The sun seemed to hang in the
late-morning sky, as if it were Simon, two turns behind, made his way with ease—or so it appeared to Brandy, annoyed by her rapid pulse and hyperventilating ribcage. Before he could catch her up she forced her body to continue, determined, almost peevishly, to maintain the lead—his ‘hot pursuit’ appealing to her sweat-soaked vanity. All around, wildflowers splashed the canyon walls with yellows, pinks, magentas; lizards rustled in the scrub brush; swallows streaked through the up-draft’s fever. Brandy contemplated all with a childlike fascination… … while Simon contemplated Brandy, his fantasies taking flight:
At last a breeze sprang up. Brandy unbuttoned her blouse. Air filled the dampened cotton, ballooning it behind from the small of her back. She glanced over her shoulder. Simon, already bare-chested, was tying his shirt sleeves around his middle. Brandy, at the next turn, did the same.
She waited for him at one of the trail’s recurrent crooks, wind making auburn pennants of her unbound hair, out of breath, smiling nonetheless… moving on—and up—as Simon approached. A moment later, he heard her (forecast) cry.
Brandy had been snagged by a scraggly branch of ironwood, its claw-like thorn still holding fast to her teat, a searing pain precluding her attempt to disengage it. Simon, having quickly closed the distance, g i n g e r l y extracted the offending shrub. Once released her nipple oozed a tiny bead of blood—which Simon cupped with his mouth and suckled therapeutically. Pain-displaced-by-pleasure stirred a sensual swoon so powerful that Brandy might have climaxed then and there. But Simon's cure (too fleeting) quickly turned to vapor.
For a time the trail leveled off. Walking was less strenuous. Simon, once more loitering, fell behind. Brandy stopped at a boulder and settled down to wait—the breeze blow-drying her half-nude body, cooling it despite the fiery temperature, puckering the flesh of her punctured pap. ‘Jeezus, I can still feel where he… ’ Startled, Brandy stiffened. Simon stood behind her, the shadow of his head cast into her lap, his palms, like fledgling wings, atop her shoulders. Something in his touch made her relax, take note of the scenery; the canyon walls were closer, now, the nearby stream a torrent. Glancing down, she gauged the distance hiked; one third, perhaps. A cottonwood grove below appeared no bigger, no taller than waist-high bushes, while, above, the uppermost cliffs still looked remote. She tilted back. She moved her hands to cover Simon’s then gazed up and into eyes that—had they only asked… But no, they asked for nothing.
Again she stood; again he yielded her the path—though kept apace. Their strides, in tandem, matched as they reached another incline, where Brandy felt his scrutiny pierce like a probe… then pass clear through… shining, like a prism, on the altered airwaves… colors rendered sharp in a world she glimpsed (through him?)… a world she judged aloof and desperately forlorn.
Their rigorous climb made the prospect of a dip evermore enticing. Brandy’s modest sweat was now a flood from every pore. She thought of taking off the remainder of her clothes, and might have done so, had the ironwood not encroached so often. Treacherous stuff indeed, it never missed the chance to snatch a passing pant leg, tear an ankle. Instead she walked along with fingers locked behind her neck, her underarms hairless and exposed like pitted avocados. The path narrowed, was blocked by more branches. Brandy, trying to avoid them, suddenly slipped; she lurched; she tottered. A hand arrested hers, yanking her to safety. "Jeezus! I was nearly a goner!" Relieved, she took a breath, then gasped as Simon fiercely hugged her. Breasts to naked chest their flesh converged, reshaped, adhered, then made a suction sound when (finally) pried apart. Brandy, heartbeat pounding, pointed toward the waterfall. "It can’t be much further. Look." Simon, in a daze, stood still… took stock; her sudden loss of footing, her nipple's perforation, represented incidents he had foreseen. Brandy, skirting the impasse, came to a halt. "Listen." Audible, albeit faintly, the drone of tumbling water echoed ahead. "I sure do hope it’s big enough, and deep enough, to swim in."
At last they came to the switch back’s uppermost crest, descending then a slope that wound through giant saguaros. The waterfall, sight unseen, made a resonate roar. Brandy, reaching backward with her hand encountered Simon’s (reaching forward). Thusly linked, the pair arrived.
A cataract stretched like a thirsty tongue from the overhead cliff face, lapping (with one luxurious slurp) at a pool below… around which sculpted rocks were embedded in a fine-grained sand. Brandy—shedding socks, shoes, jeans, and underpants all in one—crossed the intimate beach and plunged feet first. "Ooo, you won’t believe how luscious this feels!" She swirled in circles. "Look, it’s clear; I can see my toes. And deep; I’m barely touching bottom." Simon, more methodically, stripped and waded in. When the water reached his crotch he literally froze. Brandy, shimmering naiad-fashion, dived below the surface… bobbing up beside him, breasts like life buoys. "Wow, the noise is deafening! Sounds like… what? Goliath gargling. Come on under." Holding breaths, the two pinched noses and submerged. A madcap skirmish of bubbles marked the falls, its clamor thunderous, as the couple looked and listened, then popped up for gulps of air. "Did you hear that? Did you see it!?" Simon nodded, eyes appreciative—as he ogled unavoidably Brandy's absence of brassiere. "I meant the waterfall, not my boobs." She splashed him playfully, then, with a gesture, proposed they take another plunge. With a nod they jointly dunked, their features lost in a shimmering cloud of effervescence. Simon briefly glanced in the direction Brandy pointed… saw the mint-green light refract, reflect… then let his gaze return… to luminous curves… to auburn hair, in swirls, like a liquid veil (she surfaced) that clung to flesh so fair he ached to touch it. "That’s how shipwrecked sailors meet their doom." He missed her meaning. "Mermaids make them ‘sigh with love’ then drown." Again she splashed him. Simon, numb past tolerance, fled the frigid water. Scrambling onto a sun-baked rock, he sprawled, face up, to thaw—and to resume a fond surveillance from the shade of his forearm. Brandy, seeking warmth herself, rose (like Botticelli's Venus) and stretched her glimmering body on the opposite shore.
Brandy, shivering, leaned her wet and dripping torso downward. "Hey, are you okay?" He blinked. "You scare me when you do that. It’s so eerie being gawked at by a man who doesn't see you, or who maybe sees right through you, or whose eyeballs just go blank." He tried to rally, reconstruct events, examine bits of evidence. Had she swum back? Yes, her hair was wet, her breasts compressed, tips prominent, one so close, in fact, he felt it brush his lips… he closed his eyes… he felt…
Simon woke to find his semen spurting uncontrollably. Brandy swallowed once, twice, thrice, then let his member go—her lips transfigured by a reassuring smile. "It's perfectly alright. We have all day." Shifting to her right, she brought her left breast into contact. Simon kissed it, licked it, sucked it, felt it swell (as had its sister), then, easing out from under her, he scrambled to his feet. "Let’s build a sandcastle." "Huh?" He bounded to a spot beside the pool and started digging. Brandy, somewhat nonplussed, shook her head… then shrugged and joined him. Like a pair of naked toddlers they worked side by side.
Ramparts grew, thanks to Simon, while Brandy fashioned inner thoroughfares and chambers. Fully focused, neither spoke a word…
"Do you think we need canals?" … or let his mind's eye waver… "Simon?" … climb to heights un-reached… Brandy, shading her eyes tracked his to the cataract's source above them, detecting in its features… nothing in particular. "Hey, snap out of it." Simon's gaze remained unblinking… "Canals. You know, to let in water?" … tardy to acknowledge what was indisputably REAL… for instance Brandy, straddling the outer wall, looking at him askance, then bending over, buttocks bulging, vulva fringed with grains of sand, her sex resembling, from behind, a sugar-coated cookie…
Feeling touched by something, Brandy shot a glance between her thighs. But he was too far off to be the cause; plus both his hands were idle; and his eyes, though not quite shut, were looking elsewhere.
Brandy gasped; then checked again. He had not budged. She felt embarrassed, all the signs of her arousal plain as day—had he only looked.
A singsong murmur rose from Brandy's groin. She stepped beyond the battlements—skirting Simon—and sat down a good ways distant, hugged her knees, then gently rocked. Sensations spread; she buzzed—the whole of her anatomy. Then she trembled—not from cold but from the sights she saw within… the waterfall bending like a halo… Flushed, she shook herself as from a daydream, disconcertedly, neither face to face with Simon nor in any physical contact. In fact he stood at the very place, examining their handiwork…until (betraying himself) he turned and winked. "I must have drifted off or something." Brandy rose. He grinned. She sensed his subtext; loud and clear, it read ‘Touché.’ "So, are we finished?" "Except for opening the sluice gates." She ignored his double meaning. "Well, let's do it." Walking backward, she repaired to the poolside rampart (careful to conceal her sodomized crotch). As Simon dug a trench she tunneled through. "This ought to do." Her entry excavated, Brandy watched as Simon scooped wet handfuls. "Wait." To gain a better vantage point, she clambered up some rocks. "Okay, I'm ready." Simon broke the dike and, just in time, rejoined her, as the water snaked its way from pool to drawbridge… filled the moat… then overflowed it… rushed down central courts and corridors… climbed up stairwells… seeped throughout the castle's innards… flooding… inundating walls… then finally settling like a cooled-off flow of lava. "It’s wonderful, Simon. Wonderful! Do you think that it will last?" He paused… then answered rather solemnly. "Nothing lasts." She begged to differ. "Some things do." He shook his head… Then, in a lighter vein, he responded. "Well, sand castles aren’t among them; they’re memorials to transition, fleeting monuments to the fickle nature of Man." "You’re making fun." "I guess I am. But, in the long run… nothing lasts." "What about the love that helped us make it?" He reflected. "Love, like music, lasts while being played." "Okay… Let’s play some!" Dashing from the stony perch, Brandy made a dash for the blue-green water. Simon, held in check, stood still and watched… as she crossed the pool… as she hauled her body out… as she lay face-forward… as she beckoned him with her eyes (their call like a silent siren's). ‘Come to me, Simon.’
‘I love you, Simon.’
Inertia—offset by the pull of Brandy's subtle soundless summons—finally liberated Simon. He advanced… walked… waded… swam… traversed the gulf between his visions and the viable (or appeared to, as he felt her arms embrace him, as their naked bodies meshed, two puddles merging like a Rorschach at their feet.
"Simon?" Brandy felt him slipping from their here-and-now caress.
"Simon, look at me."
Brandy shook him. "Don’t you hear me? See me?"
Brandy kissed him; no response.
At which point Brandy, in frustration, forced him back against the cliff face and impaled herself. His member, semi-stiff, grew long, then hard. His eyes refocused. Recognition! He was with her… in her… part of her. They were moving, somehow… changing places… Brandy, underneath, could feel a bed of sand and pebbles print her backside. Simon, cognizant, fully conscious of both masculine/feminine felt his seed eject. She tensed… 'I'm coming!' …then reached orgasm. 'Coming.' Simon's subtext aped her. theirs a single sea whose high tide swept both shores… they lay united… for a moment… for an hour… neither knew for sure… * * |
reluctant to reach its peak… spreading warm rays over
blushing shoulders… adding weight to gravity’s ever-present burden. The grade
was steep, the switch back angles a stern test for leg muscles, lungs in urgent need of a
second wind. Brandy’s enthusiastic pace soon slackened to a trudge… then stalled
altogether. She rested.