11:23 a.m....2002-07-26
Mardi Gras: night
I allowed my pretty friend to pull away, after some time, and caught my breath with surprise to see how their-- her-- his-- aii! Their eyes glowed at me, bosom heaving heavily. Grinning, I fondled their bodice, discering some sort of bladder filled with liquid below the fabric. My companion giggled, throwing her head back to show off her pretty white throat, which I summarily kissed. My domino, which had been pushed up on top of my head, fluttered off and to the street. Dominique had lost hers sometime far earlier in the evening-- gave it away, I think, to Combeferre.
Yes, somehow, in the course of this, I managed to forget entirely that there were any such creature inhabiting the body in my arms other than one called Dominique, willing virgin. Perhaps it helped that I remembered that this was Carnival, and we were none of us who we'd been in the daylight. And summarily, while I could predict the actions reasonably well of a Jacques-Gervais Bahorel, I could not be so certain of a Damiano-Phillipe. So, overcome, I wheeled and pressed her against the wall as I would any tart, my mouth against hers, gathering her skirts in my hand to facilitate acess to the secrets they shrouded. She yielded completely, almost eagerly. And when, in a moment of breath, my lady whispered, "Gervais," I corrected her with "Damiano."
As you may guess, at some point in my explorations I found it verily impossible to maintain the illusion of Dominique any longer. Courfeyrac's eyes went wide, his cheeks even pinker than I thought possible, and he whispered, half in and out of his affected alto, "Dear lord, you're not going to stop, are you?"
I grinned at him, and he gasped, clenching his eyes shut at my ministrations demulceo. It seemed, by that point, I did not care who we were, save two beings devoted entirely to pleasure. Pressed against him as I was, he must have noted my own commitment, for he freed his hands a moment from my back to unfasten my trousers. His hand closed over mine, about the same business, and he smiled at me conspiritorially.
In spite of the adjective, I am really at a loss as to how to describe this expression, or how to acredit it. It was the look of friendship, admiration and love that I am accustomed to seeing passed between friends and brothers, such as we. But it was also the abandoned, feverish look of lust that I have seen in the eyes of countless beautiful women, the one that signals with the parting of lips, the parting of thighs. And yet, it was an expression I have never seen before or-- almost sadly-- since, a new and dangerous creature de profundis. It completely conquered me, and I rather greedily surrendered, lifting my friend by the haunches so that he wrapped his legs about my waist, with the wall for support. For all her other feminine wiles, Dominique showed the masculine good sense of wearing only linens for lower undergarments, and these were, I fear, somewhat rudely disposed of, in pieces. Manuvering being somewhat difficult, considering our unwieldy position, I nonetheless shortly discovered an access point quickly enough. The noises coaxed forth in the voices of both of Courfeyrac's identities encouraged me to proceed, ad manis, and finally, when that got favorable results, digladio.
He hissed, sharply, as I entered him thus, and I raised my face from his neck to read his expression. Maddened, mind white, I thrust the more passionately, unable to meet his eyes and keep my sanity. His hands clung to the back of my neck, wound into the hair like a mooring line, and all about us I could yet make out the heightening of the festivites-- sparklers whizzing by in the street, other lovers taking their pleasure in whatever shadow could be had, before the forty days of piety to follow. And also, Coyrfeyrac's voice unceasingly in my ear-- in caught breaths, in low moans, alto endearments professing love and desire, and ocasionally tiny squeals of pain, which I kissed to cure. For kissing, Jean-Baptiste's mouth were as sweet as any girl's, his lips as swollen in the practice of the art, and surprisingly yielding for one who had been so often the conqueror. The makeshift bosom heaved realistically against me, and the curve of haunch in my hand, smooth and cool, pleased my every aesthetic sensibility. Only his manhood, flat against my midsection, betrayed him, and in some ways this secret vice I found more arousing than anything else. Finally, Jean-Baptiste could take no more, and I felt him spend upon my blouse even as he clenched me tighter into him. He bit his lip at the height of his passion, fingernails digging into my flesh, and this was more than I could bear. I think he feared that I would dash him to bits against the brick of the wall as I spent, violently, teeth clenched.
We both found it all too appropriate that, as I helped him back to the ground, and he helped me back to the Earth, the streetlights and candles all, in one great breath, went dark.
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