by Jean M. Auel
"Ayla, what am I doing wrong?" he asked, standing in front of her, dripping.
"It's not you. I'm the one who's doing it wrong."
"You're not doing anything wrong."
"Yes I am. I've been trying all day to encourage you, but you don't understand Clan gestures."
When Ayla had first become a woman, Iza had explained not only how to care for herself when she bled, but how to clean herself after she had been with a man, and the gestures and postures that would encourage a man to give her the signal, though Iza had doubted she would need the information. Men of the Clan were not likely to find her attractive no matter what gestures she used.
"I know when you touch me in certain ways, or put your mouth on mine, that is your signal, but I don't know the ways to encourage you," she continued.
"Ayla, all you have to do is be there to encourage me."
"That's not what I mean," she said. "I don't know how to tell you when I want you to make Pleasures with me. I don't know the ways… You said some women know ways to encourage a man."
"Oh, Ayla, is that what's bothering you? You want to learn how to encourage me?"
She nodded and put her head down, feeling a surge of embarrassment. Clan women were not so forward. They exhibited their desire for a man with excessive modesty, as though they could hardly bear the sight of such an overwhelmingly masculine male – yet with demure glances and innocent postures that resembled the proper position for a female to assume, they let him know he was irresistible.
"Look how you've encouraged me, woman," he said, knowing he had developed an erection while talking to her. He couldn't help it, and he couldn't hide it. Seeing him so obviously encouraged brought a smile to the woman's lips; she couldn't help it. "Ayla," he said, and swept her up in both arms, "don't you know you encourage me just by being alive?"
Carrying her, he started across the beach toward the path. "Do you have any idea how it encourages me just to look at you? The first time I saw you, I wanted you." He continued up the path with a very surprised Ayla. "You are so much woman, you don't need ways to encourage – you don't have to learn a thing. Everything you do makes me want you more." They reached the entrance. "If you want me, all you have to do is say so, or better yet, this." He kissed her.
He carried her into the cave and put her down on the bed of furs. Then he kissed her again with open mouth and gently probing tongue. She felt his manhood, hard and hot between them. He sat up then and had a teasing grin on his face.
"You said you were trying all day. What makes you think you weren't encouraging me?" he said. Then he did something totally unexpected: he made a gesture.
Her eyes flew open with surprise. "Jondalar! That's… that's the signal!"
"If you're going to make your Clan signals to me, I think it's only fair to give them back."
"But… I…" She was at a loss for words – if not actions. She got up, turned around and went down on her knees, spreading them apart, and presented.
He had meant the signal as a joke; he didn't expect to be stimulated so quickly. But the sight of her round, firm buttocks, and her exposed female opening, deep pink and inviting, were irresistible. Before he knew it, he was on his knees behind her, entering her warm, pulsating depths.
From the moment she assumed the position, memories of Broud crowded her thoughts. For the first time, she would have refused Jondalar – if she could have. But as strong as the repellent associations were, her early conditioning to obey the signal was stronger.
He mounted and plunged. She felt Jondalar fill her, and she cried out with the unexpected pleasure. The posture made her feel pressures in new places, and when he drew back, the rubbing and friction excited in new ways. She backed to meet him when he dove in again. As he hovered over her, pumping and straining, she was suddenly reminded of Whinney and her bay stallion. The thought brought on a shudder of delicious warmth, and a pulsing, tingling pull. She reared up and backed to him, matching his pace, moaning and squealing.
The pressure was mounting quickly; her actions and his need drove him faster. "Ayla! Oh, woman," he cried out. "Beautiful, wild, woman," he breathed as he thrust and thrust and thrust again. He held her hips, pulled her to him, and, as he filled her, she reared back to meet him as he surged into her with a shudder of delight.
They stayed there for a moment, shaking, Ayla's head hanging down. Then, taking her with him, he rolled them both over on their sides, and then they lay there unmoving. Her back nestled against him, and with his manhood still in her, he curled around her and reached one hand over to cup her breast.
"I must admit," he said after a while, "that signal isn't so bad." He nuzzled the back of her neck and reached for her ear.
"I wasn't sure at first, but with you, Jondalar, everything is right. Everything is Pleasure," she said, snuggling back into him closer.
"Jondalar, what are you looking for?" Ayla called down from the ledge.
"I was trying to see if I could find any more firestones."
"I have hardly marked the first one I started using. It will last a long time – we don't need any more."
"I know, but I saw one, and thought I'd see how many more I could find. Are we ready?"
"I can't think of anything else we need. We can't stay too long – the weather changes so fast this time of year. It can be hot in the morning and a blizzard by evening," she said, coming down the path.
Jondalar put the new stones in his pouch, looked around once more, then looked up at the woman. Then he looked at the woman again.
"Ayla! What are you wearing?"
"Don't you like it?"
"I like it! Where did you get it?"
"I made it, when I was making yours. I copied yours to fit me, but I wasn't sure if I should wear it. I thought it might be something only a man should wear. And I didn't know how to bead a shirt. Is it all right?"
"I think so. I don't recall that the woman's outfit was much different. The shirt was a little longer, maybe, and the decorations might be different. This is Mamutoi clothing. I lost mine when we reached the end of the Great Mother River. It looks wonderful on you, Ayla, and I think you'll like it better. When it gets cold, you'll notice how warm it is, and comfortable."
"I'm glad you like it. I wanted to dress… your way."
"My way… I wonder if I know what my way is any more. Look at us! A man and a woman and two horses! One of them loaded with our tent and food and extra clothing. It feels strange to be starting on a Journey so unencumbered, to be carrying nothing except spears – and a spear thrower! And my pouch full of firestones. I think we'd be quite a surprise if anyone were to see us. But I'm more surprised at myself. I am not the same man I was when you found me. You have changed me, woman, and I love you for it."
"I, too, am changed, Jondalar. I love you."
"Well, which way do we go?"
Ayla felt a disquieting sense of loss as they walked the length of the valley, followed by the mare and her colt. When she reached the turn at the far end, she looked back.
"Jondalar! Look! Horses have come back to the valley. I haven't seen horses here since I first came. They left when I chased them and caught Whinney's dam. I am glad to see them back. I always did think this was their valley."
"Is it the same herd?"
"I don't know. The stallion was yellow, like Whinney. I don't see the stallion, only the lead mare. It's been a long time."
Whinney had seen the horses, too, and she gave a loud neigh. The greeting was returned, and Racer's ears turned toward them with interest. Then the mare followed the woman, and her colt trotted behind.
Ayla followed the river south and crossed when she saw the steep slope on the other side. She stopped at the top, end both she and Jondalar mounted Whinney. The woman found her landmarks and headed southwest. The terrain became rougher, more broken and folded, with rocky canyons and steep slopes leading to flat rises. When they neared an opening between jagged rock walls, Ayla dismounted and examined the ground. It held no fresh spoor.
She led the way into a blind canyon, then climbed up on a rock that had split from the wall. As she walked to a rockslide at the back, Jondalar followed her.
"This is the place, Jondalar," she said, and, withdrawing a pouch from her tunic, she gave it to him.
He knew the place. "What is this?" he asked, holding up the small leather bag.
"Red earth, Jondalar. For his grave."
He nodded, unable to speak. He felt the pressure of tears and made no effort to check them. He poured the red ochre into his hand and broadcast it on the rocks and gravel, then spread a second handful. Ayla waited while he stared at the rocky slope with wet eyes, and, when he turned to go, she made a gesture over Thonolan's grave.
They rode for some time before Jondalar spoke. "He was a favorite of the Mother. She wanted him back."
They went a little farther, and then he asked, "What was that gesture you made?"
"I was asking the Great Cave Bear to protect him on his journey, to wish him luck. It means 'walk with Ursus'"
"Ayla, I didn't appreciate it when you told me. I do now. I am grateful to you for burying him, and for asking the Clan totems to help him. I think that, because of you, he will find his way in the spirit world."
"You said he was brave. I don't think the brave need help to find their way. It would be an exciting adventure for those who are fearless."
"He was brave, and he loved adventure. He was so full of life – as though he were trying to live it all at once. I would not have made this Journey if it hadn't been for him." His arms were around Ayla as they rode double. He tightened them, pulling her closer. "And I would not have found you.
"That's what the Shamud meant by saying it was my destiny! 'He leads where you would not otherwise go,' were the words. Thonolan led me to you… and then followed his love to the next world. I didn't want him to go, but I can understand him now."
As they continued west, the broken land gave way to flat open steppes again, crossed by the rivers and streams of runoff from the great northern glacier. The waterways cut through occasional high-walled canyons and meandered down gently sloping valleys. The few trees that graced the steppes were dwarfed by their struggle to live, even alongside the waters that fed their roots, and their shapes were tortured, as though frozen in the act of bending away from a violent gust.
They kept to the valleys when they could, for shelter from the wind, and for wood. Only there, protected, did birch, willow, pine, and larch grow in any abundance. The same was not true for animals. The steppes were a massive reserve of wildlife. With their new weapon, the man and woman hunted at will, whenever they wanted fresh meat, and they often left the remains of their kills for other predators and scavengers.
They had been traveling for half a moon's cycle of phases when a day dawned hot and unusually still. They had walked most of the morning, and they mounted when they saw a rise in the distance with a hint of green. Jondalar, prodded by Ayla's warmth and closeness, had worked his hand under her tunic to fondle her. They topped the hill and looked down at a pleasant valley watered by a large river. They reached the water when the sun was high.
"Should we go north or south, Jondalar?"
"Let's not do either. Let's make camp," he said.
She started to object, only because she was not accustomed to stopping so early for no reason. Then, when Jondalar nibbled at her neck and gently squeezed her nipple, she decided they had no reason to go on, and more than enough to stop.
"All right, let's make camp," she said. She threw a leg over and slid down. He dismounted and helped her remove the pack baskets from Whinney, so the horse could rest and graze. Then he took her in his arms and kissed her, reaching under her tunic again.
"Why don't you let me take it off," she said.
He smiled while she pulled the tunic over her head and undid the waist tie of the lower garment and stepped out of it. He pulled his tunic over his head, then heard her giggle. When he looked up, she was gone. She laughed again, then jumped into the river.
"I decided to go swimming," she said.
He grinned, took off his trousers, and followed her in. The river was deep and cold and the current swift, but she was swimming upstream so hard that he had difficulty catching up with her. He grabbed her and, treading water, kissed her. She ducked out of his arms and raced for the shore, laughing.
He went after her, but, by the time he reached the shore, she had raced up the valley. He took off after her, and, just as he reached her, she dodged away again. He chased her again, putting forth all his effort, and finally caught her around the waist.
"You're not getting away this time, woman," he said, pulling her close. "You'll tire me out chasing you – then I won't be able to give you Pleasures," he said, delighted with her playfulness.
"I don't want you to give me Pleasures," she said.
His jaw dropped, end lines creased his forehead. "You don't want me…" He let go of her.
"I want to give you Pleasures."
His heart started beating again. "You do give me Pleasures, Ayla," he said, taking her back in his arms.
"I know it pleases you to give me Pleasures – that's not what I mean." Her eyes were serious. "I want to learn to Pleasure you, Jondalar."
He couldn't resist her. His manhood was hard between them as he held her close, and he kissed her as though he couldn't get enough of her. She kissed him back, following his example. They lingered over the kiss, tasting, touching, exploring each other.
"I will show you how to please me, Ayla," he said, and, taking her hand, he found a place of green grass near the water. When they sat down, he kissed her again, then reached for her ear and kissed her neck, pushing her back. His hand was on her breast, and he was reaching for it with his tongue, when she sat up.
"I want to Pleasure you," she said.
"Ayla, it pleases me so much to give you Pleasure – I don't know how it could possibly please me more for you to Pleasure me."
"Will it please you less?" she asked.
Jondalar threw back his head, laughed, and took her in his arms. She smiled but wasn't sure what had delighted him so.
"I don't think anything you did could please me less." Then, looking at her with his vibrant blue eyes, he said, "I love you, woman."
"I love you, Jondalar. I feel love when you smile like that, with your eyes like that, and so much when you laugh. No one laughed in the Clan, and they did not like it when I did. I don't ever want to live with people who will not let me smile or laugh."
"You should laugh, Ayla, and smile. You have a beautiful smile." She couldn't help smiling at his words. "Ayla, oh, Ayla," he said, burying his face in her neck and caressing her.
"Jondalar, I love when you touch me, and kiss in my neck, but I want to know what you like."
He made a wry grin. "I can't help myself – you 'encourages me too much. What do you like, Ayla? Do to me what feels good to you."
"Will you like it?"
"Try it."
She pushed him back, then bent over to kiss him, opening her mouth and using her tongue. He responded, but held himself in check. Then she kissed his neck, flicking her tongue lightly. She felt him shiver a bit, and she looked at him, wanting confirmation.
"Does it please you?"
"Yes, Ayla, it pleases me."
It did. Restraining himself under her tentative advances fired him more than he dreamed. Her light kisses seared through him. She was unsure of herself, as inexperienced as a girl who had reached puberty, but had not yet had First Rites – and no one was more desirable. Such tender kisses had more power to arouse than the most ardent and sensual caresses of more experienced women – because they were forbidden.
Most women were available to some degree; she was untouchable. The untried young woman could drive men, young and old, to a frenzy with secret caresses in dark corners of the cave. A mother's worst fear was that her daughter would come into her womanhood just after the Summer Meeting, with a long winter to face before the next. Mo
st girls had some experience by First Rites with kissing and fondling, and Jondalar had known it was not the first time for a few, though he would not disgrace them by revealing it.
He knew the appeal of those young women – it was part of his enjoyment of First Rites – end it was that appeal Ayla was exerting on him. She kissed his neck. He quivered and, closing his eyes, gave himself up to it.
She moved lower and made ticklish wet circles on his body, feeling her own excitement rising. It was almost torture for him, exquisite torture, part tickle and part searing stimulation. When she reached his navel, he couldn't stop himself. He put his hands on her head and gently pushed her lower until she felt his hot shaft on her cheek. She was breathing hard, and drawing, pulling sensations reached deep. Her tickling tongue was more than he could bear. He guided her head to his outstretched rigid organ. She looked up at him.
"Jondalar, do you want me to…"
"Only if you want to, Ayla."
"It would please you?"
"It would please me."
"I want."
He felt a moist warmth enclose the end of his throbbing manhood, and then more than the end. He groaned. Her tongue explored the smooth round head, probed the small fissure, discovered the texture of the skin. When her first actions brought expressions of pleasure, she grew more confident. She was enjoying her explorations and felt her own throbbing inside. She circled his shape with her tongue. He called out her name, and she moved her tongue faster and felt wetness between her own legs.
He felt suction, and moist warmth moving up and down. "O Doni! Oh, woman! Ayla, Ayla! How did you learn to do that!"
She tried to discover how much she could hold, and she drew him in until she nearly gagged. His cries and moans encouraged her to try again, and again, until he was rising to meet her.
Then, sensing his need for her depths – and her own need as well – she rose, moved her leg over to straddle him, impaled herself on his full-girthed and extended member, and drew it into her. She arched her back and felt her Pleasure, as he penetrated deep.
He looked up at her and gloried in the sight. The sun behind her turned her hair into a golden nimbus. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open, and her face suffused with ecstasy. As she leaned back, her shapely breasts jutted forward, her slightly darker nipples pointing out. Her sinuous body glistened in the sun; his own manhood buried deep within was ready to burst with rapture.