Xmas Cake (2)

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The elm copse is far more overgrown than I remembered, and the thick tufted grass on the hill side is up to my breasts. I could walk naked through here and no-one would see.  It wouldn’t be the first time of course, although the grass was this never dense.  As I labour up the hill, the pale rampant ghost of Ryan is everywhere, even in this bright daylight. Sheltered from the curious view of our elderly sheep farming neighbour  by a blackberry hedge which is also long gone, he strides through a shorter sward, naked but for his beloved Doc Martens, his long fair hair streaming down his back, his glorious cock in hand, laughing wildly as he fertilises the paddock in an improvised rite…

Something worked; despite years of neglect and low rainfall many of the heritage fruit trees we planted are still surviving, branches adorned with small green fruits; not-quite-yet-edible xmas baubles, food soon for the native parrots. I notice that the remnant gooseberry plants we discovered in the rocks near the hawthorn are also still there, although they carry no fruit at the moment. Hoping the weather is mild enough to discourage any reptiles, I brave ferocious grass seeds, hidden stones, and forgotten dips, cautiously walking the length of the top paddock to stand above the rocky outcrop and gaze across a once familiar and well loved view. Suddenly conscious that I am trespassing, that I no longer have the right to stand here, I turn away in tears, slowly picking my way back down the hill side to the cover of the elms.

When I entered the copse today, it was a shock to see the original elm sprawled across the clearing, covering the space where we normally parked the hatchback. It lies naked and slowly disintegrating, limbs spread in an echo of my own erotic abandonment all those years ago. Leaning against the grey insect riddled trunk, I force myself to let go of my sadness, thinking back on the Xmas adventure I started writing about earlier this week. I can’t recall exactly what happened immediately after ‘the incident of the xmas cake crumb’, but it seems highly likely that it involved a thorough, vigorous fucking…

496px-Gustav_Klimt_010Danae By Gustav Klimt – The Yorck Project: 10.000 Meisterwerke der Malerei. DVD-ROM, 2002. ISBN 3936122202. Distributed by DIRECTMEDIA Publishing GmbH., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=153424

Ryan was no slouch in the cunnilingus department, and we were both wet and fragrant with my juices by the time he’d bought me to orgasm again. My legs were shaking from being held back hard against my chest for so long, but Ryan could never resist the visual and tactile eroticism of holding me down while seeing the thick head of his cock muscle it’s way into my open twitching wetness. The position and state I was in – fleshy thighs and arse upended, eyes half closed to focus on the rippling pleasure, cunt drenched in golden electricity, brings Klimt’s painting of Danae to mind. Fucked by a God (but not, I suggest, father figure Zeus – rather that youthful trickster Hermes); narrow face flushed with arousal, wisps of sweaty hair springing free from his forehead, flexible hips powering his long rosy cock in an intense driving beat, long fingers digging into my waist, reaching to pluck my nipples, pulling me hard into him. I don’t now know how we managed the limited head space, it’s been a long time since I fucked in the back of a hatchback, but manage it we certainly did, on many occasions…

I wonder if Danae shouted encouragement, as I did. Did she implore her God to fuck her harder, did she whisper hoarsely to him to “go right through me!” Did her cunt clutch and grasp at his cock repeatedly even while her lungs strained desperately for breath as he pounded into her? Did the labouring God join Danae in exultant chorus, breathe softly into her ear, telling her what a gorgeous slut she was, how he loved to fuck her and roaring in ecstasy as he shot that molten shower deep in side her? I like to think so…

For part 3 of Xmas Cake visit next weeks Masturbation Monday…

To revisit part 1 click here

To find out who else is fucking a God or a very sexy human on Wicked Wednesday this week click on the button.

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For more Ryan stories and poems click here

Readers please note: while the Ryan stories are based on events that happened back then, memory and intense sensation blurs detail, and so artistic license is sometimes need to fill in the gaps…

 

9 thoughts on “Xmas Cake (2)

    • I’m not sure if its good to go back. I’ve planned to visit a couple more places, but that visit shook me a bit. I did fantasize about what I’d say if he turned up while I was there, but truthfully we’ve both changed so much I don’t know how he’d react, but somehow I don’t think he’d be that pleased to see me. I doubt he ever thinks of me now.

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    • Its very inspiring isn’t it. Based on the reaction by you and May, I’m going to add it to the ArtTwist prompt seeing as I only have one suggestion so far… And thanks for the feedback. Indie

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  1. Wonderful writing Indie. I could read your work for hours. After having just read part I and now this I feel incredibly sad but like you. ‘I should force myself to let go of my sadness’. You write about nature and sex with such brilliance. CPx

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    • Thanks CP it’s all water under the bridge now though at the end we said we’d touch base over the years. But we didn’t it was one of those reassuring fictions you say to make the parting easier. Glad you like the writing I often doubt myself. Xx

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