Body Wisdom & Uncompromising Portraits

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  “So you want to try my game?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Your game?” I tried to follow him.

  “Sex in the library.”

  Seeing Kurt made me horny. The idea of having sex with him right here was about as scandalous as anything I could dream up in the middle of masturbating myself. But he was dead serious.

  “Upstairs?” I asked.

  “No, that’s chicken,” he replied.

  “You’ve got me balking,” I said.

  “No, I don’t,” he countered easily. “I have you intrigued. Just follow along and see what happens.” The expression on his face was positively wicked.

  I gazed at the three people studying magazines at the reading table. There were a few other people roaming the stacks, and then my assistant shelving books.

  “Amy,” I called to her. “Will you take the front desk? I need to help Kurt find some books in the back.”

  My innocent school girl assistant smiled sweetly at me as I scooted off my stool, and casual as you please led Kurt into the dark recesses of the library’s section on ancient history, a place so ancient itself that a musty perfume of antiquity rose from its bowels. I’d find that perfume an aphrodisiac before the afternoon was over. The very idea of retreating to this place for sex had my body so turned on that I could already feel the juice between my legs.

  In the very back of the dimly lit alcove, Kurt turned me around and gently pinned me to one empty stretch of wall between two stacks, where there was just enough maneuvering room for me to raise my skirt above my waist and open my legs.

  He looked down at my crotch and with a nasty grin, then clipped my panties away with scissors he’d stolen from the front desk.

  “You’re ruining, them,” I whispered indignantly.

  “I’ll replace them,” he said, pocketing the tiny slip of fabric. “God, you’re wet,” he noticed when he felt my cunt. I ground my rear against the rough stucco plastered wall, sure it would scratch my behind. It was enough added sensation to raise my sexual response higher yet. “Just relax, Jessie, this is gonna be one hot fuck,” he whispered very softly.

  My anxious body couldn’t wait for him to impale me. And with his cock protruding from his pants, he pulled me up against the wall at a perfect height for him to enter the sloppy place at the center of my sex. I moaned, then clamped shut the sound, remembering where I was, thinking all the while that someone would be coming around the corner any instant and discover us.

  While I waited for that fate to descend, I let myself go as Kurt rammed his cock inside me. Arms tightly grasping, and lips locked together, it was oblivion all over again, right there in the library stacks. How strong he was! Holding me against that wall. Pawing, panting, rocking, the suppressed sounds of pleasure. I was certain our whimpering cries were echoing through the walls into every tiny corner where there were ears to hear. And yet, I was still letting him go on, as if I was a reckless woman that didn’t care about anything but this one moment of sexual indulgence.

  I felt his orgasm as a strong sure steady pulsing. I wiggled on him as much as I could, smiling to myself all the while. Here I was, making love in the middle of my library!

  He pinned me to the wall with his chest pressing against mine, until he was ready to let go, and then he pulled away and helped me regain my footing.

  The screwing over, it seemed enough for me, except that Kurt dropped to his knees and began to use his tongue on my clit. I had half a mind to stop him, thinking that our luck was certain to run out; but that other erotic half of me prevailed again. His tongue did its dance on every soft, swollen place: on the tiny bud head, in the tender cracks and against the wet hole. He sucked me hard for a moment, and then I was cumming, pressing my pussy into his face while he finished me off. The sensations were so strong I couldn’t help but bawl some gibberish, though immediately wished I could take it all back.

  “Oh, my god!” I exclaimed with a whisper when I finally came to.

  “See, what did I tell you?” Kurt said, pulling himself up to me, my dress dropping back into place.

  “You’re sure you’re not testing me?”

  “I’m sure,” he answered. “You don’t need it. Just follow your cunt.”

  I tried looking presentable when we emerged from our library love nest together. “You think anyone heard us?” I asked anxiously.

  “Maybe, but they’re not going to say anything,” he said. “Besides, the noises you were making were kind of weird,” he joked.

  “Weird? How about you, that was damned strange groaning.”

  “That corner of the library will never be the same,” he said with a smirk.

  “Yes, I imagine that you’d like to turn the whole place into a den of iniquity, and me into its madam,” I charged.

  “You want to try that?” he asked, as if he was charmed by the idea.

  “The city fathers of Shelter Bay would likely frown,” I told him.

  “And do I care?” Kurt replied.

  Maybe that last comment of mine was better left unsaid. Kurt and the city fathers were not bosom buddy friends. I winced a little seeing his expression turn grim.

  Chapter Six

  We were spending a quiet evening in my house, the kind of cozy evening where after a barbecue, and listening to soft music we drank beer on the patio, until the fog finally chased us inside, and the evening just continued on in that sensuous note of tranquillity.

  Kurt looked really good sitting in my paisley covered chair with his feet on my coffee table. He looked more domestic and less avant garde. I was reluctant to tell him what I was thinking, knowing that this kind of moment, as pleasing as it was, was hard for him. Used to restless meandering when we were at his place, he was always engrossed in something that had to do with his little house or the shop. Here we just sat and looked at each other, and read magazines, and watched TV and listened to music and made love. Here we talked. I’d say a few things and wait, and when he was ready, if he was ready, he’d begin, and we discuss everything from children to houses, to baseball, the only sport he really loved, and bikes. Sometimes he even talked about politics and religion. On politics he was uninspired, uninformed, but reasonably wise and disinterested, unless it had to do with something that effected his shop in Shelter Bay. On religion we agreed on a lot, though we said things differently. We also agreed that semantics shouldn’t get in the way.

  Kurt was very conventional about some things; and he was Eastern in others. I watched him meditate some mornings. When it was early, he’d be up doing Tai Chi in his garden or on my patio. I appreciated the fact that he didn’t ask me to join him. I wondered if he didn’t want me to, or if he was just not going to push it. He found me watching once, and his expression didn’t change. I wasn’t even sure he saw me staring; but when he was done, he walked to the door, and kissed me, as he passed me on his way to the bathroom.

  Tai Chi was the subject I broached with him this night, just after we relocated in my living room when the fog got too murky to bear.

  “You look so incredibly peaceful when you’re moving. It almost seems like you have this rhythm from the ground.”

  He liked what I said. “Maybe you’d like to try it sometime,” he suggested.

  “I might,” I said. “But I kind of like just watching you.”

  “It makes this town livable,” he said, throwing out an unexpected judgment of our small town.

  “Livable? Why’s that?”

  “I’m at peace. My garden and yours are beautiful and I can get lost in what I’m doing.”

  “And if you didn’t have this “lost” experience?” I wondered aloud.

  “I don’t like this place much, Jess. I mean Shelter Bay. It seems really open and charming and New Age, all that crap, but it’s as uptight as podunk nowheresville somewhere on the prairie.”

  I knew he felt this way, but he’d never said it quite so clearly.

  “They don’t want me here. You’re the only establishment person
in town that’s given me the time of day. Yeah, the shopkeepers will take my money, and Griff’s okay, but the rest.” He shook his head not saying more.

  “You think I’m an establishment type?” I questioned.

  “Well, you know.”

  “The librarian, yeah, I know what you’re thinking. And I’m on the mayor’s board, so I’m just another uptight establishment type.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Since, you rescued me,” I said flippantly.

  “Don’t you feel rescued?”

  I did feel rescued. But I didn’t like the way Kurt was so sure he was Mr. Antiestablishment, I’m never going to fit in anywhere.”

  “I might feel rescued from myself, but not this town,” I commented.

  “Well, the fact is, I probably would have left a long time ago, if you hadn’t been here.”

  This statement put a lump in my throat instantly. Why do relationships always have to get around to these ticklish subjects? I felt as if were we swimming into shark-infested waters and there wasn’t any way to avoid it, and certainly no way out. “You’re not trying to tell me you want to leave, are you?” I asked.

  “No, I’m not. I told you, I’m content. And, I like the shop. I suppose I should, it’s whatever I want it to be.”

  He said that to reassure me, but I wasn’t believing him. In my mind I told myself he was being honest, but where it really counted, I was scared to death because I was afraid I had a time-bomb in my bed, and it was only a matter of time before it would blow.

  We slipped off to bed that night, sobered. At least I was. Kurt was pretty much normal. He made love aggressively, with hands taking me everywhere I wanted to go. He was at my ass a lot, playing with me vigorously. As his cock slipped inside my sex, his fingers in my rear hole gave me as much pleasure as I was getting from my aroused pussy. I suspected it would be only a matter of days before I’d want him inside the darker channel with his cock. I never imagined that this was something I’d enjoy, but each time he played with me there I was only reminded how rich and rare these sensations were. So differently special, I knew I was missing something not to have him inside. I never expected it would be so pleasant—and so strangely compelling. Still, it was one thing Kurt never pushed on me; and it made me think all the more, that he had some psychic link to the manual of my sexual desires, and could read it as if it was clearly spelled out in black and white.

  We were just drifting off to sleep, when there was a harsh rap on my front door. I thought of that moment weeks before when Kurt returned. It was that kind of demanding sound. But Kurt was half asleep next to me, and I had no idea who else would be waking me in the middle of the night.

  “You want me to get it?” he asked, as he suddenly popped from the bed, even as I was putting my slippers on. He followed me out to the living room and we both answered the door.

  “Kurt.” It was the Shelter Bay Sheriff standing on my porch. “Your shop and the house are in flames.”

  We stared at the man dumbstruck, for one of those moments that seem like hours not split seconds.

  Dressed in just a pair of sweatpants, Kurt dove for his boots, then grabbed the bike keys from the table and dashed for the door, not bothering to wait for me to get dressed. I followed in my car not five minutes later, but it was all so horrible I wished I hadn’t come.

  The store, the gardens, the house, everything was in flames, or smoldering after it had been doused with water; and Kurt was standing on the sidewalk, his long hair flying in the breezy fog-filled night, his dark eyes and his bare chest reflecting back the glowing embers. He looked like a statue, the simple shell of the man that I’d just spent my last few hours with in the throes of erotic bliss.

  When he looked to me, a vacancy, a cold animal vacancy remained in his eyes, where I was used to dancing light, and warmth, and the nurturing calm of his steady and generous passion.

  ***

  I slept until seven the next morning. Dead tired still, I dragged myself out of bed, at first thinking that Kurt had spent the night at his house. But then I remembered, that he’d tumbled into bed exhausted, after we stood on the sidewalk by his burned out shop and house, and stared, just stared until the sight hurt too much for our tearing eyes.

  Where was he at seven a.m. when he should still be sleeping, still knocked out by shock and fatigue? I could only guess he’d gone back to the site of his disaster, allowing himself to pour over the ruins. Why? To make some sense of it perhaps, to align his mind with this new piece of reality and decide what it means? It would be a difficult task, one I would have willingly helped him with. But he was Kurt Cezant, consummate loner, philosopher, artisan of the mind as much as of the earth and pottery and fine woodworking. I couldn’t expect he’d ask for my help, even though I knew he should. People are better off not dealing with tragedy alone. Fuck the idea that we have to turn morose and depressed in the face of disaster.

  Ah, I had my point of view, which I knew was right, but I also knew that Kurt wouldn’t share it. And he wouldn’t ask me for help, and at least until the shock had sunk in, I was better off to stay clear.

  Unfortunately, I was not about to take my own advice.

  Dressing quickly, I ran a comb through my hair, managed a little make-up, and then dashed out the door to find Kurt.

  ***

  “Does it look any better in the daylight?” I asked, walking along what was left of the stone pathway that had led around his shop, through the garden, ending at his one room cottage. It had been too hot that night to go into the interior of the property and inspect the damage. Even as I looked on it in the morning light, there was still smoldering ash and the smell of smoke. The air had a strange stench that was instantly unpleasant.

  “What do you think?” he asked, knowing it was me behind him, not bothering to turn around.

  “Even your cottage.”

  He chuckled darkly. “Looks like it’s just my bike and me again,” he said.

  “That’s all that’s left ?” I asked.

  “Well look at it!” he shouted. Every little piece of my work is gone. Not damn a thing!” He shook his head.

  “Maybe you should cry?” I suggested.

  Then he whipped around and faced me.

  “You think that’s gonna do any good, Jess,” he sneered as he spoke. “Suppose that’s a female take on the situation. Cry and it will all be better.”

  “It couldn’t hurt,” I said.

  “Hell, I’ve gotta be alone. I’m sorry I can’t take you or anyone else, right now.”

  I didn’t expect him to react much differently, I even expected the sharpness in his voice, but I didn’t expect quite the sting in my heart, hearing him send me away. I should have just followed my instincts and left him alone to be begin with. If I talked to Beth I could hear her now, telling me what a fool I’d been to pressure him. I didn’t think it was pressure, it was just support.

  “You’re staying with me, aren’t you?” I asked.

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll see you there later.”

  I tried a smile, but I didn’t do very well. There were tears welling in my eyes that I didn’t want him to see, so I turned around and walked away.

  ***

  I was in my garden nursing down a beer, in my lounge chair with my feet up, realizing how thoroughly exhausted I was. Worry does that. And since I’d been worried sick all day long, thinking of Kurt and his deep hurt, I had reason to be worn out.

  I only jumped to life when I heard Kurt’s motorcycle stop in front of the house, the sound of his boots coming up the walk, the click of the front door as it opened, and the quiet tap of his feet against my hardwood floors as he made his way through the living room to the kitchen. He stopped at the refrigerator, then came to the back door.

  This time, following my instincts, I wouldn’t smother him with my effuse self. He’d have to come to me.

  The door opened, and closed, banging on its frame; and seconds later Kurt was sitting across from me, looking lik
e shit - though even covered with soot and dirt, his face smudged, and his long hair looking dirty and unwashed, his earthy appearance was doing splendid things to me. My heart and cunt were practically leaping from me, I would have let him screw me on the spot if that’s what he wanted.

  “This tastes good,” he said, referring to the cold beer in his hand. The can was actually getting muddy from his hands and the condensation.

  “You look like you could use a shower,” I said.

  “Yeah, I probably do,” he said.

  “Hungry?” I said.

  “After I clean up.”

  I was dying to ask him a hundred questions, but there just wasn’t that first one to break the barrier of silence he’d erected. Without saying another word, he got up and walked back inside the house. I listened, hearing the beer can hit the trash.

  Fixing dinner while Kurt showered, I heard the water stop running and expected him to be out in a few minutes. But to my surprise, just moments later, he descended on me from behind, and captured me in his arms, while he was still naked, and dripping wet.

  Pulling me to the living room, he plunked me down on the sofa, and pushed up my skirt. I would have protested the way he was getting my living room couch soaked, but I wasn’t going to say anything to upset him. It was a “dump fuck”, so I call screwing that happens more from necessity than desire, fast, without much consideration of the other person. It’s the kind of sex meant solely to release pent-up energy, for that one tiny moment of bliss when the rest of the world is forgotten.

  My job was to yield, which I did willingly. I had my own need to fill, and submitting to him was part of it, the only way I could think to support him. Every bit of violent release poured into me; and I took it, hoping it could take away his hurt.

  His hands were all over my thighs, kneading them so hard they hurt. He laid me on the couch and gasped my ass as he pressed inside my tight squeezing cunt. I bucked as hard as he was thrusting in me. And it didn’t take long before I feel him spurt.