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Jasmin (part III)
by Vivian Darkbloom
I awoke to things going bump in the middle of the night. Quietly
repetitious "bump, bump, bump" in a gently soothing rhythm,
accompanied by muffled sounds of accelerated hoarse breathing
punctuated by the occasional distant moan. As customary on
overnight spacegoing ships, the gravity was muted to about half,
softening the bed beneath me and the cushions around me.
In another room on the ship, the bumping ceased for a few
seconds, then started up again with renewed vigor, punctuated by
more frequent whispered cries, accelerating gradually and then
coming to a stop with three or four very slow and drawn-out
"bumps" accompanied by wordless expressions of intense sensation,
and a long sigh.
All these sounds were very quiet, but sounds inside my skull that
the external ones had initiated were loud and raucous. There were
pictures, too, of her, engaged in various activities which (I had
reason to believe) there was much doubt that she would be likely
to ever actually engage in. Still, one could hope.
The battle raged within me, between the dreadful fatigue of the
day -- Wasn't once enough times to frantically brave an escape
from the Inquisition in a single day? And the jitters I had just
gotten from unintentionally eavesdropping, on such an exquisite
solo concerto, sounds which caused my body's memory banks to
recall the feeling earlier of her dainty form pressed against me,
the dampness from her warm tears coursing into my comforting
breast, suggesting sweet sticky moistness which might be found in
other portions of her anatomy.
The fatigue won, nominally, and I drifted back down the slopes of
Theta waves and REM, but the dreams were vivid, I was climbing
white mountains of smooth flesh to plunge the broom-handle into
the heart of the dandelion, but it kept washing away in waves of
a clear, crystal-cold, turquoise, tropical ocean.
____________________________________________________________
The great thing about zero-G is the infinite number variations it
unlocks in the game of wastecan-basketball. Personally, I am of
the school of thought that the best projectile is the crumpled-up
sheet of paper, but depending on one's resourcefulness there are
various other items which can be called on to serve just as
effectively.
I had a riff going that morning of bouncing diagonally off the
side wall towards the ceiling, then ricocheting across (the
direction that ordinarily would be "down") and making the shot
for the basket just as it came into view around the edge of the
control console.
The control console looked delightfully bizarre from that angle
as well.
Clad in a silky, almost-transparent, white nightgown, hair mussed
in silly-looking clumps of sleep-tangles. She was drumming her
fingers on the wall as she watched me polishing this move for the
twenty-third time or so. When she finally said "Do you mind if we
turn the gravity back on now? It's just that you can't really
pour milk on cereal very well when everything is sort of floating
all over the place."
"Sure. Just give me one more shot..." I tried again and missed.
"Wait! That doesn't count. I have to get it in."
She rolled her eyes and punched a few buttons on the console, and
gradually I felt my limbs getting heavier and heavier, as if at a
hypnotist's command, eyes fixed on a watch-pendulum, I was
dropping deeper and deeper into relaxation, as `up' and `down'
began to take on meaning again, and I slowly gained weight and
sank towards the floor.
"You're no fun any more," I cried out as she departed towards the
galley.
____________________________________________________________
The spoon rested in empty cereal bowl on the console, as she sat
in the left-hand chair absorbing the flickering frames flashing
on the small video screen on the bridge console. She was flipping
randomly between a cartoon show and a news program.
"Man, this is the best coffee I've ever tasted," I said, standing
facing her over the console, ready to resume bouncing off the
walls. "Can we turn off the gravity again? Please?"
"Are you always like this?" she asked. "If we turn the gravity
off, how will you finish the coffee?"
"I don't know. I'll make that part of the game."
She rolled her eyes. "So what's this Inquisition thingie?" she
gestured at the news program, a segment on some new saint that
was being recognized as capable of purging sins.
"You had to remind me."
"Well, I am curious."
"OK." Solemnly, I sat in the right-hand chair. "Yesterday, they
destroyed my ship."
"Why would they do that? Which reminds me. How did you find this
ship?" she asked.
"I saw it while I was drifting by in my escape pod. And how they
could do that is," my temper flared, my nostrils flared, my
cheeks flushed, my eyes glared, "is because they're some of the
most dreadful, cruel, twisted people in the galaxy."
In the back of my mind I know that someday Darvo and I would meet
again, and that eventually there would be a meeting that would
end with at least one of us not walking away.
And that would be a drag, because I like to walk. I like to run,
to skip and sometimes even to hop, and I don't like having some
overprivileged right-wing religious nut laying trips on me.
"Whoa, chill out dude," she broke in, seeing my expression.
"Could I get you to go back to throwing crumpled up paper into
the wastebasket?"
"OK," I stood up to look under the console for my paper ball.
"I think you need something better to play with," she said.
"Follow me."
"Where?"
"Trust me," she said smiling. "You're gonna like this."
"How do you know?"
"Bend over so I can whisper in your ear." (I did) She whispered:
"I heard you calling out my name last night while you were
asleep."
She grinned, winking at me.
Curious, I followed her down the hall.
"Is it true what the T.V. says," she asked. "That the age of
consent is 20 now?"
"Yes, thanks to the Inquisition. Why, what was it 200 years ago?"
She flashed a smile back at me. "Seven."
"Holy... Did you have sex when you were seven?"
"No, but my friend's sister was seven, and she was pretty fun to
play with."
She led me through the doorway to the master bedroom, and we
stopped in front of a strange device.
The rectangular base was about a metre long, and maybe third as
wide. The two lengthwise sides sloped inward to meet in an
upward-facing half-moon crescent, the bottom of which was maybe
10 cm off the ground. The entire thing was a mysterious shade of
maroon, and all corners rounded and cushiony-soft, the upward
edge cylindrical like a kid's foam swimming "noodle."
"Do you know what this is?" she asked.
"Maybe. I think I saw a picture once."
"You want to guess? It's my Mom's. I've never used it before --
this is my first time."
"So how do you use it?"
She lifted her nightgown, and I stared once more at her beautiful
slit as she lowered her naked crotch until she sat kneeling,
snugly seated on it. Looked comfortable.
"I only ever had sex with girls before," she explained, reaching
down to adjust several knobs at the base of it. "but since
they're all gone now I guess it's time to try a new flavor."
"What did you have in mind?" I asked, as the machine started up,
and two slithery soft slimy tentacles reached upwards towards her
downward-facing naked crotch, and her jaw dropped as I saw the
tentacles make their entry, one into her vagina and the other
into her tiny butthole, snakelike in their S-shaped undulations.
"Uh. That's incredible," she gasped, pelvis gyrating gently in
rhythm. "See, I've orgasms with girls before, but I think it
would be better if I had a dick in my mouth, especially if I came
while you were squirting your stuff onto my tongue."
"I don't know," I said, starting to back away.
She grabbed my waistband and forcefully yanked me towards her,
deftly unfastening the clasp, still arching and gyrating all the
while.
"Oh, look at this," she said, running her palm over the tentpole
in the propping up the front of my pants.
"My god," I exclaimed. "Must you do that?"
She raised her eyebrows, meanwhile as her entire torso trembled
with sexual intensity.
She peeled away my outer pants, and lovingly breathed warm air
through my underwear onto my impossibly stiff shaft. This hardon
would never end, I knew it. It was going to last for the rest of
my life. Years from now I would still have the same hardon. I
would bequeath it in my will to a beautiful eleven-year-old girl
whose eyes fluttered as she used her teeth to tear away the final
covering.
The glorious column of desire stood naked before her, at full
attention.
"Since I've never done a guy before, I've been studying." She
gestured at the book she had open on the floor.
"Advanced blowjob techniques -- prostate stimulation," was the
title, and there was a diagram, illustrating the position of the
mouth and a finger in the asshole, demonstrating the correct
angle of the finger to achieve the optimal stimulation.
She was putting on disposable rubber gloves. "I can just take
them off when we're done, easier than worrying about washing my
hands."
She plunged the tip of my penis into her sweet, hot mouth,
working me in and out of between her tight red lips.
"You devious wench," I protested.
"Why thank you," she said between slurps, diving into my rectum
skillfully with two fingers as she lovingly caressed and probed
my testicles and shaft with the other hand.
"That's amazing," I said, and soon our conversation degenerated
into indecipherable noises, cries encoded in a language only the
two of us could comprehend as we shared the mysterious pleasure
of mutual sexuality.
Truth be told, she cheated a little on the part she had said
about coming while I was squirting onto her tongue. That is to
say, she came several times before I did, and the sensation of
feeling her mouth around me as she had one intensely trembling
orgasm after another sent me into a cascade of ecstatic neural
fireworks.
"Oh Jasmin, I love you," I nearly screamed, feeling the molten
drops close to their releasing, sensing that I was close, she
gazed up at me with fascination.
There was something in the way she twisted her finger inside me
that sent me over the edge, or maybe it was the sensation of her
soft lips encircling me tightly as I slid in and out, or the tip
of her tongue probing and exploring in anticipation.
It all came together in a monumental finale and the fiery liquid
exploded onto her tongue and as I shoved myself into her cute
little face again and again... and sure enough, it made her come
one final time, so I felt her convulsing and pulsing around me as
I filled her mouth with my sweet seed of life.
____________________________________________________________
Afterwards, it felt natural to lie together, on top of the bed,
half-dozing in each other's arms, then finally taking off all of
our clothes so we could luxuriate in the sheer freedom of
nakedness.
"Did that taste OK?" I asked. "It didn't freak you out or
anything?"
She grinned. "Delicious. Wanna try?" She kissed me on the lips,
poking her tongue into my mouth.
I had the urge to spit and say blech, but I resisted. "Good
gravy, girl. the first time we kiss and it has my stuff in it."
"Will you fuck me in the ass?" she requested, smiling, eyebrows
raised.
"Whoa. You're one kinky little girl," I exclaimed.
She squirmed gleefully. "Why, thank you."
"Just chill for a minute, OK?"
"'K."
Spooning together, she in front of me, pushing her cute little
ass into my flaccidity. Well, it was flaccidity before she
started bumping against it.
"Jasmin?"
"Mm?"
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
She turned toward me slightly, thinking. "A dancer," she decided.
"Have you taken dance class?"
"Um, yeah."
"What kind of dance?"
"Ballet. Only I never went up on point. I want to make up my own
kind of dance, and have a company, with fifty ballerinas. Girls
only, `cause they're smarter."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
She turned around facing me, and was playfully toying with my
hardening penis.
"How come there was a regulator missing?" she asked.
Her her tiny nipples stood out in crimson against the background
of her blushing-white flat, thin torso, as if finger-painted on.
"You mean the cryo-regulator."
"Yeah. I noticed the one from my mom's pod was missing."
"Right." I balked at the idea of introducing this innocent sweet
young girl to the concept of evil in the world. It was a door
never to be shut again, once opened. Still, it would have been
wrong to lie.
"Shortly before I found your ship, it had been boarded by the
Inquisition. They had removed the regulator from your pod."
"From my..." she fell silent, and stopped playing.
"Meaning that if I hadn't arrived when I did, and inserted a
working regulator into your pod--"
"Stop!" she said. "I know. I would have woken up and then frozen
to death." The sound of her gentle breathing rose and fell ever
so close to me, but her eyes had gone distant, to some faraway
dark place no one could fathom.
She trembled, this time with apprehension, and reached out,
drawing me close to her.
"You saved my life," she whispered. "You rescued me."
"It was extremely fortunate that I happened along when I did. I
mean, what were the odds?"
"Destiny," she said. "We were destined to be together." She
thought about it a bit, then scrunched up her face: "Eew, gross."
Then she winked at me. "Just kidding," she smiled.
"Of course," I continued, "the person who destroyed my ship was
most likely the same one who... took the regulator."
"What an awful thing to do! How could anyone ever even think to
do such a dreadful thing?"
Here, I thought for a very long time. "Because he's afraid," I
answered.
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid that if he doesn't go around hurting people that
something worse will happen. It's common knowledge that inside
every bully is a coward, the bigger the bully, the more cowardly
they are deep down inside. They're afraid that if they don't act
tough and show how strong and mean they are, that somehow
something or someone will hurt them. Thing is, it's like trying
to quench your thirst with salt water. The more they drink, the
thirstier they get. The nastier the bully becomes, the more it
becomes certain that someone will hurt them. So the cycle
continues, and gets worse and worse if they don't find a way out.
"
"So what are we going to do?"
I sighed, crushing her gently against me. "Oh Jasmin," I said.
"The best we can. Be honest and loving and hopeful, and set a
good example for how to live right. Sometimes words aren't much
use to change a person who is living in fear."
"Oh. Kind of like George, this real mean guy at our school, who
used to always beat up on people who were weaker. My mom always
said to just pretend he doesn't exist and then he would forget
that I existed, `cause the more you resist someone like that the
more they pay attention to you. "
"By God, that's it!" I exclaimed.
"What?"
"Mu x squared minus x to the ninth, partial sequence asymptotic
to the last relative slope. It's the missing piece of the
anti-klepto beam algorithm!"
"The what?"
"Just a minute. I gotta write this down. Lessee, where's a
pencil?" After I had satisfied my craving, I lay down beside her
again.
"What's a klepto-beam algorithm?"
"It's an application of the G-field that the Inquisition uses to
immobilize ships so they can't go anywhere. It uses G-field to
generate a wrap-around force loop that causes energy spent
resisting the field to power the field itself. Ingenious,
actually, were it not so sinister. I've been working on an
algorithm to counteract it, and I think I just got the missing
piece. Yes, that's beautiful!" I rejoiced.
"I'm glad one of us understands this conversation," she said.
"Sorry," I apologized. "Was that too technical?"
The sound of her breathing rose and fell quietly on the pillow
next to me. After a while, she turned to me and repeated: "Will
you fuck me in the ass? Pretty please with sugar on top?"
"Are you sure it won't hurt?" I asked.
She giggled. "After all the things I've stuck in there? I don't
think so. Just try it, please?" she had set to playing with my
penis again, and I felt it start to stiffen in a good way again.
"Ok, if you insist."
"Yay!" she exclaimed, and kissed me again on the lips. "You can
go in the front door after that," she rubbed her clitoris,
"Because I know you want to."
"Uh, yes. You're right, I certainly do."
"Yay!" she said again.
"His throbbing member penetrated every orifice of her body," I
mis-quoted.
"What?"
"From Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, I replied."
"I like it," she said. "Here, let me help you out." She reached
over the side of the bed and produced a tiny plastic bottle
which, when she squeezed it into the tiny pristine palm of her
ivory-white hand, yielded a clear fluid which she eagerly spread
to the other palm and then, by rolling my penis between her two
palms spreading the slippery stuff up and down my hardening
shaft. She gave a little peck to the tip. "My sweet little
darling," she said to it.
Then, as my hardon throbbed and surged like a horse impatient to
draw the sleigh, she made me hold out my hand and squirted some
of the lubricant into my palm. "Now put some all around the
hole," she said, sticking her butt in my face, squirming her buns
to open up and give me access.
Carefully and lovingly, I anointed her anus with the sacred oil
of the bride's lanterns.
"Oh, very nice," she said. "You do that very well."
"Well, it must be by accident. It's not like I've had any
experience to learn from."
"Good. Now, go. I want to feel you come inside me," She demanded,
reaching under her legs to grope for my penis so she could direct
it into the hole. I got into position, and placed it between her
fingers.
Delicately and lovingly, she took pointed the tip toward the
center of her sphinctre, and said "OK, now push!"
I did, and with a little `pop,' I felt myself inside.
"Are you OK?" I asked.
"Oh yeah. Go in deeper."
I did, pushing myself half, then two thirds of the way in. "Still
OK?" I asked.
"It feels like I'm taking a big old shit. Only a lot nicer."
I thrust with all my might, all the way up to the hilt. She gave
a groan of satisfaction.
It was a long hump, with her calmly working her butt under me as
I ascended higher and higher to the peaks of ecstasy. I felt
crimson burning of pleasure moving up and down my shaft, over the
hump of my glans until the tip almost popped out, and then
plunging deep into the profundity of her secret dirty forbidden
passage.
Long and satisfying, the undulations went on and on, crest and
peak, wave after wave of gentle, soothing pleasure. Now and then
she would reach her hand down and twiddle with her clitoris, but
for the most part she was satisfied to play the part of the
impartial observer, uninvolvedly enjoying the effect she was
having on me, the control she had over me, devilishly grinning
back at me as she spiraled and twisted, turning and churning with
amazingly subtle control over her pelvic muscles, thrusting back
and forth, and then circling with ever-so-tantalizing leisure as
I watched her tiny shoulderblades below me, her thin neck, her
mussed-up hair (which she still hadn't gotten around to
brushing), her tiny fingers splayed out on the sheets as I held
on to her shoulders for better leverage while I pushed and
explored the caverns of her dark and dank nether realms.
Finally, after what must have been several blissful centuries
that seemed only like a few moments, I knew I was about to cut
loose inside of her. She recognized the change in energy,
correctly parsing the guttural syntax of my loud ecstatic cries
and carefully and lovingly coaxed me with her skillful pelvic
muscles, and as perfect partners in the synchronized trapeze act,
she reached out with the greatest of ease to catch me at the
exact apogee of my degenerate parabola. Surrendering with
complete abandon, I plunged again and again to the hilt as the
searing fluid gushed from my testicles into her the crack between
her cute little pearly-white buns, into the depths of her eagerly
waiting tiny abdomen.
After a short break during which I took to the bathroom basin
nearby and cleansed my soiled sword of the little brown clingy
things, we again collapsed together in blissful embrace, this
time she facing me. I kept glancing down with anticipation at the
third orifice, anticipating the end of flaccidity that would
herald the completion of the circuit.
She looked up at me sweetly through the bangs falling across her
forehead, with the satisfaction of contemplating her power to
grant me intense pleasure.
"Did you like that?" she asked.
"Amazing!" I replied. "And how old did you say you were?"
She shrugged. "I was eleven when I went into cryostatis, but if
you go by my birthday I'm two-hundred and twelve."
"Which, I guess, technically speaking, would be beyond the age of
consent."
She grinned. "Exactly."
____________________________________________________________
We were taking a shower together when it happened. This bathroom
was enormous. Bigger than in some planet-bound houses I've lived
in, with a huge bathtub, all done up in fancy patterned and
mosaic tilework. And a veritable plethora of shiny chrome
plumbing fixtures for various purposes.
I couldn't take my eyes off of her little flower, her petite
hairless vagina. Never before had I been allowed to let my
fascination linger on such a thing, so now unbound it leapt forth
like a greyhound out of the gate.
There was something truly delightful about it. As she and I
conversed with words, and our mouths and ears, it was having its
own conversation, squishing around, spreading and closing subtly
with the movements of her thighs and pelvis, now and again
granting me a cherished peek at the rosy Fleur-de-Lys within. The
iris had its own train of thought, and my curious mind probed the
compelling lexicon of its contractions and dilations.
My conversation with Jasmin fell silent as we both stood enjoying
the warm gentle rain, reveling in its freshness though we both
knew that it was an illusion wrought by the fusion-driven
filtering system that recycled, reheated, and recirculated.
To us, it was a night in the tropical rainforest, with the lights
all half-lit, the extravagance of a candle consuming the onboard
oxygen, and incense-smoke laced the air with the intoxicating
steam of thick, lusty floral fragrance.
I looked down at her wondrously porcelain figure, hands splayed
upward at shoulder-height as if she were a camellia soaking in
the moisture through her leaves, blissfully, eyes-closed and
smiling, water-droplets beaded on her cheeks and forehead, her
mussed-up bangs pasted across her smooth brow.
I knelt down and examined her pink flower, unseen because she
still had her eyes closed. A subtle breath within, pulsating down
from her cute little belly-button, beckoned me.
My tongue on her outer lips caused her to start -- slightly, then
she gently placed her tiny hands on the back of her head, spread
her thighs, and commenced a moaning rhythm with her pelvic
muscles in response to my loving probe. Oh, how I love kissing
her vagina.
She tossed her head back and cut loose even more loudly -- in
space, nobody can hear, remember?
I added my finger, probing and thrusting until I found the almost
imperceptible rough grooves of her G-spot, and between my finger
inside her and tongue on her pearl, she was lost in space.
In short order, she was flinging her head in reckless abandon as
I felt the pulsation of tiny contractions in my mouth and around
my fingers dripping with stickiness.
I let her rest, as she caught her breath, hoarsely echoing the
blissful ecstasy she had just discovered.
Then, as I sat on the tiled floor, her towering above me, she
bent over and kissed me on the lips, tasting herself on me,
lovingly and sweetly our tongues spoke to each other in the
exotic languages of profound heartfelt intimacy, our two tongues
speaking in tongues.
Then she knelt over me (I was half-laying there against the wall)
and gave a kinky little giggle. As I fondly gazed at her
beautiful flower, I was surprised by the surreal-seeming
incursion from a gushing yellow stream that burst forth, the warm
fluid landing caressingly right on my semi-erect penis, gradually
bringing it fully to attention once more, as she goadingly pissed
on my dick.
As the warm acrid-smelling fluid coursed from inside of her and
dripped delicately over my stiff naughty piss-pipe, I vicariously
felt the enjoyment of her release, watching her eyebrows raised
in sweet surrender. It was as if she were having an orgasm and
pouring her juice into me, the way that I was about shoot through
my own pee-hole into her.
The stream ebbed and ceased, with one final orgasmic burst, and
she trembled with the tingles of release. I reached out and ran
my finger lovingly around her right ear.
Seeing my upstanding spear shaft below her, covered in her bodily
fluids that were slowly washing away in the warm gentle rain, she
lowered down to impale the center of her gorgeous flower on the
towering sharp pointed tip of the skyscraper.
By now, we were well-accustomed to each others' sense of rhythm,
and with ever-rich and satisfying harmony, the circling and
gyration of her miraculously controlled pelvic muscles drew me
immediately into a trance of unprecedented mindblowingness,
shattered any remnants of sadness as my attention melted into a
haze of sparkling and shimmering delight.
She alternated between staring down at me with a wicked
satisfaction at her power over me, and being lost herself in the
ecstasy of sexual sensation.
Our lovemaking went totally wild, and this time, with leisurely
building anticipation, the orgasm approached slowly, stealthily,
sneaking up as if a jaguar on the prowl, ready to pounce at any
moment.
Eagerly, my hands devoured her innocence, touching and probing
every square millimetre of her silky-soft skin as we orbited each
other, as I voraciously explored the forbiddenness of her
undeveloped body. From her flat, smooth little torso with the
tiny points of dainty finger-painted nipples, to the smooth
hairless lips that surrounded my sturdy erection, to her cute
tight little porcelain buttocks, to the prim little ankles that
she crossed behind my buns to pull me deeper inside of her, to
her beautiful little feet ending in such cute tiny toes.
Over and over we rolled, each taking turns being on the top or
the bottom, until finally I lay with her sitting upright, gasping
heavenwards over me, impulsively thrusting herself up and down
with the energy and determination of the piston on an old railway
locomotive, when I knew I could take it no longer.
"Wait," I whispered hoarsely, and she settled down deliberately,
as hard as she could, and stopped for a few moments, her sweet
fluids coursing freely around my stocky shaft. There, at that
point of perfect stillness I felt each blissful spasm of release,
as again and again I carefully and delicately pushed my juice
into the profound depths of her welcoming womb.
She felt it too, because at that instant she cut loose with a
seizure of epic proportions, arms flailing and pelvis churning,
then clutching my shoulders frantically towards her and yelling
at the top of her lungs with the anguished bliss of the deepest
possible sexual release.
Then, with me still comfortably stiff inside her, she lay down
gently and caressingly on top of me, and we relaxed in the thick
floral vapors and gentle falling tropical rain.
____________________________________________________________
In the steamy chamber, we towelled off together, and she
(finally) brushed her tangled locks.
"You know," I mentioned, "hearing you play the harp yesterday
made me wish I still had my flute with me."
"What kind of flute?" she asked.
"Regular transverse concert flute," I said. "though I like
playing the penny-whistle as well. I like playing Shakuhachi too,
but I'm not too good at it."
"I've got a flute," she said, leading me down the hallway,
inviting me into her room. As I reverently stepped inside, I
enjoyed the beautiful decor, a combination of frilly girl stuff
and (wouldn't you know) life-sized posters of bubble-gum pop/rock
musicians. (or at least, so I assumed from the style of photo and
hype which, I might add, has apparently not changed much in
several centuries).
She opened the case -- the silver flute was a German brand I had
never heard of, looking kept up and well-oiled.
"Do you mind?" I asked.
"Sure," she said, handing it to me.
I assembled it and blew, letting loose a little riff.
She raised her eyebrows. "You're not so bad," she said.
"Well, you haven't heard much yet, but thanks. Can you give me a
`C' so I can tune?"
"Sure," she sat down at her harp and plucked a pair of strings in
octaves. "Not like this thing is that well in tune."
As I blew and adjusted and blew, I felt her strumming behind me,
supporting my thin little melodic line.
"I don't imagine," I said, once the instrument was approximately
in sync with the harp, "that we know any of the same pieces."
"Oh, I mostly know traditional songs from the British Isles.
They're usually a bit depressing."
"Do you know `Londenderry Air?'"
"No, I don't think..."
"I guess it's usually called `Danny boy.' Like this..."
I played a phrase of it for her.
"Oh, that. Sure. Let me see."
We found the right key together, and then she jumped right in,
following me with delicious sensitivity. As I caressed the
ancient, ridiculously sentimental, overplayed melody, the support
of her gentle strumming beside me caused it to cross over from a
hackneyed cliche into a haunting and delightfully lush realm of
pushing and pulling with tantalizingly taffy-like tension between
us, as the chords rolled and faded behind my soaring melody like
clouds behind the eagle in a midsummer's sky.
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