1 comments/ 5564 views/ 1 favorites Time Dancer Ch. 01 By: tangandrew An accidental meeting lead to a sexual encounter under most unusual circumstances. It was about 6:15 in the evening as I walked to Starbucks, just down the block from my hotel opposite the zoo. It was unusual for me to be alone, normally my wife would accompany me on any excuse to visit Oahu. The reasons for my solitude were forgotten as I appreciated the magic of the evening light, the last rays of the setting sun brushing everything with liquid gold. Waikiki was in the midst of its shift change as tourists and surfboards gave way to the party crowd, the diners and other denizens of the evening. Starbucks was busy, the line practically to the door. I was in no hurry, no where to go, and I would much rather enjoy the rapidly changing light in those last moments of dusk. There is a word to describe that time of day. I had needed it recently to complete an NYT crossword. I search the recesses of memory, ah yes "gloaming" I believe. I took a seat among my fellow caffeine addicts outside and relaxed, waiting for the line to dwindle, my mind drifting with the music on my iPod. Suddenly Waikiki receded, the sounds of the busy city muted, and, as if watching a movie play before my eyes, I saw . . a darkened alley . . . I lead her by the hand down the alley, stop suddenly and spin her back to the wall, my fingers reaching for the hem of her skirt. There is no resistance other than a feeble "Security . . . what about . . ." She gasps as I drop to my knee in front of her, lifting her skirt to her waist and burying my face between her thighs inhaling deeply. An involuntary little cry escapes her lips as my tongue laps at the wetness soaking through the black lace panties she is wearing. My hands slide between her thighs to cup her ass, spreading her open against my mouth as I suck the juice from her hot, wet core, my lips and teeth teasing her clit through the lace . . . ." A siren wailed in the distance breaking the spell. As the image faded, a wistful thought crossed my mind that all my daydreams should be that vivid and so entertaining. I glanced into the store, noting that the line had shortened considerably "A vente Mocha with whipped cream, make it a triple shot please." I'll indulge myself, I thought, although in the back of my mind I was appalled by how many calories were in the damn thing. Still I needed the caffeine shot, it had been a long day, awake long before dawn to catch the first flight to Oahu. I tried to reconstruct the fleeting erotic image, but it was no use. "Mocha for Andrew" called the barista. A taste . . . perfect, and I headed for the door. Carlos Libedinsky started playing on my iPod, from the album Narcotango. One of my favorite tracks, it took me by surprise as I had forgotten it was on this playlist. At the door I stumbled, trying to juggle my coffee, purse, adjust the iPod volume, open the door and keep the newspaper from sliding out from underneath my arm. I could have recovered were it not for a sudden shudder, an earthquake? No, it was too short, almost instantaneous, no-else appeared to have noticed anything. Unfortunately she was trying to enter at the same time. In a hurry; no, not in a hurry but obviously distracted. It seemed like she was in a different time zone. I tried to do the gentlemanly thing and hold the door for her, but disaster struck. I lost my grip on the coffee and half my Mocha spilt on her white blouse! She was definitely back in this time zone now. I was mortified, wishing the ground would split open and swallow me whole. As I began to stammer out an apology she appeared on the edge of tears. A dizzying rush of different naked emotions flitted across her face in rapid succession before she collected herself. For a moment I was stunned at what I just witnessed. What was that? "God, I'm so sorry" I stammered, offering a handkerchief in a feeble attempt to undo the damage. "OK, it was an accident" she said avoiding my eyes. How could she be so gracious? I would probably be on the edge of a meltdown. She appeared more embarrassed than I was. "I wasn't looking where I was going" she added. She's trying to put ME at ease? Huh? I took a closer look at the blouse, and surveyed the mess. It was worse than I thought, exquisite lace, almost certainly antique and irreplaceable, likely to be permanently stained if the damn coffee and chocolate were allowed to dry out. The same thought occurred to her at the same time, and the tears began to well up in her eyes. "It was my grandmother's," she whispered, as much to herself as to me. "Look, you don't know me from Adam, but you have to trust me" I blurted the words out. "If that's not rinsed and washed immediately, it's going to be ruined. My hotel is just down the block, I know they have a laundry facility. Let's take care of it immediately." Her eyes dropped to the ground. "That is, if you're not in rush to get somewhere" I went on uncertainly. She was drifting again, her eyes on Diamond Head, but her mind obviously somewhere else. "The evening's already a disaster" she murmured. "Bastard" "Excuse me?" "Nothing – what did you say. Oh yes." She looked directly into my eyes for the first time. Her examination was piercing, searching, analytical, I felt that nothing was hidden from her, as if she was looking into my very soul. The eye contact was held a beat too long for comfort when a decision was made and she visibly relaxed. "Where are you staying?" "Queen Kapiolani, it's just down . ." "I know where it is." She turned abruptly and started walking briskly down Kapahulu. Perhaps she was anxious to get moving before she changed her mind? I had to jog a couple of steps to catch up with her. I stole sideways glances at her as we covered the few yards to the hotel steps, but she studiously avoided eye contact. "We'll go to my room first, I'll lend you one of my shirts while we're washing your blouse." She nodded. "The elevators are over there" I point out. "They're always slow." The elevator doors opened immediately to prove me a liar. Sunburned tourists crowded in with us, sparing us the awkwardness of elevator conversation in an otherwise empty car. The elevator doors opened at my floor to an empty corridor. She hesitated, suddenly vulnerable and uncertain. "You're not a weirdo?" She tried to make a joke out of it, but she was clearly apprehensive. I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile, put my hand over my heart "a perfect gentleman I swear." I ushered her in to my room. "The bathroom is over there, I suggest you rinse out as much as you can before we wash it. There's some Dr. Brenner's in there, you can use that for washing anything." I found a shirt for her to wear, and she disappeared with it into the bathroom. Behind the half closed door I heard the sound of running water, and what I was sure was muffled sobbing. I slipped the iPod into its cradle and frantically scanning for appropriate music for the occasion. Nothing came to mind, so I settled on Michael Franks. Jazzy, mellow . . . that'll have to do. "I'll have to wash these slacks too" she called, "do you have some pants I can wear." "Just some sweats. I'm traveling light." I was just here for a couple of days of business, and not prepared for dressing damsels in distress. "That'll do." She accepted the proffered garment. When she came out of the bathroom and I had to suppress a giggle. The shirt looked kinda sexy on her, but the sweats were comical. "I'm sorry, there's no way I can let you appear in public looking like that. Let me take your clothes down and put them in the washing machine. You just relax here, I'll be back in a few minutes. Anything I can get you while I'm downstairs." "No thanks, let's just get these clothes clean." She was drifting off again. Where did she go? I pondered the enigma of this woman as I made my way to the laundry. Her perfume hung provocatively on her clothing and I could not resist lifting the blouse to my nose and inhaling deeply. It was intoxicating; literally intoxicating, as if some highly potent designer pheromone had suddenly scrambled multiple neurotransmitters in my brain. I felt high and every sense was immediately more acute. I examined the slacks more carefully, now aware of a tactile quality of the fabric unlike anything I had previously encountered. The label was unfamiliar, as was the language. The workmanship of the garment was curious, with supple rolled seams, as if welded rather than sewn. My mind rejected the oddities as I started the load and returned to the room, now more intrigued by mystery waiting there. She obviously had a lot on her mind, and "tonight was already a disaster", what did that mean? I hesitated at the door, for a moment apprehensive, before slipping the card into the lock and opening the door. Walking into the room I was struck with a palpable feeling of dislocation, like a tremor in the fabric of space-time itself. She was sitting at the table examining the iPod but something strange was happening. Then I realized. It was not playing Michael Franks anymore! Instead "Esta Noche", Carlos Libedinsky, this was so freaking weird, it just couldn't be. But it was, the same track that was playing when our worlds collided. As I stepped into the room it felt as if an invisible force field momentarily resisted my movement. I pushed and felt it give way, but the room began to spin slowly. Suddenly I experienced a sensation of the floor giving way – as if the entire room were an elevator car in a bottomless elevator suddenly dropping in free fall. The room dimmed and was silent. All I could hear was my heart pounding and the blood rushing in my ears. A jolt brought me back to reality. What the hell? I looked at her again and she seemed somehow different, taller and softer. Until this moment I hadn't the opportunity to really SEE her, so distracted was I by my embarrassment and the urgent need to rescue the garment. I would have sworn she was shorter, the hair a different shade and longer, the face more angular. That doesn't make sense, I told myself, you're imagining things. "What was that, did you feel it?" "What do you mean?" I lied, unable to make sense of or even articulate what had just happened. "There's a disturbance in the force, Luke" she said in a poor imitation of Alec Guinness. She shivered. "Just my imagination" favoring me with a winsome smile before turning back to the iPod. "I hope you don't mind I changed the playlist. I was curious to see what you had in here. It's one of my many quirks. You can tell a lot about people from their books and music collections. You dance Argentine tango" a statement not a question. She was still peering intently at the iPod. I was still stunned by the coincidence of the music and a quickly fading feeling of unreality, and could barely get the words out. "Yes, but still a novice. Please don't think for one moment that the extent my collection of tango music on that thing in any way correlates with my abilities." She laughed pleasantly and turned towards me. The cabeceo was unmistakable, the tilt, the eyes, the nod. A non-verbal "shall we." I stepped toward her, stopping an appropriate step or so away from her. "Go on" her eyes encouraged and I offered my hand. She rose and stepped into me, her left arm slipping smoothly around my neck into a close embrace. A moment of panic but I completed the hold. "I know that purists would say it ain't Argentine if it ain't close embrace, but I'm still not real comfortable dancing in close embrace. In classes, we're starting with a more open hold." We haven't taken a step and I already knew that she was a far better dancer than I. "That's OK, just relax and let's see what happens." At least she opened a little, but it was still much closer than I was used to. Shifting weight, side to side, feeling the music and establishing the connection, I took comfort in the familiarity. Her right arm was toned, the frame firm, she would be easy to lead. I changed the cadence of the weight shifts and she stayed right with me. A step, tentative at first, then another and another. The room was not spacious, but I tried to imagine us in a crowded milonga and the space expanded. I led her into a cruzada and her movements were smooth and precise. A backward ocho, a backward ocho into a molinete, she made it so easy. I was aware that I had never danced this well. An ocho cortado, a barrida, a boleo and enganche and I was in awe of the magic of the moment and the sensuality of the dance. I realized suddenly that she was back into a very close embrace, and I also became aware of a serious distraction. I now had a throbbing erection! Had she noticed? The magical connection was lost, the last quarter of the dance more ragged. I was more intent on keeping my boner from brushing against her than the dance, but we finished competently enough. I ended with a theatrical bow. "Thank you. You're fantastic". She accepted the complement graciously. "Keep at it, you've got talent" she replied and returned to the chair. I bustled anxiously around the room tidying my piles of odds and ends, as much as to allow my erection to subside as anything else. "Where are my manners . . . can I offer you a glass of wine. I have a bottle of Pinot Grigio in the fridge." With the arch accent of a wine-snob I added: "not a sophisticated wine, I afraid, but the light fruitiness is rather a delight on the palate when there's nothing better to drink." She laughed. I joined her at the table with the wine. Her mood was suddenly somber and I felt her drifting again. "Can I ask you a question?" "Go ahead." "I think you have a lot on your mind right now, and today has been an especially bad day." I paused and she looked at me expectantly. "Earlier when you said that the evening was already a disaster, what did you mean?" "I said that?" I nodded. "You don't want to hear about my drama." "I'm a good listener. Whatever it is, it's eating at you. It might do you some good to vent." She looked away. I don't think she wanted me to see that her eyes were beginning to brim with tears. Silence. I waited. The voice was small and distant "this was supposed to be our night out, the first in ages. The kids with my mother. Then he calls and says he has to work late. Does he think I'm so stupid that I don't see through that tired old excuse? I guess I have been stupid for expecting him to change. Like that's ever going to happen." She slipped into an accusatory third person. "Why are you such a masochist? You call him back at work, of course he's not freaking there. You freaking knew he was not going to be there before you even made the damn call. Why torture yourself? You know he's with her." She turned to me, the voice more determined and slipped back into the first person. "I'm ending it. I knew this was going to happen this evening, hell I think I wanted it to happen. This is the last goddamn time he's going to disappoint me. God, what a dismal stereotype . . . marriage fails because of the other woman. End of story." She looked pointedly at my wedding ring. "You're married." "Yes." "Happily?" "Yes." "Are you going to stay happily married?" "I think so" I said lightly, not appreciating the seriousness in her tone of voice. "I think so. I THINK SO. What the HELL kind of answer is 'I think so'." Her sudden venom took me aback. "Either you're committed or you're not. Are you committed or not." Before I could answer, all the steam went out of her and she buried her face in her hands. "I'm sorry, that's my shit. You don't have to answer." "No, that's OK. The question deserves a definitive answer. Yes, I am totally committed to being married until death do us part, as the vows say." "You left out the word happily." Damn, she's sharp, I thought. I went on to stammer out the facts of our marriage, our history, commitment, trials and tribulations. She listened intently, the piercing eye contact back, vigilant for any evidence of insincerity or deception, a veritable human lie detector. As I ran out of words, an unspoken "but" hung in the air. "But?" She articulated the pregnant word. "She's anorgasmic." "What? Oh, I see. Oh dear." She looked at me sadly, her eyes consoling and gentle. The story came out in a rush. The back problems, the surgeries, complications, and tragic consequences. The sense of guilt and responsibility, all the 'could haves, would have, should haves' that accumulate as the psychic detritus of years of adjusting to a cataclysmic life changing event. And the cruelest consequence of all. "Never?" "It's been over 20 years since she climaxed. Don't get me wrong. We have good sex, but it's all about my satisfaction not hers. I know she enjoys our physical intimacy, but it has to be frustrating for her to dance on the edge of orgasm and never get there." I had to turn away from the eyes that were still burning into me, from which nothing could be hidden. "Sometimes I think I miss it more than she does, that she's come to terms with it better than I have." My throat was tight and I could barely get the words out. "I haven't experienced the exhilaration of bringing a woman to climax in more years than I care to remember." A long silence. I couldn't face her. "I guess it's too much to expect that a happily married man would be carrying condoms?" I turned to look at her in amazement. She was serious. "Well, as a matter of fact . . ." Remarkably, previous occupants of this room had left a half full box of contraceptives along with a bottle of perfumed body lotion in the drawer of the bedside table and they had escaped the scrutiny of the maid. " . . . yes I do." . She slowly rose from the chair, her face expressionless, her eyes still burning into me. Slowly she unbuttoned the shirt, let it drop to the floor, revealing breasts cupped by a lacy black bra. She slipped easily out of the sweats. The matching panties were tight over the lips of her pussy. She paused. My heart was pounding, my mouth dry. Her eyes softened, and a gentle smile played at the corners of her mouth. Reaching behind her back, she struggled for a moment with the snap of the bra, and then it was gone. Another pause and she quickly slipped her panties to the floor and took a step toward me. Time stood still. I could barely breathe as I gazed at her naked form. Thick, short brown hair; seductive brown eyes; beautifully formed breasts; average build, soft and appealing; and best of all, a completely hairless pubic area. I was instantly aroused as I imagined burying my face between her thighs and licking and sucking at that inviting pussy. She tilted her head, her eyes beckoned, and then the imperceptible nod. Again, the cabeceo, the invitation, but not to dance. Moments passed in a blur, and we were both naked on the bed. She reached for the condoms I had found and began to tear at the packaging before I stopped her. "Not yet." She showed a moment of anxiety. "We'll use them. Just not yet. Relax." I pushed her gently back into the pillows and knelt beside her. "Close your eyes and don't move. Just feel." I slowly traced a line with my fingertips from her lips to her pussy barely touching the skin, and taking full measure of the beauty before me. Soft and inviting. I leant forward and gave a gentle kiss to the side of her neck. The ear-ring was distracting, so I took it off and placed it on the bed-side table before gently nibbling on her ear lobe. She heard my heavy breathing and our breaths began to synchronize. My lips and tongue explored her jaw, moving slowly down her neck to her torso. I stopped for a moment to admire the areolae and nipples. I buried my face between her breasts before sliding to one side and taking much of her right breast into my mouth. I let the breast retreat and concentrated attention on the nipple and areola now engorged with passion. I sucked hard on the nipple, at the same time attacking it hungrily with my tongue. She groaned, stiffened for a moment before settling back, wiggly slightly to find a more relaxed position. "Yes", she murmured almost inaudibly. My tongue traced circles around the edge of the areola then returned to tease the nipple. Circle, tease, suck hard, caress softly. The order and rhythm were unpredictable, teasing. I shifted attention to the other breast, now given the same attention. My lips or tongue had not left her body for one second. I broke contact and enjoyed the expression on her face. Her eyes opened and look at me questioning. "It's OK, shut your eyes." Time Dancer Ch. 01 I continued to enjoy her breasts; now my hands joined my lips and tongue in caressing their fullness and excitement. Finally it was enough and the tiniest push of her hands at my head told me that she was ready for me to continue my exploration. My tongue traced her midline down to her naked pussy and stopped. Contact was broken again, by necessity. She didn't resist as I spread her legs, moved between them and slid down the bed. My tongue teased, gliding up the inside of one thigh then the other, circling her pussy, approaching and retreating from the beckoning wetness. I lifted my head and with my fingers divided the wet lips exposing the glistening jewel. My head lowered and I took her into my mouth. She arched, pushing her herself into my face and moaned softly. Her clit was already fully engorged and the smell of her sweet juices engulfed me. I sucked hungrily, my tongue probing and caressing, round and round and round. Moving lower, my tongue darted into her waiting pussy and she arched again, welcoming the new sensation. I could feel her arousal build, as my tongue reached as deeply as possible. Not time yet. I slowed down, feeling her retreat from the edge and my lips returned to her clit. Now the rhythm was slow, steady and deliberate. As her arousal built again, my fingers began to explore her pussy, circling and probing. I felt her trembling beneath me and my lips were more demanding. I pushed fingers deep into her wet, hot core, in and out, beginning to pump her. The cadence of my fingers joined the cadence of my lips and teeth teasing her clit. The tempo increased and she began to pant and moan. Her arousal built swiftly to the point that there was no turning back. I sensed the moment of no return and stopped for a beat. As the first convulsive shudder of her orgasm passed through her, I sucked hard on her clit and pushed my fingers deep inside. She gasped. Wave after convulsive wave shook her body as her pussy contracted rhythmically around my fingers. I waited until the last aftershock had passed, rolled to the side of the bed and watched. Finally she opened her eyes and turned on her side to face me. Her limpid brown eyes met mine as we savored the moment. No words were necessary. Finally "I don't know what to say, words can't . . ." "I know." "I can't wait to reciprocate, but I have to catch my breath. Is there any more of that wine? I really need something to drink." She sat up on the edge of the bed as I returned with the wine, rolling her neck and stretching her back. "Don't tell me you have a bad back too." "No it's just tension. You'd have thought that would be gone after what just happened." I remembered the bottle of perfumed body lotion left in the drawer along with the condoms. "How would you like a back massage." "That would be awesome," she rolled on her stomach and purred "go ahead, I'll never be more ready than this." "That's not quite what I had in mind." She raised up on one elbow, looking surprised. "What do you mean." I explained. "Let me do that." She took the condom from my fingers and looked down at my groin. Leaning over she gave the tip of my penis a quick kiss before taking in the entire shaft. I felt her tongue moving against the most sensitive area of my cock as she held me in her mouth. "No." I lifted her head. "This we're going to take very, very slowly." She nodded her understanding and rolled the condom on me. She straddled me and with her hand guided me into her. I was almost ready to orgasm as I felt her warm tightness enfold me, but fought down the arousal. I pulled her down on top of me and guided her to extend her legs. Pulling a pillow beneath my hips pushed me deep inside her. I contracted pelvic muscles and my cock swelled momentarily. "Can you feel that?" I whispered. The answering contraction of her pussy almost took me over the edge, damn, something else I had been missing! She was now lying fully prone on top of me, my hard cock deep inside her. "Are you comfortable?" A nod. "We're going to take our time." "Mmm" "Just relax." I poured a generous helping of lotion on her back, quickly spreading it over her back from the base of her neck to her buttocks. Its floral fragrance mixed with the scent of her. Methodically I massaged her back, starting at the base of her neck and covering her entire back. The points of tightness began to dissolve under my fingers and I could feel her tension ease. My arousal ebbed as I was distracted by kneading her back. With my hard cock pressed deep into her, subtle shifts of her body communicated through her tight pussy her enjoyment and relaxation. Contracting the appropriate muscles again swelled my cock in her, to be answered by a deliberate and sustained contraction of her pussy. Ah, this was "biofeedback" of the most exciting kind imaginable. I continued to knead the remaining areas of tension in her neck and shoulders, and she melted into me occasionally purring contentedly. The "biofeedback" added a new dimension as we traded squeeze for throb, intensity for intensity in a very slow crescendo of arousal. Her body was completely relaxed as the last of her tension dissolved beneath my fingers. "You can move now." I said huskily. She anticipated my desire to build slowly. Her hips rolled slowly on mine, withdrawing slightly and then pushing down on me. My hands continued to move, long strokes from her neck to her shapely ass, and her cadence matched mine. She accurately judged my arousal and adjusted her rhythm according. When she took me to the edge, my hands on her ass guided her to slow down Suddenly she withdrew until I was afraid she'll lose me. But no, she stopped and slowly, ever so slowly pushed down on me. Her hips ground against mine, and a powerful and sustained pussy contraction caused me to shudder and groan involuntarily. Again she withdrew, and the return stroke was unbelievably slow. The sensation was exquisite. I felt every individual cell in the skin of my cock sliding against each cell of her pussy in a crescendo of pleasure I had never before experienced. I pulled her buttocks to me as her pelvis met mine to stop her from moving again. She understood. A couple of gentle squeezes and we both relaxed to catch our breath. I'd lost count of the number of times she had taken me to the edge. "I won't be able to stop next time." "I know." I waited for my arousal to subside and was ready. My hands on her hips urged her to move. The strokes were long, slow and even. For a dizzying moment it felt that our organs had switched places and she was penetrating me. The sensation of being fucked increased my excitement exponentially and I began to pant. She sensed this and slowed down. As we crept closer and closer to the edge, she became more deliberate in her movements. Stopping to roll her hips against me, pushing hard against me. I was teetering on the edge, begging to extend the moment, at the same time craving release from the almost unbearable tension. She sensed that the time had come. She withdrew to the full length of my shaft, and pushed down. I could hold back. Again, she withdrew and pushed. This was it. As she withdrew for the last time, I held her back for a heart beat before pulling her in, arching to drive deep inside her. I exploded inside her, almost passing out from the intensity. The successive waves of my climax shook my entire body. Then, for the first time that evening her lips met mine, and her tongue pushed insistently into my mouth. The first kiss magnified the intensity of the last couple of pulsations of my cock, and then it was gone. The kiss went on and on, shifting the focus of pleasure from our loins to our lips, and we playfully explored this new sensation. Finally we both had to come up for air, and I gently rolled her to the side. The contented silence continued, then "I hate to break the spell, but I have to put your clothes in the dryer." "I know. But put the dryer on the coolest setting you can. I don't want anything to shrink. Besides, it'll take longer to dry that way" she says mischievously. I threw on some clothes, found some coins and went to the door. "I'll be back as soon as I can." The door opened with a curious resistance, as if its weight were magnified ten thousand fold. I made my way to the laundry, aware of, but not processing the silence and absence of other people. The further I got from the room, the more it felt like I was walking up a slope that was becoming increasingly steep, or into a headwind blowing harder and harder. The pressured eased as I stopped at the laundry, and I quickly moved the clothes to the dryer. Returning to the room, I could barely keep my balance as this strange force was now at my back propelling me in the direction of the room. The pressure seemed proportional to the distance from the room. Its strength was virtually gone as I approached the door. As I slid the key card into the door, I knew. Something inexplicable was happening here. "Are you OK." My apprehension must have shown in my face. "It's not quite right out there is it" she asked and I shook my head silently. She was still naked as she got up to greet me, unbuttoned my shirt and slid her arms around my back. "Let's just enjoy each other while we can." I didn't have a problem with that proposition. She slipped the shirt off my shoulders, unbuttoned my pants and encouraged them to drop to the floor. "Let's dance again." "Naked?" "Why not?" Why not is that I was aware that we could easily create some very powerful conditioned associations here. It was already apparent that I might have difficulty dancing tango without being fearful of remembering what recently happened and getting a very embarrassing boner. "Not tango." I explained. She grinned and nodded. "Let me see what else you have." She turned to the iPod, manipulating its wheel expertly. "You've got thousands of tracks in here, my God that many? Ok, let's leave it up to chance then. Shuffle, where are you . . and . . here we go." The basses and cellos set the rhythm, and after a few bars the violins took up the counterpoint for the line to come. I knew now beyond any shadow of a doubt that this is totally, freaking, unbefuckinglievable insane. A 10,000 to one chance and this . . . "We are the lucky ones" Hayley Westenra's dulcet soprano soared above the orchestra. This was one of my favorite songs. Under the circumstances, which are now obviously completely beyond my comprehension, the reaction from this mystery woman came as no surprise. "Oh my GOD, that is so unbelievable. That's my favorite song. It's so beautiful, I never know whether to laugh or cry when I listen to this." How often had I said those exact same words? "Oh what's her name? Hollie Eastfield." I didn't correct her. She picked up the words at the third or fourth stanza singing softly as we swayed to the music. "Time dancers whirling past I gaze through the looking glass And feel just beyond my grasp is heaven Sacred geometry Where movement is poetry Visions of you and me forever" As the last bars of Dark Waltz faded, she ushered me back to the bed. "This time is for both of us." Again she straddled me. Leaning forward with her hands on my chest, she arched and rolled her back and neck. Not from tension this time, "mmm . . . so good" she murmured as she ground her pelvis in a tight circle against mine, appreciating my tumescence fill her hot core. I reached up and gentle strokes limned her face and neck, as a blind man tracing a kinesthetic memory of a loved one to take the place of his lost sense. I stroked her shoulders, her arms and hands, now kneading softly on my chest. No inch of flesh escaped my attention. I gently pushed her fully upright so her arms couldn't impede my exploration of her torso. Gooseflesh appeared and I watched attentively as the areola engorged with blood, changing hue, and the nipples stiffened. As I bent up, each eagerly received my lips and tongue. She stiffened, straining against me, drawing me as deep as anatomy would allow. I dropped back to the mattress, and my hands moved to her breasts. . I cupped her firm well-formed breasts, softly rolling each nipple between a thumb and forefinger. One hand on the mattress, I raised up again, my free arm behind her back drew her in to me. Mouth and breast now fully engaged, and my tongue took the place of my fingers in surveying every curve. Now, to the other breast, alert to the subtle differences, the slight asymmetries that are the hallmark of true beauty. At last the arm supporting me grew tired and I had to drop back to the pillow. She leaned forward again to place her hands on my chest, but I stopped her. I led her hands to where our groins meet. She knew immediately my intent. A shift of position, her left arm went back to support her weight, and she leaned back. Her right hand went to her now exposed clit. "You know what feels best" I whispered "I want to feel you cum." We were as familiar with each other's responses as long time lovers and knew how we would prolong this pleasure. She did nothing that will take my arousal to the point that I couldn't stop. Rolling against me, slow strokes out and in. For a moment I simply watched, integrating the vision of the rapture in her face, the gentle rise and fall of her breasts as her breaths deepened, the pink wetness that her fingers caressed, and the sensations of her pussy vibrating slightly as the movements of her fingers carried through the intervening flesh. My hands reached back to her breasts; she shuddered and an involuntary cry escaped her lips. I tried to match the cadence of her fingers. Suddenly she stopped and looks down at me. I raised up and meet her in an urgent kiss, my arms wrapped tightly around her torso and pulled her down. Our tongues met, encircled, explored and withdrew in a continuing dance whose rhythm was matched by the rise and fall of her hips. Lifting and then falling onto me. My hands were free to explore the contours of her sweet ass. Soft and round, no hard-body this and all the more feminine for it. I traced the curves with fingertip and palm of hand as I enjoyed her darting tongue engaging mine. She broke the kiss pushed herself up and leaned back again, her hand returning to her clit to resume its vigorous attention. We were both close to the end. Unspoken in the air . . the words "timing is everything." We carefully gauged each other's rising tension. My hands on her breasts urged her forward, or intertwined with her fingers to rub her clit. Her hips began to rise and fall, and my hands must of times grasp her hips to slow her movement, lest I get ahead of her. We took the measure of each other and the sexual tension built to a crescendo. A few urgent words added guidance lest the precious opportunity be missed. "not quite . . . yes . . almost . ." It is not clear who spoke. Then almost simultaneously "now." With her last stroke she slid slowly on to me, drawing me deep within her hot core. The first contraction of her pussy was the last stimulus before the first spurt of my climax. It was intense, made powerful by our simultaneous climax. The pulsations of my cock alternated with the contractions of her pussy in a final explosion of exquisite release. She fell limply back to my chest, her hot breath against my skin. She shuddered once and then I sensed a change in the tone of her body. "Le petit mort." I had thought that was an urban legend, but, no, she had fainted. I eased her off to the side. She settled into the pillows, murmuring softly, words I couldn't hear. Her respiration slowed and sleep took the place of her loss of consciousness. I stared at her for many minutes, simply enjoying the image of her. She showed no sign of awakening. I wasn't concerned for her, she was safe here. Despite my unusual experience of the empty corridors earlier, the practical man was still concerned about her clothes. I didn't think she would wake in the few minutes I would be gone, but I scribbled a note to fold in into her hand in case she woke and panicked. I dressed quickly. This time I was prepared for unseen forces beyond the room. The door opened more easily, and there seemed to be little or no resistance to my movement at all. There was still complete silence throughout the hotel, but I could dismiss that anomaly. The unseen force still lingered, a mystery. When I returned she was awake, sitting up in bed, holding the sheet of paper I had left with my scribble against her cheek. She looked sadly at the clothes I offered her, but made no move to take them. I laid them careful on the side table. "What are you doing in town?" I explained the business conference, this night and tomorrow night alone before returning home. "There's more, you're not telling me everything." The lie detector eyes were back again, scrutinizing me intently. "I don't know what you mean." "What did you expect to happen here, I don't know, a week ago, a month ago, this has been planned for a while?" I explained that the final decision to attend was made less than a month ago. "What else, there's something else, I don't know a fantasy, an intent, a plan, what?" "You mean the Craigslist ad" I offered cautiously. "The what?" Reluctantly I described my one tawdry attempt to find anonymous sex in the city. She was amused as I described the responses to my ad, the come-ons and the unbelievably banal chats that quickly bored me once I realized that the script was always the same, responses with different names that led to the same picture; and ultimately the dreary emptiness of it all. "None of the conversations I tried to have would have passed the Turing Test" I joked, to underscore the robotic nature of the few chats I had engaged in before giving up in disgust. She didn't seem to understand the reference. "So nothing was arranged?" She seems puzzled. I admitted that I planned to walk Kalakaua, admire the prostitutes, and later masturbate to the fantasy of having brought one to my lonely room. "Why not pay for one?" "Because sex has to be mutually desired, not a financial transaction." "What did your ad say." I describe it again. "I love eating pussy." She slid the sheet down to uncover herself completely. "Do you have room for more? I was spent. After two of the most powerful orgasms I had ever experienced in my life, I could not perform again, let alone sustain an erection. But my appetite for sucking on her juices was unlimited. "Just say when." I slid down the bed and lay prone on the bed and my mouth close on her clit again. My arms slid up over her abdomen to her breasts, cupping them and stroking them. My tongue lapped the wetness and darted inside her pussy, probing and exploring, directly experiencing every infinitesimal part of the mucosa within its reach. While my tongue was deep in her, I very cautiously probed her ass with a finger tip. I didn't push hard, and she did not resist. I slid lower, tilting her hips up toward me. My tongue reached her ass and probed persistently. I tilted her up further and spread her legs wider. Everywhere from her ass to the pubis and her inner thighs was fully exposed, and my tongue followed a wide and unpredictable path. Licking her thighs, probing, sucking darting. She began moaning and my mouth moved to her clit, teasing her with my teeth and lips. I pursed my lips and sucked hard on her now fully engorged clit pulling it into my mouth where my tongue engaged its tip, licking vigorously. By now I was well tuned to her arousal, which I let build and fall. From time to time I let my tongue continues its journey further field, ultimate exploring every in of her body. At one point I rolled her over to kiss, lick and caress every inch of her back and softly rounded butt. I sucked on every finger, toe until I had known every part of her. Time Dancer Ch. 01 Long, deep kisses interrupted my exploration of her soft, round, exquisitely feminine and so so inviting body. Coming back always and often to the center of her heat and passion, burying my face in her musky wetness, almost always in motion as my lips and tongue danced around her. The music in the background was rumba, the dance of love. It was my 5 star playlist, to my mind some of the best fucking music there is. My movement followed the rhythm of the music. Interpreting the musicality of each song required invention, a new dance of touch on her body as the tracks change. She had reached a different stage of arousal, as she too was spent. There would be no more grand explosions. Instead, a series of what can only be described as mini-orgasms that continued intermittently through several tracks of the music. Finally she had had enough. No words were necessary. She snuggled tight against my now sweat-slicked body. "I have to go soon" in a small voice. I was afraid of that. We were both a mess, anyone coming within 10 feet of either of us would smell the scent of sexual passion. "I need to take a shower before I go." "I'll join you." The shower was the last sensation feast we shared, soaping each other, holding each other tightly. Holding on the moment that must end. We toweled each other rather than ourselves to extract the very last grain of enjoyment. I turned the volume on the iPod down to barely a whisper as we silently dressed. I wanted to say something but she put a finger on my lip to hush me, shaking her head. Walking to the door "this was . . . . well, this was." A strange emphasis on the last "was" "Yes it was, indeed." I replied jokingly. I would think of something smarter to say when I walked her to her car, bus, taxi, or whatever. "Let me walk you to . . ." I reached to open the door, but to my astonishment she spun me around and with unexpected force pushed me away. I stumbled back, falling onto the bed. "We can't leave this room together." There was urgency in her voice. "I don't understand." "Don't talk. Just listen, tell me what you hear." Silence. SILENCE. SILENCE? Complete and utter silence. Not a sonic trace of Waikiki entered the room. My rising panic was calmed by the wonder and reassurance in her voice "we were the disturbance in the force." Her voice quickened as she began to comprehend the strange reality of what had happened over those last hours. "Don't you see?" she said excitedly "we are completely outside of our own space-time continuum. Somehow we stumbled on to or created some wormhole thingy that's takes us somewhere else." "Where? I don't understand." "I don't understand either, and the question of where has no meaning. We are here and here is where we are, and that's all there is. It doesn't extend very far so I don't think this is a parallel universe." We both looked to the windows, and I pulled the curtains back for the first time during that evening. Black. Black as the farthest reaches of empty intergalactic space. The blackness of NOTHING. "No this can't be a parallel universe, or there would be something out there. This is different, some microscopic universe, tiny black hole, I don't know. I've never read any speculation about phenomena like this." I tried to grasp the craziness of the situation and cautiously asked the corollary question. "When are we?" She slowly scanned the room in awe, as if seeing it for the first time." "Eternity in an hour." "Excuse me." "It's from a William Blake poem. To see a world in a grain of sand and a heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour. That's all I remember. To answer your question, this when is eternity." I took a deep breath before asking the crucial question. "Can we get out?" She nodded vigorously. "Call it intuition or whatever, but of this I am certain. The integrity of this micro-universe thingy must depend on the door-portal-wormhole-whatever. As long as we are here the door must be maintaining its existence." She cupped my face in her hands and turned me to look at her. "Here's something else that I am certain of. We can't leave together, the consequences are too unpredictable." "But we came into the room together." Recognition dawned before the words got out of my mouth. "No, this started when I first came back from the laundry room, you were already in the room." "Not really. I think I came into this room at about the same moment. But, if we compared our experiences, I think we'd find that we came here by different paths. That's why I'm so sure we must leave separately." Before I could process the implications of what she was saying, she kissed me gently and was out the door, the lock clicking insistently behind her. I got up to follow but the force that I had experienced earlier returned, its strength magnified a thousand fold holding me away from the door. I walked to the window, hoping to see familiar sights. But there was still NOTHING. She was gone, and I was trapped in no-where and no-when. I began to scream but no sound came. I barely staggered to the bed before passing out. * * * * * Awakened by the cries of strange animals, I was confused and disoriented until I remembered the zoo below my window. The clock said 3:47 am. The bed was in total disarray, I was sweating profusely and my crotch was damp and sticky. I remembered bits and pieces of an extraordinarily vivid erotic dream and tried to savor them before they faded, but the images were quickly gone. "I've got to take a shower", the words spoken aloud to chase away the lingering disorientation and a faint sense of unreality. Fresh from the shower, I slid back in to bed and turned to switch off the bedside light. An unexpected sight, there by the light sat a solitary earring. I was surprised that I hadn't noticed it before. Indeed, how surprising that housekeeping didn't see it when they last cleaned the room. I was positive it hadn't been there the evening before, but that made no sense. I slipped it into my computer case, thinking that in the morning I would take it to the reception desk. The previous occupant of the room would probably like to get it back. I settled back to sleep, but dim memories nagged at me and a cold tendril of unexpected fear coiled around my spine. Time Dancer Ch. 02 Part II, The next evening:,/B> I lay on my bed in the hotel room pondering the strange day I had experienced. The entire day was spent in an aura of unreality, feeling one half step out of time with the rest of the world. Everything was familiar, but somehow different. Unexpected anomalies jarred my senses. A mistaken telephone number, just one digit off from the number I was absolutely certain I knew; a street sign I never remembered seeing, having driven that intersection a hundred times or more over the years; a flag a different color than it was remembered yesterday; different stores with different names in unexpected locations; people greeting me by name, as an old acquaintance, although complete strangers to me. The details added up. Déjà vu chased jamais vu in a dizzying vortex. Was this the onset of psychosis or dementia? I wondered. Suddenly consciousness divided. And, while I didn't dissociate from the reality of the room around me and the sounds of the world filtering through the window, with a hallucinatory vividness I saw a darkened alley . . . I lead her by the hand down the alley, stop suddenly and spin her back to the wall, my fingers reaching for the hem of her skirt. There is no resistance other than a feeble "Security . . . what about . . ." She gasps as I drop to my knee in front of her, lifting her skirt to her waist and burying my face between her thighs inhaling deeply. An involuntary little cry escapes her lips as my tongue laps at the wetness soaking through the black lace panties she is wearing. My hands slide between her thighs to cup her ass, spreading her open against my mouth as I suck the juice from her hot, wet core, my lips and teeth teasing her clit through the lace. She is eager. I've barely touched her and she's already so close to the edge. Her hands pull me to her as her hips begin a rhythm of their own. The breathy sounds escaping my mouth sound like "YES! PLEASE! YES!" Her free hand begins clawing the wall for support as she begins to tremble violently. My hands rip the soaked fabric aside. With my tongue now directly attacking her clit it's all she can do to remain upright. Her juices run down her legs and my face. When I slide two fingers into to her clenching cunt it propels her over the top and her body is wracked with spasms, her back arching away from the wall and then . . . . ." My heart was pounding as I willed this unexpected vision to continue, the sense of déjà vu powerful, but the knock at the door chased it away and consciousness returned undivided to the room. The knocking was at first timid. I was half paralyzed by the erotic charge of the vision and was slow to respond. The knock became more demanding and I stumbled to the door to open it. There stood a stranger, a woman. Average build, thick short brown hair, high cheekbones, deep brown eyes that looked at me as a knowing smile contoured her full lips. "Do I know you?" A strong and urgent frisson of déjà vu hinted at an answer and evaporated as quickly as it came. She was a complete stranger. "I can come in." It was a statement not a question. Was the stress on the word 'I' or 'can'? Before I could process the multiple levels of meaning possibly contained in those four words, and which was the correct interpretation, she pushed past me with a peremptory "close the door please." I stood in astonishment by the door as it clicked shut "Damn, it's not working" she mumbled to herself. "I beg your pardon." "You have something of mine. I need to get it back, the ripples are spreading and there's going to be a serious bifurcation or entanglement of the world-lines here if we don't put this right." I could make no sense of the words. "Has your day been in any way unusual today, you MUST have felt it?" Her voice pleaded. I had to agree that it was. I'd been trying to make sense of it for the last hour. "Well there you are. Damn it why isn't this working? She was almost in tears. She saw the iPod silent in its cradle. "That has to be it" she said hopefully. "Would you switch it on please." "Be my guest." "No," she said slowly and deliberately "I think this is ONLY going to work if YOU start it." Her conviction willed me to the table and I press play. The 'Alice falling down the rabbit hole' feeling, being transported to who knows where or when was experience as familiar and expected and memories of that other time/place surged back into vivid memory. "You" I gasped. "Yes, me." "But I thought I dreamt you." "It's more complicated than that." I stepped forward to embrace her but she stopped me. "No first things first. Where is the earring?" The forgotten earring had been in my case with me all day. "You took it out of the room didn't you?" I nodded, speechless. "Well that explains it. The mere fact of taking that tiny amount of mass out of here disturbed our world lines. There were ripples. You felt them, I felt them. There may be serious consequence if I don't get the earring back. I'm certain that we are not supposed to be on the same world-line. Somehow our separate time-lines got tangled." Silently I rummaged through the case, found the ring and dropped it into her outstretched hand. The tension was instantly gone from her shoulder. "It is self-correcting you know, with this" indicating the earring " back on the right track the ripples should cease." She paused and then stepped close into my arms, looking up to place a gentle kiss on my lips. "We still have time. We're in no danger here. This is no where and everywhere, never and eternal. The door is still open, or I wouldn't have been able to coming back in. I'm sure that there will be ample warning if the way out is about to close for ever." She snuggled into my arms, looking slyly up at me, and said in a professorial tone of voice "one hypothesis is that such unusual space-time anomalies can be maintained by psychic energies." Her tone returned to normal. "We surely generated enough sexual psychic energy last night.' Her voice dropped to a whisper of desire. "Let's keep this place in existence a little while longer. " A giggle "besides, I brought some toys. I thought we might play, that is if you're interested?" She opened her purse to show me her toys. Of course I was ready to play! She undressed leisurely and provocatively, pantomiming a stripper. She hummed a melody to accompany the flash of a breast then the other, finally dropping her bra and baring those inviting curves. The tease: the hand groping suggestively outside then inside her panties, and thumbs then hooking into the waist to lower the sheer fabric for a glimpse of her shaven pussy lips then concealing. Her hips writhed in a pre-echo of what we both know would come. We were both so, so ready. But this moment was so uniquely precious; we tacitly agreed that it will not be spoiled by haste. It would be extended as long as we could maintain the dance. Finally she stepped out from the abandoned clothes, as I watched with mounting anticipation. She settled herself on the bed and waited expectantly. I considered the music that will accompany our next exploration of the bounds of sensual/tactile experience. A choice was made, Nuevo Tango it should be, a modern reinterpretation, a combination of driving candombe rhythms that echo the roots of the traditional music, and other pieces which are more languid, lyrical and contemplative. Already my mind leapt ahead to the interpretation of the instruments: my hands, mouth and lips which will play the bandoneon and violin on her flesh. As the music started, I surveyed the toys she had brought. A black satiny piece of fabric served as a blindfold, which was quickly wrapped around her head. I tied it at the side of her head, so she should not be distracted by the discomfort of its knot. Four soft silken ropes bound her wrists and ankles securely, but with ample play for comfort. I carefully spread her limbs and the ends of the ropes were now tied to the four corners of the bed. Her trust in me was absolute. She was now spread eagled across the bed, open to me in her full beauty and femininity. I stopped admire. A final readjustment of her pillows, assurance that she was comfortable, and we were ready. El Aire en Mis Manos, from Narcotango 2, one of the slower, more lyrical, pieces began to play, and my play began. I would touch her, caress, lick, nibble, knead, suck, taste and fully enjoy every part of her during this coming interlude. I bent to her pleasure and mine, and began. My lips and tongue explored a patch of skin, a hand defined the curve of another part of her body. I teased her naked pussy with an exhaled breath through pursed lips. A kiss to her neck, another delicately to her lips, drawing away as she reached to drive her tongue into my mouth and leaving her frustrated, wanting more. She knew not what to expect. My hands and mouth continued their exploration. I sucked on a nipple as one hand caressed a thigh, or the shape of her jaw. I retreated, and she didn't know where or with what I would touch her next. Her tactile awareness became more intensive, soft moans punctuated the music and she started in surprise at the chosen location for the next contact. The wordless female voice in the music became her voice, joining in our harmony. As we lost ourselves into the music and the choreography of touch against exquisitely sensitive bare skin; the caress of my hands and the lapping of my tongue interpreted the music, playing it out on her receptive form. I could go on with this, but she was wet with desire and I knew she wanted more. The pace quickened as Tanghetto played, El Boulevard. The tempo was faster, but not yet urgent or demanding. I toyed with the idea of a circuitous route to our next destination on our journey of exploration, but no. No teasing approach this time, but slow and deliberate. I bent to her clit, exposed it fully, and gently drew my lips around it. She groaned again, shuddered and arched to meet the embrace of my tongue to her sweet spot. The dance changed. The dance floor shrank to a mere square centimeter or so of engorged clit; the dancers, my tongue and her. Her expression of the dance was limited to the writhing of her hips, pressing against the rough embrace of my tongue. My interpretation was through other aspects of the connection, sucking and licking at the engorged flesh. We established our connection, felt the tempo, interpreted the music and our flesh became violin and bandeon. Becoming the music. She was fully aroused, ready to be taken to the edge and beyond. We needed something more forceful and demanding, and the playlist bent to our will. In the back of my mind I was awareness of an anomaly. The tracks did not play in the order I recalled, but seem to reorder themselves to fill our immediate need. The notes filled the air around us. The rhythm was perfect for what I had in mind, strong, insistent and demanding. I reached for one of the toys she had brought. Flesh rejoined as lips, clit and tongue connected with each other again and the phrasing of the dance. I sucked and lapped at her hungrily, tasted the juice of her excitement and waited for the moment. It came. The dildo slid easily into her and she could stop a muffled scream of surprise as it filled her completely. In and out, in and out. The strokes picked up the rhythm with metronomic precision. Her arousal increased exponentially, and I played with the rhythm and depth. Slow, slow, slow, slow. Deep, shallow, shallow, deep. Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow. Long slow strokes over several measures of music, two bars or even slower over four bars of music added to the improvisation. I wished I could experience her experience of this, her clit massaged by my mouth at the same time as the dildo quickly brought her to the edge. I could only experience it vicariously through the quivering flesh that expressed her rousing excitement. As the crescendo built I heard her words joining the harmony "fuck me, suck me, fill me . . . . .; fuck me, suck me, fill me . . . . .; fuck me, suck me, fill me . . . . .; fuck me, suck me, fill me . . . . .." She was soon there. I judged the moment perfectly. A beat before she is about to climax, the dildo was discarded. My throbbing cock took its place, and she screamed and arched to meet me. Her body shuddered uncontrollably as the powerful spasms of her cunt grasped my cock with amazing strength. Although I was highly aroused, there was no risk of me following her in climax. For the first, and what I expect will be the last time in my life I really felt a woman's climax undistracted by my own proximity to coming. I closed my eyes then, and experience every moment of her orgasm. I was motionless until the aftershocks subsided and she relaxed, then slowly withdrew. The music changed to something more languid, and I knew I must let her rest and gather a while. My lips returned to hers, softly at first and then more urgently. The kiss lasted a lifetime it seemed, and our tongues danced to a different melody. Tracks changed, but time stood still. In this cocoon of passion, I explored every aspect of her responses. She came to the edge again, but I let her arousal subside. Experimentation, improvisation, exploration, no stone left unturned in the combination of sensory experiences. For a time, I straddled her, my balls presented for her to suck on and enjoy her juices that soaked the pubic hair of my sac. Her mouth tried to chase my cock, but I was not ready for that yet. Blinded, she had no chance of encountering it. Who know how long it went on, all I knew is that I insisted she be fully sated. This would continue until she told me to stop. A faster piece and I judged it time for another climax. She was close to the end. "You may have one hand free now" I tell her, "which shall it be." She indicated her choice. I carefully repositioned myself. I would feast one last time on her clit. One hand held the dildo ready and the other, prepared to caress her body, invited her free hand to join the dance at her clit. Her fingers and my tongue joined in the ministrations to her clit as the dildo began again the base rhythm to this last dance. The tension began to climb quickly. A faster track, the candombe drums the essence of tango. This time I would be the follower not the leader. I let her fingers establish her pace, and followed her lead. I appreciated the novelty of her fingers in my mouth joining together with the shared purpose of drawing her to the inevitable conclusion. I was attentive to the rhythm of her fingers, and tried to match with tongue or dildo. At times the music interpretation demanded a counterpoint, a syncopation, but all pushed her onward. Her final climax, when it came, was more languid and contemplative. Her fingers withdrew and I sensed her paroxysms this time with my lips and tongue still embracing her clit. She went to a far place I could not know. I sat back, watched . . . and waited. "Enough" she said finally "It's your turn now." The roles were now quickly reversed. She knotted the blindfold over my eyes, positioned and bound my limbs to her satisfaction. I felt the bed shift as she rose. Other senses now heightened with the departure of vision, and my ears easily traced her progress across the floor. The music changed and I recognized immediately the beginning of the Bolero playlist. What a perfect choice. The songs were sorted by ranking, the five stars at the top, I knew their sequence well. As her weight settled next to me again, Andrea Bocelli started La Tue Parole. I couldn't help but be struck by the irony. Bocelli is blind, from birth I believe, and I was about to experience a woman as he does, almost exclusively through the sense of touch. I sank into a deep state of relaxation as she began to repay the homage I had given her body. The music was slow and melodic, quite different from what had gone before and more suited to the natural rhythm of my responses. She knew my needs and had made an apt choice. I waited for what seemed like minutes for the first touch of flesh against flesh. I wondered what and where it would be. The first touches were so ghostly, I wondered if I was imagining them. Her breath on my skin, a fleeting finger tip there, the brush of a nipple across my lips, then teeth teasing a nipple of my own. I felt her weight move on the bed, but could predict what she would do next. The touch which is not yet touch amplified the sensitivity of every sensory cell in my skin, and each new sensation was accompanied by a delicious shudder of enjoyment. The first unmistakable contact. She planted her lips at the base of my cock, licked firmly from base to tip, and then engulfed me with her lips. Sliding slowly down to take me in, her tongue lapped a countermotion. I groaned with the sudden intensity of desire, but we both knew that was just a teaser. She must of necessity withdraw, or this would be over before it has scarcely begun. Now it was her time to dance on my body. A touch here, a stroke there, a soft kiss elsewhere, the dart of a tongue, or long slow lick that traverses from collarbone to groin. Sensation piled on sensation unpredictably, all the while faithful to the measure and phrase of the song. More improvisation, and two independent tactile stimuli clamored for attention. Her kisses explored every part of my face that was uncovered while a hand kneaded at my chest. Then two hands completed a duet, one hand finding the shape of my jaw while the other teased pubic hair. Luna, sang a female vocalist, telling of los momentos felices that she can never forget, lamenting their loss. I have felt her weight shift. Other senses filled in for the missing vision. I knew that she has raised up, the better to survey my resting form, and was gazing over me intently, committing the image to memory. The stroking of her hand along my inner thigh, tantalizingly close to THERE, felt somehow distracted and irregular. The sharp quickening of her breath, and the faint trembling that communicated through the space between us drew the image as easily as vision. Her other hand at her crotch, for a moment fingers plunging deep. I saw this in my minds eye. A moment later, I felt the full weight of her across my abdomen, her tongue explored my groin, one hand stoked my leg as far as it will reach, and the other found my lips and mouth, insisting I partake of the juice she has gathered. I sucked hungrily at her fingers, thankful for the taste of her. A tentative probe at my anus. A lightly lubricated fingertip rimmed me asking permission to advance. I shifted slightly to accept the request. She penetrated me with but a fingertip, and as her mouth and tongue settle on the lowest part of my abdomen she begins to fuck me. The finger withdrew, returned with more lubricant, and withdrew again. She hesitated. I felt the touch of something else, not her, and tensed involuntarily for a moment. I forced myself to relax and experienced a new sensation as the smaller end of the curiously shaped dildo entered me. She found the depth that placed the end strategically against my prostate gland and commenced to massage it expertly. The combination of being fucked by her together with her lips and tongue at my groin, teasing and tantalizing my throbbing cock, approaching and withdrawing, threatened to push me quickly over the edge. While one part of me wanted to totally succumb to the novel experience of being fucked and sucked, it was too alien. My thighs closed on her hands, telling her to stop. She complied immediately, but left it inserted. It remained in my awareness as the presence of part of her inside me, comforting, comfortable and no longer distracting. Time Dancer Ch. 02 An instrumental with a lyrical Spanish guitar gave inspiration to her. The dance of her lips, fingers, tongue, the feel of her softness against me, her breast and nipples brushing when she reached across me, the touch of her breath against my skin combined in a glorious choreography of tactile sensation. Her timing was impeccable, her interpretation of the musicality masterful. When she took me in her mouth, it was sublime. It was as if she could read my mind, knowing what will feel best in every moment. Her movements were slow, languid and deliberate. Occasionally her teeth teased with a frisson of menace, but she knew they were a distraction to be avoided. I felt her lips and tongue. Her lips pursed in a gentle O to hold me secure. As she took me in, her tongue traced lazy circles over the most exquisitely sensitive part of my shaft. The pressure of her lips released me almost completely as she began to lift her head, but her tongue lapped more vigorously, as if at a popsicle, as she withdrew. Her withdrawal was almost complete, to the point of a kiss at the tip of my cock. Then again she descended. As my arousal increased, her movement slowed still further. As she carefully drew out the suspense, tactile sensation, music, images, sensual passion blended in a synesthetic kaleidoscope that expressed our dance. The tension built quickly, beyond any peak I had previously known, and I strained to hold back. Another stroke and I was shuddering and moaning with the unbelievable intensity of it all. The blind tenor sand again, and for a moment I was jealous of his blindness, the other senses becoming so much more acute, the gift he received for the loss of vision. To make love like this . . . the tactile experience of my lover's ministrations is indescribable. My climax came, and she surprised me once again. She held me in her mouth as I ejaculated, the intensity immediately heightened by this unexpected gift. The dildo was slowly removed with the successive spasms of my cock, augmenting their intensity. Her tongue still lapped very gently now in small circles. She knew that the tactile sense in my cock was so intense that any excessive movement would be torture not bliss. She softly, slowly sucked me dry. She continued to hold me until the tumescence began to soften, then, quickly, moved to kiss me fiercely, her tongue thrust deep in my mouth to share the slightly acrid taste of my fluid. Every night in my dreams I see you, I feel you As Celine began to sing, she clung urgently to me as we listened to the lyrics with a different ear, forever changed by this moment. Love can touch us one time And last for a lifetime We both knew that this song always be heavy with our own pathos; never again to be heard without an eidetic memory of what we had just shared She unbound me, and untied the blindfold. Wordlessly, we wrapped our arms around each other and lay clinging tight, the passion spent. Simply holding on to a precious experience we knew was close to its end, etching every single moment indelibly in our memories. No words . . . words were simply inadequate for the moment. A spell hung over us, a gossamer veil of thankfulness and grief, passion and serenity, and above all awe at the unexpected vagaries of fate that brought us together. Our words would not break the spell yet. Music still played and the songs of passion and loss said it for us When you find love When you know that it exists Then the lover that you miss Will come to you On those cold, cold nights For every single memory Has become a part of me My throat was tight. I knew that to attempt a word was impossible, to do so would release a flood of tears that I feared would never stop. I felt her tears on my cheek and lifted her head to wipe them away with my kisses. A zephyr, a whisper of change, disturbed us. Our sexual energy was spent, and we were fully sated. Our energy was insufficient to maintain the integrity of this anomaly in space/time and the fabric of the continuum we currently inhabits gave warning. Subtle . . . unmistakable . . . She sat up suddenly. "Did you hear that? We're running out of time." I strained my ears and barely discerned the faintest whispers of a far distant busy city heard along with the music. My eyes strayed to the window to see stray photons beginning to limn the ghostly outlines of a world outside. "Better hurry." She dressed quickly. "Make sure I have nothing of your world and you have nothing mine. Today proved how important that is. There better not be any more surprises or complications this time. This place is not coming back." "What about information?" I asked desperately, not wanting to forget these memories to quickly fade like dreams with the light of day. That stopped her in her tracks. "Good question, I'm not sure. Information and memories have no mass so it's hard to see how they could effect any change. Will they survive . . . . I don't know." We hugged each other desperately as we both fell into the rabbit hole. For a moment, nanosecond/eternity, completely outside of any existence, we were pure sentience waiting for a time and place to rematerialize. SNAP. The hubbub of the city crowded into the room There was one last surprise, however. I matched the person in front of me with the memory of a description scrolling across the screen of my computer. I quickly remembered all the details of a chance encounter in cyberspace, a spark of attraction stimulated by enjoyment of my erotic writing. For once, I caught on before she did to the to the last amazing twist. "You're Joanne. I've been writing to you." I replayed the preceding weeks in my mind. "This is the fantasy I wrote for you." "Imagination has power and magic in it. The fantasy I was writing was quite different. Somehow it collided with yours and yours was stronger. Bits and pieces of mine must have been present though. You know, I'm sure your iPod had something to do with it." Yes, I remember the extraordinary synchronicities." "But what happened here, last night and tonight. That was real?" The memories are vivid, etched so deep that they will never be forgotten. "Yes." "So you are saying that I wrote this fantasy AND experienced it in its physical reality." "She grinned "pretty damn strange isn't it. Guy who figures this out is going to be up for a Norbarla prize, the theoretical implications are staggering." "Are we on the same world-line." I asked suddenly. She was suddenly somber and looked sadly up at me. "We'll never know for sure. If our world-lines are different, they must be very close or they would never have intersected. But I don't think we want or need to find out. You know very well that our real-world lives can never intersect. " "Thank you for this." She threw her arms tightly around my neck, a last lingering kiss, before she bolted from the room. The scent of her perfume was all that's left . . . . . . . a gust of wind shaking the curtains, and it too was gone. POSTSCRIPT Months later: I sat at my computer staring the screen. "It's self-correcting you know", her words echoed in my ears. The memories were beginning to fade, but were revived reading my words or hearing certain music. Life was good, in fact better than ever. I was sure by now that we were indeed from divergent universes that somehow intersected through our individual fantasies. The ripples continued for a while, discontinuities and unexpected changes still occurred in my world, as a result of the intersection of the two world-lines, although fading with time. My world/universe returned to its "pre-event state" with no residual perturbations. From time to time I returned to read these words again and wonder. Did it really happen? There was one last remaining trace. My gmail inbox with her responses. I had tried to contact her again, but the message was bounced with an unusual "undeliverable" header. I looked again at the .dot com name, but I didn't recognize it. In fact it looked almost alien, with at least one character I'm not sure I've seen in any written language before, not on this earth. A brief interruption in power dimmed the screen. When the monitor came back to life the computer was locked, the mouse frozen on the screen. Ctrl-Alt-Del failed to bring up Task Manager. I paused before pressing the power button, but there was no other way to deal with the frozen computer. A minute or so later everything ran smoothly. I opened my browser, found the gmail log-on screen and clicked in the username box, but nothing appeared. Again and again, no response. The power surge must have corrupted a cookie, I reasoned. No problem. I kept a file, misleadingly named, in a subdirectory so deep in subdirectories that no-one would ever find it by chance. It contained everything. My writing, her responses and most important of all the codes for my online pseudonym's accounts. I found my way to the location and stared dumbfounded at the screen. The directory was gone! I directed the computer to search everywhere. No file found And I realized . . . . the last ripple was gone. All I had left were my memories and her online name . . . timedancer. IN AN ALTERNATE WORLD-LINE In an alternate universe, there was no warning and the portal closed before the lovers could leave. Since that place is timeless and eternal, everywhere and nowhere, they are unaware of passage of time. They continue their dance of passion. Their sentience exists in that mysterious anomaly and will waltz into eternity.