Rog pulled Yul tight to his chest, his strong arms wrapping around her lithe frame like hungry pythons. They stood in her quarters, aboard the Aegis, and although the picture window was nothing near as large or fantabulous as the one’s on Bravo, neither of the two had gotten past the “wow” factor as the cosmos sped before their embrace.
Easing his grip, Rog moved his hands to Yul’s face, and cupping her cheeks bent to press his lips to hers as a man in the desert does to a tin of cold water. Yul’s lips were soft with a firmness to match her age and Rog never tired of the way she moved them to and fro. Female Hynerians, among other things, had blue tongues, or should I say, every tongue had a unique pattern of blue, like the stripes on a tiger. Males did not. Whenever Yul licked her lips, in the seductive way only she seemed to be capable of doing, because of that unique pattern, the tip of her tongue looked like a spear, pointed and sharp. Rog could never put his finger on it, but just the look of her blue spear-like tongue sliding over her full lips made his knees weak and his loins come alive. And Yul knew it.
Rog had kissed many a blue tongue, as females were called back home on the ranch, but no one had ever kissed like Yul. She both took control and let it go with lip and tongue, active while appearing passive, soft and firm, quick and deliberate. To kiss Yul was nothing short of an intricate dance of wet flesh that took the mind by surprise and the heart by the backdoor. To feel her tongue under his lips while her long agile fingers combed the back of his hair, pulling him toward her as if she had him locked in place, well, Rog would never admit it, but the first time she kissed him like this he knew.
So lips slid and tongues danced as distant starlight twinkled as patrons at the opera, quietly approving the performance with a politeness born of dignity and breeding. Rog had long closed his eyes, although Yul often liked to peek, to see the effect she was having, to see the rapture on his face, to see a rough farm boy turn to muddle in her hands; and she delighted in a wicked way each and every time the expression on his face told her he was hers and hers alone.
So she let her hands drift down to his shoulders and around his arms as she pressed her nails into his back as an lioness would to claim her own. Her nipples were hard and her clothes thin and she knew he would feel her chest on his so she pushed herself into him on tip toes, the warmth of her arousal glowing blue with the natural light of Hynerian desire. As Yul pressed in, Rog let out a sigh as if she had squeezed it out of him and she had, although not by force of arms but by the magic of anticipation tickling his imagination. The only thought he ever had was she “was good, frailing good.”
Breathing increased as moans escaped parted lips and two souls joined as one before the vertical union of warm commerce. Rog was going to frail her or perhaps she was going to frail him, and as he would later say, that first night on the Aegis, on the way to Hope, not knowing how many more nights they might have together, well, he just said you had to be there.
Categories: Story, Rog, Yul
11 comments:
Sometimes I just really do not know what to say other than I love it! Just plain love it. The writing is magnificent, you astound me anew each time and as I have said before I really should be used to it by now, but it's too good to get used to. Like a symphony orchestra and though they were to play the same notes many times over the course of a concert, each time they hit it, it would sound as exquisite.
Love the continuance of the blue, love the title, love the fractal, just plain love, love, LOVE every single thing about this chapter.
Thank you Sunshine. I woke, fixed a cup of coffee and, still not totally awake, this chapter was written. This is about as pure first draft as it gets. I'm sure later today, once I have a chance to look over it, I'll see a hundred ways I would rewrite a phrase or add a paragraph and so on.
As I have said many times, the story is me and I am the story and this chapter is no different. The first girl I ever kissed, and I was seventeen at the time and she was nineteen, kissed like Yul and I have to say, no offense to anyone reading this I may have kissed, she was simply the best. I find it ironic that my first kiss and kisses were, perhaps, as good as it ever was going to be. How often does that happen. And my reactions were very similar to Rog. :-D
Although it has been 25 years or so, I still remember those kisses as if it were yesterday. She really was that good. She was, this girl, by the way, the same one that, for all intents and purposes, created the window chapter between Kyra and Kieran, with me being the Kyra in real life. I have much more I could say on that, perhaps at another time. And, well, let's just say a lot of chapters in this story are inspired by my very short relationship with this girl. :-D
Got to run now. And as always, thanks so very much for your wonderfully kind comments. :-)
You've proved me wrong before, so I won't tell you that I find it hard to believe that you could re-work this chapter to be any better than it is, all I can say is that it is amazing as it stands here. The fact that this is a first draft just goes to show, as if we didn't know, what a natural talent you have. The words obviously just flow (in the zone:) and it's a thrill to witness, really is.
Your story is what it is, because you write what you know. And that is the gift within the story. And the reason, some chapters are more memorable than the rest. The window chapter was one of those, deeply touching.
What I have found fascinating about the writing process, and I would have never, ever guessed this (at least for me), is I sometimes write best when I am not fully awake. Both this chapter and the one yesterday were written between my first cup of coffee and my second, which is to say, since I am not a morning person, in a semi-conscious mode.
I also find, that when I am most alert and awake, not always, but many times, this is not the best time to write--in part, perhaps, because I think too much and those thoughts just get in the way. I don't know why, but I find this process of writing just fascinating and I wonder at the power of the subconscious, which seems to love this nether land between being awake and sleep--a playground if you will that as soon as the sun rises slips away with the morning mist.
As far as the content in the story, I really don't know how I would or could write anything without having some experience of it, so to a certain extent, you can take any chapter and you will find bits and pieces of me in it, which, as you know, is my number one pet peeve when people say, "don't write the story, tell us about you" because, there is no way I could ever tell anyone as much about me as I do within the context of these characters.
As always, I do so love the engagement on the story you give so freely. Much love to you my dear Sweetest.
I read a fascinating book once about the process of writing, I still have it, but unfortunately I cannot recall either the title nor the author and since it is in storage, I cannot find until a later date - anyway, I have often thought about this book in relation to you for one of the things it advises quite adamently is to refrain from reading, whilst within the writing process. I thought about this especially in regards to your Wolfe-inspired chapters and how amazingly you were disproving that theory (not that all things are true of all people of course). However, that land between asleep and awake, or to be more exact a state less than your most conscious is what the whole first part of the book was about. It spoke of different types of writers, those such as yourself for who it is what everyone else would deem a natural talent and not to take anything at all away from the work that you put into them, as said earlier, the words flow from you like the magic that you spoke of yesterday. I won't write you a list of the other types, partly because I am not sure that I can recall them all. In any case, what I wanted to mention was in relation to the half-awake state being the (or one of) best state to write in, before words enter the day, before there is time to have too many thoughts. And following on from that, the chapter described the process of sitting down first thing and typing whatever came into one's head. Not only was this an excellent way for the budding writers of the other kinds (learning the craft as a craft eg), but it was also the way through any type of writer's block.
I kind of lost my point in there, in any case, it was an interesting book - to me at least, who finds words and anything to do with them fascinating.
I've so enjoyed watching you develop as a writer. The signs were always there, but better seen in hindsight. As your story began to build, I would think back to comments that came in series, how descriptive and imaginative they were, and well, as said, you just have a natural talent for expression, for writing - the gift of the gab as some might say.
In any piece of fictional writing that is any good, I do believe that it has basis in what one knows - feelings for example are hard enough to describe when one has had them, let alone trying to describe something one has never felt.
...In any case, what I wanted to say was this, I've loved the insights that we gain into you through everything you write, it's a significant reason (one of the reasons I mean) as to why I love the story so.
OK - lets try this again :)
It seems, and I'll admit I didn't start reading this story from the very first post, although I have gone back read it complete since, but it seems the chapters have gotten way more indepth character wise as you progress through this. I am sure that happens. In the beginning its like setting the stage, introducing the characters, creating the initial images, etc... now, lately it seems we are getting to see more of the meat of each character. Sometimes we've (I, I guess I should just speak for myself) got them somewhat pegged, or at least we (I)think we do. Sometimes not at all. The unkown is what brings us back. If it were all predictable it wouldn't be nearly as worthy....
sort of got off track - anyway just loving the way the chapters have been written lately, your attention to detail is remarkable.
Oh, and btw - writing isn't the only thing that can be really, really good in a semi-conscious state.
:)
take care,
Meg
Hi Autumn !
Morning Meg. :-)
Before I started this story, I had never written anything other than a term paper or book review at university (and my master's thesis on 1930s Germany if you want to count that rather dry tome--lol).
So, if you read the story from the beginning you will see that at first there were no characters, just general description. Then I introduced a couple of characters (Kyra and Papa) but I didn't have them saying anything because I had never written dialogue and had no idea how to do. I actually just picked up some books and looked at how it was done with tags and flow bewteen dialogue and description. Autumn will tell you, I had much fear the first time I ever wrote dialouge, and to be honest, it was very stilted and wooden. I think in time, with practice, it has gotten better.
At some point I realized all my emphasis on love and compassion was making all the characters rather one dimensional and I wanted to change that. I wanted the characters to be more real and to have full lives with love and hate and joy and anguish much as we all do. I wanted to explore the fears and concerns each one had about their past and their future, which is actually quite stark if you think about it; and I wanted no one (including Kyra) to be perfect or above slipping and making mistakes).
With Kyra, I had the hardest time doing this since I had built her up so much and I wanted her to be so much. To write of her anger and reaction and tears and fears and choices of regret--that was hard and I felt I had to walk a narrow line between making her real but not losing the mystique that she is different, that she is special.
In a way, this story is the story of a writer learning to write. I think over the past year you have seen the whole gauntlet of a skill set, hopefully, getting better, getting stronger.
My hope is I continue to get better. Most of my writing is done when I have time and so sometimes it is rushed and most everything is either first draft or at best second draft. If I were to think of publishing, a ton of time would need to be investing in editing and refining and rewriting.
But I write for the pleasure of writing, not to publish or earn a living so I don't have those concerns or worries and I don't have to take myself too seriously.
Thanks for the beautiful comment Meg. Always, always much appreciated. :-)
WOW. I loved this even more than the previous chapter. Damn, you're good.
I loved the way she excited him and that there was so much intense attraction and love.
Whew... HOT.
I think I was feeling just a tad bit horny when I woke up and wrote this one. I call it a "lumberjack" chapter--LMAO. If you didn't get that, just think morning wood. :-D
Oh yes, I got it. Quite the play on words. Lumberjacks are good...oh, so very good...
One of the loveliest images with the words to match it. I'm not going to go on, since by the looks of things, I did that the first time. :-) Suffice to say, this was a perfect post in every way, the last line the icing.
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