the woman. Breathing a short gasp, the woman stared open-mouthed at the figure sitting on the floor. A few feet from the circle of candles and incense, the firelight picked out a statue of a powerfully-built man, made from the same pale beige stone as the walls and floor. The face of the statue had a gentle, angular face, with two large curved horns on either temple, with large, caring eyes. This statue sat where moments before there had been nothing but dust and cobwebs. 'Please, Absinthe,' the statue spoke again. 'Are you sad?' 'I...I,' Absinthe began. 'Are you really real?' The statue smiled. 'As real as the stone you kneel upon, my lady. As real as your own hopes and dreams. Those same hopes and dreams that brought me here.' Absinthe was silent for a moment. 'So it did work,' she began. 'Those dreams I have been having were true after all.' 'Tell me of those dreams, Absinthe.' 'How do you know my name?' With a softness seemingly out of place for such an imposing figure, the statue spoke carefully and gently. 'I know all who love that story with all their heart. I have known you since you first read that story on your own, after finding it in that collection of old books and clothing in your grandmothers attic. It was that love that called me here.' Hesitating for a moment, the statue continued. 'That love, and something stronger, something you have recently found out about yourself. Please tell me of your dreams; I think they hold part of the secret of how you called me.' 'I...well, I have seen some strange things these past few months,' she began, studying how the statue moved before her. How it seemed that muscles rippled and flowed just beneath the stony surface, and that if she reached out and touched it, the stone would seem warm. 'I have seen things that were dead get up and walk around. I have seen monsters drain the blood from my friends. I have seen normal people grasp chairs and turn them into flaming weapons to use against these monsters without...without any way to have lit them, first. 'Since I began seeing these things, I have been having vicious dreams...nightmares, really...about death and monsters. About angels in human form, and about devils also masquerading as human, all battling in our world and stealing our life, our future, away from humanity.' She paused again. 'Recently, however, I have been having new dreams, ones about a...well, a small rag doll I had when I was a kid. I loved that doll, dearly, but I don't remember what happened to it. Anyway, in these new dreams, that doll talks to me, telling me about how all I need is imagination and willpower to defeat these monsters, these outside forces. Using imagination to reshape the world to get rid of the...well, the creatures and other things that would use and destroy us. 'So, began remembering these dreams more and more during the day, and sort of...began thinking of ways to use my imagination. To, ah, to reshape things. Shivering slightly, Absinthe hugged herself. The statue reached out a hand, past the circle of incense and candles, to her. 'And this brought you back to the book of stories you have here,' he said. Slowly, Absinthe touched the stone hand with her own, and found that the stone was indeed warm. It also did not feel like stone, but more like soft leather, with a slightly gritty texture. 'Yes,' she continued, after a moment. 'I remembered some seance-type stuff I used to do here in this old crypt with a few other Goth friends. You know, get all dressed up, like this,' she smiled, looking down on her black lace and cloth dress and torn black stockings in tall leather boots. 'The whole angst-thing. Play some Nine Inch Nails and Killing Joke, pull out a Ouija board and black candles and try to talk to the dead.' She paused, the smile falling from her lips. 'Of course, that was before I found out that the dead can sometimes talk back.' Shaking herself slightly, taking a tighter grip on the statues' hand, she continued. 'Anyway, I just thought that it would be, you know, cool to experiment with something lighter. And I have always loved "The Stone Knight", so...' Absinthe looked up. 'That's you, isn't it? From "The Stone Knight". You are Apostolis, right.' The statue smiled. 'Yes, I suppose I am. And you recited that rhyme hoping that I would appear...' he trailed off. Absinthe blushed. 'Well, yeah, I guess. I didn't really know why I was doing it. It just seemed right, and, well, and my rag doll said it was a good idea.' She laughed. 'I guess that seems crazy, doing what a rag doll says is okay to do.' Apostolis laughed, a charming, low laugh. 'No more so than a statue telling you that he is happy you listened to your rag doll.' Laughing together, Absinthe was feeling giddy and warm. She began to realize just how much the situation was exciting her, and how Apostolis, here and in the 'flesh' was awakening some sexual desires. She marveled at the stone fabric of the simple tunic he wore moved like real cloth, even more supple than the skin of his warm hand in her hand. She began running her hand up his forearm. 'How,' she began. 'How is it that you are, well, alive and warm and made of stone...' Apostolis put his other hand over hers on his forearm. 'I believe that is a question for another time.' He drew her near to him. Absinthe kissed his stone lips, again amazed at the warmth and soft texture. Swept up in the sensation, she ran her hand up the back of his neck, into his hair, which also felt warm and slightly gritty, but soft and supple. Gently, Apostolis held her waist in his large, strong hands. She shuddered as he slowly moved one of his hands up her back to her hair, running his own fingers through the long strands. Waves of emotion coursed through Absinthe. Love for the man-statue in her arms; love for the story of his that she recited; the thrill of the power of being able to call this creature with the power of imagination and hope. The overwhelming events took hold of her, erasing the horrors she had seen in the past few months, the horrors of the supernatural encounters. Here was a supernatural encounter that filled her with hope, with happiness, and with love. Absinthe tugged open the laces on the front of her dress, and Apostolis pulled it down from her shoulders, exposing her small, round breasts. The sensation of his warm, gritty lips and tongue on her breast, taking her nipple into his mouth, caused her to cry out. She began clutching at his tunic, pulling it up to his shoulders, as he lovingly sucked on her nipple, lightly grazing it with his teeth. While he pulled back to allow her to remove his tunic, he pulled her dress down further, fully exposing her down to her waist. Absinthes hands ran down the front of his stony chest as he caressed her soft belly with his own hands, curving them around her hips and pulling her up as he kissed her stomach. She pulled her dress down to her knees, taking her black silk panties down with it, exposing her trimmed pubic hair. Removing her dress entirely, she realized just how much her juices were running down from her vagina as he firmly held her bare bottom. The action and sensation of him kissing her bellybutton as he began to move his fingers over her clitoris brought her a small orgasm, and she fell against him for a moment. For several minutes he continued licking and kissing her soft belly all the while probing first the outer folds of her sex, paying special attention to her clitoris. Soon, however, his large fingers began to enter her, and he began to use her tongue on her clitoris as well. This again brought a series of small orgasms to Absinthe, and she was dizzy from their effects. Pushing gently away from him for a moment, she reached down past Apostolis' sculpted belly to remove the heavy stone-textured trousers he wore, exposing his thick, erect penis. Taking it in her hand, she was again shocked at the heat it generated, while still having the same feeling of soft leather as the rest of him. Sitting back on his knees, Apostolis lifted Absinthe upon himself, his stony penis entering her vagina. Yet another small orgasm, one among an uncounted number, shook her at the penetration, and she began riding up and down. Faster and faster she rode on him, and his bucking hips assisted in the insanely pleasurable sensations she felt. After a few minutes, his head arched back, and she felt his penis grow wider and longer inside of her as his own orgasm built up. This growing, along with her pumping, began to generate an enormous feeling in her body as well. As he came inside her, she had the most incredible orgasm of her life, causing her to pass out in an enormous scream of pleasure. *** Absinthe woke up in her bed, in her small downtown apartment, the one she had moved into ever since her encounters with the supernatural had begun. Dazed, and almost ready to cry at the thought that the whole experience had only been an amazingly vivid dream, she pulled the covers off, exposing her body clad only in the thigh-high stockings she had been wearing after removing everything else during her encounter with Apostolis. Startled, she looked around to discover the rest of her clothing lying in a heap beside her carryall bag, itself filled with half-melted candles, her flashlight, and her book of nursery rhymes. Walking past the bedroom window, the morning sun slanting in, to sort out her clothes, she found one other item in the carryall. She gasped at the sight. Picking the item up, she walked toward the window, tears of joy falling from her eyes. Still, the tears fell as, standing at the window looking down on the city, she clutched her beloved rag doll from when she was a child. fin.