He thought she would have to rest often, but she kept the pace well enough. He realized that she had been forced to carry a heavy bag; now she was walking free, and it was easier. Still, she had the aspect of a delicate creature, and he decided to camp for the night early. He chose a stream he knew, where there were fish. It did not take him long to spear one, while Seed went into the brush to urinate. He did not watch, for if she ran away, it was now her right. He made a fire and roasted the fish, giving her a good share.
Then, as the night closed in, he had to explain something. “I must douse the fire, because it is not safe to leave it untended at night in this region. I have been traveling alone. I have only the one extra fur for shawl or blanket. I will share it with you, but you will have to sleep close to me, for its warmth and mine. I have no designs on your body, which I prefer to save for my son. I merely want to keep you warm. Do you understand?”
“You have bought me,” she said simply. “You may use me as you wish. I will not tell your son.”
“I did not buy you. I freed you. If you run away I will not pursue you. I am not watching you.”
“But I have watched you. I saw that you trusted me.”
“Yes. So now I merely explain my purpose so you will not misunderstand.”
Her face brightened. “You do not want me with you naked.”
“That is the way I do not want you,” Blaze agreed. “If I should forget myself in the night and touch you inappropriately, wake me and I will stop, with my apology. Normally it is my wife I hold.”
She came to him, and he clasped her and spread the blanket fur over them both, and relaxed for sleep. He had selected a rise in the ground free of ants and shielded from the wind by a stout tree, but the chill of the deep night could be harsh. At first she was tense, and he knew she had not quite believed him, but gradually she softened, and then she slept. He smiled to himself, and drifted off.
He dreamed, later, that a pretty young woman was kissing him. He woke to discover it was true. His situation came back to him. He drew his head back. “Did I forget myself?” he asked, embarrassed.
“No,” she murmured. “I kissed you.”
“Why?”
“Because you did not require it.”
“Perhaps that would make sense to my daughters,” he said with a faint laugh, and went back to sleep.
In the morning she remained snuggled against him, breathing softly and evenly. He lay there for a time, though he would ordinarily have gotten up and made ready to travel while the land was cool. Though she had not complained, she had been tired, and she needed more rest. He thought of Bunny, when he had first known her, lithe and soft as this young woman was now. What joy he had had of her, in that flush of youth! Now he was thirty-seven, an age when many men were dead. Yet instead of being dead, here he was with the loveliest creature he could remember sleeping in his arms. He was increasingly glad he had happened across her, because he had worried about his son’s prospects. Now they were secure. What a strange turn their lives had taken!
After awhile Seed woke. “Oh, it is past dawn!” she exclaimed. “I must be up, or the trader will—”
“No more,” he reminded her gently. “It is my son Stone you will answer to, after this.”
“I know I will like him.” She began to untangle herself from him and the blanket fur.
“How can you be sure of that?” He helped her to get free. Her gown had twisted, so that one breast showed; there were crease marks on it from the pressure of their contact.
“Because he is yours.” She met his gaze for an instant, and averted her eyes. Then, as an afterthought, she straightened out the garment.
Blaze smiled tolerantly, as if unconcerned, but he was in sudden turmoil. Her glance had suggested that she would not have protested, had he chosen to do more with her than sleep, and indeed might be inviting it. And her words—she would like his son, because she liked him. This young woman, no older than his son, and not much older than his eldest daughter—she was hinting at something. A girl might indeed flirt with the father of her husband; he had seen it in other families. What disturbed him was the way that suggestion had struck right through to his fancy. Suddenly the idea of such contact with her could not be casually dismissed. His desire had been touched.
They walked that day, and camped again near a stream. Blaze could have made better time alone, taking a more direct route, but he tempered his pace to accommodate hers, and took a route that intersected suitable streams so she could drink and have water to wash with. Wash she did, not trying to hide from his sight, and he could not avoid seeing her without being obvious about it. So he pretended nonchalance, as if she were one of his daughters. But he could not convince himself. Then she went through her hair with a wooden comb, letting her nude body dry. Oh, she was exquisite!
She came to him in the dusk as he made a suitable place to sleep. He smiled. “Tonight I can let the fire burn; the wind is down and the terrain is safe. You should be warm enough beside it.”
“Douse it,” she said.
“But last night was a special case. There is no necessity now. And tomorrow we shall be home.”
She met his gaze, in the way she had in the morning, but longer. “I know. Please. I will not tell your wife.”
She was actually proposing it! “Seed, I could not do that! You owe me no such thing. Just be good to my son.”
“I will. He will never doubt. I will never betray those I know. But I have not met them yet. There is only this night. I beg you, Blaze, douse the fire.”
He stared at her. “You don’t understand. I wish you to be chaste for Stone.”
“I am not chaste. That much I will tell him.” She drew at her garment, showing her perfect breasts.
Oh, the temptation! He thought again of Bunny at that age. “But why, Seed? This makes no sense at all!”
“Because this one time I would like to do what I alone want. To be good to a man who is kind to me. It is the only time in my life, perhaps.”
He shook his head, determined not to be swayed by the wiles of a girl barely older than his daughters. “I will not douse the fire.” He lay down.
“Then I will pretend that I slept by it.” She drew off her gown and lay down with him.
“Seed, I am not yet so old as to be immune to a lovely woman. I can not resist you if you tempt me further,” he said, embarrassed by the admission. “Please go to the fire.”
“Only this night,” she whispered, and kissed him firmly on the mouth. “Then forever secret.”
His arms went around her of their own volition. “I never asked you to do this.”
“I would have done it, if you had asked.” She kissed him again, and her hands went to his clothing, to work it open. He could have stopped her, but did not.
“I told you I did not want you naked,” he reminded her.
“Maybe you did not mean it.” It was really a question, a plea for reassurance. If he denied it, he could still head this off.
“I did not mean it,” he echoed. “But I did not act.”
“Had you raped me, I would have made no resistance,” she said. “Because you bought me, and were kind to me, even before you decided. Had you asked me early, I would have wept, but done it, because I owed it to you. Had you forgotten yourself in the night, I would have let you, and not wept, because I saw that you cared for me enough to spare me when you were awake. Had you changed your mind this morning, and even gazed at me with desire, I would have done it then, because I realized that I wanted this of you. Now you have shown me that you will not, and I must discard all pretense and beg you. So I plead with you: this night, and never again. It shall be as if there was never this night. Please, in your kindness, share this with me.”
“In your kindness you offer what you know I should not accept. My son, my wife—”
“I know. It is wrong. Yet I must do it. I must seize my only opportunity to act on my dream.” She kissed him again, and this time he kissed back.
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br /> “I never intended this,” he said after a moment, knowing that his continued protests were futile.
“Nor did I.” She got the rest of his clothing open or out of the way, and squeezed close to him. Her body was like the animation of a goddess, more than perfect in its youth and grace and desire.
“Only this night,” he said, helplessly echoing her words. “Then secret.”
“Only this night,” she agreed.
He let go of his resolve. He clasped her to him and kissed her savagely. His hands slid down her body, across her back, her tiny waist, her plump buttocks. He kissed her mouth, her cheek, her neck, and her mouth again. Then his urgency became unendurable, and he slid into her and erupted, pulse after pulse, kissing her throughout.
“Yes, yes,” she breathed, clinging to him. “This time it doesn’t hurt.”
Spent, he relaxed. “Because you wanted it,” he panted. “You were ready for it. I was too fast, but you were ready.”
“I am still ready. This time it was wonderful.”
“Because I am not a corrupt priest sacrificially raping you,” he remarked dryly.
“Yes. Because you are a warm and caring person. But it is too brief. Is there—I have been told that with the right man—can there be more?”
He understood what she was searching for. He had been too swift in sating his passion, leaving her aroused but not fulfilled. It was not fair to leave her like this. “There can be more, if you wish it. More for you.”
She gazed at him, her eyes great and green and lovely in their closeness. “I wish it—if you do.”
“There are ways to make a woman respond. I will show you some, and you can tell me what pleases you.” The fact was that despite his sating, her allure was so strong that he did not want to give it up.
“Yes, show me. I want to learn from you.” Then, after a pause: “For your son.”
So she could know how to please his son. Could he believe that rationale? He decided to make the attempt at belief. “Your breasts. Let me kiss them.”
“My breasts?” She was surprised. But then she moved, wriggling, hiking herself up against him. She brought her breasts to his face. “Kiss me, my lover.”
He kissed her breasts. They were wondrously silken soft. He stroked her buttocks and thighs. They were as wondrously sculptured and firm. Gradually she melted, discovering the appeal of this kind of attention. She put her hands on his head and drew it in to her, giving him first one breast and then the other, making him lick the expanding nipples. “Oh, yes, my love, oh yes,” she murmured, over and over, caressing him with her words.
He had thought his penis dead, but it came to life again. She found it and fondled it, learning rapidly. Then she slid down again, on him, and set it in her. She kissed him, and squeezed her breasts against his chest. “Again, my love,” she murmured. “Again, my love, my love.”
He began to thrust again, and this time she moved with him, making his strokes firmer and deeper. Nature had taken over the instruction. Realizing what she wanted, he slowed and let her make the pace. He found her lips and kissed them continuously. This time it was her urgency that mounted and finally climaxed, leading him into his second. “Oh, my love, my love!” she gasped in the throes of it.
“Oh, my love, my love,” he echoed guiltily.
Finally it subsided. She was spent, as well as he. But their words continued. “My love, my love,” they said together. There was a special thrill to it, though he suspected that the words were a worse violation of his marriage commitment than the sex. All this was wrong, yet had compulsion because of its forbidden nature.
He got the blanket pelt back on them, and used her gown too, for added cover. They remained embraced, relaxing into sleep at last.
He woke in the night, dreaming again of kissing a young woman. But this time he knew her identity. It was Seed, and he loved her and desired her. His groin stirred.
She woke, feeling it. “Yes, my love,” she whispered. “Never stop, my love.” She moved to accommodate him, and she remained slick and ready. She pressed her breasts against him, and kissed him wherever her mouth reached.
He thrust, long and slow, and felt her answering contraction. He found her mouth with his own, and her tongue with his own. His buildup was slow, because he had already done it twice this night, which was a thing he hadn’t managed in a decade.
But he realized that this time it was his passion that led the way, rather than hers. She was doing it merely to please him. He hesitated.
She felt it immediately. “Do I not please you, my love?”
“You do. But this is teaching you nothing. It is merely sating my lust.”
“But I want you to sate it!”
“At least let me teach you something more,” he said, compromising with his guilt. “Let me show you another way it is done, so you will know.”
“Anything you wish, this night, my love,” she replied. “I want whatever you want.”
“Then turn around. Face away from me.”
“Away?” She disengaged, and rolled over. Then she presented her back to him. “Take me this way,” she said, realizing how it worked. “And hold my breasts, my love.”
He entered her from behind, feeling her glossy hair against his chest, her soft buttocks against his crotch. He embraced her, getting both arms around and putting his hands on her breasts, which seemed fuller than ever. He felt her react as he gently squeezed and stroked, and that made him react in response. He thrust, and she matched him with a push back. He squeezed, and she inhaled, making her breasts fill his hands. He kissed her hair and her shoulder; then she twisted her torso, turned her face, and managed to meet his kiss with her mouth. In that contorted yet ideal position they climaxed again, she following soon after him. “My love, my love,” she whispered, relaxing.
This time they did not disengage. He got his lower arm out from under her body, so she could lie straight, but kept his other arm around her, holding a soft warm breast. They slept. From time to time he woke, finding himself fallen out of her and his hand elsewhere; he stiffened and got back into her, and took her breast again, not trying to climax, just liking the closeness, and slept once more. “Yes, yes, my love,” she murmured sleepily.
At last the dawn came. Blaze found himself still holding Seed’s evocative breast and pressing into her cleft from behind. Now he knew how far he had transgressed, and the guilt surged. He should not have done it at all, and instead he had done it three times, and remained connected between times. He had truly shattered his vow of marriage, and with a child the age of his child. The worst of it was that he had told her he loved her, over and over.
She woke, seeing the dawn. “Oh, it can’t be over already!” she exclaimed.
“Forever over,” he said grimly. “I don’t know how I could have done it.”
“No, not over,” she said urgently. “It is still the night. The sun is not up. There is no color. There is still time.”
“Time?” he asked, knowing what she meant.
She drew away, turned, and came back at him. “Quickly, quickly, my love, before the night is gone!”
He did not argue. He kissed her, and stroked her hair and body, and got into her, thrusting and thrusting, until he climaxed yet again. “My love, my love!” he gasped.
“My love, my love, my love!” she cried passionately, squeezing the last of the ecstasy out of their embrace.
Then the dawn brightened with color. They separated. “We must wash,” she said with radiant regret. “It is over.”
“It is over,” he agreed, his emotions confused yet intense.
“We must never speak of this.”
“Yes.”
“I will love your son, and you will love your wife.”
“Yes.”
“We will never again touch each other as man and woman.”
“Yes.”
“But will you tell me one thing, truly?”
“Yes,” he said heavily. “I did mean it when I sai
d I loved you. I do love you, though the gods smite me. But it must be over.”
“And I love you. I have learned so much. But it must be over.” She glanced sidelong at him. “But may I do one more thing, before we wash it all away?”
He opened his arms. She stepped into them. They kissed, deeply. Then they broke. They went to the river and washed in the chill water, together.
“I will say only that I had a love, and learned from him, and lost him,” she decided. “That much is true.”
Suddenly he realized why he had fallen into this. It wasn’t just her phenomenal beauty. It was her green eyes, matching his own. She had animated his secret love, the one he had always desired but never encountered. Bunny was a wonderful woman and wonderful wife, but there had always been that secret longing for his mysterious true love. That love was not Seed, but in the night she had seemed to be it, and he had done what he had to. That understanding made him feel better. Perhaps Seed, too, had such a secret ideal, which he had briefly animated.
By the time they were clean, both were shivering blue, and sex was far away. But the glances they exchanged showed that their love had not been similarly vanquished. Their forgetting could never be more than pretense.
They dressed, and set out again. They both knew what they had to do.
By evening they reached his home. Bunny was roasting acorns while Stone chipped at another obsidian blade. Both were watching as Blaze and Seed approached. They were surprised to see him with a companion.
He was forthright. “I gathered chips and found a trader. But I did not trade for what I expected. I got this young woman.”
Both were silent, studying Seed, who stood perfectly still. But there was a squeal from inside the house, as Blaze’s daughters realized that something was happening. In a moment they piled out: ages twelve, ten and five. They stood staring, uncertain how to react.
“This is Seed, from the city,” Blaze said. “I brought her for you, Stone. To be your wife.”
Isle of Woman (Geodyssey) Page 19