Archive for 'Short Stories'
Posted on 26. Apr, 2009 by Nola Erus.
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” – Anaïs Nin
Kendra felt as if she would topple off the face of the planet, fall into oblivion without any other person giving her a second glance. Stress, discord, the novelty of each day, wore and bit, clawed at her and she imagined that she was alone on the planet, at least in her own unique state, facing an onslaught of adversity. Things had gotten so bad that sometimes Kendra found she could not even write anymore and even her love life suffered as she ached to reach climax that would surge through to purify her, only to find that each little tremor stopped nearly as soon as it started as if a door had been shut. Emotionally, Kendra was drained. Sensually, she was shut down. Mentally, she wasn’t even certain that she had the foggiest notion what love was.
In the grey light of this rainy afternoon, Kendra thought of boys she had known, men who had taught her about love and lust, women she had imagined kissing her, though she never would have admitted that to anyone. She wondered if she could conjure them through the magic of pencil to paper, discard the MacBook Pro for the day and weave the old spells she had learned so long ago, the sloping Palmer method across the misty backdrop of recycled papers, ancient texts renovated and restored, the flesh of sacrificial trees that would give and give until every last drop of essence, of life, had been sucked from them, pulp drained of purpose until their bodies eventually dry and are discarded.
It had been weeks since she had succumbed to the insistence of her physical body, taken anyone up on an offer to find bliss in another and these days, she knew that the lust she sought required greater fulfillment. In each union since the dissolution of her marriage, she had found herself coming only at the surface. Her moans sounded like empty peals, lies even as they echoed within her. But stories had taught her to explore her sensuality in new ways, to remember what first had seduced her and what she had at first sought. That memory spread through her like a kinetic explosion, then settled like a blissful smile over her nubile body, the blush of sex and lust and love and deliverance, finding pleasure in another, bestowing love and heat, finding that such pleasure rests within you, coiled like a snake ready to awaken and slither upward, wet, and fresh, and strong.
Kundalini. The word rested in her lap, and she contemplated stroking it even as she began to type. At her lips, the word took life, crawled through her cavern mouth, slipped out like a pretty pink tongue, became a whisper of seductive power. She envisioned herself now in the fetal position, new and curious, postured to open herself to life, her mind to that visual seduction – imagination.
Red lust, trimmed in black, the petals of the lotus were like a beacon to Kendra. Four ladies in a ring, dancing angels, curled into and out of one another. They beckoned to her, pleaded that she play, but Kendra stood back, watching from the edges of a dream, each of them becoming pencil sketches on her tablet, one a bending cedar, another a span of water and the last two fallen branches, a bridge. Kendra longed to cross it, found herself taking tiny steps, her nude feet trailing against their soft backs, along thighs and shoulders, her toes twisted in the curls of their cascading hair. Need burned at her hollow core with every rushing sensation, hopes for their lips at her piqued nipples, her tongue passing through their petaled crevices, the stewing brew of their juices percolating beneath blood warmed flesh.
She could be obsessed with these, stop to play and chat, learn about their histories and their futures, dress them like characters in a story and make them into sexual playthings who would be loved or cheated or abused – always her characters ran from pleasure to pain, always they lost their path, always they returned grateful but weary from the journey, but these she protected, fought her desire to ravish them, corrupt them.
Kendra made these ladies only pretty stops along the path, scenery, landscape, backdrop to a greater story to tell. Sensually they spoke volumes to her, but for the audience they would be as incoherent as the wind through a cedar grove. Their only whispers, “Lam” to say “I have.” Kendra felt without, ached to know what they knew, laid herself across the floor, stretched her hands and then her feet, imagined herself a bridge of sorts and hoped those ladies would step across her to see the world as she does. Companionship would ease the pain.
Perhaps her ladies felt the plea that ran through her long, conjuring fingers because soon Kendra felt the crawl of life along her spine, the rise from loneliness to new found sensuality, the hope that came as tingle first then heated insistence at the pink lotus between her thighs, the emerging dew of some new spring there, as she hummed softly, “Vam” for “I feel.”
Orange sunset burst from the grey clouds that had hung above her all day, pushed itself between the thick drapes that hid Kendra from the rest of the world and she felt herself a part of something larger, a participant in an ancient unity, one of many. As the fourth lady stepped from the circle, leaving her sisters to join hands, each of these became a petal on the vibrant lotus.
“You… should be at the center,” the woman purred, her long, glossy, black locks radiating warmth and energy as she pulled gently at Kendra’s fingertips to guide her to the center of the women, elegant ladies now, she saw, each lovelier than those beside her, each more seductive than any man Kendra had ever met, and each more nurturing than her own mother had ever been. Guilt and shame and then, surprisingly, purest sensual desire rushed through her, as Kendra felt the Cobra in her lap begin to rise and sway, charmed by the pulsing rhythm of the sisters’ dance, poised to seduce and the hissing whisper through her lips was, “Come to me.”
But Kendra hid herself away from the seduction of the snake and found herself immersed in the affections of her family. Soft hands caressing softer curves, the subtle rise of body heat, manifesting in the must and musk of life, but Kendra held back, her tongue at the cusp, the gateway of one pretty red mouth, and folded her blooming lotus to cloister her taboo desires.
“Fear hinders you, My Love,” one lady whose eyes gleamed in variegating hues of amber gold spoke softly across the sepaled center of their budding lotus. A bow on her back reminded Kendra of Artemis, the goddess of the hunt, yet with an aura of peace emitting from her core.
Kendra was surprised to find herself so discovered, so exposed. She felt as nude as Eve in the Garden, a woman so blacklisted for her earliest experiential understandings of femininity. Imagining herself uncloaked, an epiphany of shame, Kendra ducked deep into the dewy center of the lotus, ached to disappear, retreat from the dreamy evolution of her own story, but a hand reached to her, took her into it, soft and sweet and fragrant.
“You must find yourself in the cycle, the lotus. Stretch your hands out, open your thighs, allow the world to come through you. Create and live and be.”
Taking her place, moving from focal point to truest unity, a sense of belonging, Kendra felt power course through her arms and legs, up her spine, at her navel. And her arms became vibrant petals as she and her sisters danced in the singing breeze, as “Ram” became a virile hum to insist “We can,” and lust and sensual affection became manifestations of love.
Belonging is a precarious state – a danger to those willing to lose themselves to another. Some place in the back of Kendra’s mind this warning loomed, but she felt no danger as the chant grew to an insistent cry of “Yam.” Instinctively, Kendra knew this cry to declare “I love,” and the sentiment became a declaration of how she hoped to live. Her love for these women grew, boundless, unwavering, without condition, and she felt peace grow within her, too, imagined herself pregnant with life as if another grew in her, a product of conception of Self, as if she could recreate and renew strictly through the force of love that flowed like a river through her.
Orange sunset melting like a moist twilight of greens and pinks, Kendra detected a new fragrance on the air – wafts of sultry lavender and jasmine fell on her. She arched her back, imagined herself a dromedary for the thirsting earth. The power of the New Moon welled, swelled in her, and she felt herself overwhelmed, pleased, subdued with compassion that spilled out of her, each tear a drop of life for the evolving lotus, each dewdrop sustenance to increase the petals, unfold the bloom, beckon and increase life, release desire, heighten knowledge.
Spinning as if to dance, Kendra found herself and her sisters multiplied, increase of heart begetting new life and the lotus bloomed to reveal twelve petals, each strong and lusty, each tender and new, each like the pink flesh of a young girl, ready to give herself to life, to allow love to pass through her.
Pressure at her throat, momentary uncertainty, forced Kendra to make a choice for love and lust. Slipping fingers to the snake coiled in her lap, she stretched each one across skin of silky scales, slid each along that curving spine, whispered with wet seduction all her own,
“Ham, I speak, and for this you exist, to rise through me, to be my strength, my defense, my nimble spirit, my charming comrade.” And the snake moved up through her, made his body rigid, thrusting, slid within to find passage along his mistress’s welcome subtle body, each stop as prana to a weary traveler.
And Kendra imagined herself a fish, swallowing, accepting the snake into herself, diving and swimming, seeking satisfaction through life, finding life and renewal in the consumption of flesh and then rebirth. In his force through her, the Cobra delivered life, and her body became a sea prime for creative force, brimming with thoughts to share, each cell of her being as potential for new growth, understanding.
The awakening at Kendra’s heart and core, her sensual center, grew to an illuminating light that transcended all the states of understanding she had yet known. It was if the bright moon above shown only for her, found her third eye once blind and forced it open and she felt herself ready, open to love, to feel again that which she had lost, to know it better, more deeply, to make of life what love had taught her, what she had found within herself. A voice rose within Kendra, like the cry of a new baby and she discerned it like the roar of the waves of consciousness, “Om. Omm. Ommm.” No hollow peals this rising moan, and Kendra cried ecstatically to know, to see. “I see,” she proclaimed to the ladies of her lotus, and it felt significant, synonymous with “I come,” but now there were only two, Kendra rising to new found revelation looking back at another so familiar, yet so distant, one she had been who had stood in the dark, alone, before she had recognized her place in the world, her power to ascend, to be something more.
Seated, peaceful, as calm as a lotus itself, Kendra raised two petal arms to the skies in jubilation of arrival.
And the hush she felt rather than heard, became a hymn of peace as her subtle being grew to a subtler understanding and her mind became a field of awareness and information, as if the world had dawned on her with the rise of the star anise. “I know” her pulsing heart poured forth.
The crowning of her lotus heart and soul and mind brimmed with colorful petals. At their center a violet sepal rose like a scepter. In peace and enlightenment, Kendra rested her head, and bliss grew in her soul. Peace from the journey, ecstasy in the arrival, coming to consciousness far surpassing the coming of her body.
Nola Erus, reared in a deeply sensual family which taught her to observe the evolving world around her in its most minute glory, comes to her love of language and communication naturally. An education in International/Intercultural studies, diverse languages and English composition and literature informs her insatiable quest for better understanding of her universe and her fellow humans> her desire is to
convey that understanding via storytelling. Through her stories she hopes to discover more about herself and to share a reverence for the erotic with the world community.
She blogs at sexysecrets.eroticachallenge.com.