He brushed away a stray hair from her cheek, and she shivered in pleasure. It wasn’t the motion itself, but the way he did it. How his fingers graced her skin with the care of someone who was making a painting, carving a sculpture from the finest marble, or maybe peeling back the cosmos to reveal truth where the cracks are, and all the angels that lie underneath the pain. His touch was more a dance, more of a nectar. For he skated across her glorious surface with passion, with purity, with precision.
She sat, in complete stillness, simply receiving all that he wanted to give her.
He traced the edges of her jaw, all the way down to her collarbone. Her pale skin shimmered in the November moonlight, tinging the entire evening gold and silver. Two warm bodies, with heat crackling between them---sparks created from a sexual passion, but the embers slow and steady, sustained, from this marked sweetness between them that was so innocent. Steam rose from all around their bodies, like a heady perfume hatched from their heavy breaths. She smiled at him in that way she always had, with that smile that shot through his whole body, like lightning. And then he kissed her.
Samuel kissed Sienna.
He kissed her with hunger, with prowess, with urgency. He kissed her until every cell in her body surrendered. He kissed her, lips meeting lips, skin meeting skin, soul meeting soul---until every quaking kiss brought them closer to the shoulders of God, of heaven, of the shuddering blue-misted mountains of ecstasy.
He kissed her until they trembled into the newborn-like arms of awakeness. Of utmost rawness. Of boundaries dissolved, falseness and nicities dissolved, and they plunged once again in the ripe realms of soul.
He kissed her with no less excitement than the first time their lips met.
She was so young back then, only 17. He had been 18. They met at a boarding school in Scotland, where the hills were lush and green, the land shaped, packed with ancint secrets that spanned for thousands of miles. She met him, before she knew. Before she knew who she was, what she was actually here to do.
She met him in darkness, in mind-bending confusion. She met him, at a rather unstable time in her life when she was trying to her damnedst to rebel from the suffocating ways of her too-small hometown. The roles her parents had dictated and adhered to her, before she was even born. All those bullsh*t predetermined things. She hated the feel of it, of merely being in her parents’ presence like wearing a sticky enamel, an old yellow skin that wasn’t even hers. All she could feel was this thing, this almost-entity, that comprised all the charming characteristics of what they wanted her to be.
She rejected it all. She would have risked their love for her to be free---and she was. That was far less expensive than becoming a dull husk of a thing, to go to their soceity balls and drink expensive champagne with men who were supposed to be impressive but were really just pretentious, empty and boring as shit.The frenetic energy of her struggle back then had made her dangerous, if only from the pent-up agression and rage and all the muffled roars of the things she wished she could say. Her insides pulsed with lava. And this had made her both inspired and impulsive.
She was so terribly, beautifully bold. Because it seemed to her the only way to break free. She had to be bold if she wanted to break free. Everyday, she risked it all to try to find even the tiniest thread of realness, of authenticity.
Samuel, he was the love that knocked her off course of her bitterness, and onto the course of belief. For their love, it was the portal that opened the doors to divinity. He got in the way of her angry quest for independence, only because she realized she couldn’t break free alone. She needed help, healing, just as we all do.
At first, because of the great magnetic electricity between them, almost like a force itself, she hated him. She felt utterly repulsed. She rolled her eyes at this boy who pranced around the cool, checkered marble floors of their school, and acted like he knew everything. This boy with bright green eyes who spat off historical facts, rolling them off his tongue a little too easily, a little too rehearsed. He seemed too confident; kinda cocky. Whenever he would talk in class, she would glaze over. He was a suck-up, she thought. She hated the way he needed everyone to like him. The way he catered to other’s pleasures and whims. That’s exactly what was dying within her.
She didn’t know why he couldn’t loosen up and have a regular conversation. Or be himself. Why he never shared anything about himself behind facts. And yet, even though she felt disgusted by him on this deep, interior level, she was intrigued...
Sienna, being very bold back then, as evidenced by her red-tipped blonde hair and dark, almost-black lipstick, sure, but mostly it was this fire that just exuded from her, a fire that was invisible, but palpably felt every time she walked into a room. She sourced power from Kali, anger, rage, death, destruction. She burned bright with the boldness of all the things that women weren’t supposed to be.
Instead of playing with barbies, she was interested in knives and snakes. She never feared getting her white keds dirty like the other girls. The more mud on her feet, the more dirt beneath her nails the better. She was wild, and she didn’t give a damn about trying to suppress it, this unquenchable howling inside her, no matter how much her behavior embarassed her parents. In some way, it delighted her to see their reactions, their faces screwed up in shock and concern. Dissappointed, they always were. They just didn’t get it---and they never would.
So, being the fierce flame that she was, she walked up to Samuel one day after their Final exam in Composition. He sat beneath the great big Oak tree on the edge of the forest, by the big pond dotted with ducks. It was Spring. The grass was almost neon green, lush with droplets of just having rained. There was a tenderness, a fragility about the grass, about both of them, about this time.
She walked right up to him, she got really close, so that she could feel the heat of his breath on her face---and his eyes met hers immediately, with this frenzy, with this sadness, with this hunger. It matched something she felt inside her. And the air appeared to pulse between them. She was caught off guard, but that didn’t stop her. When she wanted something, she was on a warpath until she got it. Besides, she wanted to know what made him tick, was what beneath his lame, all-knowing, falsely omnipotent exterior. She wanted to know everything he hid with the slick veneer of his arrogance.
She hovered over him, in her plaid uniform she hated so much, with a dark blue striped sweater thrown over her cotton shirt. He was in khakis and emerald green button-down sweater.
“So why don’t you ever actually talk to anyone?” she asked him bluntly, following his eyes, as he tried to avert her gaze.
She peered into him, with those purple-blue eyes of hers that saw everything, too much, every morsel of truth behind the lies.
He sighed, then frowned from the intensity of her gaze. She smirked slightly, and thought he was going to run away.
“Because no one actually wants to talk to me,” he said, the sharp edges of pain palpable in his tone, in his deeply green eyes.
The honesty of his response punctured her. In that moment, even her prickliest armor fell away.
“I understand what you mean,” she offered, her loud voice softened and smootheed by his vulnerability.
“Oh please!” he said, “Everyone wants to talk to you. Everyone respects you,” he said in a tone that indicated he was jealous of her, of the surefooted way she held herself. Because she really didn’t care what anyone thought. She didn’t just march to her own drum, she made the drum and played the rhythm herself.
She smiled at him softly. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean they actually know me, ” she said, her throat tightening suddenly, as though she might cry.
“No one here knows anything about me...” she continued, trailing off, her eyes no longer viligant or challenging, but brimming over with tears in their own right.
Their emotions flowed, blossoming into a frothy sea, and the deep current pulled on them both---and he had no choice but to grab her by her fleshy waist and kiss her.
So he did.
Not because he wanted to make her okay, but because he understood. She kissed him, not to make him okay---but because she understood.
He kissed her like stars were aligning. Like the past was blowing up behind them. Like only beauty was welcome here.
The Oak tree swayed in the wind above them. Rain threatened to pour. She moaned as his hands explored her body with a prowess she was not expected. It was a precision that said he had not been with a lot of girls, but that he offered all of himself with every touch.
She trembled, her body bending to how good it felt.
She liked how vulnerable he was; how vulnerable he made her feel.
They unzipped their masks. All the things that people ever told them they should be.
Freedom crested, the breeze picked up.
Then, he unzipped her navy blue sweater, ripping it off, revealing her nipples visible underneath her crisp white shirt. He smiled that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her eyes dared him to come closer, for more, more, more. His kissed grazes her neck, as he kissed and unbuttoned her, until her ample breasts shook loose. He licked her nipples as she tilted her head back in pure pleasure. Frenzied now, she took of his sweater to reveal chiseled abs and just the right amount of chest hair.
Their bodies rubbed together as a most delicious friction was created. They moaned and moaned, the forest winds picked up, the grass began to get very cold, but they didn’t care. There was enough heat between them to stay warm.
Soon, they were naked, tangled together.
“Show me,” he said gently, and she spread her legs to show him all of her womanliness, wet, pink, and throbbing. An orchid jewel. Pink and wise.
He practically panted in response.
He touched her swollen clitoris, circling it until she was shaking with pleasure, and his cock was so hard she couldn’t help but stare at it. So she grabbed it in her hand and felt all the potency contained in him.
It was time.
“I’m ready,” she said, opening her legs further, tempting him with her dangerous curves as she moved her hips from side to side, giving him a taste of what was in store. He smiled, grabbing a purple ribbed condom from his pants pocket nearby.
She took it from his hands and put it on, excited for the throbbing entirety of him to enter her body.
“Go slow,” she said sweetly, almost like a little girl.
“I will,” he said.
So she did.
He got on top of her and entered her inch by inch, and soon they were both drowning in pleasure, surrounded by confetti of sheer ectasy, drizzled by the honey of what it feels like when we just let go. They moved their hips together, slinking, snake-like---and the whole world faded away.
The possibility of getting caught. The cold grass beneath their bodies. Their upcoming exams at school.
They panted, going slowly to draw out every breath, to fully feel every sensation.
It didn’t feel like any sex she had had before, Sienna thought. It felt otherworldly. Tantric.
And as he gently rocked on top of her, she slowly circled her clit, and was brought to a shaking climax, just as he began to cum.
They both shuddered and moaned loudly and deeply together, the pleasure enough to shatter something. Or many somethings. Maybe all the old, dead things inside of them.
And they both knew---from this moment on, they were together.
There would be ups.
There would be downs.
There would be terrible trials, and gigantic joys.
It didn’t matter; they would face it, side-by-side.
An unlikely duo on the surface, but the same sea raged beautifully inside them.
They were two of something. A set. The same, deep in their DNA.
As the sun set, she laid on his chest, his brown hair against her blonde hair, doing all he could to keep her warm.
And everything had changed for her that day. Her direction. The way she thought of herself.
Because she could feel the way he thought of her---
He cherished her. He always had. He always would.
As this memory drew to a close, Siera floated back into the present, feeling Samuel kissing her in that same cherishing way.
The way that felt like a prayer, like him bowing down to the fiery, sweet woman she truly was.
Because of his gentle willingness, his support---she had flourished. She had bloomed. And so had he.
She looked around at all they had now, internally and externally. At all they had journeyed through.
They were both living their dreams.
Because of their love for eachother.
Because of their absolute reverence and respect for each other.
It was the sweet warmth that kept them going.
The gentle, faithful force that kept them believing.
She knew all would be well, as long as he kept on kissing her.
And he did.
“Never stop,” she moaned, like a prayer to the spirits of the air.
And he didn’t.
With every kiss, another layer pulled back.
In the sweet safety of one another's arms.
Revealing the juicy cores of
Who they really are.