Eleven Hundred Sand Dunes

by Helena Phillips

  I am beginning to drift off, when, without the slightest effort, she moves her huge hands to under my armpits pulling me further across her lap, and I resist like a child pulled from sleep, attempting to bury my head again. But, once she begins on my lower back and buttocks the memory of any previous pleasure disappears. This time it’s heaven. The other had been only a warm up. It quickly becomes a highly charged, exciting and sensual experience. Any sexual tension I’ve been holding rushes to the surface. Goodness, no wonder Sandro and Josh have held back. My eyes are closed and my head turns into her side. I’m on fire with pleasure. It’s the very first time I’ve experienced such a rush of pleasure from having my lower body held like this; warm hands all over my buttocks and thighs, and it seems like impending disaster when it’s possible she might soon stop. But she doesn’t. An explosion’s on its way. She can tell this because she finds a point around my tail bone and presses into it with the point of her elbow. This sets off an alarming flood of excitement, and when she follows it with light finger strokes up my spine, it brings me to a climax which lasts I don’t know how long, but I have no say in the matter, and it finishes with a series of shuddering jerks.

  Then, to my acute embarrassment, she turns me over. I jam my eyes shut. Two warm fingers under my chin tilt my head forcing me to open my eyes and meet her gaze. Her eyes are filled with affection. She follows this with a light kiss from warm dry lips. I clamp my eyes shut again unsure what will happen next and gradually became aware of things going very still. When I open them to see what’s happening, unable to bear the suspense, she’s looking at me with her head on one side, waiting. I’m not sure, because I don’t always get these things right, but her face seems to be expressing disapproval. Calling up every bit of courage from the depths of my insides, I start to speak, and tears arrive at the same time. “Are you mad with me, Homarta?” She shakes her head gently and blows sweet breath into my face. “No darling,” she says. “It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?”

  Her hands work my shoulders from the front and travel lightly over my breasts many times. It takes concentration to relax each time her fingers hit a sweet spot, but because the tension has been released, I manage it. There’s an area between them that’s painful, but this gradually eases. My belly’s tense until her gently circling fingers have me drifting off into sleep again. When her hands run down both sides of my hip bones, I shiver with pleasure. My thighs began to rise into her hands, and she smiles, delighted I can look at her I think, despite the alarm. She shakes her head slightly, allowing her hands to rest on my thighs, filling them with warmth and comfort.

  She lifts me, turning and spinning my upper half to the ground, in order to reach my legs, laying them across her thighs. Beginning with the toes, she treats each one to a delicious stretch, following this with the best foot massage ever experienced by a human being. She continues on over my shins and calves. Another flip and my head’s back in her lap. She talks to me softly. Not having had a mother who ever touched me except with the odd slap or rough wet washer to the face, the whole experience is mind blowing.

  Once I struggle to my feet, it’s time to prepare food for the humans. For the first night, Gabriella has sent along a meal. Still partly frozen, all it requires is a large pot which we have in the form of a camp oven. I can’t remember what she said it was, but the smell makes the whole setting, even with the increasing winter cold at our backs, become home and heaven combined. It’s Butter Chicken; huge pieces of some poor chook having given its life (without having any choice of course) to increase what was already superb enjoyment, to be slow cooked in a delicious sauce for hours. From here, the cooking effort heads downhill. And, of course the effort has all been Gabriella’s.

  The following morning the boys, all of them, set off to exercise Sandro. This involves a walk of a few hundred metres which takes a while because the only way he can make it is to use two crutches and his arm isn’t yet strong. Fortunately, the path’s good. Once they reach the water he does better because all the weight’s off his leg. I watch them from the peak for a long while that morning. They head out into deep water beyond the inlets. Flagran and Torrenclar take it in turns to work with Josh and Sandro, so it depends who they’re with what experiences they have, as far as I can tell. Sandro only manages a short swim which takes some time. When he struggles from the water, he’s helped by Flagran who has various ways of warming him quickly. Josh keeps so active, he’s fine, but he also goes for a hot shower immediately. Sandro can’t face that until he’s rested, just as he can’t walk back and has to be transported.

  The process of getting his wetsuit on and off is painful to watch. On the first morning, Josh helps him with it. The right leg has been modified to include a lower zip, but he struggles to insert the leg and pull it up without help. Watching him makes me think it’s stupid to be doing this at this stage. But, it’s winter and far too cold to swim without the suits and water therapy seems to be the plan.

  Each day different activities take place. Josh is learning to surf with Torrenclar, and he also comes back extra happy because when he’s with Flagran they do wild things together. (I watched them one morning when they were determined to catch fish for breakfast. It was a frightening sight; okay when Flagran disappeared under the water for ages, but not so good when Josh failed to surface, and I had to hold my breath and wait.) His approach to life with us is almost always positive. There are no complaints. Maybe his previous life hasn’t been much chop, and he’s making the most of all the good that’s coming his way. My approach, on the other hand, is a totally different story. My behaviour is often selfish and always self-centred. There’s so much to enjoy.

  For me, life has usually been isolated. Being here in this atmosphere is heaven even without Homarta who has changed since we last met in my garden. Over that time at my home, after being reduced to cardboard, she had gradually recovered her strength and power. But, the difference since her break is her natural return to a highly sensuous being. You only have to be near her to feel the force of that, and at times it can be overpowering. This seems to depend on where the receiver is internally. It’s mind blowing because I love every piece of her and all that she does and offers. When she speaks to me it makes perfect sense. She doesn’t hold back when she thinks I need a push, but neither does she reserve her attention; even if she’s not happy with me. It becomes a habit for me to crawl into her lap like a puppy or a kitten, every opportunity. She strokes me in exactly that way, so that I almost purr. She runs her hands all over my body and I’m so used to it, it feels perfectly safe. Sometimes I try to burrow into her, particularly into her belly. Other times, I lie so that our bellies are connected, my head somewhere around her side and my legs curled into her on the other side. The connection between us is electric and very sensual. When I do this, her large, magnificent hand lies on my thigh, and as I often come to her in the mornings when I’m still in my singlet top and boxers, she runs her hand up until her palm rests over the top of my thigh and her fingers lie across my buttock.

  It’s a very safe place for me; even though she gives me the occasional slap. Or maybe, it’s because she does. For a girl who’s rarely been held like a baby, it feels so important. She usually gives me a quick smack when she dismisses me. That’s the signal it’s over, and it’s not a good idea to complain. Best to respond quickly and stand up.

  It’s a beautiful sunny morning. I crawl out of the tent at around 10.30 to the sight of her returning from the beach, glowing. Her hair’s been swept back by the wind. Her face has reddened in movement and sun and salt until she walks on air even more than usual. She sits on the ground, and I come to join her. She strokes my head and runs her fingers through my knotted hair. She picks up my hands and kisses them hello. She finds my feet and massages them awake. Then she holds me up against her belly and her hand slips along my outer leg and up my thigh. But instead of resting her hand where it’s supposed to lie (and then it was my plan to dissolve into her), she slaps me a quic
k sharp purposeful smack. My first impulse is to tuck my bum away out of her reach, but she holds me in place.

  I say “Uh oh!”

  She grins down at me. “That was just a wake-up call.”

  Sneaking a glance up at her from where I lie, her face is firm with purpose, and she continues. “Bridey, you’ve had a long, lovely rest here. It’s now been three days of recovery. Time for you to get back into the action.” At my groan I roll quickly onto my back, to avoid another slap, where she lets me lie considering her challenge. There doesn’t appear to be any option. So, I ask her for suggestions.

  “You need to start rising earlier now and do some exercise. Where you could begin today is by tidying the campsite before the others return. You’ve left a great majority of the work to them. That needs to change. Now.” She pushes me off her, gently. With another pronounced groan, I struggle to my feet and begin to get food, wash and dress, and the campsite is spick and span before anyone comes back for lunch. This gives me great satisfaction.

  I began to run in the afternoon and return full of energy. Each day from then, I clean up the campsite and have a quick cuddle with Homarta before setting off to run and explore in as many different directions as are available. She’s right, of course, moving helps. And beginning to take my part in the work makes me realise how lazy I can be! It turns out that doing both these things give me more satisfaction than resting. And the place is exquisite.

  As my spirits and energy return, life feels full of passion and purpose. I begin dancing around and trying out new behaviours. Responses from the others seem positive from my point of view. Torrenclar pays more attention, taking me out into the water, talking deep ideas with me, and generally focussing on my thoughts, needs, and reactions. It’s great. Sandro also focusses more of his time on me. Sometimes, these two new delights mean Torrenclar and Sandro having little spats over me. I hate to admit that I’m enjoying it. I need the attention. Even Josh begins to treat me more like a possible companion. In the evenings, while meals are prepared and everyone’s gathering, I find I can generate quite some excitement for myself by flirting and laughing and moving in and out of each one’s circle. Flagran is playful with me. Homarta observes.

  Tension between Sandro and Torrenclar is a little too high, though that produces a beautiful zing inside me. Feelings of being attractive, interesting, provocative, all previously unexplored aspects of myself, are giving me a real high. But, then it turns unpleasant. Torrenclar asks me to go down to the water with him in the early evening, and Sandro decides it’s my turn to cook dinner. Josh is keen to run errands for me, so I ask him to cook. He’s not that keen! Sandro’s face takes on an ugly, sulky look, and Torrenclar withdraws his invitation and suggests I should cook instead. It’s not my conscious intention to escalate matters by saying, “How about I cook when I get back,” but Sandro’s sulk deepens, and that really pisses me off. Torrenclar withdraws, which begins an argument with Sandro because I’m disappointed. He walks off.

  Dinner is at best a begrudging effort. Where most often the food has been plain but appetising, this is one was thrown together in a temper, an I’ll show you concoction from three cans: beans, tomatoes and corn. Even to me it’s inedible, and I’m embarrassed. The atmosphere at the campsite tonight is generally stiffer. Sandro goes to bed early, and because he’s sulking, I ignore him. Then I go over to Homarta for a cuddle. It’s always lovely snuggling into her while the fire’s dimming, and the sounds of water birds are filling the atmosphere as they settle in for the night.

  This time, she opens her arms to me, and I move into her only to find myself being held in a firm grip which doesn’t feel at all promising. In fact, it’s filled with challenge and determination.

  “What was all that about, Bridey?”

  “Oh,” I say, furious with the way the evening’s turned out, “Sandro is in a sulk again over Torrenclar wanting to spend time with me.”

  Homarta says nothing. As the silence lengthens between us, she doesn’t massage, just holds on to me. I begin to tense.

  “You may well feel anxious, Bridey. You have been seriously aggravating me today.”

  My first reaction is shock. Perhaps poor judgement on my part. She stares at me, and I return the look. Hers is clearly saying, what have you got to say? Waves of love rise in response to this. If she has something to tell me, I’m ready to listen.

  More silence follows between us until I just have to speak. “Homarta, I get that you’re unhappy with me, but I’m not sure which one of the many things that happened today is my fault.” There’s some small sense of danger because she seems to think I should just know. She begins to explain it to me.

  “You’re getting your kicks out of all the attention you’re generating, but you’re completely missing the pain you’re causing.”

  “But it’s not my fault, if they want to fight over me, is it?” This is quite clear in my mind.

  Homarta’s expression changes. Her lips stretch into a grim smile, and her head cocks a little to one side as though she’s contemplating this. When she speaks her words are alarming. “Bridey, I am keen to demonstrate my thoughts on that when we’re alone tomorrow morning.” A small thrill of fear runs up the back of my neck. The relief when she loosens her grip and lets me go is immense. I lean towards her putting my hands on her cheeks and attempting to win her over with a sweet smile and following it up with a kiss which she returns warmly. This done effectively, I take myself off to bed with her parting words a gentle whisper behind me. “Until tomorrow then.”

  My reception in the tent isn’t all it could have been either. Because he pisses me off when he sulks, I’m about to get up, when two things halt me. Homarta’s out there and she may not be too happy with me walking away from him without trying a bit harder, and the second is that Sandro reaches out to me. I lie down again and hold his hand while we talk.

  “It’s horrible when you’re jealous, Sandro.”

  “And, what do think it’s like for me when you’re swanning around, flirting with everyone and ignoring me.”

  You know, I don’t think I’m too good at this stuff because all I feel is irritation and can’t work out what to do next. Then he tries to cuddle into me which doesn’t work. Things are not good. We try to finish on a friendly note, but neither is fooled into thinking anything has been resolved. He rolls over, and I’m left with my thoughts which are not pleasant.

  Ten

  Bridey

  In the morning, I wake with the others and pat Sandro’s back as he struggles with his wetsuit. He leans back to kiss me, and an idea occurs which until this very moment has been completely unappealing. I should go with them. I dress rapidly and leave the tent at exactly the same time as Sandro, informing Homarta who’s sitting by the fire, looking centred and at peace (not at all threatening) that I will catch up with her later. “I can wait,” she says cheerfully. I find her grin disturbing.

  Once on the path, I know it’s far too cold out here to hang around and that running is my only other option. No way am I going back until the others are around to protect me. This turns out to be far more difficult than you would expect. Even though I run a long way, not enough time passes, and I have to wander around the shops without any money, hungry and cold and just wishing I’d had the courage to face her in the first place. Eventually, I hear Flagran whistle at me and decide it’s safe. As soon as I reach the camp site, I climb onto Homarta’s lap so she can warm me up. Her arms wrap around me and her head snuggles into my neck. All’s well, I decide. Then she spoils it. “You do realise, I hope,” she says softly into one ear “that I have an elephant’s memory.” When I stiffen, she laughs. “Now you have to worry about that all day and all night.”

  Have you ever experienced something like this that just ruins a whole day, and no matter what you’re doing, it’s on your mind?

  The following morning, I lie in bed for longer which doesn’t help anything, and only makes me feel worse. In the end, facing it and getting it
over with turns out to be easier than worrying.

  I slip out of the tent and run over because it’s freezing out here, quickly, before my courage fails. When I reach her as she sits on the ground in front of the gently smoking fire, she holds out her arms and folds me into them before I cool.

  “You are a beautiful and vibrant young woman Bridey. It brings me great pleasure to work with you.” Tears spring into my eyes, and I’m too choked to answer. I duck my head and snuggle in closer. “It’s not much time we have together like this,” she says making my heart stop for moment. “Once we leave this place you will need to find ways of meeting these needs for yourself.” When I lift my head to stare, she kisses my face like she really loves me.

  “I can’t bear the thought of it being over.”

  “Not quite yet,” she says. “We still have time. And then we will be travelling through the desert together later. That will be another opportunity. We need to make the most of what we have. Where are your thoughts on our conversation two nights ago?”

  I had a feeling she would not let it go that easily. I’m embarrassed about what I said when she challenged me then. “You were right. Definitely right. I’m pretty selfish.”