Pagan Dreams

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  “You know, Cassidy, she wants to be there,” Miriam says as she walks out with a tray of tea and cookies. She reads my thoughts perfectly. I wouldn’t expect less.

  I nod.

  “And you, my dear, have to go back and face that.”

  “I don’t know how I can,” I tell her.

  “You believe in fate and spirit powers and things beyond yourself. You believe in female shamans and feminine witchery. But right now, you’ve disconnected from your source, given into inconsequential jealousy. Read yourself, Cassidy. What have you been hiding that you’re too scared to remember, let alone tell Samantha.”

  I flinch at her directness, spoken with such soothing, though penetrating tones.

  “Answer me,” she insists calmly.

  “A long time ago, Elizabeth…” I say her name as my voice trails off, the memory of the woman appears in my head. After years of deliberate forgetting, I force myself to think of her now. To have remembered her twice in the same month seems portentous. I know Elizabeth reminds me of Tasia. She’s a duplicate of the bitch; it’s clear that I see the two women cut of the same devious cloth.

  Miriam wants me to continue; she tells me so with one intent look, like an admonishing mother.

  “She played games with me, clawed me once till I bled, I think she was crazy.”

  “Was she crazy?” Miriam asks.

  “I don’t know,” I tell her.

  “Yes you do,” she says calmly. She appears to be probing me with some psychic microscope. “Don’t run from me,” she says, seeing the fear on my face. “Tell me about her.”

  Now that the memory is fresh in my mind, it’s useless to avoid it, and it’s clear Miriam will not let me slide away from her query.

  “She did things that were crazy to me then. Binding me so I couldn’t move, she poured wax on my breasts, she drew pictures on them through the wax and laughed uproariously as she did it. She burned incense and candles when we made love, laying me out on a marble slab like a piece of meat. She ate me out with my ankles tied to the ends of the table, and pulled my pubic hair until my cunt burned hot. She stretched my ass with larger and larger dildos so I’m now stretched so much, I’m easily penetrated in the ass. She gave me away like a whore to whomever she wanted. For the year I lived with her, I was her slave. She kept me in chains for days.” There’s so much more I could tell her, but I can’t stomach another memory. “I feel lucky to have escaped her.”

  Miriam’s face didn’t change as I spoke, or react in any way. It was as though she knew what I was going to say.

  “And you miss her,” Miriam concluded.

  I could have said “no” to Peach, or Tasia, or a dozen other lovers, if they had asked that question, but I couldn’t say no to Miriam. She would know the blatant lie.

  “How did you know?” I ask.

  “Sometimes it’s a shame we’re so transparent,” Miriam says, kindly. “You need to return to Samantha and Tasia. It’s the only way you are going to return to Elizabeth.”

  “I can’t return to that.”

  “You have to,” she insists.

  “But Peach has changed so,” I counter.

  “The Samantha Clarisse Sykes I know is as dark as a nightmare, and as bright and fragrant as this day. You cannot deny one for the other, and neither can she.”

  Even though I don’t want to hear her say this, she makes such sense. Perhaps in this peaceful place, where my mind is clear, not clouded by my evil past roaring at me, anything can be reasonable.

  “Come to me now, and satisfy me,” she says. Holding out her arms, she motions me to her side. I traverse the several feet between us and fall to my knees between her legs. My mouth clamps itself on her sweet cunt. I push away a few wispy soft red hairs so I can taste the juices that rise there, and toy with the soft folds of skin. She likes my tongue in her hole, my finger pinching the bud of her clit. My other hand slips back to her anus and massages her there, though I’m hesitant to probe that place. She seems content for me to do no more.

  A wave of pleasure rolls through her. She leans back and cries aloud, a lusty cry that reverberates through my body, too. I love watching her shudder.

  There’s no question of staying any longer with Miriam. I tell myself not to even think of it, as much as the prospect would please me. I’ll leave before the sun sets and hope to find things at the B&B more welcoming.

  Miriam waves at me as I climb into the Jeep. “Take care of your feelings for Samantha Clarisse,” she says. “And take care of yourself.”

  I nod agreeing.

  “We’ll be together again,” she adds.

  I wonder when. I wonder what bizarre things will take place before I see her again.

  Chapter Nine

  In my room at The Edge, I open the bay window to let the ocean breeze clear out the stale air.

  While I was gone, Peach returned to the room, though she’s gone again. I see things missing on the dresser and I wonder if everything of hers has been taken away.

  I make the half slept in bed, pulling the generous covers tight at the edges so they look smooth and untouched. I’m startled when the door opens and Peach walks in. I walk toward her, wishing I felt free enough to put my arms around her, but she maintains a distance with her manner that says “stay clear”.

  “Did Miriam soften the blow?” she asks as I approach her. She still wears the collar, but not the chain. She’s dressed in a white summer shift. Her skin glows its luscious hue, and her eyes look almost translucent as if I could see right through them. She stares at me as if she were staring into my soul.

  “How did you know I was there?” I ask.

  “Where else would you go?”

  “She kept me from going crazy,” I say.

  “Too bad,” she comments.

  I’m hoping that the rift between us will dissolve with a little tenderness, just as Miriam dissolved my anxiety. Unfortunately my anxiety returns with Peach’s unexpected reappearance. Her cryptic comments go straight to my heart.

  “Tell me please, what’s going on?” I ask.

  “You know better than I, ask yourself. Right now, I’m moving downstairs with Anastasia.”

  “That’s not enough explanation, Peach,” I say. My anger shows.

  She leans on one foot with her hand on her hip and her lips pursed tightly. It’s not a typical Peach pose as she looks exceedingly bitchy. “You’ve got to know everything, don’t you? Always have to have it spelled out to you?”

  I stare at her without saying a word, hoping she’ll go on.

  “The truth is, Cass, I don’t really know what’s going on. Yeah, that’s right.” She nods her head to emphasize her point. “I just know I have to do this. When I was here before, I witnessed certain things, things I couldn’t handle then, but I made commitments.”

  “What commitments, what are you talking about? You’ve never said anything about commitments to anyone but me.”

  “I wasn’t ready then, I suppose I was too young, but I’m ready now. I tried with you, but it’s better that I came back here.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t have to understand right now.”

  I wish there was more empathy from her. She might soothe me, but now she only frightens me more.

  “Does Miriam know of this?” I ask.

  “Of course.”

  Peach combs the room for her things, slipping some of my things into her bag along with the others. I say nothing, thinking if she wants them, perhaps she’ll remember me when she sees them.

  “It’ll be over in a few weeks,” she offers, trying to say something to appease me.

  “A few weeks.” My look of protest is obvious.

  “Yes!” Her eyes are suddenly wild and crazed. She charges me savagely, “Midsummer will be upon us, and all those pagan things. A full moon, candles, drums, burgundy wine dripping down your breasts, bonfires, leashes, swollen cunts, beastly women doing beastly things. The rites of summer will end it al
l!” She’s in my face like a madwoman. I shrink back, appalled. “You, dear little lamb,” she says with a syrupy saccharine smile, “you were made for these things, you little slut.” Her voice turns like the edge of a knife, leaving a deep gash in my heart. She cackles at me witch-like and walks away. I watch her sway her round ass, like a whore strolling the street. She turns around with a more natural face. “I wouldn’t treat you so badly if I didn’t love you, Cass,” she tells me. Then she grabs her packed bag and walks out of the room before I can think to talk.

  I think she’s mad. Like Elizabeth, yes. Some demonic power has claimed her completely. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted her, I squelch the desire to go after her, to tackle her to the ground, bind her to the bed and fuck her cunt with my fist. The ruthless design lays itself out so clearly, so instantaneously. I wonder if I’m mad too.

  But I’m so gutless, I can’t act.

  And I won’t stay in this house another night.

  I pull my bags from the closet and begin to pack. I’ll call a cab, and be gone, I reason. Leave the Jeep here. I lay the plan in my head. I feel like I’m in a race. The more I pack the more determined I am to go. The taxi will take me to the train station. I’ll return to LA, let Peach find her way back when she’s finished with whatever she has to do. My mind flies as fast as my fingers.

  When the bureau drawers are empty, I turn around.

  “My god, you startled me!” I gasp, seeing the will-o’-the-wisp woman I saw in the hallway, leaning against the bedpost, as if she’s been staring at me for some time, listening to my thoughts.

  “You’re not staying for the ceremony?” she asks sadly.

  “What ceremony?” I say.

  “Anastasia’s pagan rites. They’re really very lovely,” she says in a voice that almost sings.

  I take a long look at her for the first time. She looks frail, as slight as a breeze. You think she might disappear right before your eyes. But I study her deliberately, and seeing her more clearly, I notice her breasts beneath her flowered dress, wiggling as she moves. She’s not as insubstantial as I think. I see her dress is nearly transparent. The “v” of her pussy and a mop of black curls are visible on close inspection. They peer out from the pale green background between two pink wild roses.

  “You like the dress?” she says, noticing my interest. Holding either side of the flimsy fabric, she looks as if she’d curtsy. There’s a childish expression on her face. Her enormous soulful eyes watch me innocently. “It would be a shame to go so soon, the other women are just arriving. The midsummer rites are like magic here. Anastasia makes them happen.” Her eyes, like magic, dance.

  “You speak of her so fondly,” I comment.

  The woman smiles.

  “Did you just arrive?” I ask.

  “No, I live here with Anastasia.”

  This should surprise me, but it doesn’t. For some reason her presence seems to be a part of this place. I may not have seen her before today, but I have felt her. I wonder if it were she who was in the hallway last night when I ran from the room after Peach.

  The softness of her manner has taken away the flustered frenzy of my packing. Almost like Miriam calming me with her body, though this is different. I feel as if I’m in the presence of a ghost, the woman so frightfully “unreal”.

  “Please say you’ll stay,” she says, like a child imploring a parent. I don’t know whether to trust her. If she’s Tasia’s lover, perhaps the woman has cast a spell on her. It seems perfectly reasonable considering her oddness. Or perhaps she’s been told by her mistress to keep me here for some dark purpose.

  In spite of my fears, there’s something appealing to me about her.

  She moves closer; her eyes, fixed on my every move make me self-conscious. I feel clumsy in the light of her ethereal grace. I lose all energy for my task.

  “It’s so late, the sun’s nearly down,” she says. “It’s not a good night to travel; it will be dark with no moon.”

  “I plan to take the train back to Los Angeles.”

  “But you don’t really want to go there,” she says.

  I consider my plan again. “I don’t suppose I can get a taxi this time of night. Could you take me into town?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t drive,” she tells me.

  I sigh, realizing that perhaps leaving tonight is too rash a move to make, foolishly silly. But if I stay, what will that mean? I think of Peach in the collar and cringe. Will she be looking like that all the time now? I don’t know how I’ll be able to look at her. What am I suppose to do, watch my lover doing Tasia’s bidding, while I remain alone? Still, I should wait till morning; maybe things will make more sense then.

  “You’ve convinced me,” I tell the woman.

  She smiles happily.

  “By the way, what is your name?” I ask.

  “Analise.”

  “That’s very pretty, it fits you.”

  “I’m glad you’re staying. Things work out when you least expect it.” I watch as she fairly skips out of the door. Half woman, half child, she seems to have left the lightness of her spirit in the room, for it doesn’t seem as odious as it had earlier. I unpack and prepare myself for bed, thinking how weary I am, and how good this bed will feel.

  Sometime before dawn, I’m dreaming, nearly conscious, but still in an otherworldly state. I think I hear the door creak, but I’m too oblivious to look up. I fall back asleep only to wake again feeling someone very near.

  I hope it’s Peach, but find that it’s Analise. I can tell by the fragrance of her perfume, because I can’t see her body. Her hands are on my breasts, palms kneading them like bread. Her touch is soft, her breath warm. She kneels next to my body to be near, and then climbs on top of me, resting a small soft bottom on my belly. She’s hardly any weight at all.

  As she holds my breasts in her hands, I remember seeing her long slender fingers, and her well manicured nails—just enough nail to scratch, though she doesn’t now. Each hand holds what it can accommodate of my flesh. I feel her pouring some liquid on them: a fragrant perfume that she rubs gently into my skin.

  Then she falls over on to me so that her face lies between my breasts. She wiggles her cunt across my thighs, her body moving like an agile snake. She runs her hands down my torso until she finds my ass, and wriggling her fingers under me, she takes each rear cheek in hand and pulls my ass wide. She squeezes the flesh firmly, though nothing stings, nothing hurts, every little gesture only heightens the arousal that climbs through my body.

  She pulls up on me, just as my hands begin to rove her body. I feel the soft mellow curves of her flesh. By her looks, I would imagine her bonier than she is; to my surprise she has a sensuous fullness about her. There’s a lovely soft cushion that rubs against my own. When our lips meet, her tiny tongue pops out to lick my mouth. In the lightening morning, I can just barely see her face, and that strange light that comes from her eyes. I see her smiling.

  I feel her back with my hands, and trace a line down her spine with my fingers until I find her ass. I pull her ass as wide as she’s pulled mine and feel for her anus. She lets out a little shriek, as I try to penetrate it, and so I back off. I feel for her cunt, and find hers as wet as mine. Feeling more, I discover that there’s a ring in her labia just like mine. At least I think it’s so. I wonder at the odd coincidence, and look forward to seeing the ring with my eyes. It’s still too dark to examine anything, though I can see from the window that it’s nearly sunrise, as the sky is beginning to lighten.

  “Why did you come to me?” I whisper to her. It seems important that our voices are hushed, almost as if we were hiding this lovemaking from the rest of the silent house.

  “I wanted you and you have no one,” she says. She says no more as she sits on me again and runs her hands along my neck, across my breasts and down to my belly. She uses her nails to scratch me now. My groin bucks hard, even with her sitting on it. Each small pained clawing makes my need rise higher. She grinds her pussy int
o mine, and we make a motion that resembles male/female fucking. I even think for an instant, that a double dildo would bring us both off, but we don’t need that when our pussies, pressed to each other and rubbing lewdly, seem to be all the stimulation we require. I gasp as a small crescendo takes me away. I don’t hear a whimper in return but she’s as satisfied as she needs to be, because she leaves me.

  With the early morning light now clearly illuminating the room, there’s a smile I easily see as she pads out of the room.

  Chapter Ten

  There’s some reason for me to stay here. I’m not certain why. I’m sure that Analise’s appearance in my bed is a trap to keep me at Tasia’s, though perhaps I’m just paranoid. In any event, this is a diversion that I enjoy. Analise seems to want nothing from me but sexual play, no emotional attachment, no commitment, no real friendship, even though she’s the only real friend I have here.

  She flits back and forth from somewhere downstairs to my room. Her moments with me seem so brief after she’s gone, so that I treasure them, and look forward to her return. There are other women coming to the B&B, but choosing to ignore them, I erect a wall around myself that only Analise penetrates.

  For the first several days of my self-imposed exile—I call it an exile for I feel like I’m in some foreign country against my will—I spend a good deal of time on the beach, sunbathing. It seems to have potent restorative powers, particularly as I can often forget Peach while I lay in the sun. On this day however, I confess I’ve made the nasty trek down the cliff because I saw Peach go down just before me. She wears Tasia’s collar, but she also wears a skirt and blouse I gave her, which gives me a warm feeling. To my disappointment, Peach pays no attention to me and drifts off down the shoreline with another woman. She talks with easy animation, the vacancy in her eyes has disappeared, but I feel too uncomfortable to follow her and intrude. I decide that it will be the last time I go after her, it seems so cloying and morose.