Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Tall, Dark and ...  by Souvie - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Copyright October 2003 See Disclaimer at the end - thanks to John and Denny
for their quick beta work.  Thanks to Rui for the language translation.  :)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

   Angele was an island girl with long black hair, almond eyes and dark
skin.  She lived alone in a hut by the shore, an artist by trade but a
dreamer at heart.  She made jewelry that she sold at market.  A boring,
solitary life, that was Angele's reality.  But sometimes, in the loneliest
part of the night, she'd toss and turn on her small bed, dreaming of a
better life, filled with light and laughter, a man to love her, and a
family of her own.  Come the morning it was always the same: Angele and
nothing but the indifferent, endless ocean.

   One day, at sunset, Angele heard a distant melody.  She looked up from
her work, trying to find the source of the singing, but saw no one.  It was
a man's voice, rich and deep, dark and mysterious, but at the same time
vaguely familiar.  The melody was haunting, but the words were too low to
make out.  She got up and ran in the direction she thought it was coming
from, but the voice faded and there was nothing but the sound of her
breathing and the gentle lapping of the waves.

   That night she dreamt of a tall man, hair as dark as volcanic ash, and a
smile brighter than the sun on the water.  His hands were cool on her hot
skin, and her own hands crept between her thighs, seeking relief from the
fire the dream man was igniting inside her.  Faster and faster her hands
moved until she came.  She settled down with a sigh of exhaustion, hugging
the pillow to her chest.

   Her days continued much the same as they always had; it was only her
nights that were different.  Erotic, dream-filled nights with the mystery
man and her hands bringing her to swift and sure completion.  At times she
was sure she'd imagined hearing the voice that day while she was working,
but other times she could have sworn she caught the melody wafting to her
on the breeze, elusive and tantalizing.

   After almost a week, Angele was sitting by her fire and heard the voice
again.  The voice seemed to be approaching her small cottage.  She felt her
heart thumping, her palms sweating with fear and anticipation, her thighs
tingling almost imperceptibly.  She got up and ran to the window, but the
beach was bare.  The voice faded into nothingness, and she turned from the
window, tears rimming her eyes.

   That night Angele's dreams were more vivid than ever.  She could almost
see the Aegean blue of his eyes, taste the salt on his lips as he teased
and tortured her with his seductive voice and strong hands.  Her own hands
worked her body, a poor substitute for the man of her fantasies.

   The next day, she sat by the window at sunset waiting to hear that
wonderful voice.  It was there, getting closer and closer to her house,
with the same sweet melody:

   minha pequenina venho que bela és abre-me o teu coração abre-me a tua
porta

   Her heart pounded in her chest.  The voice had never sounded so sweet
and sultry, yet so strong and intense.  A dark silhouette separated from
the jungle at the shoreline and made its way, agonizingly slowly, to her
door.  It was too dark to make out more than his outline, but Angele was
sure it was the man from her dreams.  She didn't know how or why, and
didn't really care.  All she wanted was to feel the exquisite pleasure she
felt in her dreams - pleasure from his hands instead of her own.

   The dark silhouette was at her door.

   Angele jumped up and threw the door open.

   And the beast came in.

   THE END

   - - - - - - I write, you read.  It's not, I write, you take.  Comments
and constructive criticism greatly appreciated.  Blow me at: souvie at
mindspring dot com
/~Souvie
/files/Authors/Souvie/