Читать книгу Adamonde - Benjamin Vance - Страница 4

The gloomy, threatening low clouded, late-winter overcast was sunshine and roses compared to his current mental attitude, or perhaps his temporary insanity. He’d been preparing to jump when he saw the bluish flash and heard or sensed the tinkling wind chimes … he was sure he heard wind chimes … or was it a kitten’s lost cry … but then what was that blue flashy light? He’d been concentrating intently on the beguiling water; perhaps the flash and wind chimes were both fabrications from within his dark, jumbled mind.

Oh, the melancholy … the melancholy swirling green river with its sympathetic foam and sensuously rounded curves, beckoned softly to his derelict heart and oxygen-rich lungs. Slightly distracted for the moment, he turned marginally and waited a few quiet heartbeats … and then once more captivated by the water, arranged one foot on the rusty-blue bottom rail of the old ferry’s rear deck railing.

Then suddenly, inexplicably … there it was again, definitely a kitten under a bench somewhere on the old observation deck; probably the captain’s kitten or perhaps the mechanic’s. It was definitely a kitten and he should decidedly pay it no attention due to his upcoming and obligatory journey downward. He strained to ignore whatever it was and resolutely anchored his foot higher; more thoughtfully and firmly into the blue-flaked rust, and again braced his body preparing to catapult into the hypnotic, roiling wake.

Damn it … damn … there it was again … disturbing, what the hell …wind chimes … he sensed; it was definitely wind chimes, but perhaps coming from under the wood observation benches.

Really … so what, he was in no hurry; he could check it out before he checked out, perhaps it was a little kitten after all, maybe even a red striped one. He almost grinned in his miserable state. He liked red tabby cats for their pluck and grit ... and life. He temporarily abandoned his immediate mission and walked slowly around the benches on the deserted deck like a hunter, looking … stalking ... slowly. He heard it no more, but creeping carefully, he peered under the old benches one by one with a certain degree of gut-wrenching dread, and he couldn’t comprehend … quite why.

Suddenly, reflexively he yelled and fell backward from his crouch onto his heels, rump and outstretched hands, “Not what a hunter would do” he thought. When he saw her, he was suddenly overwhelmed with her cold, emotion and agony, and the deep abyss of fear and confusion harbored therein. His stomach rumbled and his ears rang deep in his head. He felt like vomiting.

She grabbed for him and he recoiled once more; suddenly there were the wind chimes, or crystal tapping in his ears yet again. She looked at him directly, intimately, with her head turned sideways from her under-the-bench crouch. Her eyes were the color of dazzling turquoise with the outward appearance of two light-refracting heat-cracked marbles; more beautiful than anything he’d ever beheld. They commanded attention and empathy and something … else. He felt it so intently his rumbling stomach became even queasier and he swallowed bile.

Slowly, compellingly, with heart pounding he approached her on his hands and knees in his own confusion and curiosity, to get a closer look. She was nude, olive skinned and hairless; at least on all the parts he could see. One could practically see through her translucent right ear and he immediately noticed the shallow tympanic membrane. Minute shades of blue followed her veins, especially on her neck, and small breasts where they were softly mushroomed against her upper arms.

Intrigued out of his death wish for that moment, myriad other thoughts, some seemingly not his own, were busy pushing away his private drudgery and sickening lonesomeness. He reached out, hoping to just touch her hand; she reached for his. He heard the chiming tinkle again. When he finally touched her, his mind could hardly contain the emotional tsunami. He sucked in a great gasp of cold life-giving air, groaned and cried and she cried with him in her own way.

Then she came at him so fast he couldn’t move, or somehow didn’t want to. Her elbows were suddenly in his coat sleeves the wrong way and she was huddled inside his coat, her biceps under his arm pits; hands over his shoulders, legs around his waist, toes and feet trying to intermingle at his lower back; legs like soft, warm scissors. He reflexively enclosed her in his big coat like a mother bat, and she snuggled and tinkled with delight. He knew it was the purest delight and relief … somehow.

Almost at once he felt her radiant warmth, both with his body and in his heart. Settling herself again, she turned her head to nestle the right side of it against his chest, and her legs and arms rearranged, wrapped more securely yet more familiarly and comfortably around his body. Not knowing what else to do, he got off his knees with her firmly attached and ventured into the small, glassed foul-weather observation room with his prize hanging to him like a monkey, wrapped warmly in his long, black pea coat. Her small head looked like a tan ostrich egg under his chin and black wool collar. He looked down at it; smiled at the thought, felt her head move slightly and heard a muffled chiming. He sat down on one of the well-worn, blue, slatted wood seats and she adjusted herself to fit his form again like one of his old comfortable shirts.

As he struggled to allay any overtly sexual thoughts about having a naked female something wrapped around him; attempting to replace them with thoughts of assistance, empathy and normality, he heard a little sharp chirp and a quiet rumble. Then he heard the ferry’s docking horn; startled and jerked at its warning blare. At the same time he lurched, the female thing inside his coat squeezed harder, lifted itself up to peer out toward land with one eye and deep into his eyes, and perhaps his soul, with her other. Somehow not surprised by her independent eyes, he whispered, “We’re going home. I think you’ll like it.” She smiled, opened her full lips a little, tinkled like a crystal wind chime in a gentle breeze, and smiled directly at him with both spectacular, painfully beautiful eyes.

There were only two other people on the front deck at that point, and still none in the foul weather room. No one seemed to care what was under his coat anyway. Initially, he thought it was because of the cold that time of year on the Oregon coast, and onlookers probably thought he had a child protected under his coat with a little tan toboggan on. It could have been his stochastic state of mind and people just didn’t want to see him. She chimed once under his coat. Could she read his thoughts? She chimed in a different way that sounded like confirmation somehow.

By the time he reached his car and prepared for unloading, he was beginning to harbor thoughts of insanity of a different strain. This lost little thing under his coat could be a figment of his imagination. No wonder no one noticed. She chimed and he thought, “Well, hell if I’m crazy enough to plan suicide, perhaps I am nuts, and this beautiful little thing is just in my mind.” She chimed twice in a low tone and he suddenly thought, “Nuts?”

Like most people who live in the Oregon back woods, he kept an extensive survival kit in his SUV. Once they were away from the dock a bit and safe from most prying eyes, he stopped and raised the rear gate, opened the survival case and removed a warming comforter to wrap her in. He stood by the vehicle and tried to untangle her from his middle thinking she was uncomfortable. She would have none of it though, and screeched her dissatisfaction. How was he to drive the seven or more remaining miles home with her settled around his waist? He thanked God he wasn’t fat. She chimed one time … in agreement? Before he got back in with his still-attached bundle he reached down to put the seat back and realized he didn’t need to occupy his arms with her since she was stuck on like a leech. The smell, warm texture and sense of her pleased and settled his mind like he’d not noticed before.

Very carefully, he got back in and settled them both behind the wheel. When he shut the door and restarted the engine, she raised her head and looked around utilizing both eyes, scrutinizing every conceivable direction at once, and the complete interior of his SUV in seconds. It almost made him dizzy trying to keep up with it. She looked at him directly then and chimed several times; smiled with both eyes on his. Then as if for a joke she moved both eyes to their uttermost lateral positions, and then quickly back to center upon him, smiled and chimed; suddenly lost her smile, delicately touched his lips with hers, puffed her breath directly up his nose and dilated her eyes to almost totally black orbs. It made his groin ache.

He still couldn’t fasten his seat belt, or at least didn’t want to, so in his mildly confused state he took it slow and easy over the damp back country road, to where he and his late wife used to live, laugh and love. He’d lost her over two years earlier to cervical cancer at twenty nine years old, and couldn’t help the black depression that washed over him every time he drove the road “home”. During the rest of the ride from ferry landing to farm house, the little female thing chimed several times while adjusting her grip, but he noticed she was sleeping during the last half of their journey.

At least she appeared to sleep; since she was breathing regularly and emitting little chimed snoring sounds with every exhale; warm against his chest. When he stopped the car, she didn’t wake up and he paused just to be sure she was still breathing. He gently removed them both from the SUV and carefully made his way from carport to his back door.

Once inside his comfortable two-story home, he turned up the heat just a little, and walked around unnecessarily inspecting the familiar interior; almost embarrassed to remove his coat. To delay further, he first prepared a pair of his wife’s pajamas for the little hitchhiker, turned down the plush covers on the upstairs guest room bed, and then slowly opened and removed his coat. Standing close to the bureau mirror, he turned slightly to see every inch of her beautiful small entwined body. She appeared to be a lovely growth, bulging from his midsection. He slowly pulled at one leg and it came loose and left a warm spot. He felt her sleepily grasp at his shirt with the toes of her other foot somehow.

He did the same with her other leg and then her arms. As he carefully untangled her limbs, he inserted them into the appropriate leg or arm hole of the pajamas. He got her fully into the top and bottom and buttoned up without waking. He assumed she was almost in a state of hibernation, perhaps extremely fatigued, like she’d been through a great, long ordeal. As he laid her into the softness of the bed, he saw her grasp the toes of one foot with the toes of the other as if she were still wrapped around him. He gasped and looked again closer, wondering how he could have missed those.

She had six of them on each foot. Astonished, he thought he’d miscounted so he touched the little things one at a time to make sure. Yep, twelve toes; then he checked the fingers. Each hand had six; at least there were two thumbs … kind of. It appeared the two thumbs, a large-small and small-small, were meant for opposed grasping like the human thumb and forefinger. He imagined they would exert one hell of a grip if needed; combined with the rest of her fist.

As he looked closer and touched, he noticed each finger had well defined serrations across the areas where he had prints, and lesser defined serrations as they graduated into her palm, which was mostly smooth skinned, but tough looking. Her finger tips and gripping surfaces were rough when he felt them; almost sticky, and he wondered if there were vines where she came from. He gently covered her up and she snuggled down and chimed several times, like she was mumbling in dream sleep. It was then he noticed her eye lids were fringed, not with dark hair, but with something beautifully similar to lashes.

Later, after a small raid on his refrigerator and pantry, he used the bathroom and puttered around preparing himself for his own bed in the normal way. However, he tarried in the warm shower a bit too long commiserating with himself about what to do with his beautiful new friend. As he finished washing his hair and stepped back under the shower spray to rinse with the sanity-restoring warm water, he was suddenly enclosed in two arms and interlocked pulsating fingers. It startled him a little, but since he’d been thinking about her anyway, or was perhaps warned mentally, he just accepted her presence as a normal extension of his day dream.

He turned slowly within her embrace and she tinkled, chimed and smiled up at him raptly, with her eyes steady and intense in the wet, warm drizzle. She released her grip around his waist, and slowly moved her hands and gaze to his chest, where she became entranced with his chest hair and nipples. She softly caressed his breasts and saw them harden. Then she smiled up at him and placed his hands on the two largest of her four breasts. She closed her eyes as he smoothed them with his fingers and felt all four of them, large and petite, respond. That pain in his groin returned.

As her nipples reached their limit of erectness, she opened her eyes to look at him and her hands became like velvet gloves as she looked around his body; smoothed and arranged his wet chest hair. He gently took a hand and inspected her fingers. The small tips and fingers were now smooth as glass and as if she understood, they all suddenly changed to rough and then back to smooth in sequence like a Christmas light array. He smiled; she smiled back and chimed once, never removing her other hand from its caressing involvements.

He lightly kissed her palm and replaced her captive hand onto his chest, but never lost eye contact. The kiss surprised and pleased her. She continued to explore with her hands, while several of her toes dreamily caressed his warm feet. Her hands eventually found their way to his genitals and she squeaked when he started responding to her touch. She quickly looked down and then back into his eyes with passionately fluctuating pupils.

The warm water continued to caress them both, and he continued responding strongly to her touch. While at the same time wrestling with guilt and passion, a part of him was visibly overwhelmed with her exotic lure. She responded even more then as their bodies coalesced, and as their minds joined he could feel her passion gaining strength. Both of her hands found his penis and she used her 12-pad pulsing fingers in direct response to his lust. He felt like he would die if he couldn’t enter her, and she knew ... she knew.

She sang to him in his mind and asked him to honor her with whatever he would do. It was a strange request; he felt it with every fiber of his rising passion. Then he abruptly exploded. It had been so long, he couldn’t hold back. She’d been singing silently in his mind, but she screamed audibly when he climaxed. He was so overcome with pleasure and acceptance that tears poured from his eyes, camouflaged by the shower, but not from his own heart, or from hers.

For a while, they both remained anchored and quivering under the warm shower. Once he regained his composure he began to slowly wash her with a body wash he’d purchased, but until then waited, unused. She seemed thrilled, both with his touch and with its fragrance, and her eyes dilated. She tasted it delicately and he glimpsed her flat, pink tongue which wasn’t quite human, but beautiful nonetheless. Immediately upon touching the soap with her tongue she spat and made a very human grimace. He laughed and she chimed several times with a chagrinned smile and pin-point pupils. He thought he smelled cinnamon.

After big bath towels and slow drying, they took each other back to her bedroom and on the way passed her button-poor pajama bottoms, and then her button-less torn top, neither of which would ever be used again. The shower episode had warmed him enough so he was in no hurry to re-cover her or his own body. Instead he began to explore her body, with her eager encouragement.

Everywhere he touched or kissed or explored with his tongue or lips or fingers, she silently cheered. When he touched a special place she would chime, ting, growl or purr with a high pitch. He found that a very high pitched purr meant “Please, no more”, and a low stochastic growl meant “Please, never stop”. Somewhere between the two there were hundreds of sounds which, with the help of their connection he would learn meanings for. In that way she told him what intensity of delight she was experiencing, and he was a quick and willing student.

He found she was very bi-lateral; more so than any human. She had two clitori, two ample breasts, with two supernumerary nipples or petite breasts below them about three inches. All four nipples responded to stimuli as she did. Her umbilical button was not in the center of her tummy, but about two inches above her pelvis. She had ribs, but he didn’t think as many as humans. Her spine had two separate rows of spinous processes; not protruding or ugly, but subtly there.

As he gently touched his tongue to the little lumps above what he hoped was her fragrant, soaked vagina, she sang a symphony in his mind and audibly rumbled like a small storm cloud. The little bumps responded to his caresses and began to tremble under his tongue as he moved the fraction of a centimeter from one to the other. She began to give off another scent again; something resembling cinnamon, and started raising her pelvis to push against his tongue. Just as his mind was reeling with her senses, it suddenly went blank and she wrapped her legs around his neck, her hands stroking his hair with rapidly fluctuating finger tips; fluctuating toes caressing his back. At the height of their passion he felt like she was all over and in him, except for his mind.

He couldn’t understand why she was no longer in his thoughts, but he accepted it when she quivered, arched her back and squirted him with a tiny stream of cinnamon-smelling lubricant. To his surprise, she immediately pushed him away from her pelvis and spread the liquid from his face and her legs to her swollen pinkish vulva. The look on her face was one of unalloyed passionate urgency. She pulled him toward her, guided the tip of him into her vagina and once in, its walls reacted with strong peristalsis, pulling in his erection and moving it into the upper reaches of her eager wetness. Once seated, the peristaltic rhythm slowed and stabilized; she stared directly into his eyes. She then immediately re-entered his consciousness and her pupils began a rhythmic expansion and contraction, effectively mimicking the peristaltic tempo in her vagina. It drove him mad, and over the edge quickly, and as he delivered his contribution to their bodily fluids, the peristalsis peaked; she shuddered, rumbled and whispered his name.

“Jon-tathan, Jon-tathan, Jon-tathan!” He had no idea where she found his name within the recesses of his dark mind, or the mechanism with which to speak it. Her eyes were shut and she maintained a closed-lipped smiling countenance. She didn’t respond to his mental question, but started a rhythmic squeak-pop breathing rhythm. She was asleep! He smiled and reminisced about how quickly his wife fell asleep after they made love. He knew he was too heavy to sleep on top of her so he managed to slowly turn over and position her on top, without her fully waking.

There was no question of them separating, because when he started to slip out, her autonomic peristalsis pulled him back in. He got comfortable and became dreamily aware of her shallow breathing. At one point he was almost asleep when he felt her arms and legs attempt to grasp his body like she did on the ferry, and the periodic peristalsis continued to assure her drowsy mind that he was still well seated within her. Then he smiled, she smiled, and all went black.