| Straight: Lusty Liaisons: The Raconteur - A tobacco pipe. [part 5 of 5] |
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Dear readers, I have been reminded of the time that I sported a tobacco pipe. Money was a thing that I had not, for although it would have been possible for me to earn a high living as a "Rake," I could not bring myself to charge for services that pleased me so; that the women had no money either was, of course, an added factor. Thus, tobacco being expensive, I merely sucked at the clay stem, looking even more suave than before. Now that I am reminded, I take down from the mantle shelf my most treasured relic of those times: a briar bowl with amber mouthpiece. This was a present to me from my dearest Sophie and was stolen from a large store of expensive items in the Papal city of Avignon. One may think this a simple gift from a simple girl to a simple man; I prefer "unsophisticated" to "simple." I thanked her and promised to repay her in the way that she loved: energetic fornication in which, at one stage, we sample and savour each other's genitals at one and the same time. "Gaston, my handsome, brave and accomplished lover, I am sure that you will as ever excel and please me until I pass out with divine pleasure," she acknowledged. "But I wish to teach you a use for the present that may not at first be obvious to you." In order to give me just a taste of what was to come and to leave a souvenir, Sophie sat in front of me on the ground, lifted her skirts and opened her legs wide. For this woman, my staff rises without other prompting and this was no exception. "I see that your rod is suitably impressed with the pinkness of its plaything, Gaston. He may, if you allow, peek at the moistness of me, but there is no time for him to enter the gateway." I dropped my pants to the floor and held the rod steady to prevent any travel towards the girl and her passage. "Now I will extract for you a sample of the juices that you love to imbibe, and retain them for your tasting at a later time." With that, my beautiful and sensual girl pushed the briar into her channel, twisted and turned it, then withdrew it and placed the pipe into a small silken bag that she brought from her bosom. Laughing, she bade me, "For your dinner Gaston, for your dinner." A kiss for my weapon and she was on her way. I suck at the amber stem and memories flood back; do I detect the sweetness of Sophie or the saltiness of Monique? It matters not. Monique, you enquire? Yes, yes, Monique, the saltiness of a larger woman whose thighs almost crushed me... ah yes, Monique. Later, my friends; have patience. As I muse and prepare to excite you with yet another story of my exploits, a knock at my door brings my senses to the present. I rise with the difficulty of a man in the third age and shuffle to the door. What greets me sends me reeling, and as embarrassing as it is, I must admit to sliding slowly to the hard stone floor by way of the doorpost. "Eeeek!" A distant scream penetrates the fog in my brain. [Oh shit, shit, shit, now I've killed the silly bastard], follows the scream. I peek surreptitiously through a squinting eye and that eye become full of the most delicious décolletage of young breasts overflowing their captivity. I moan softly. [Oh jeeeze, you're alive, thank fuck for that, come on get up, pleeeeeze!] Is this an angel; am I at last dead and passing through heaven on my descent to Hades? A hand shakes me but I feign death once again, as I have heard tell of a technique taught to young, succulent English women in which it is necessary to place their full, moist and open mouths on that of a victim in order to attempt resuscitation. I wait, holding my breath. [Stop it – you are not dead! Are you?] There is desperation in the sounds that she makes, although I am not of the comprehension of her words. I manage to induce limpness in my body that has me slithering to the floor flat on my back; I pray that I now look more convincingly lifeless. To her credit she decides that indeed I am in need of the life-giving kiss and prepares to give it. [Ewww, why me? This is sooo gross! Now what have I done to deserve this?] Her soothing words are obviously meant to reassure me and they do. I will her to progress quickly, as I fear I am turning blue from the lack of the air of life. A finger firmly pushes on my chin and forces back my head; this in turn causes my mouth to open. Now, my nose is gripped by her finger and thumb; I do not wish to appear ungrateful, but I feel that a little less pressure would have sufficed. Oh, what glorious dreams I shall have of the moment those red lips pressed upon mine and her sweet, sweet breath entered my mouth and rushed to my lungs. It was, as I am sure my loyal readers will acknowledge, simply a natural reaction that my long and practiced tongue snaked into her divine oral cavity, both washing it and tasting her fine tongue. Her screams, I was told later, were to be heard in the next village and thrust me into wakeful if shocked consciousness. [Oh you disgusting and deceitful old bastard!] she screamed at me. Again, had it been that she welcomed me back to life a little less loudly and in my language, it might have meant more to me, but I took comfort from her words. Of course Madame Wilson was upset; she had just seen an old man die – then, with her mouth, brought him back to life! Quite why she left without explaining the purpose of her visit still eludes me. I shall pay the divine young thing a visit and express my gratitude a little later. It is of course possible that, having found my kiss so appealing, she will demand more; I am ever hopeful. |
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