CHAPTER 9
Boys are so easy to please. She stopped herself from vocalizing it. Let it smack around her internal dialogue with a smirk—"You were pretty easy to please, yourself, dingbat!" Ah! how philosophical you’ve become, dear one, as the years have passed. Lil rolls over to her other side...suffocates herself with a pillow, and as all darkens the "Tales of Luscious Lil" bursts from spotlight amidst clapping and howling and hooting...a collective lung and lustful heart—"Good evening, boys!"
She had liked that, and she had let them know: luscious. It came on the tongue of some really odd character, an older boy, maybe almost nineteen...she never asked, he never told...odd in that he preferred to watch..not an artist or anything like that...just watch from behind a door, peeking through a crack, usually a closet door, peering as the others have her or she them—however he’d see it in his mind's eye. At the end of her Play he’d step out into the bedroom, not come right up to her, no, kept the same three steps from her as was his peculiar way...but all the time probing her, scanning her every part. "It spooked me at first. I wanted to give him something. Stroke him. Do something!" Peering...it came to her—"What, two years later? Dumb me!"—came to her that he was giving to her what no other boy had. What?..."His total attention. Complete worship!"
Only Cilla had ever asked, "Why’d he stop?"
Lil grimaced a slight incomprehensibility.
But you do know, don’t you? Why couldn’t you say this to Cilla? That he left once you received his full attention.
He was the only boy Lil had not found so easy to please.
"Luscious Lil!"...Iit was pure clamor: shouts, whistles, animal groans, grunts, feet-stomping... All he had said...you know this was when you first "Got it!"— Great Mother how green you were!—"Luscious Lil" ...the rest didn’t even know what they were getting so worked up about.
The darkness is so interior that her inner moon shines. Luscious Lil, she whispers to herself as she submits to this state of being, surrenders her every sense of self to this lusciousness, obliterates her Lil for this Luscious...off-stage laughter of her now-self, watching this Greenie ripen!...watching her imagine herself as the stream, as a clear, sun-glinting, fast-flowing stream beset by a necklace of trees, all in full leafage, stones sparkling as the water polishes them, reflecting excitement, and it is her arms...hands, fingers...which flow, which whirl about and above her like flights of bantam birds, this enchanting them—they the fishermen: worm-boys amuses her...there at her banks as she flits and flirts around the stage...oh! they start wildly to fling their lines, cast forth their baits upon her waters, she unbinding her breasts, flinging blouse: fully wrapped in fiery red...flinging it as the sun is flung through cloud burst and sunder...not a noise except the swelling gasp of single-voiced boys—as one, they with tongues in staccato shouts of praise towards the heavens which she has become their full blue sky as the softness of her body, the slender spread of her maiden belly, the entrancing flight of her taut thighs.. Luscious Lil!
She rolls over and over right to the edge, back over and over, pillow screwing her head.
"Those first years," Cilla, are you listening?..."I really wanted only one boy. Ya know, wanted like in what I thought Coupling want is...it was that watcher. Can you believe it, I’ve never seen him again?"
"Not even in a Tag or a Cauldron?"
"Think I wouldn’t know?" Almost irritated, edged with anger, quickly modulating it to be a simple question—the anger and irritation caught only by herself..."Think I wouldn’t know?"
Luscious. What would Mom have said? Mom, with all the love a mom could, I guess. "Your body is like a feast. Boys, let me say, I think, so many call them wild but it’s just their nature. That’s why there’s the Rules and protocols. Don’t worry, dear, The Course will prepare them." Ha! I’m only luscious because I let them do everything, just everything.
She's musing with the insight being-green aptly mis-describes what Everything! actually forebodes. Hearing Everything! as her answer. Watching its impact as answer. As if the word slit the boy from head to toe...so totally rent him apart that he was incapacitated like a corpse. (Chuckle!) More, relentless...she wouldn’t let him go, not until he said it to her, said, Everything! You're everything I ever wanted...you're luscious!—which normally was uttered in a moment of wipe-out fatigue, quite often with a downward exhale of defeat. Victory was hers!..."I can’t!"—meaning can’t move, can’t handle another blow-job, can’t even want not to!
He had said it, "Luscious," and somehow from that moment every boy knew.
"Maybe everything was really what he couldn’t say? Didn't know could say?" A harsh thought which wakens her from her semi-dreaming roll and tale-spin. She lifts the pillow off her face, in a single motion, flips it onto the floor...won’t say it to herself but it is said behind the house, in the sandbox...leaning over towards her..."Luscious is Everything!"
She wants to unwrap herself. Am I Luscious inside? Cups her breasts: moons, white stones, snow-balls, she hears the endless echoes but also endlessly repetitious imagery of boys: Milk Maid! Did they all fail the section on "Creative Imagery"? Turning a twist, watching herself flow upon the glass as she has so often flowed across the stage: small stage, larger stage, a solo performance—wherever she danced, she rippled more than moved, this what Lil loves about the dance, has come to find herself in the dance, at least now she so knows....dancing, I am image, I am the opening, they are there like locks or knobless doors or a sky thickly overcast and darkly, ah! they melt...she watches their mouths open, some ever so slightly, just a slit, others like large caves which can be seen from a great distance...watching herself watch them as she leaps and prances about, knowing that she is deer, gazelle—sensing that she is also target and capture!—it all comes so she sees herself accepting them, receiving these images of herself ..."More them than me"...now insight into her role as receiver—allowing her skin to be their parchment, their scroll...at first, it was only the cock as pen, inscribing her, transforming her into message, leaving her their tales of desire, yearnings, of wanting to be One... Ah! she had needed so many pen-men! so many scribes! there was a giddy excitement about all those penile salutes! ....Yes! how worshipped you felt! Were.
So had she listened to them all. Private tales. Buddy tales. Team tales. Boy tales. Tales of how she was all that each had ever wanted! Tales of how lost they were without her! Tales of how totally happy she made them! Tales, which in five minutes you’re blathering to one of my Sisters! But she knows only this as later insight. You believed them all...how Green were you?
Turning full turn, positioning a hand-mirror to catch the fall of her hair upon her back, the arousal of her ass as pivot, she flexes and tenses her legs...if nothing else, her ass always choked them, got them to spit out "Luscious" whether in words or eye-yelp, but it was her cunny which she carried as "Luscious," stroking it gently and thrilling at its power over them...hyptnotic... if nothing else, those Green years were wonderful discovery!
Here now, enters Zav. How many performances did he catch? By himself? On a team? In a Cauldron? "Why haven’t you ever asked?" she speaks out loud to herself. Silently she hears what her words want to cloak—Why did he never tell a tale of Luscious?
It was not a word he ever offered her. He must’ve known? Everyone knew!
Bastard! she screams at him, throwing the hand-mirror at him, fired by rage, having herself swamped by a down feeling she has never felt so deeply...he, there, after hours of great firking, playing in delights and every desire, my doing everything for him! he, doing everything I ask!...a rage which folds her eyes inward and locks them—she sees herself spitting at him, corrosive spit, acidic...him writhing, burning up in front of her, total flesh sizzle...weeping sores and trickling spouts of ghastly acrid smoke: fuming. All of a sudden, her eyes pop open—Whop!... Inwardly she gasps, for she has never been so imaginatively down—Who are you? ...Zav, you bastard! ...asks again, but soundlessly in question and response...she sees it all re-run again—his half
-sitting recline...was it a smug posture to evoke a smugtone? "Not everything," he replies.
(yourenoteverythingtome!)
It was the first time Lil thought—Bad?
Maybe it was that which made me not-Green, anymore? She didn’t like the sound of this, even if it were true. "It hurts, doesn’t it?" But it was more like an ache. "Love-making can hurt," one of the first cautions from her Mom, "Boys are just stronger. They get so excited." She was only ten at the time, so she didn’t want to tap into her mother’s excitement.
Hurt. Maybe, there’s something there? Great Moroni’s Toot!
There was something linking the watcher with Zav...Lil rolls up, half-off, sitting; bends, picks up the pillow, stands and with clear intention and attention artfully returns the bed to the visual pleasure it was meant to be...her daily tidying-up preparation at the start of a day.
"Not everything." Great Mother, What did he know?...Okay. Okay! You gotta admit, this is why you invited him to Couple.
Intimates: A Journey Towards Sacred Sexuality Page 9
