The Fire in Starlight

by Maria Isabel Pita

  She stopped a few feet away from the bonfire, her chest rising and falling from how quickly and eagerly she had run towards it. One of the thin straps of her gown slipped off her shoulder, but she didn't notice, enraptured by the conflagration, her chilled skin experiencing the roaring heat as a profoundly relaxing warmth. The wall of fire was wider than her bed and as tall as the man who stepped around from behind it. She let the white cotton drift softly around her ankles again, the slackening of her fingers the only physical reaction she was capable of as he effortlessly ripped open her nightgown. He was wearing heavy black gloves, the sort of gloves used by Medieval noblemen when they went hunting with their falcons—thick black leather gloves that protected his wrist when the bird of prey's claws clung to it obediently, descending from the freedom of the open sky onto its master's arm. He tore her nightgown open all the way down in front as easily as paper, and then flung the useless cloth—white as a shroud, she thought—into the flames. The features of his face forged by firelight and shadow were those of a stranger and yet somehow utterly familiar. His expression was inscrutably hard, like the hilt of a sword she also recognized; her deepest feelings immediately grasping how desperately she wanted him as desire sliced right through her fear. His body was an inescapable silhouette seducing her with the heady scent of sleek leather, rough and smooth, earthy and polished all in one breath as he cupped her breasts and began viciously sucking on her nipples, moving ravenously from one to the other. She clung to his gloved wrists, weakened by an intense longing to submit to him absolutely no matter what he did to her. He growled deep in his throat, and an irresistible pleasure welled up inside her, flowing sweet and hot into his mouth like a divine milk that could never be spilled but only relished forever while the fire hissed as though her juicing pussy was making the hard logs steam...

  She was barely conscious of spreading herself back across the grass, not sure if her knees gave way or if he pushed her down or if they fell together. It was an immense relief when she at last felt him determinedly gripping her ankles. He forced her legs together as he lifted them all the way up and back, pinning them down around her face. If it hadn't been for the glimmering red and gold threads in his leather vest she wouldn't have been able to see him at all as his invisible erection swiftly stabbed her. She gasped because his hard-on seemed to sink to the very hilt of her being. She couldn't see his cock but she could distinctly feel it's thick and rigid length opening her up, her innermost flesh shaping itself to the relentlessly demanding dimensions of his lust. The position he held her down in made it impossible for her to defend herself from the breathtaking force of his thrusts. She wanted to cry “Oh, God, yes! Yes!” but she couldn't speak he was fucking her so violently, his cool balls slapping against her hot crack as he drove himself deeper and deeper into her body. He abruptly let go of her ankles and her legs fell open around him as he cruelly clutched both her tender breasts, bracing himself on them. His full weight digging into her chest threatened to cut off her breath but she didn't try to push him away; she remained totally passive beneath him because this was what she wanted more than anything else in the world—to mysteriously offer him her very soul by letting him use her body however he desired.

  She was stunned yet somehow not surprised when another man suddenly knelt behind her and caressed the soft warm skin of her neck with his cold gloved hands. At last she made a sound—a small, questioning, yet still utterly submissive moan as he turned her head gently to one side. She kept her eyes open as the man driving his pulsing erection into her body sank his teeth into the side of her throat, his triumphant groan echoed by a rumble of thunder as all the restless shadows cast by the bonfire began taking the form of tall silhouettes separating themselves from the darkness to surround her. Then there was a blinding flash ... of excruciating disappointment when, abruptly, she woke up.

  * * * *

  "O h, thank God!” she said out loud when morning brought sunshine and a clear sky, the deep yet radiant beauty of which could not be described simply by calling it blue. It was impossible to define all the good things the sight of such a sky did to her psyche. Nevertheless, the previous day's pregnant gloom felt worthwhile today because it had given birth to the most vivid erotic dream of her life. She wondered if Robert would approve of her darkly sensual response to the land he had willed her. She had never shared her sexual fantasies with him; it was the only part of her she hadn't revealed to him, and she wondered if he could see inside her now from wherever he was. She almost hoped not. She had never thought of herself as submissive. Steve had always played along with her fantasies, and yet they had usually involved her being tied up or dominated in some way. Her subconscious was coming clean, letting her know she possessed an intense masochistic streak. Yet her dream was only a fantasy. She suspected the reality would be very different, and she had no desire to be bitten. Maybe once or twice she had imagined being possessed by a sexy vampire, but what red-blooded heterosexual female hadn't? It seemed her relationship with Steve had acted as a damn, and when it broke, desires and inclinations she had suppressed welled up to the surface of her consciousness, and now they were threatening to drown all caution in the haunting depths of her libido. Perhaps this was the price she paid for how long she sipped her fantasies inside a safe—yet ultimately unhealthy and destructive—relationship.

  Sofia was both disturbed and aroused by her dream, by how breathtakingly real it had felt, and by how terribly disappointed she had been when it came to an end. She could sense her ordeal had only just begun, that countless men would have fucked her if she hadn't woken up. They would have taken turns with her, they wouldn't have used all three of her orifices at once, that would have come later as part of another, and even more devastating, ritual...

  She got of bed in an effort to escape the frustrated longing that gripped her thinking about those last, deliriously promising seconds in the dream as the man possessing her groaned so deep in his throat it sounded like a growl as he ejaculated endlessly inside her, his penis pulsing against the silky walls of her pussy sheathing his stabbing erection so that she clearly felt it mysteriously expanding her deepest, most profoundly submissive being with the force of his fulfillment. He was blessedly beating all the thoughts out of her, transporting her beyond fear as she exulted in the sensation of her blood pulsing into his mouth in rhythm with his thrusts. His teeth and his cock were both unbelievably hard as he opened her up and she juiced helplessly at both ends of her flesh because it felt so unimaginably glorious to be trapped in her body and offering it to him—to all his darkest desires to feed on forever because she never wanted the almost unbearably ecstasy to end. The dangerous power of her excitement was stoked like an all-consuming fire by the violence of his penetrations, until she was so intensely turned on that time and space curved and collapsed into her naked body lying across the grass as she felt herself become the center of everything, the hot and beautiful fount of all life ... It wasn't surprising that a fulfillment much deeper and vaster than a climax had short-circuited even her high voltage dream synapses and woken her up.

  She walked into the bathroom feeling strangely numb emotionally. After a dream that hot, nothing the day brought could possibly seem interesting. She turned on the tap and gazed at her reflection in the mirror waiting for the water to warm up. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were shining, and her tangled hair looked wildly lovely. Very slowly, she reached up and gently extracted a dead golden leaf from where it was ensnared amidst her light-brown strands. She stared at it calmly. It must have been there since yesterday and she hadn't noticed because she was so depressed she didn't even bother to brush her hair before she went to bed.

  She tossed the leaf into a little wicker trash can and washed her face. It wasn't until she was applying her daily moisturizing lotion to her cheeks and the skin beneath her chin that she noticed the hickey on her neck. She froze, her reason paralyzed by this impossible evidence of the invisible line between dreams and reality. She draped all her ha
ir over one shoulder and leaned towards the glass to inspect the mark as closely as possible. There were four dark-red dots, two above and two below, roughly three inches apart, and all around them her skin was slightly inflamed down to where her neck flowed into her shoulder blade. She had no idea what a spider bite looked like, but this had to be it. She lived in a forest now; all sorts of creatures could slip between the cracks of her floors and crawl into bed with her. She would have to thoroughly inspect the sheets and mattress tonight before she went to sleep. She dabbed Hydrogen Peroxide on the ugly mark and then slathered it with Neosporin. The last thing she needed was an infection. Obviously, something had bitten her while she was asleep in bed and that's why the man in her dream had turned into a vampire. This explanation made depressing sense. Her reason satisfied, and her feelings so torn between anxiety and longing that she still felt curiously numb, she got on her with her day because there was nothing else she could do.

  Chapter Six

  T he LSU professor wrote her back and said he would be honored to take her out to dinner. She fired off a response saying she would be happy to accept his invitation as long as they could make it lunch. She didn't offer any explanations. She also didn't give him her phone number. She heard back from him almost right away. He would be delighted to take her to lunch today, if she could make it. His unabashed eagerness made her smile. A lot of men would play hard to get or pretend they didn't care when they met. Whatever his faults might turn out to be, Marcus appeared to have his priorities straight, at least. After another set of e-mails, they agreed to meet in Whole Foods at noon.

  Sofia was thrilled. This was definitely her idea of one-stop shopping. She was so excited to be getting out of the house she giggled like a school girl rushing to get ready for her first date. It had been a long time since she agonized over what to wear. It was chilly out, and this was a very casual meeting, so she chose black yoga pants and a long, form-fitting sage-green cashmere sweater. And over this sexy rustic look, as she thought of it, she slipped on her violet jacket. She left her long hair down, partly to hide the bite on her neck. She thought of putting foundation on it to conceal the sinister looking red puncture marks, but then thought better of it. She had nothing to hide; it wasn't her fault something had bitten her. Marcus might even know what creature it was had come upon her in the middle of the night; he might be able to dispel her dreamy idea of vampires and the much more real concern of infection. She decided to go for the all-natural look and wear hardly any makeup, just a little powder, blush, black eyeliner and a faint touch of lavender lip gloss. She slipped on the pearl drop earrings Robert had given her for her birthday last year, and her delicate gold watch, the only jewelry she deemed appropriate for a casual lunch date in a supermarket.

  She made sure all the doors were locked even though she knew perfectly well they were, and let herself out. Now that it was time to go, she found herself reluctant to leave. The sun was shining and the woods looked so beautiful she felt she would be leaving the best parts of herself behind when she drove into the city. Suddenly all she felt like doing was reading in one of the comfortable blue folding chairs she had bought for the porch. But she had a date today; this profoundly simple pleasure would just have to wait until tomorrow. She was surprised and pleased by how hard it was to tear herself away from her new home and the land surrounding it. As she got in the car, she suffered the sobering certainty that this impulsive trip into town was a meaningless distraction and that nothing would come of it except the consolation prize of a kitchen full of delicious food. Yet if going out today served to help her appreciate her newfound contemplative solitude, then so much the better.

  It took her over and hour to get to Whole Foods. She didn't hurry; driving though the country on a gorgeous day was an invigorating experience. She broke the speed limit only after she reached Baker and ugly little strip malls began dominating the landscape. It was a weekday, but the parking lot of the natural foods store was packed, as usual. No matter how her lunch date turned out, she could still look forward to shopping afterwards, which would be quite an adventure because she was planning to stock up. She had brought her cooler in the trunk, and she would ask for a bag of ice at the meat counter. Now that she lived all the way out on Clinton, she had a good excuse to fill her refrigerator to bursting.

  She had agreed to meet Marcus at the Pasta Bar, and she spotted him right away already waiting for her. She watched him for a moment without his knowledge. How could she have forgotten this sinking feeling? She hadn't experienced it in years, but that was no excuse. She should have remembered how depressing it was to agree to go on a date with a man she had never met in the flesh before, and to know the instant she laid eyes on him that he wasn't the one. She had also conveniently forgotten that she was incapable of settling for less—for a sensually stimulating affair and no more, no profound forever, just hot sex served on the tepid platter of friendship. His picture wasn't as recent as she had allowed herself to believe. It was maybe only a year or two old, but a lot could happen to man in that time, especially after a hurricane wiped out his life. He had gained a little weight, and the powerful chest she had admired more than anything else about him in the photograph was swiftly eroding into fat. His shoulders were broad enough to carry it off, but his legs were in fact a bit too short for his torso, and already she could see his bare pink scalp between the comb marks in his fine blonde hair. Superficially speaking, he was still an attractive man, but all she felt looking at him was disappointment, and a slight disgust that she had even entertained the thought of sleeping with him. She made the decision, right then and there, that it was much too soon for her to be looking for love again. She was going to stick to her original plan and spend some quality time with herself alone in the beautiful home Robert had left her so she could do just that.

  Not caring now what he thought of her, she approached him confidently, but her intention to write him off tripped uncertainly over his boyish grin. He slipped off the stool and helped her take off her jacket. Surely she knew better than to judge a book by its cover. Maybe she thought she was being deep when in truth she was being completely superficial—a convincing argument presented by her brain that didn't for one second fool the rest of her. He was dressed casually, but his light-blue button-down shirt was still creased in back from the plastic it had come folded and wrapped in. As they talked and ate, everything about him depressed her because it was so familiar and ordinary. She felt trapped in a trite sitcom as her guardian angels watched in appalled silence. The truth was that this pleasant, well educated, handsome man's aura had a mysteriously nauseating effect on her, as if the atmosphere he breathed was different in invisible but vital ways from the one she needed to live despite the fact they were sharing the same physical space.

  "Do you shop here often?” he asked, and already she could tell by the obviously teasing quality of his smile that it was a loaded question.

  "Now that I live all the way out in Clinton, I only come here once or twice a month to stock up."

  "Helping all those small organic farmers stay in business, huh?"

  "Yes, why not? Companies like Google and Whole Foods give me hope for the future of corporations."

  "I agree, basically they're trying to do the right thing,” he said complacently, “but the truth is that at least half the produce in this store comes from a handful of big organic farms in California, not from the mom and pop operations they do their best to make us believe it all mostly comes from."

  Sofia resented the fact that he was depressing her even more than she already was having lunch with him. She couldn't put her finger on it exactly, but there was something profoundly undefined about him that only became more obvious as he grew older. It was as though the more society molded his every feeling and thought, the more the unique spirit that had taken root in his mother's womb was eroded by life's circumstances to the point where it almost didn't seem to be there anymore. She suspected she was being morosely unfair, but she didn't care
. She just wanted this pathetic date to end so she could do some shopping and go home to her trees, and her fireplace, and her dreams...

  "And a very high percentage of this beautifully expensive produce,” he went on decisively, “comes from South American farms. Personally, I prefer to buy local. A tomato grown in Zachary is much fresher than one grown in Chile."

  "No doubt.” He was obviously a professor of economics, and even though part of her mind found the conversation interesting, another part of her couldn't stop comparing him to the man in her dream. She knew this was psychologically suspect, but she didn't care about that either. As she picked at her seafood pasta, it became obvious to her that her years with Steve had inoculated her against succumbing to possible mediocre relationships in the future. During those seven years her soul had gotten its PhD on the subject of everything she didn't desire in a lover. She would leave her profile up on match.com, however, in the future she would be much more particular about who she met for lunch or dinner.

  "I would love to buy local as well,” she agreed, “but I really believe in organic, sustainable farming. Whatever its faults, Whole Foods is a paragon of virtue compared to most companies."

  "That's true, but it's all very complex,” he concluded vaguely.

  "I'm sure.” She finished her bottled water.

  "Well,” he glanced at his watch abruptly, “I'm afraid I've got to get going. I have another class at two."

  "Okay.” She didn't know if he was picking up on her negative vibes, or if he simply didn't find her as attractive as her vanity would have liked him to, but it didn't matter. “Thank you for lunch,” she added politely. “It was delicious."

  "My pleasure.” He stood up. “We should do this again sometime soon."

  "You know where to reach me.” She couldn't help taunting him with the fact that he was leaving empty-handed; all he still had was her e-mail address.