Cicada Song

When the winds came, they soughed against their bare bodies as the lovers strained beneath the overarching branches.

The winds cooled them. Their perspiration turned sticky. Their fingers interlocked, their legs interwove and a frightened rabbit in the nearby brush startled by their moans took to jumping and leaping and bounding off into the Chinese privet.

The humidity portended rain. She lay with her legs splayed on the blanket and he lay with his legs interlocked with hers. He moved. She shuddered with each pounding. He was not a harsh lover, not one given to biting or the violence that had overcome her previous lovers. She would teach him. But he was good.

He was good because he had spirituality that went beyond the motions of fucking. When she fucked the others, it was like taking a sledgehammer to a chrysanthemum. But him…he stroked, he prodded, he felt with his fingers of her clitoris, her lips, his shaft meeting her vulva. Erotic poeticism. That’s what he is. They moved in time like a sexual engine, rocking with animal rhythm and when at last she did come—and she had never come with the others, had always had to finish herself off in the dark hours after coitus—she soaked the blanket beneath them both. It ran over her ass and she felt the sudden urge to grab his cock and stick it there, too. One step at a time. He’s got to be coached. “What of it, eternal lover?” she asked him with not a little deviance. He found her lips, kissed them hungrily then slid his hand along her buttocks and found that…that other place. He slipped his finger inside and she squealed. This is dirty pleasure. A filthy fuck. But better than the mindlessness of the others. At least he cares. At least he knows.

Thunderheads grumbled as they muscled for dominance, shouldering their way through the skies, bumping against one another in an enraged bout of clashing and clapping. Discharges of electricity impregnated the air with the sense that they were being watched by countless eyes—there was a crowd near, it seemed, and this only heightened his arousal. After she had came twice, he decided he would let go, release that tension that he had been holding so that he didn’t ejaculate in her too soon. And after releasing that tension, he lost all conscious volition. His hips moved without his consent. His cock grew thick, the head engorged, the woods around them filled with the soft patter of rain being channeled by the leaves overhead into large droplets. The sun was no longer on them, but the winds picked up. He could not suppress the groan that sounded almost like pain. And when he shot up in her, he felt the surge of his own self filling her up, turbulent, swirling about his shaft as it jetted into her pussy. He collapsed on top of her, slowly, folding as all the strength went out of him. He had been bolstered by sexual passion for the past hour and a half and now he had no more. He was weakened. She rested a hand on the back of his head as he nuzzled her neck. His penis softened, but was sensitive to the touch. Droplets of cum still drizzled from it as he pulled out, dripping down her naked ass. He had, before, felt himself swelling up inside her as he penetrated her in both spots, felt her fill up with him through her rectal wall as he fingered and fucked her.

Now they lay, the rain washing away the film of their fevered lovemaking. The thunder did not matter. He did not mind the rain. She did not mind the storm. They paid no heed to the deer which passed in the brush. They paid no heed to much else.

He’ll be my lover. The others will just have to go.

“Spirit of the Wood,” he whispered. “What? What was that?” she said. He shook his head, smiled wanly. “Oh nothing. It’s just that…you’re like a spirit of the wood…” She inhaled, smelled moss and heard the drizzle of rain batting the leaves as it came falling through the forest canopy. The span of minutes in which they lay in silence felt strange—like awakening to find yourself somewhere else, a place you did not recognize. “You know,” she told him, “There are places where one can be happy. No tradeoffs—none of this give a lot, take a little. Places where we’re not bound by the balance of the rest of the world, which toils hardily only to receive less than their share. This is just such a place. No tricks. No deceptions. No ulterior motives. I’ve had lovers before, you know this…but you…” He lay beside her, the rain subsiding, the sodden blanket beneath them. “So,” he said, “Keep me for a century or so…” She nodded. “As a being almost immortal, I think I’ll do better. I think I’ll keep you for a lifetime…” He caressed her. She slept. The cicadas ground out a song of noisome solitude in time to the beat of their hearts…