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Cunobaros

Cunobaros

From all to nothing

A C E G I K P X XA

It's getting dark. I had forgot how long it took for that to happen here in the North, just like I had forgot how swiftly time moves in your company. It's a weird feeling, as if time was passing both quickly and slowly, at the same time. On the other hand, maybe I can blame the wine. I'm not really used to drinking any more, and the first bottle is already emptied, with a second one started. I can't say I feel drunk, but after some bemused consideration I decide it's more likely I'm drunk than that time itself has hiccups.

My train of thought is derailed by you saying something.

"Huh?"

"I asked if I can take one of your cigarettes."

"Oh, sure," I say with a nod to the pack lying beside me on the balcony floor. "Help yourself."

You stretch your leg out and reel the pack in with your toes. I notice you have the tip of your tongue in the corner of your mouth, and smile.

"Thanks." You put a cigarette between your lips and light it, tip your head backwards and blow the smoke out and up. "What were you thinking then, so far away?"

"Just wondering whether I was drunk."

"Of course you're drunk, otherwise there's something wrong with the wine. You might as well make the most of it, now that you're allowed to get drunk. When was the last time?"

"Too long. Years. Can you pass me the cigarettes?"

"Why? You couldn't be bothered to pass them to me."

So you're in a bantering mood? Well, that's quite welcome. I think I need to let go of the sombre facade, and bickering with you, especially when you're in that mood, is a rare pleasure. I get a sudden feeling of deja vu, and remember us sitting like this, drinking, smoking and joking, many years ago. A summer night on a balcony, the night we found out we were friends. And even if the friendship has remained strong all these years, it has become something more. To me, at least. I smile.

"Yeah, but that's because it's my cigarettes, and as you're getting them for free you could make a bit of an effort in return."

"Hey, I'm doing you a favour here. You said yourself you needed some exercise."

"Should I need exercise?" I ask. "When did I say something that stupid?"

"A little while ago, when we were talking about sex, you said that you ought to have sex more often since you needed the exercise."

Ah, right. I did say that. Not remarkable; we often talk about sex. But when I made that comment, I didn't think about having sex in general, but with you, specifically. And as always, you ignored that, just like I know you'll ignore this: "What, here on the balcony?" I take a sip of wine and make a sweeping gesture with the glass.

You snort and roll your eyes. "And who would you have sex with here, do you think?"

"Well," I say and look at your breasts, "I guess I'll have to find someone nearby who looks like a woman. I mean, surely the sex ought to be enough exercise? I shouldn't have to run around and find someone to exercise with."

My reply is automatic. Maybe, I think, you're getting tired of it. You know you attract me. I told you, years ago. And after the initial surprise you've always ignored it. I don't know any more if I want to take you to bed. You once said, I remember, that I didn't want to do, but to have done. Head of the nail.

You snort again. "I shouldn't think so," you say as you toss me the cigarettes.

"Aw, come on! You said you wanted to do me a favour and exercise me." I extract a cigarette and light it. I recall a promise you gave me, without thinking, years ago, a promise I sometimes I sometimes bring up and wave about. "Anyway, you promised I'd get to see you naked sometime, and that ought to be enough to speed up my heart quite a lot."

You give me a look over the rim of your glasses and raise your eyebrows, with your mouth in that sceptical pout of yours, and I do my best impression of a schoolboy caught doing mischief. I stand up to fetch the wine bottle. "But a man can dream, can't he?" I say in my whiniest voice as I fill your glass.

You don't answer, just look straight ahead, out over the lake. I drop the butt of my cigarette in the first, empty wine bottle, and sit down again, careful not to disturb your thoughts with talk.

When you finally speak, you sound more thoughtful than teasing. "But would you?" you ask.

"Would I what?"

You turn to look at me. "If you were allowed to do what you wanted with me, what would you do?"

"Um..." I have trouble reading you now, can't see how serious or silly I should be. Chaotic, confused thoughts prevent me from answering for a long time, but you wait patiently.

"From all to nothing, I reckon," I say. "I honestly don't know, but somewhere in that range."

You have a serious, thoughtful expression, so I light another cigarette and try to consider it calmly. "I mean, it's not just about what I'm allowed to do, is it?"

I give you a pleading look, willing you to read my thoughts, understand what I mean. "Like, if you came with a bowl of candy and said I could eat as much as I like, that's okay, 'cause I don't need to worry about what the candy thinks."

I gesture vaguely with my hands, trying to shape my thoughts. "But even if you gave me permission... if, for some reason, you let me do whatever I wanted, I wouldn't want to do more than you wanted me to do. You know what I mean? Even if I was allowed, it'd be rape if you didn't want me to."

You look at me and nod. I can relax again.

"But", you say with a smile, "it isn't just black and white. There might be things I definitely wouldn't want you to do, and things I would prefer you didn't, and things where I wouldn't care much whether you did or didn't..."

You let that sink in for a while before continuing, with an evil grin, "... and perhaps even things I would really like you to do."

This is safer territory, we're back to the banter. I really like serious conversations with you, but that was too ambiguos. I smile. "Yeah, well, sure. I can see what you mean. I just wonder if I should go and get enginge oil and an inflatable sheep, or if you wanted to do the things that didn't matter before moving on to what you want."

"Okay", you say and draw the word out to show how sceptical you are. "That's strike one you missed, there. Want to try again?"

I empty the wine glass and raise it in greeting. "Just guessing here, and keeping within the bounds of what's reasonably mainstream, I'd guess that a hard fuck up the ass would be at the bottom -" I pause and smile, "no pun intended - of the list, with you stripping off and showing me your body somewhere around the things that wouldn't matter either way, because you've said you wouldn't mind me seeing you naked if I hadn't made such a fuss over it, and..."

I shake my head, speaking slowly. "I... I have no idea what you might want me to do to you. More wine and a hug, perhaps?"

In reply, you empty your glass and stand up, arms stretched out towards me. Dutifully, I fill the glasses, put the bottle down and enter your embrace.

We hold each other in silence. I keep wondering whether there was anything behind your question, but don't know how to decide. Finally, you hug me hard and let go slightly, pull back a bit. I follow suit. I look you in the eyes, and for some reason I get the impression that the hug was some kind of test, but I don't know whether I passed or flunked.

We look deep in each other's eyes and it feels like I'm falling, as if I stand aside and watch. It is like a movie, and just like when you watch a movie and know what will happen, I know that you will tilt your head slightly to the side and I'll bend down. Without any of us taking the first step we will kiss. I know it will happen.

I look into your eyes, sink into them, mesmerized. Without being able to do anything I wait for the movie to roll on, to bring on what must happen. You know it too, know how the script goes, it shows in your eyes.

Now. Now your eyes close slightly. Now your head begins to tilt. Now I feel your body press against mine. Now. Now I'm afraid. I'm lost - I want to kiss you, and I'm terrified of what it would mean. I don't want to risk what we have. I don't want to risk losing you. But I'm held by the story. I have to follow the script.

Somewhere in the distance I sense how your body touches mine, how your hands meet on my back, how mine meet on yours. I feel your bra through your t-shirt, the hooks holding it together underneath my fingers. Now I smile inwards and pinch the hooks.

Your eyes open in surprise, and I see you were just as spellbound as I. You release me and take a small step back. After a moment of confusion you smile mischievously.

"Okay, so we're gonna keep working down on the list, you think?"

I don't understand. You pull the left shoulderstrap out from under the sleeve and over your arm. Oh. Now I remember what the next item was. You repeat the procedure with the right strap, and pull the bra out from underneath you t-shirt.

"Here, hold this for a moment," you say and hand me the black garment. Silently I accept it. Through the t-shirt I can see your breasts sagging slightly, without support. I stand there, trying to recover from my confusion, while you sit down, pull your socks of and hand them to me.

"There," you smile, "now I've taken half my clothes off. Do you want me to get rid of the last three garments?"

I sit down and put your clothes in my lap. Light a cigarette, take a mouthful of wine and swallow. Take a puff and hold out my hand with the cigarette beteen my first and second fingers. The smoke whirls with my shakes. You look at it an laugh.

"You're so cute when you're afraid."

"Mm." I take another puff. "Are you serious?"

"As much as you. Last chance. What do you say?"

To get some time to think I toss you the cigarettes. I consider it, a long time. Whatever I say -yes or no - I am quite sure I'll regret it. But in the end it's a simple choice.

"Thank you, please. I've waited for it a long time."

"Okay." You stand up and come to my chair, pick up your clothes and drop the pack of cigarettes in my lap. "You coming?" you say with an ambiguos smile.

You walk inside, to the lounge, and I pick up the wine bottle and hurry after. Wordlessly you point at the couch and I sit down. The coffee table stand as a reminder between us - look, but don't touch. You put your clothes down on it in front of me, take a few steps back and look at me with a questioning expression.

"Right, what do you think? Should I just get my kit off or try some kind of strip act?"

Before I can figure out a witty answer I hear music from the open balcony door. Somebody in a car outside is playin Barry Manilow on the stereo, loudly, and I get a vision of a strip act to the tones of 'Mandy'. You must have heard it too, and had the same idea, as you begin to laugh at the same time as I.

"Okay," you say with a smile, "scratch that."

Quickly, you pull off your soft, loose trousers and throw them on the table. I realize I'm afraid, but can't tell of what. Nervously, I take a mouthful of wine, straight from the bottle, and see to my surprise that you pull off your knickers next. Ah. Right. The t-shirt you're wearing is long, going down well past your hips. I can't see anything I haven't seen before, but look demonstratively, and appreciatively, at your legs.

Suddenly, the reason for my fear dawns on me. This is probably the only chance I'll ever have to look at you, without the feelings of shame that comes with peeping. And I'm drunk. What if I can't remember! I try to force you into my memory. The line of your thighs, your calves, how the t-shirt falls over your breasts and hips... I look up, into your face.

You smile. I realize a second reason for fear. Once again, I feel like I'm swept away by events, that I don't have any control, can't do anything but follow. It's your show. You are in charge, you command what's to be. It shows in your eyes you enjoy it. That's soothing, when I realize it - I trust you more than some unclear fate.

You put your knickers with the other garments. "Ready?"

I swallow, despite being try in the mouth. "If you are," I croak. I notice I'm growing, that I'm getting an erection in anticipation. I try to ignore it.

Slowly, you pull the t-shirt up. Now, I see your pubic hair. Your navel. Your breasts. Now you pull it over your head, toss it on the table and stand naked in front of me.

I stare, try to see everything at once. My eyes flicker between your groin, your breasts, your face.

You are beautiful.

You stand naked in front of me. Neither ashamed nor challenging. Proud. Assured. Hold my eyes with yours. Beautiful.

Slowly, you lift your arms, put your hands behind your neck. Your breasts follow upwards. I stare at the soft roundedness, the dark nipples, and ache of desire to caress, to taste. You stand up on tiptoe and begin turning around, slowly. You keep your eyes on me.

When I see you in profile, I notice your nipples have begun to harden but don't reflect on it. I'm not thinking any more, I'm entirely focused on seeing, memorizing. A throbbing in my trousers tries to remind me that's not all there is, but I only notice in passing, without paying it any attention. I look, stare.

You stop there, in profile, a smile playing on your lips as you look at me. You flex your feet, move up and down. You look like you are thinking about something.

You keep turning until you face away from me. You stay there and sink down on your heels again. I follow the line of your legs up to the buttocks, get caught with my eyes in the shadow below them. You lift one foot and step to the side, separating your thighs, and bend forward, grab hold of your ankles and press yourself againt your legs. My eyes doesn't move. Without blinking I stare at your pussy. Complete shock. Tilt.

You straighten up, turn around and put your hands on your hips. Look at me and laugh softly.

"Hello? Was it that horrible?" You take a couple of steps towards me, bend over the table and take the wine bottle from my hand. I had forgot I held it. Your breasts swing naked in front of muy face when you straighten up, put the bottle to your lips and drink.

I blink and shake my head. "No," I finally manage to say, "just a bit unexpected."

You put the bottle down on the table, put your hands under your breasts and lift them. I stare and you laugh again. Your fingers move slowly over the soft curves, pinch the nipples.

"I didn't think you were that easy to shock."

Your hands move down again, over your stomach, light, slowly, caressing. I feel my face burn, in competition with the erection pressing against my trousers. Your fingertips play in the pubic hair. I hear them move against each other and realize in the silence that I'm holding my breath.

I empty my lungs in something between a sigh and a groan. "If you are trying to drive me crazy of horniness you can stop, because you've succeeded."

You keep still, the fingers of one hand between your legs. "And?" You are still smiling.

With an effort, I swallow. "So. Either you'll have to excuse me while I jerk off, or you stop, or you come here and kiss me and let me take over that job."

You stand motionless. Smile on your lips, fingers between your thighs, nipples half erect from pinching. Looking at me.

I squirm, horny, embarrassed. Try to keep focused on our teasing eyes, try to ignore my yearning after your body, my almost overbearing desire to rush to you, hold you, caress you, taste you... enter you.

"Can't you take any more?" You sound both hesitant and challenging.

"No, I can't take any more." Pleading. "Not if I can't touch you. Do you understand how hard it is to sit here, instead of ...?"

You only hesitate for a moment before answering.

"Okay."

You turn around again, squat down and stand on all fours. "Go on, then."

I stare at your buttocks, your lips... "Huh?"

"Go on and jerk off, then." You lift a hand from the floor and put it between your thighs, covering yourself.

You bend two fingers, put between your outer lips, push them apart. The inner lips are dark and crumbled, glistening slightly of moisture. Between them, taut, closed, your wet opening. I stare, speechless, paralyzed.

You move your fingers, let one slide in you, slowly. Pull it out again, glistening, over your inner lips, down over your clitoris. Stop. Press a little, start moving it around.

I stare, paralyzed by shock and lust. Spellbound by the sight in front of me. You return to the opening, push both fingers in. Gathering more moisture, lubrication. You caress the little knob with both fingers, over, around, in a hypnotic movement that's trapping my eyes.

You rise up on your knees, fingers still between your legs, and look at me over your shoulder. "No?" you say, "weren't you supposed to do something?"

Suddenly I notice I'm so stiff it hurts, that my trousers keep it uncomfortably trapped. I haven't recovered yet, am still shocked, but the thoughts come tumbling over each other, quickly, chaoticly. You know that from behind is my favourite, I've told you that. And all porn flicks we've seen have taught you how to expose you to the max. The cold, analytical part of the brain works. But why? I don't understand. I shake my head. Not to say no, but to try to clear my thoughts.

"Tss, are you really going to miss this chance?" You lick your lips suggesitively. "Shall we see who comes first?" You lift your fingers, shining of moiture. Smile, open your mouth, suck on them, wet them with your saliva.

Not able to think any more, of consequences, meanings, endings, I unbutton my trousers, arch against the back of the couch so I can pull them down, free myself. My cock springs up, swaying.

I look you into the eyes, grab the shaft with one hand and squeeze. It's throbbing in my grip, You've made me so horny I don't know what to do.I close my eyes, begin pulling, slowly, take a deep breath and look at you again. You smile, mischievously, teasing, sexy. You nod and go down on all four again, spread your knees, bend forward. You press yourself towards me, open yourself to me. For my eyes, at least.

You fetch moisture from the opening, over and over again, until everything glistens under your fingers. Your fingertips slide over the inner lips, find the clitoris, push, begin to rotate.

My eyes are focused on your wet lips, your twirling fingers, while I pull slowly. Without thinking. I can't think any more. I see you caress yourself, pull to the sight of your wet lips. Brainless, thoughtless, almose unconscious of lust.

I feel how I throb under my fingers, feel a chill run through my body. Realize I'm about to come, and the last remaining brain cells make me put the other hand over. I explode. Shoot out my load against my palm in extatic pain, shiver with each convulsion. I hear a low moan.

I realize it was my moan. Release the cramped grip. See it relax, reluctantly, pull together. I see the white drops fall from my hand onto my thigh. Breathe deeply. Fall down in the couch from the arch I hadn't even noticed I had risen in. I close my eyes. Feel remorse.

I hear you breathe faster. Open my eyes. Your fingers are fluttering over your clitoris, your inner lips are even darker, your opening has pulled itself into a little wrinkly mark. You gasp as the orgasm washes over you, you shiver, shake, while your fingertips keep it coming.

It is over. For both of us. You let your hand fall to the floor. I feel the sperm run down my thigh as I stare at you.

You stand up and turn around. With flushed cheeks and a smile you look at the pathetic remains of my mandom, shrunk down on my leg. Look at me with glittering eyes. Your nipples are stiff, all pulled into hard little tops.

"Congratulations, you won."

Embarrassed, I clear my throat. "Of course." Considering how horny I was, it's a minor miracle I didn't come before I got the trousers off. I grin at you. "What's my prize?"

"To begin with," you say with a big smile, "you have the honour of getting rid of that mess and get me some tissue or something."

I sigh, stand up with a groan, grab the trousers and keep them on my thighs as I lurch to the kitchen. I wipe the leg, rinse my hands under the tap and bring a roll of tissue for you.

You wipe yourself and look at me. "Feel better now?"

I look at you with big eyes, nod mutely. Exhausted, blown away, both mentally, physically and emotionally.

"Good." You study me, and look like you reach a decision. "Think you can keep yourself under control now?"

I nod again. Still don't understand anything. You take a couple of steps towards me. Stand naked, slightly sweaty in front of me. Your nipples have relaxed. You look into my eyes, take the last step separating us. Lay your arms around my back, pinning mine against my sides. I feel my knob dangle against the edge of my t-shirt, feel it press against your pubic hair. Feel me begin to stiffen again. I don't move. You hold me, look into my eyes, form a pout with your lips. I bend my neck and kiss your lips lightly. Straighten myself. Smile.

You stand naked in front of me, your body pressed against mine, and it's with an effort I refrain from exploring our body with my hands. But I said I could keep myself under control. You are in charge. Still. Always. I take a deep breath of your scent - spicy, female, intoxicating.

You release me and caress my face, with the back of the fingers that brought you an orgasm. Move your fingertips over my lips, let them rest there. I want to open my mouth and taste, but I don't dare. I smell you. You look at me somberly, for a long time.

I am getting stiff. I press against your hair, your mound. You lean backards, look down between your breasts. See me grow against you. You smile and take a step backwards. Your smile grows bigger as you see it rise up towards you. Shake your head at it. Look up at me and wink.

You turn around and my eyes follow your hips. You pick up your t-shirt and pull it over your head. Look down, as if judging the length. Halfway down your thighs. Enough, apparently, as you walk out on the balcony again without picking up any other garments. I hurry with my trousers, squeeze the cock in and button up. Take the wine bottle and follow you.

You're sitting on your chair, a lit cigarette between your fingers, your glass in the other hand. You have put one leg over the other. I take a cigarette, light it, inhale deeply and rest my arms on the banister. Look out over the lake. Try to think, understand.

I haven't had sex with you. I still haven't touched your breasts or pussy, not licked your lips, not... I shake my head. The only thing I've done with you is see you naked. Formally speaking. Seen you naked, not touched you. But it feels like you've fucked my brains out. And you did, you did fuck my brains. Fucked me witless without touching me. I was embarrassed when I began pulling. Not you. You were in control, all the time. Decided what happened. And I could but follow.

I draw on the cigarette and strain the smoke out between my teeth. You made hornier than I can remeber ever being before, teased me... And controlled me. I smile. So that's what made you horny.

I turn around, look at you. You are looking out over the lake, but turn your face to me and give me a little smile. You sink down in the chair. Lift your leg. Open your thighs. Let me catch a glimpse. For a moment, before you cross your legs again.

You bend forward, stub the cigarette out in the ashtray, take a sip of wine. I shake my head, for what time this evening I do not know, and smile. Fill up your glass and sit down.

Later, much later, I lie awake on the couch waiting for the room to stop spinning around. My thoughts are spinning too, around you, your body, and your soul. They spin around two very different things - what is, and what could have been.

If I listen closely, I can hear your slow breaths from the bedroom, and in the end that's what lulls me into sleep

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