Made For Sex

by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd

  And she thought about Aramu, the high priest. He was a wonderful man and had been like a father to her since her real father had been killed when his canoe overturned so many years ago. He would teach her everything she needed to know. He would be gentle and kind. He would be her friend in this as in everything else. It would be all right.

  It comforted her to think of all that on this, the most important night of her adult life. Well, adult as of tonight. Rhona had left her long coal-black hair loose, so it hung down her back until it brushed the swell of her buttocks beneath her newly made, soft, flowered sarong. She brushed it behind her shoulders with her long slender fingers and, as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she looked around the hut. Her deep brown eyes widened. The walls were covered with unusual pictures, pictures of men and women engaged in the most private of activities. She had known there would be drawings and her mother had encouraged her to study them. As a matter of fact it had been the only thing her mother had told her about the ceremony. “The drawings will teach you much.” Once, Rhona knew, the pictures had been painted on the hides of the small animals that made their homes on the interior of the island. Now they were carefully drawn on paper brought by the trading ships that stopped at their tiny port.

  She walked over and looked more carefully at one of the pictures. A man with a fully erect phallus approached a woman with large breasts, her arms outstretched to him. Rhona knew that it was a natural thing to happen between men and women, but to her it was new, and exciting, and a bit frightening.

  “Don’t be frightened, my little one,” a voice said from behind her.

  “I’m not,” she said, her tone belying her words. “I was just looking at the pictures.”

  “Here,” the man said, placing his hands on her shoulders from behind her and turning her to one side. “Look at that one.”

  The picture she stared at was of a man with a phallus even larger than the first, and the woman was crouched in front of him, her hands touching it, her mouth open.

  Rhona felt the hands turn her in another direction. This picture was of a woman on her hands and knees, the largephallused man behind her, poised to drive his shaft into the woman’s body. “There are so many ways to love, and eventually you will learn them all.”

  A shiver ran through Rhona’s body. The man’s voice was soft, warm, almost hypnotic. This was good, and natural, she told herself. Good and natural. She felt the man’s breath on the back of her neck and she shivered again. Anticipation? Excitement? Terror? Was this Aramu?

  “It’s all right,” he whispered. “When we are finished, you will have learned how wonderful it can be between a man and a woman.”

  She felt the hands turn her so she was now facing the man with the wonderful voice. “You’re not Aramu,” she said, gazing on a face she had never seen before.

  “No, I am Chitan. I come from a village far away. It would be awkward for a woman to be initiated by someone she’s seen every day, and will see every day from now on.”

  A small smile crossed Rhona’s face as she thought about Aramu. She had wondered as she looked at him over the past weeks, how she would react afterwards to his knowledge of her that way. Now she wouldn’t have to worry. “No one told me.”

  “I know. Nothing that goes on here will ever leave this room. It will be an entirely private ceremony between you and me and the gods.”

  “I understand. I asked my mother and my older sisters, but they would tell me nothing. Except about the pictures. My mother said I should look at the pictures.” She realized that she was babbling and quickly shut her mouth.

  “No one should be told in advance as it is different for everyone.” He took her hand and led her to a couch, covered with soft hides. “Sit here beside me and try to relax. This will be wonderful. I will see to that.”

  She sat on the edge of the platform, her hands clasped in her lap, her knees pressed tightly together. “I am ready.”

  “No, you’re not,” Chitan said. “But you will be.” He crossed to a small table and poured her a small cup of red liquid. “Just a small amount will help you relax.” He took one of her hands and placed the cup in it. “Just sip. Taking the juice too quickly, or drinking too much, will make you too anxious.”

  Rhona touched the cup to her lips and took a small sip of the sweet liquid. As she swallowed, she felt heat flow down her throat and through her chest to her belly. “It’s very good,” she said.

  “Another sip, love.”

  A second and third sip followed the first, each causing more warmth to spread throughout her. Strange, she thought. It goes down my throat, but it makes my breasts warm. Odd.

  Chitan took the cup from her hands and placed it on the low table. “Are you too shy to let me see you?” he asked.

  Rhona lowered her head. “No,” she said. “Yes,” she whispered. The priest smiled and she felt a bit more comfortable. Then he took her hands and, still sitting himself, guided her to a standing position in front of him. She looked down at the knot that held the wide piece of brightly colored cloth closed. The knot was so large, tied as tightly as the woman who dressed her could make it. “Make him work for it,” she had said, then laughed at her joke, a joke that Rhona didn’t really understand.

  But the priest’s hands made quick work of the knot and soon the sides parted and the flowered material slipped to the floor.

  “Oh yes,” Chitan whispered. “I knew you were beautiful, but in your natural state, as the gods made you, you are truly lovely.” She watched his eyes darken as they roamed over her body. “You are truly a woman, long beautiful legs, large full breasts. Your nipples are smokey, and growing hard as you hear how wonderful you are.”

  Her breasts were feeling heavy and swollen as she watched his eyes and listened to his description of her.

  “Your arms are well formed and your waist is so slender that I could almost span it with my hands. Your belly is flat and your woman’s place is dark and secret.” He reached out and ran one finger down her belly and into the dark curly hair. “I will learn its secrets tonight.”

  She trembled, and he withdrew his finger. No one had ever touched her so intimately. She had heard that there were some women who had already known a man’s touch before the ceremony, some had even felt a phallus inside of them, but she had not. No man had touched her, no one had even held her.

  “Oh, my sweet, you are truly innocent. Wonderful.” Gently he pulled her down onto the platform. “Just lie there and let me gaze at you. Let me touch you.” He held one hand in his large one. “I will enjoy touching you so much.” His hand was soft, not callused like the men of the village. Priests had soft hands as a sign of their office. They didn’t do manual labor.

  He placed his large hand flat on Rhona’s belly and just left it there. Then he leaned over on his elbow and softly touched his lips to her face. Small kisses as soft as the wings of a butterfly dotted her cheeks, her brow, her chin and jaw. Rhona closed her eyes and allowed the moment to carry her along. When his lips touched hers it felt natural for her to open her mouth and invite his tongue inside. She heard him groan as the kiss deepened, and she was thrilled that he seemed to be enjoying what they were doing.

  They kissed for a long time, then Chitan’s lips moved along Rhona’s jaw and down her throat to the tender place where her neck met her shoulder. He kissed her there, then licked the spot, then bit her gently. Strange, she thought, trying to sort out every experience, he kisses and bites me on my neck, but I feel it in my breasts and between my legs. Very strange. Very nice.

  His mouth moved, kissing along the top of her shoulder and down her arm. He licked and nibbled at the insides of her elbow and wrist. His soft warm hand was still splayed on her belly, but now he began to softly knead her flesh. His hand slid upwards until his fingers surrounded her breast. He separated his fingers and each took a path from her chest toward her nipple, not yet touching the erect area that now longed for his touch. Again and again he teased her soft skin until she was
arching her back each time the fingers moved.

  “Yes, little one. You are so responsive. You want it now, don’t you?”

  She hesitated, then said, “Yes.”

  Her eyes were closed, but she could hear his sigh and feel him move beside her. Nothing she had thought about this moment had prepared her for the feel of his mouth on her nipple. It was as though there was a direct path from the spot his lips touched to her woman’s place between her legs. It felt like warm honey flowed through her body and moistened the deepest parts of her. She moved her hips and felt the slippery wetness flowing from her body.

  His mouth moved from one breast to the other and she realized that she wanted. This must be why the gods made my breasts this way, so I would want whatever is to come. “May I?” she said, not knowing exactly what she wanted to do.

  Chitan lifted his head. “You may do anything that gives you pleasure, little one.”

  She didn’t know exactly, but she reached up and tangled her fingers in the priest’s straight black hair and pulled him to her breast. “Oh, little one, you are wonderful,” he said as he returned his mouth to her swollen nipple.

  Unable to lie still, Rhona moved her hips, enjoying both the feel of Chitan’s mouth and the rubbing of her thighs. Then the priest’s hand slowly slid down her belly and through the thick thatch of hair. When one finger again found its way to her center, she almost cried out.

  “You are so wet,” he whispered, “and ready for loving. Seldom has any woman been so quick to prepare.” He paused. “You know what we are going to do, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I have seen animals do it and, of course, I listen to my parents grunting and laughing at night sometimes.”

  “I must tell you that the first time a man comes into you there will be some pain.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  “But it will be brief and it will be followed by so much pleasure that it will be worth it a thousand times.” He slid one finger into her body, then a second. “You are small and so tight. That pleases me.”

  She said nothing. “None of the boys of the village have convinced you to allow them to do this,” he said. “Why not?”

  “Because the deflowering ceremony is the most beautiful day in a woman’s life and I didn’t want to spoil it.” His fingers were sliding in and out of her body, making her need and want. “Will you do that now?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Oh yes,” she sighed.

  He knelt over her. “Open your eyes, little one, and watch as I give you pleasure, and you give it right back to me.”

  She opened her eyes. Chitan opened his waist sash and allowed his single garment to unwind from his loins. His hard, lean body glistened in the dim light from the lamps. His chest was smooth, his arms strong, his belly flat. Then she saw it, a phallus as large as the ones in the picture. She had peeked at a few boys and they had staffs that were small and soft. This was hard as the branch of a tree. Could this happen? Could this really fit inside of her body?

  “Yes, little one, it will fit.” He crouched and touched the tip of his swollen rod to the wetness. He grasped her hips and held her tightly and he plunged into her in one swift, sure movement.

  Although she had been warned, the pain was startling. It seared through her deepest inside and she let out a small cry. He held still inside her and slowly the heat she had felt before built again, replacing the pain. “Is it easing, little one?” he asked.

  “Oh yes,” she said and realized that she felt little pain now. He pulled back and slowly pressed himself into her again and again. She was breathless, almost unable to think. He moved and moved and moved. Then his fingers found a special place between her legs that made her weak and strong at the same time. He held his body still and rubbed at the hard spot. He gathered wetness from his staff and again rubbed over her hard nub. She felt herself gathering, like the clouds before a storm. Gathering and growing, boiling and churning. Her body reached for something but she didn’t know what it was.

  It was colors, or tastes, or feelings. It was all that and more and she stretched and yearned. And then it happened. She broke into a thousand pieces, then rejoined. Again and again, in great pulses she flew apart and reassembled. She heard moaning and realized it was her own voice. She calmed just a bit, reveling in the sensations.

  Then Chitan screamed and thrust once more. Some instinct made her keep her body still as she felt his staff pulse and throb within her. His loins pressed and relaxed, over and over. Then, still inside her, he collapsed on the platform beside her.

  They lay in silence for a long while. She was incapable of coherent thought so she just felt. Her breasts were a bit sore, as was the passage between her legs. But she felt wonderful. Exquisite. Happy. Dazzlingly happy.

  Later, Chitan rose and fetched a pan of warm water. Slowly and carefully he bathed the blood from between Rhona’s legs. They sipped some fruit juice together in silence. Then Rhona looked at the picture of the woman about to receive the man’s phallus in her mouth. “Can I do that?” she asked.

  Chitan grinned at her. “Before you leave here we can try anything in those pictures and anything else you would like. And I will teach you special things you can do to increase your pleasure and mine.”

  Rhona sighed. It was going to be a wonderful week.

  Chapter

  2

  For the next few days Fran worked at the video store but her mind wasn’t in it. Several times Albert, her boss and friend, caught her daydreaming. But, since even he had no idea of her other existence, she wasn’t able to tell him about her internal debate.

  When Eileen called four nights later, Fran was still vacillating. “Listen,” Eileen said, “I’ve been doing a bit of snooping about that week before the dinner and here’s the deal. On Friday night there are parties thrown by the publishers involved. They will be held in the hotel where the conference is held and they’re traditionally based on the five books nominated. You’re supposed to dress appropriately for the period and characters.”

  As Eileen talked, Fran pictured herself in a sarong. Not a chance.

  “The parties are to hype the books. Lots of press and lots of cover models, both male and female. I went two years ago when Tammy Matterhorn’s Yellow Satin was nominated. What a sight. Those cover-guy hunks all over the place in period costumes, or parts of them, with their chests bare.” She giggled. “Anyway, on Saturday you’ll spend the afternoon signing books and generally being charming.”

  “Is that when they choose Miss Congeniality?” Fran asked, a nasty edge to her voice.

  “Easy, Cinderella. It’s where fans get to know the authors as real people. You know, what’s your favorite color, what do you have in the works, like that. Last year, there was someone there from Home Box Office who, it’s said, made the deal to option The Harrington Women for a Sunday afternoon movie. You know, the ones they do for football widows.”

  “Really? They decided on a movie right there?”

  “It wasn’t just there, but it did happen, partly because of the impression the author made. You know, easy to work with, flexible. She actually worked with the guy who wrote the screenplay. Made a bundle I gather.”

  “Hmmm.” There was real money to be made with the Madison Prize thing, Fran realized. This all added more pressure. She’d have to make a decision. “And The Harrington Women didn’t even win.”

  “Right you are. There’ll be a lot going on beneath the surface. By the way, are you working on a proposal for another book? You’ve had quite a long time to think about it.”

  “I’ve got several things in the works.” Fran had nothing. She had thought herself into exhaustion, but she didn’t have an idea large enough for a novel. But she couldn’t tell Eileen that she might turn out to be a one-novel author.

  “I don’t mean to press you, but this would be the ideal time to hit Majestic with a proposal. They are certainly going to be receptive.”

  “I know. Nicki’s
working on it.” She realized she sounded a bit impatient, but Eileen was beginning to push her. She knew she could write short stories, but the novel thing had been a fluke. She couldn’t ever do it again. But with all the publicity that would go into this prize thing, she really could get a good deal. “I’m sorry I’m so snappy. I’m just really hung up on this ‘being Nicki’ thing.”

  “You would only have to be a good actor for a few days. You don’t have to be Nicki, just play the part in public.” There was a short hesitation, then Eileen added, softly, “And there’s a whole world for her to explore.”

  “Museums, the World Trade Center, Broadway.”

  “Romance. Men. Sex.”

  “Yes, and sexy men, too,” Fran said. She sighed and suddenly said, “I’ll do it. I’ll talk a good game, be Nicki when I have to and enjoy the hell out of it all.” She wondered where those words had come from, but having said them, she felt as though a large weight had been lifted from her.

  “Good girl,” Eileen said, sounding truly delighted. “Listen. Since you’re going to fly here anyway, why don’t you take a few weeks. Just yesterday I was talking to a friend of mine who’s going to be in Europe on vacation for more than a month. She’d be delighted to let you use her apartment while she’s gone. It’s in the east Fifties, in a great neighborhood and you’ll love it. You’ll have time to explore the city and get the feel of the ‘good life’ that Nicki lives. I won’t have much time to spend with you, but I’ve got a dear friend who has a place just a block away. She’s often free during the day and I know you two will hit it off. And she’ll be able to guide you with some of the Nicki stuff. You know, ordering in fancy restaurants, wines, all the places you’ve been. And you’ll need Nicki clothes. I know Carla can help you there, too. That’s my friend. Carla Barrett. You’ll really like her.”