It was the first time. I had never felt that before, not knowing that it could happen between boys and girls, a sort of tumult in my body. Why, while I disdained my sisters, my sisters' friends? Something different from the admiration toward my schoolteacher, the affection that I could feel for my mother or the peculiar attraction for the Virgin-Mary or what she represented behind the multicolored plaster statue that decorated the sacristy of the church; she who never quit on staring at me with her tender look, all the time I was there helping Sir vicar to thread his Eucharistic clothes. I felt very well like so, my body widely spread over the harmless body of my cousin, but in a different way. I felt a sort of tumult, inexplicable, in my young man's body freshly come out of childhood.
I had raised my arm, and I leaned my hand on the slender tissue covering her belly. I guided my hand slowly, applying a weak pressure in a slow rotation movement, then removing the slender tissue that hardly veils her belly. Her lips moved, she opened her mouth. I loosened the slender tissue that veiled her belly and I could now feel the shudder on her warm flesh at the tip of my hesitating fingers. I slid my tongue in her half-opened mouth, she quivered by surprise. My hand, now, travelled freely on her bare womb. Doing so, I discovered treasures hidden behind the slender tissues that veiled the secret parts of her body; two tiny firm hillocks of flesh, stocked with exgrowths stirring under my fingers as springs under stress, deep cracks here and there, a strange little crater at the epicentre of her womb, a volcano at the meeting of her thighs letting escape some warm vapors. She slightly nibbled my tongue, she stirred under my fingers and moaned painfully. I took her hand. I guided her caressing her own body with the palm of her hands. She seemed to discover, with evident happiness, the unusual secrets hidden behind the slender tissues that veiled the virgin parts of her body. Then I guided her hand beyond her body, I guided her hand over my own body, up to my face. She had bitten my tongue with an unsuspected vigour. Then my hand had entailed her hand downward, guiding it to touch my flesh making her nervously loosening the tights clothes that covered my flesh.
I had driven her small timorous hand just under my trousers, precarious adventure to the discovery of the mysterious drives that had inflated my penis in excess. I guided her small hand over my blood's loaded penis. Sudden drives had made all her body shivered; she moaned, chewing my tongue, cramped to me and her fingers tightened my penis in fusion. I did not know, any more, what to do, I slowly removed my hand to let it get lost, hypocritically, under her small breeches, touching the lips or her virgin vagina. She ground my penis, raped it, twisted it; she treated my balls in a clumsy way, not knowing what to do to quench this sudden drive that fired all her body, her body of small booby trapped animal; she seems to exploit with anxiety the last energies of a long and painful agony.
Then, she suddenly found the way, the directions of use. She closed her fingers on my penis, she surrounds it, squeezed it strongly and treated it in a jerky up and down movement, loosening the fragile flesh, swollen with blood, of the mobile envelope that covered it. She stirred, wriggled under the influence of a trance. Complaints went out of her throat, she bites me, swallowing my tongue greedily. She never stopped activating my penis of this jerky up and down movement, impatient, annoyed, feverishly anxious as if she looked for all those secrets buried behind this warm appendix. Frail small hind, innocent girl, fragile doll launched in a sublime quest, an adventurous quest that stripped bared all the sexual energy put to sleep in her genes. My penis exploded suddenly, my warm sperm escaped from its carnal husk; her warm and nervous hand did not stop activating it as to take out of it all its vital substance. Our two bodies, imbricated one into the other, bustled in an unusual trance, during all the time of the transfer of my sperm, from the narrow reel of my penis in fusion, towards her small, warm, and affectionate hand.
Silence, suddenly reinstated into our shelter, we heard nothing more, only the accelerated beating of our two hearts. She stopped moving, her body calmed down, my body relaxed and I let myself fall on her, exhausted but satisfied. We stayed that way for a long moment, uncertain of what just happened, perhaps ashamed or simply overcome by the effort.
Outside, it was almost silence, we could only hear the light rustle of the wind through the openwork boards of the hangar. Shouts came for a moment, disturbing our peaceful rest, then it was silence again. I got up slowly over the motionless body of my small cousin. I lifted up the lid of the coffin letting penetrates into it, a pale light coming from the vast hangar. All around, shadows stirred as disturbing ghosts; sluggish objects, twinkling tools, threatening instruments hung from the ceiling, immovable boxes on the floor, heteroclite materials hung on to the walls, and these other sluggish and disturbing coffins that glittered in a sinister way under the influence of back lighting. I got right up.
I was going to leave, uncovering myself, reaching the house without being seen by the pawn. I was going to leave my cousin, still bewildered by this moment of enjoyment that had left a doubt in my mind, in my brain of a little boy, still ignorant of all the secrets of life.
I reached the house before the pawn; I was saved like where my cousins, my sisters, my overexcited neighbors, all waiting in an indescribable hubbub for the outcome of the game. After a long moment of restlessness, we all reached the house looking forward for another session with this time, my cousin Robert acting as pawn, who manifestly let himself being chased away by Denise our beautiful neighbor.
Jocelyne was still not there. Everyone worried, one shouted her name to let her
out of her den. I indicated to them, the place where she was; impregnable hiding
place in the fillings of white satin, of the coffin throning on the second floor of
the hangar, at the back of the general store of my uncle René.
After waiting for a while, I heard burst of voices, tears, shouts, cries, summons charges of dismay coming from the girls who went there, where Jocelyn
was supposedly hiding.
She was there, sluggish, hands' crossings under her bust, her small bosoms outrageously exposed through the gaping opening of her unfastened blouse; the skirt raised to the belt, showing her womb, her navel, and a long scar towards the location of her appendix; her legs were slightly spread and leaned on the satiny walls of the coffin, showing her underpants stained with a mysterious whitish liquid. She was smiling, she still seemed to have an orgasm, misled in a sort of undescrible ecstasy, but she would move no more, she was dead.
Marco Polo or the imaginary journey (Contes et légendes érotiques, translated from french, février 1999) © 1999 Jean-Pierre Lapointe
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