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Katya
Galloping Pulse
by Vivian Darkbloom
Descending the steps one by one, I mentally rehearsed a dozen
excuses why it might have taken so long to engage in a simple act
of nature (Was I flossing? Stopping by to look at Nicole's stamp
collection? Catching up on National Geographic photos?)
But fortunately, when I arrived back downstairs Katya appeared to
be deeply engrossed in the movie, and once I was again seated
beside her. She remained silent and impenetrable, painted
fingernails drumming impulsively, every now and then throwing out
a dismal sigh of neglect and abandonment.
The TV had switched from the black and white movie to some
cartoon about horses, executed with the oversentimental
stuffiness insufferably typical of Disney, but the name and the
plot I confess I cannot recite, for reasons which may become
clear shortly.
Nicole arrived grinning, clad in long white gauzy nightshirt, all
refreshed and clean, hair still damp from bathing. She shoehorned
herself into the narrow space to my left on the couch, and with
Katya squeezed in on my right I found myself comfortably
sandwiched between young scantily clad pelvises and thighs.
My hands had no place to go, so they would keep winding up gently
resting on a warm soft knee or foreleg in spite of my best
attention. Such brushes seemed to strike up the spicy aroma from
within Katya's thin pink shorts on one side, in pleasing
counterpoint to the fresh scented piquancy from Nicole's eagerly
bouncing presence on the other.
The movie seemed to possess a plot of some contrivance, which at
least provided an excuse for a prolonged chase sequence. So
thrilling that I could feel the excitement in the agitations from
my left, which spun out of orbit into a leap which targeted as
its destination my humble lap.
"Horsie ride!" yelled Nicole, legs spread around mine as she
faced me. I caught a glimpse of her naked sweetness from beneath
the nightshirt, as it dawned on me her neglect to don negligee.
And here I had always thought one rode a horse sitting on its
back, so much we have to learn from the tender wisdom of a simple
child.
"Come on, sis," she boisterously grabbed Katya's thigh above the
knee. "Come ride with me!"
Katya collapsed momentarily off balance swallowed by the couch,
but then snapped out of her gothic mood with a shrewd smile,
climbing onto my lap behind her sister. Please note that neither
of the two young females had bothered to consult the owner of the
poor environmentally sensitive region between them, but rather,
amid uncontrollable giggles, took to kneading it with rather more
erotic lingering than was condign to young girls of such a
delicate age.
"This is quite a movie," I exclaimed. "I really feel like I'm
part of the action!"
"Giddyap horsie!" shouted Nicole.
"Giddiyup!" replied Katya.
The manner with which Katya gripped and held her sister about the
waist, one carefully nailpolished hand on either side, seemed
designed as much by sensuous desire as by childlike horseplay,
using her little sister's body to brace the rhythmic arching of
her back as she pressed the thin pink hot-pants into me with
pelvic thrusts that spread moist heat against my prefecture of
fullness.
The quivering release of her breath echoed in a faint tremor that
rippled through my consciousness, as my vision became trapped as
if held inside the heart-shaped locket that dangled from around
her neck, inside the half-open mouth beneath her half-closed
eyes, my imaginary tongue wandering down alleyways of glittering
trinkets twinkling sparkles into the semi-blacked out vision of
my rushing heartbeat.
The swirling clouds that encircled and enshrouded me faded into
the irrelevant chatter of the television movie, both girls having
sunk into sultry, sensuous silence.
The trance broke irritatingly by the harsh jangling of a
telephone, which Nicole sprang upward to answer, leaving me
facing Katya in a most intimate position, which she bashfully
subsided once abandoned by her sister, and resumed her position
at my side.
"Your mom told me that you should be in bed by 9:30 for school
tomorrow," I asserted, slapping my thigh into standing. It was
now 9:35. I turned off the TV.
"Ok," said Katya faintly, finger looping twirls through her
honey-blonde curls, chin against knee, then in a delayed reaction
rolled off the chair and bounded up the steps out of sight.
"Bed!" I said pointing at the clock, to the effusive phone-bound
Nicole.
". . .And she said `Whaddya mean, you want to see my what? Get
real!' Anyway, gotta go. Talk to you tomorrow. What? OK. Bye!"
she deposited the receiver with a clattering blow and trounced
off up the stairs after her sister.
Breathing a wash of relief that temptation, once again thwarted,
had now retired securely to its abode of iniquity for the night,
and I relaxed back into the armchair to read a chapter or two of
"Les Miserables."
Maybe some light music from the radio would serve to cover up the
creaking springs from above as Katya found release in her
sister's moist lingual exercises, but no matter. Out of sight,
out of mind.
I would look to the noble example of gallant Valjean to rescue me
from the momentary lapse into the seductress temptations of. . .
A light padding on the stairs.
I heard Katya calling impatiently, from out of sight in the
sisters' shared room. "Get to bed," she hissed. "Where do you
think you're going?"
"Just a sec!" called Nicole from halfway down the stairs. "I
gotta go pee!"
"But the downstairs's broken," protested Katya.
"I have to get a glass of water then. Just a sec, I'll be right
up!"
"All right," was the skeptical reply.
Beautiful cozy and soft Nicole leaned over and whispered
affectionately in my ear: "Wait about ten minutes, then come up.
Don't knock, just open the door. Tiptoe, really quietly."
I felt a stirring in under my loincloth at the thought. "But,
wait a minute. I can't. I'm, uh, reading my book."
She frowned. "Don't you think you should check up on us, to make
sure we got to sleep OK? What kind of babysitter are you?"
What a question! Cautiously I ventured: "Well I, uh, guess, um,
the kind of babysitter that's not very experienced." Then
foolishly, I blurted: "Maybe you just need to help me out with
some clues." Me and my big mouth.
She grinned, whispering once more into my ear: "We'll show you
everything, don't worry!" then, with a quick tickle for her
friend in my lap, dashed up the stairs again, leaving me
completely unglued.
Ten minutes. I glanced at the clock. I wasn't planning to go up,
of course. No way. Well, maybe just to listen from outside the
door to be sure they were snoring properly and so on. No, I
couldn't do that! Well, maybe just a teensy peek in, to be sure
they hadn't gone and sneaked off to watch dirty movies
downtown. . .
This conversation played frantically through my mind for
approximately forever, though the sweep-second hand counting
increments of minutes ticking by in silence preserved the
illusion that time had maintained its integrity and had, in fact,
not come to a complete standstill.
The book lay open in front of my eyes, as the words attempted to
resolve into symbolic meanings and concepts, but against my best
mental efforts kept disintegrating into letters which in turn
collapsed into a chaotic random collection of shapes and
squiggles that crawled across the coarse surface of paper like a
legion of shadowy snakes slithering the dark crevices of the
garden of Eden.
Chapter 3
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