Crimson Crossing – Stories in Erotica

Her Hat

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Lord All Mighty knows what she was saying. We just didn’t speak the same language. She was, well, I don’t know, and I, hm, I spoke in Spanish. One of those Romance Languages along with a few others said to be romantic in sound. I for sure anticipated understanding some of her talking, whether she’d have spoken Portuguese, Italian, French… I thought I at least would picked up her meaning, her intentions, her feelings projected by the speech from one of the romance languages, but I suppose that wasn’t to be the case. I just don’t know what she was speaking of. All I can remember is the sight in her eyes. The things she did to me not fit for descriptions in grade school.

That woman made me forget what the lips of others meant to me. Events in the past that I had called decadence entrenched in pleasure, they were forever gone by her actions. See, I often wanted to share it with others, but was unable to speak of such a pleasure from such a woman. The one who I would have never expected it. That hidden talent that isn’t even seen in attractive people being heroes of academia.

The metro ran at high speed, cutting through dry land filled with wineries and drying creeks. Once in a while bellowing the struggle of an old engine as it went up hill. I ran into her walking from my cabin to the open-sitting cabin. She was on the floor picking up a basket of scarfs she had in a brown bag –the bags popularized in America by high-end department stores. She was wearing flip-flops, a sweat-suit, and a top-hat. I hadn’t really noticed her beauty until I somehow managed to ask her to see her hat soon after helping her collect the scarfs scattered about the floor. Being enamored with hats, I looked at every angle of it, it was from an American company, one not really known outside America, but there it was. She had a top hat from them boys at goorin.

I pointed to her to wait for me, it was obvious that she understood my intentions because when I returned form my cabin, she was still standing on the same spot. I showed her the jewel of my hats: a bowler style hat form the very same company. In no time she had it on her hands, smiling and sizing it against her top hat. I could tell she was pleased, as she could that I was in joy of having sized hers.

Before I knew what had transpired, we were sitting outside the last wagon of the metro. See, these old wagons have sort of a balcony where passengers can view the world being left behind as the metro sped into its destination. I slid my hand into my left pocket and pulled out a flask, beaten up from the times I’d dropped it trying to put it into small pockets. I took at hit, and extended the offer to her. At first she declined, but after being outside for quite a time speaking to each other about God knows what, she took it form my hand and consumed a bit. She hated every drop of it. I suppose American ingenuity is still not very well enjoyed outside America. That Rye Whiskey wasn’t her cup of tea.

I drank a few more times after that, I simply felt that the view at a distance couldn’t have gone any better but with a Rye, and perhaps the love of another. But, today the Whiskey and my new acquaintance created a moment that I just won’t forget. As the sun was setting, when the sky turns into orange, she began to pull out scarfs. One by one she would let them fly into the wind. Laughing, jumping up and down, cheering on as if she’d won some type of competition. Soon, she was out of scarfs to toss into the wind, she grabbed my hat, smiled at me, and tossed it over the side. It took quite a bit for it to hit the floor. I nervously laughed, didn’t know whether to be upset that my jewel was gone, or that this, not long ago stranger, and I connected. She saw in my eyes that I hurt. She shook her head saying “No, No”, as if telling me not to worry.

It was getting dark outside, we were struggling to see but grey covering the scenery. She grabbed my hand and begin opening the doors of every cabin while staring at me. My eyes must have revealed which wasn’t mine because by the time she open my door I no longer looked scared. We went in, sat on opposing sides of the room… we looked into one another, and commenced a few more monologues. We couldn’t really have had a conversation. I still don’t know what she was talking about, and I’m fairly sure she hadn’t a clue as to what I was saying.

I didn’t notice, I swear I didn’t notice that she’d come closer with each passing monologue. All I can remember is her smile, a bare body with a top hat. A seduction I just didn’t know was possible. And, and, we didn’t even consummate our short relationship. Of event, of note, was what she did to me. To that lone man in a metro cabin who had just lost his hat. She picked up one leg, put her foot against my chest and pushed me back against the sofa. I could see her world, all of it, in an entirety. Groomed as if about to head to a gala. She smiled again knowing I had gone through visions of debauchery with something that had yet been offered to me.

She got on her knees, God, I knew she wasn’t going to pray. I am no priest, and if I were, this is where my loyalty to the Lord All Might would cease to be. She got on her knees, and began to lower the layers of my clothing covering what I had kept hidden from her. She wasn’t surprised that my weakened state of strength was already filled with anticipation. She drew closer to me, looked up into my eyes and smiled while opening her mouth, contouring her lips onto me. She was slow at first, keeping her eyes steadfast on mine. The feeling, the feeling was really as it has been in the past. But it wasn’t going to stay that way much longer.

She grabbed both my hands with her hands, and pressed firmly against the back of her head, forcing me to force her push beyond capacities I thought to be limited to story telling. There was none of me visible, all gone in a venture of which it had never seen. I could hear her struggle, both to breathe and to maintain me where I hadn’t been. She pulled my hands off and slowly raised, only to push back down, her chin colliding with two men hanging from their inability to join in the duel. This time she needed little help, she’d engulf me as the sunset upon the coast, leaving me shimmering, glistening from her saliva that soaked my inhibitions. I looked down at her and could see the roundness of her backside as it would lift on one side, come down in the middle as if alluding to a hidden valley. It made me want to burst with desire. I want it, but she wasn’t releasing of her onslaught upon me. She massaged with her hands, she felt with the back of her mouth, I was in, deeper, and deeper with each push of her head towards my pelvis. I began to speak in Spanish, speaking wasn’t what I did. I asked, I asked and asked why, why like this, why me. She didn’t answer, she looked at me, and in her eyes I could see her smiling.

As time had it, I couldn’t resist her advances to draw pleasure form me. I released both in physical and audible means. Of which was no deterrent to her. She continued with the same fearless demeanor to push me in. I felt decadent, so decadent that such emotion couldn’t have come from anything but the pleasure she infused within me. Her struggle to breathe was visible, but on she continued, there was residue of me expelling from her lips, dare I describe, her nostrils. I could have died that day and felt I hadn’t missed a world tick. I couldn’t stop panting, and just when I thought I would declined in virtue, I didn’t. I couldn’t have. It was as much as a mental beat-down I took, as it was a physical one. She made noises I never heard, she did things to this day I’ve yet to feel again.

She stood up, looked down at me and smiled, grabbed my right hand, raised it to her lips and cleaned her lips with it. Looking at me she grabbed her hat, covered her most delicate part with it, and walked backwards towards the door, grabbing her belongings as she exited my cabin. The last thing I saw was her hat fly down towards my feet. I was there, still standing, ready for who knows what, perhaps still awaiting her entrance back into my cabin. But no, all I have to remember that night is the memories of her scent on a top hat sitting in my dormitory.

Author: jibarican

https://crimsoncrossing.wordpress.com

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