She squeezed her legs together tightly and whimpered again. She was on the verge of crying and she tugged hard on her nipples, punishing her body for the way it seemed to betray her. She crossed her legs slightly and clenched them tighter than before, tilting her hips backward and forward. Ella was consumed by her unexplainable urges, and her eyes remained fixated on the hard wooden handle. Her body seemed to need it.
She unclenched her legs and straddled the handle, then laid across it, pressing her slickness down on the wood, rubbing back and forth, drenching its hardness with her juices. One of her hands held onto the side of the boat while the other hand unconsciously tugged on her nipples through the silk. The frustration she felt grew, this time accompanied by a peculiar pleasure, something slowly overtaking her. She pressed harder, squeezing her thighs around the wood, slipping back and forth along the worn handle, picturing the hardness of strangers stiffened against her dewy furnace. She reached down and wrapped both hands around the rudder handle; she closed her eyes and the whole world seemed shrink into her swollen cleft—it was the only thing she could feel, all that existed to her.
Her heart raced, drumming into the unrelenting pulse of thousands of stags rhythmically hammering their heads together. With each beat, she slid faster across the wood, forward and backward along the slick trail of nectar until an overwhelming throb of sensation clenched deep in her core, and then rose quickly into a blissful peaking force she pressed hard upon. A release of hot liquid trickled down her gold-clad legs, and she moaned loudly. She felt strokes of pleasure rising and falling like the thrilling pounding of a Nor’easter surf. Her screams and moans were not curtailed by shyness or embarrassment because Ella knew nothing of those things. She screamed loudly and her voice carried across the lagoon. She pressed harder, bucking involuntarily against the wood until she found satisfaction and the sensations finally subsided.
When she was finished, Ella laid down in the boat, contemplating her sexual awakening. What was that? I definitely want to do that again. Her legs quivered and she brushed her hands over her body, softly basking in the afterglow of her sated condition. She felt relieved, dreamy, but after some time the realities of the world returned. Her thoughts drifted back to Betty and how lonely she was without her. The sleepless night and confusion of the morning took their toll. She was exhausted. Ella curled up on the bolts of fabric while the boat rocked her to sleep. She slept until nightfall, when she woke to the sound of a bell ringing near the lagoon.
~~~OOO~~~
Ella sat up and saw another boat rounding the breakwater. This craft was bigger, and it was moving fast. It was clearly heading into the cove. She was frightened, and she leapt into the water. The skiff she slept in was no longer grounded on the beach, and she was thankful for the incoming tide. She crouched down, clinging to the back of the small ketch. She strained to see what or who was ringing the bell. As the large boat drew closer, she could make out the form of a man. She knew it was a man based on Betty’s descriptions. The sail of the approaching craft was full of the evening breeze and the vessel quickly traversed the distance between the breakwater and the beach, grounding itself in the sand near the other boat.
Despite Ella’s best efforts, she was pathetically bad at hiding, and Father Sergio immediately noticed her blond head bobbing up and down behind Lucio’s skiff. He looked away, moving his head from side to side, pretending he didn’t see her. “Ella,” he shouted in a friendly, melodic voice. “I’m a friend of Betty’s and she sent me here to find you, Ella.” He kept shouting her name, and continued giving her information in this way until Ella understood that her grandmother had been taken to the hospital on the mainland, and that he was there to bring her to the mainland too.
Ella was nervous. This was the first person, other than Betty, that she had ever seen. After some time, she was finally brave enough to speak. “What’s your name?” shouted Ella from behind the skiff. He turned to her and said, “I’m Father Sergio. I work at the hospital where Betty is.” She thought about his words for a minute. “You’re here to help me?” she asked. Father Sergio shouted back, “Yes, and to feed you. Betty said you’d be hungry by now.” Ella was hungry, and she was comforted each time he called her by name. He seemed harmless enough, and it was obvious that he was there to help her.
Before Father Sergio set sail for the island, he had asked Betty what Ella looked like. Betty’s response was simply, “she’s the only one on the island, genius. You’ll know her when you see her.” This hadn’t really prepared him for what he was about to witness. Nothing really could have. He watched Ella’s head moving behind the skiff. She worked her way around the back of the boat, toward him, and then she stood up, rising halfway out of the water. Father Sergio saw what looked to be some kind of mummy-creature in the surf. He smiled awkwardly at first, and then drew a deep breath as her appearance seemed to transform into something more like a golden goddess, silk clinging to her like a second skin, accentuating every curve of her body. She began twisting and turning, unraveling the fabric, slowly peeling away a long ribbon of gold silk, which became a shimmering line in the water behind her. Her awkward jerking motions broke the spell she seemed to weave.
Father Sergio could not help but laugh as she made small grunting noises, unable to shed the silk that seemed to cling to her flailing arms despite her best efforts to get it off her. Ella heard Father Sergio laughing, and her face flushed with red embarrassment. She was murmuring under her breath, “OK, the first man I ever see, and he thinks I look like an idiot.” Father Sergio’s perspective seemed to toggle between giggling at her odd predicament and admiring her form.
Ella continued working her body out of the fabric until she was fully nude, and she seemed to transform once again, into some kind of bronzed tropical Venus rising from a dream. Her skin was darkly tanned with no hint of a tan-line. Her hips swayed naturally from side to side as she finally managed walk out of the water. She leaned over and gathered her wet hair into her hands, wringing it out. Her large breasts hung in front of her, swinging back and forth like tightly bound sacks of fruit. When she stood back up, the beads of water on her body glistened in the light of the setting sun. She was a feast for the eyes, a vision of sexuality and innocence. Her features were not Italian—she was tall and slender at the waist, with blue eyes and full lips. Father Sergio had imagined Ella would be Italian, with dark eyes and a short stature, but she was clearly American, standing tall before him, completely unashamed, easily the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Father Sergio was in his early sixties and had already spent many years working in remote parts of the world, where native tribes wore no clothes. He was well aware of the temptations of the flesh, and he managed to stay chaste even though he had been offered sex dozens of times during his missionary work. Even so, he was blatantly staring at Ella, until he finally caught himself and managed to look away. She was innocently unaware of the tension rising within him. To her, being naked was not sexual.
Ella approached Father Sergio, eventually standing nose to nose with him. Her breasts pressed against his chest as she studied his face. He had seen this behavior in aboriginal tribes where they had no sense of personal space. Instinctively, Father Sergio stood still, allowing Ella to study him. She touched the stubble on his chin, grabbed his hair, looked at his ears, and then stared deeply into his eyes for a long moment before loudly exclaiming, “What’s for supper?” Father Sergio laughed at her forward tone and youthful exuberance. “I brought pizza and wine,” he said. “I’ve never had pizza or wine,” she replied, “I love it when we get supplies.” He grabbed a bag from the bow of the boat, and Ella lead Father Sergio up the path to the cottage.
While Father Sergio followed Ella, it was difficult for him to keep from watching her naked ass pitching left and right, like some exquisitely rounded pendulum beckoning him on. At one point, Ella looked back to check on Father Sergio’s progress. She noticed his gaze wrapped tightly around her hips. “Is something on me?
” she gasped. Ella’s hands brushed her hips, between her legs, around her ass, quickly making sure there were no biting flies on her. Her quick hand movements seemed to break the enchantment she had over him. Father Sergio suddenly realized how lecherous he must have appeared, and he did his best to recover gracefully, “I thought there was, but I guess it’s gone now.” Ella took a big breath, clearly relieved, then they pressed onward. Father Sergio felt a little guilty, knowing how easy it was to lie to this young girl. She would believe anything he told her, and that realization only made him feel worse. For the rest of their trek toward the house, he managed to focus more on his feet than the swaying curves ahead of him. When they reached the house, it was almost dark.
Ella and Father Sergio entered the cottage through a weathered door that opened into a small kitchen. Ella stopped to light some candles while Father Sergio produced two bottles of wine and six slices of pizza from the bag he was carrying. “It’s good hot or cold,” he said with a smile, “let’s just eat it.” Ella stammered, “In, in a minute. I need to put something on. Betty says I have to wear clothes when I sit at the table.”
She disappeared into her bedroom and emerged minutes later wearing a short, nearly transparent gossamer dress. Her breasts pressed the fabric until there was nothing left to the imagination. Even the pinkness of her nipples was apparent. The dress was hand-stitched, a delicate draping which was strained to its breaking point because Ella wasn’t the skinny model type with “A cups” and “thigh gap.” Her breasts were womanly, defied gravity, and jutted out until they extended over the edge of the tabletop when she sat down.
In truth, if Ella were from New York, subjected to the impossible standards of the media, she might think her hips were too wide, her thighs were thicker than they should be, her blond hair needed cut, and her abs were not rigid enough. Island life spared her a world of insecurities. Her preconceptions of beauty were as absent as her tan lines. To Ella, Father Sergio might be the most handsome man that ever walked the earth. His age might be the best age. Maybe none of that even mattered. One thing she did know, for the first time in her life, she was alone with another person, a man, and she liked it.
While they both sat at the table, Father Sergio prepared to say grace. He closed his eyes, taking an extra minute to clear his mind, fighting the obvious distractions at the table. He drew a deep breath to start the prayer but before he got the first word out of his mouth, Ella exclaimed loudly, “I love pizza!” He saw that she had started eating while his eyes were closed, and she was so excited about the food that Father Sergio did not want to interrupt her enthusiasm. “Hey, this is my birthday present! Pizza!” she blurted out, as she took another large bite. He really couldn’t help himself from laughing at the bad timing of her outburst. Father Sergio poured the wine.
Ella was excited about the evening. She found herself admiring his hands, the way they appeared rough. She remembered the boat rudder, how imagining the hands of men had magnified her sexual awakening. Something was happening again, a different kind of stirring inside her. She was staring at him, thinking about his hands, smiling. Maybe this is what Betty called flirting? Although Ella had no real sense of how she was perceived. She had no practice flirting, but she really loved being the center of attention. Father Sergio never cut her short, or made her feel like he didn’t want to listen. The way they interacted was very different from the way Betty treated her.
“Guess what,” Ella said with a palpable intensity. “What?” asked Father Sergio. “I like pizza!” she said loudly, while growling and forcing an obscenely large bite into her cavernous mouth. Ella smeared pizza sauce all over her face and chewed with her mouth agape, smacking her mouth in an obvious effort to be as loud as possible. Every pistoning reciprocation of her jaw made Father Sergio less inclined to eat. Her antics were like a train wreck, something unwanted but impossible to look away from. The more he stared at the disturbing image, the more Ella was convinced that her flirtations were working.
Soon the pizza was gone and Father Sergio opened the second bottle of wine. It was now fully dark outside. The candles on the table flickered slightly, and Ella finally got around to wiping off her face. “Need a mop?” Father Sergio asked under his breath. He immediately realized the rudeness of his comment, though Ella seemed unaware. They spent some time talking about Betty, and what island life was like. He did his best to keep her mind on pleasant thoughts. Even if Ella wasn’t showing it, he knew this was probably the strangest day of her life.
After some time, the wine took the edge off Father Sergio’s earlier concerns about being caught staring at Ella. Although he did not usually think in these terms, his mind began to justify his gaze—I can stare at her, fully appreciate her beauty, she’ll never know or care because she doesn’t know any better. He was right, too. She never realized or cared that he was unabashedly staring at her youthful body. The candles seemed to heighten the view, casting shadows that intertwined with the loose weave of her dress.
In the course of an hour, the second bottle of wine was nearly gone. Father Sergio had a good tolerance for wine, and although Ella was giggling, he was confident that the two glasses she drank had little effect on the evening. Ella could hear the kitchen drapes begin to blow around. “Looks like we might get some weather,” she said as she stood up and went to close the kitchen window. The temperature was dropping, and the Mediterranean breeze on her nipples caused them to pebble and press hard against her dress, until the tips of her nipples slipped through, protruding from the loose stitching. Father Sergio shifted in his chair, staring even harder at her. The sight of her pink nipples sticking out through the weave of her dress made him begin to swell with excitement.
“It’s starting to get cold, maybe we should go to bed soon?” she asked, even though she wasn’t tired. He looked up at her eyes. The innocence of her voice made him begin to feel guilty again. Because of her isolation and Betty’s dominance, Ella’s voice was still childlike. Each time he heard her speak, it seemed even more wrong that he had spent the last hour leering at every curve of her body. He couldn’t remember staring so intently, so lecherously at a woman, but he did, and in truth he still was.
She was young enough to be his granddaughter, barely a woman really, but being with Ella, someone who had no idea about the conventions of society, made Father Sergio feel young again. As he sat there sipping the last of the wine, he couldn’t help but remember Vladimir Nabokov’s book, Lolita, because Humbert disregarded societal rules and loved who he loved. In another era, nobody would have cared, and today’s society loves a nonconformist. Father Sergio seemed delighted that tonight, he was not “some old guy.” He was just a man, spending time with a woman. Ella did not change how she acted because he was “Father Sergio.” She didn’t know anything about religion, or much about right and wrong. She was nothing more or less than a ripening product of nature, and Sergio found himself wanting to do what comes natural.
He got up and made his way to a small cooking stove in the kitchen. He took some wood from a basket on the floor and started a small fire while Ella stood nearby, anxiously awaiting the warmth. “You should start getting ready for the trip tomorrow,” he said, while gently blowing on the fire to get it going. Sergio was surprised at how the mood in the cottage changed. His authority became clear. Ella took his words as commands, immediately setting to work, packing a bag and gathering a few items for Betty. She put a pot of water on the stove and poured a few tablespoons of oatmeal in a small bowl while Sergio went back to the chair and sat down.
He watched her, intently, as he did before. She was standing by the stove; her nipples seemed to calm slightly with the warming air. Ella took two small bags and placed them by the door. “Will there be an indoor bathroom there? Where Betty is?” she asked. “Yes, and a kitchen, lots of food, and people too. Everyone will want to meet you, and you’ll make lots of friends, especially if you wear that dress.” He realized almost right away that his humor was lost on Ella. She had no
idea about the sexuality her attire was broadcasting. He continued, “Betty will be so happy to see you, too. You’ll have everything you need, things you’ve never seen before. Tomorrow will be an adventure, and you have many more adventures ahead.” Ella’s eyes seemed to sparkle and a smile took over her face. “Friends,” she said under her breath, “I want friends.” Her mind was flooded with images of people, rooms filled with people; rooms where there were so many people that she had to weave in and out of tight spaces to move around.
She was still smiling as she took the boiling water off the stove and poured a little over the oatmeal, making a thin paste. She took a small leather case and a hand towel from a drawer in the kitchen before pulling a chair over to face Sergio, so close that he had to pull his legs back to make room. She set the leather case and bowl of oatmeal on the table, then placed the towel on the chair and sat down. This was as close to Ella as Sergio had been since she examined his face on the beach. Even in the shadowy room, at this distance he could make out her tiniest features, how her eyelashes seemed bleached on the ends, probably from the sun. She had a small mole on the apple of her left cheek, the only blemish on her flawless skin, but one that served to accentuate her beauty. He made no eye contact, preferring instead to study her like some kind of fine art on display. Ella studied him more closely, too. Sergio’s hair was graying and wind-swept from sailing. His face was tanned, and he had deep lines near his dark eyes. His nose was prominent, and his hands were captivating, rough looking, thick and dark, hard and strong, weathered like driftwood and amazing to look at.
Ella's Awakening Page 3