fumaradjarum
06-05-2013, 03:41 AM
Hibiscus and Cornflower
The true tale of my clove-smoking shemale bride,
and how we came to meet
by
Arkady Cornflower
Inspired by, and dedicated to, Lilienne Li
"If God made anything better than a woman, he kept it to himself."
Jerry Lee Lewis
"Could I imagine myself falling into life with a woman who trails smoke and ashes everywhere she goes?"
Richard Bach
I suppose the story of how I met my dragon lady bride begins with an operation I undertook at a private clinic on the West Coast. Retired, my energies, never very abundant, had been flagging, and I feared that I would slip into that sleep from which we never return too gently, but slowly. Such had been the pattern for several members of my family, and I did not wish to follow them, and so I turned to a procedure with few adherents in the present day. The goat has long been a symbol of not only of fertility and lustiness but also general vivacity. A certain doctor, dismissed by his colleagues, had theorized that a portion of the testes of a male goat, if transplanted into those of an otherwise healthy human male, would confer upon the recipient renewed vigor and health. Some of my siblings and cousins had benefited from this procedure, and so I, too, in my turn, made a reservation to submit myself to his knife and so awaken from my stupor.
As I said, my energies had not been abundant; in fact, I had passed my entire life without enjoying those activities which are a normal part of human experience upon the onset of puberty. The doctor at the clinic told me that it was very likely a case of hormone imbalance, and that the operation might very well provide the necessary fluids to turn my winter into spring.
The operation went without a hitch, and the goat, I am glad to say, suffered only a little and lost only part of his organs before being stitched up and released back into the hills; I could swear that I heard his bleating laugh as I lay abed, recovering from the operation. My room, though a functional hospital room indeed, was disguised as a comfortable resort cabin. The views were magnificent--a sliding glass door let out to a view of the hills where my new goat-brother roamed free, while the front door framed a view of the Pacific Ocean, within easy walking distance. The hospital bed was disguised as a divan, and the convalescing guests were encouraged to use the jacuzzi in their rooms as well.
All of that equipment was much-used during my recovery. Since the operations often served the purpose of regenerating the flagging virility of the client, the staff had a relaxed, one could say even encouraging, attitude toward the recovering patients. I came to the clinic more inexperienced than most, and managed to pack into two days and nights more experimentation than most undertake during their lifetimes. Freud asserted that we are polymorphously perverse by nature, and I did nothing to disprove that concept during my sudden spring. At the end of those two days, I was happily exhausted.
I took a nap in the afternoon and awoke in the early evening from a dream of houris whispering to me from outside my window. I must tell you that all of my senses, which had been as dull as a worn shoe my entire life, had been awakened by my recent operation, and so I was awakened by just the slightest scent of spice and other botanicals slipping on a breeze under my door, and so, arising, I stepped out to seek its origin, like Livingstone searching for the source of the Nile. As soon as I set foot outside the door, I beheld the most delightful sight I had until that point beheld: a young woman dressed as a fairy with battered luna moth wings and a bruised garland, dressed in gypsy garb, standing beneath a jacaranda in bloom and blowing smoke rings around the full moon caught in the branches above her. I will admit that I had spent a lifetime watching women smoke, and this young lady was mistress of all its charms; I know, because I paused to watch her for several minutes before continuing my approach. She smoked a clove cigarette in a black holder, about as long as her slender, delicate hands and fingers. Keeping it between her index and middle fingers at hip height and slightly behind her, she delicately flicked its ash with her thumb against the holder each time before lifting it to her lips. Leaning her head back to pull more fully the smoke into her lungs, she clenched the holder with her teeth as her fingers drew apart and released it momentarily, then dropped it, in an arc, back down behind her and flicked the ashes, as she blew streams or rings or, most beautifully, let it drift slowly from her open mouth. Clearly, she was enjoying the act of smoking as much as I was enjoying watching her. All too eager to suspend my disbelief, I approached this delightful phantasm, fully expecting her to float away on one of her billows of smoke, when she turned at the sound of my approach and greeted me.
"Good evening, Dr. Katahdin," she said, in a sweet low voice. "Should you really be out here in nothing but your bathrobe?"
"The night is not too cool for one whose blood runs so warm at the sight of such as you," I said, surprising myself with my sudden poetry. To my delight, she blushed, and then patted the seat next to her. "Have a seat, if you like," she said, her voice full of the gold of spice and mine, blowing the sweet clove smoke toward the moon, which did not prevent some from reaching me. "I'm Zoe, the night nurse's aide this week, and I'll be taking care of you as soon as my shift starts. You're welcome to join me, and I hope that you won't be bothered by my smoking," she inquired, exhaling the words toward me on a sweet cloud of clove.
"Not at all, miss." At a loss for words, I managed to bleat out, "How, may I ask, do you come to be dressed so?" I asked, motioning toward her crown and wings. "It quite becomes you."
"Well, you know, Jerry Lee Lewis once said that if God ever made anything better than a woman, he kept it to himself. I am it, and I have escaped! but the ride down was a bit bumpy. Now I'm a fairy maiden, trapped in this world!" and she laughed then, a quick low laugh, which said more than words to me. "Are you sure that my smoking doesn't bother you?", she asked, stubbing out the butt and blowing one last stream of smoke from the side of her lips, away from me.
"Not in the slightest," I replied. "In truth, strange as it may seem, there is nothing in which a young and beautiful female appears to more advantage than in the act of smoking. How captivating is a fairy lady, barefoot on the sand by the sea, and inhaling sweet clove smoke through such a smart holder!"
"Well, if it doesn't bother you, I'll have another," and true to her word, she fit another cigarette to her long black holder, and casually, apparently without intending to toy with me, extended it toward me. My heart beat rapidly, my hands trembled, as I found her lighter on the bench and lit--for the first time, but not for the last!--her cigarette for her. As I did so, I looked more closely at her, as she lowered her eyes; she was of indeterminate origin, but appeared to be descended from the inhabitants of some South Pacific island. Her hair was long and dark, and her skin was of a lovely olive hue that complimented her dark brown eyes and green eye shadow. Her lips were soft and red--I would later discover indeed how soft--and her curves were bounteous, but well proportioned. Indeed, she looked so like a fairy slipped from her own world that I longed then that I might sit beside her forever, smelling her cast-off smoke and watching her blow rings around the moon! The smoke, drifting away, became in my mind's eye the dancing form of Zoe and her sisters, enticing me up and away.
Looking at her garland, I saw one flower whose showy red petals and yellow-anthered stamen, which sprouted forth shamelessly, appealed greatly to me. "What flower is that, so prominently displaying its organ of generation in the garden of your hair?"
Her laugh was full of delicious smoke as she answered,
"It is a hibiscus. They grow wild in the land where my ancestors came from, and so I have a special association with it. It also gave me my porn star name--that is how I am known in the industry, as Hibiscus. What's yours?"
I stammered that I did not have one, but that I'd be delighted if she would find one for me, and she laughed, and said that she would be happy to do the necessary research.
A small cloud sailed before the moon, then, and left us in darkness; the only light came from her cigarette. I breathed in the salt air, the clove, the sand and sagebrush, and sighed contentedly at how my life had changed. I was by no means exhausted by my recent rounds of activity, and the desire I felt for this nymph had only grown since the moment I first saw her, but I was, for the moment, content to sit near her and smell her scents blending with those of nature.
Sending out a series of small rings, which she pierced with an expert stream as they floated away--only later did I understand the symbolism of this act--she put out her cigarette and turned to me. "As your personal aide this evening, I believe that it is time for you to get indoors." So saying, she arose, and took my hand. "Why, Dr. Katahdin, you are burning up! Come with me at once."
In fact, I did feel a bit feverish; her cool hand on my wrist and forehead brought images of a naiad reaching from a stream to pull me in, which did nothing to soothe my fever, imagined or real. Zoe was insistent, and I followed her back to my cabin, where she helped to lie down on my divan. Her fingers were cool and gentle on my wrist as she took my pulse. "Your pulse indicates that your heart is beating much faster than normal." She bent close to me then, and whispered, "Do I excite you?"
I could not say a thing. I had spent my entire life until then tongue-tied before the fairer sex; the last few nights had taught me nothing about how to respond to flirtation, and so I did rather what my body and the goat newly planted within me commanded me to do, but more gently: I pulled her to me and placed a small kiss on her lips.
"Oh, so sweet and gentle," she murmured, and returned the favor. She tentatively extended her tongue between my lips, and I reciprocated, as her arms slipped around my neck and she lay down beside me on the divan. "The goat in you smells of musk, it drives me so!" she said, hoarsely, and kissed me gently on the ear. I returned the favor, trailing the tip of my tongue down her neck, nibbling there for several moments, as she loosened her top and let her bosom free.
She responded encouragingly to my ministrations, gasping and laughing as if she had slipped into an unexpectedly cool ocean, and the waves had slapped her gently with their bracing salt water. "I need to check your stitches, Dr. Katahdin!" and so saying she ran her tongue down my neck, my chest, my navel, and so on to the mighty oak tree which had arisen from my loins in her presence. Her tongue gently probed the new incisions, licking them clean, as she grasped my staff with her hand, squeezing it firmly. "Has it been raining?" she asked, licking juice from the top, and then taking it whole into her mouth. I gasped and moaned as she massaged my still-healing seedpods.
She released me, and I heard then the snap of a latex glove as she told me, "I need to see how you are doing from the other end, as well." I heard her open a container and felt a dab of smooth thick gel on all parts of my nether regions. "Vaseline is one of technology's finest inventions," she sighed, and I replied, "Ah, yes, petroleum from fossils to rub down an old dinosaur!" and we laughed. Her hand was gentle as one finger slipped between my cavern entrance and thence inward to my underworld. "How does that feel?" she asked, as she stroked that gland often called the third eye. I could not respond verbally, however, as the slight touch of her hand upon my inner almond had summoned up visions of satyrs ravishing nymphs in Arcadia; my spine was on fire, my oak tree straining against the clouds. I could only close down upon her digit and moan. "I'll take that as a positive response," she said, and I heard a smile in her voice, and she slipped a second finger inside me. "Everything seems to be in order here," she smiled, "and here as well," and she grabbed my staff and held it firmly. She took me again in her mouth as she slid her fingers in and out; only when I started to cry out did she draw away, before the risk of my spilling my seed was too great. "You look to be in fine shape--you are healing up as planned, and your scent so musky and goatlike. I need to take your temperature, though, because you seem to be a bit warm."
If you have read this far, you likely know what happens next. I do not know how often such fantasies are borne into our world, but I do not think it a common event. I have since seen so many movies depicting the revelation at this point, afterward, to know that such discoveries are indeed as surprising as the actors make them look. Zoe stood up and loosened the stays of her skirt, which dropped to the floor. As there was no light but that of the moon behind her, she was completely in shadow. I reached out to her, expecting to find the entrance to her jacaranda blossom, and it was no small shock when I felt something like a slender serpent rising quickly in my hand. In no wise deterred by the unexpected, I gripped it firmly and stroked it several times from its base to its head. She paused to draw on her cigarette and then said, in a voice full of smoke, "I'm honored to introduce you to Ophelia, queen of serpents." She hesitated, anxious (as I later discovered) that I would be repulsed by her strange mixture of female and male principles, but my own serpent, straining beneath me as never before to break free and to mingle with its double before me, indicated that I was if anything drawn toward this beautiful creature, half nymph, half satyr. I had experienced any number of situations and encounters during my recuperation, and most had been exciting and pleasant, but by the beating of my heart, my shallow rapid breathing, and the line of fire burning from my loins to the crown of my head, I knew that this creature of smoke and earth, this clove smoking dragon lady, was the most beautiful being I had ever seen in my entire life.
I, without thinking, responding only to my own desires, took Ophelia whole in my mouth, while Zoe moaned a mouthful of smoke into the air above us. Her serpent was not overly large, but long and slender; subsequent experience has shown me that I would rather coil with no other serpent in the world. This was not my first experience in sword-swallowing, but this was by far the most pleasant. Her bosky was redolent of clove and the soft smell of a healthy house cat, while her flesh carried the honey-like scent and taste of a young Amanita phalloides. So gentle were her movements that she tickled the back of my throat only once, and henceforth her skill allowed her to slip into me without further annoyance.
My efforts, though amateur, nonetheless pleased her, and she laid her hand gently upon my head to encourage me. The hood of her viper was intact, which delighted me, as I had not experienced such before, and her serpent frolicked in my mouth to Zoe's rhythmic thrusts. My tongue tickled every edge and moulding, and I had managed to take her fully down into me, as I massaged her love-apples.
I had hoped that she would allow me to drink fully of her spice-laden juices, but, saying "I am too close, too close," she withdrew, despite my efforts to hold her with my lips and tongue.
"Part of your treatment includes massage and healing visualizations, and I think we should start that now." I watched her in the full length mirror before us as she moved beside me, standing level with my hips, stroking my back gently. She could not help but notice that I was trembling.
"Dr. Katahdin, you are so tense--could this be your first time?" I could only nod, and she reassured me--"Fear not, I am practiced in introducing virgins to this experience, so please try to relax--you'll enjoy it more that way. And let me add that I am honored that you should allow me to be the first to enter your nether regions!"
I tried to relax as she suggested, breathing deeply of her smoke, and it was easier than I expected. Her hands were like butterflies upon my back, her image in the mirror in front of me was beautiful beyond my ability to describe, and her voice fell upon me like mist as she spoke. "Imagine that your body is a pool of water in a forest, still, cool, and clear, a green eyelet in the face of the earth. Let the tranquility of the water become you, feel the gentle spray and the droplets of water coalescing on the leaves above you, take them into yourself. A bird sings a short distance away, and the sound of water splashing on stone soothes and calms you. You are calm, and quiet, and tranquil, aware of your surroundings, and at peace with them."
I felt and smelled a clove laden stream of smoke come to rest about my body as she continued. "You hear a slithering sound as something approaches through the underbrush something approaches. You see a slender green dragon, born of water, approach, her brown eyes bright, her crest erect. She bends to drink from your waters, gently lapping at your shores," and here I felt Zoe climb swiftly and smoothly atop me, and her dragon come to rest against the shores of my own cistern. The image, in the mirror before us, of this fairy princess straddling me, preparing to take possession of my underworld, excited me beyond anything I had experienced before. "It drinks for a time, enjoying the quiet stillness of the pond, and then, smoothly, effortlessly, born of and for the waters of this pond, she slips into your depths." Zoe paused only long enough to light another cigarette and exhale a cloud of smoke into the air above; and then Zoe's dragon, coated in prehistoric slime, smoothly and effortlessly slid into me.
To say that I did not experience a bit of discomfort would be dishonest. I was as relaxed as I could possibly be, given my excitement, and as prepared as was possible, given the fact that this was the first time the gates to my Hades had been breached. I gasped and held my breath, and Zoe sent me a cloud of cloves, saying, "Breathe this, to relax," and so I took a deep breath, which did indeed calm me, and so reduced the discomfort. Her dragon grew larger within me, but at this point the discomfort had subsided, replaced by a feeling of fullness and pressure on new, unexplored depths--uncomfortable only because they were unfamiliar to me. "The dragon is drinking, the dragon is resting at the bottom of your pond, resting in the cool water. How she enjoys the cool water of your inner pond! She was born of this water, and born for this water. She has had a long journey, and she feels home at last."
So saying, she drew out slightly and gently pushed back into me. I cannot say how long her serpent swam in my waters before she began to withdraw completely; I knew only that I felt as if I were aflame and floating in a cool mountain stream at the same moment. Each thrust awoke new pleasures, but all too soon, I felt Zoe's dragon pull herself from my waters.
"Ah, ah!" I cried, addressing her image in the mirror, "stay within in me!" Her eidolon blew a stream of smoke that settle about us, as she whispered "Hush, hush, my love," slipped herself from me, and gently rolled me onto my back.
Effortlessly, her left hand and holder resting on my inner thigh, her right gripping my mandrake, her worm slipped back into my pond, creating a wave that ran the length of my body and back again. Though I could no longer see our union in the mirror, this vision of a half-fairy, half-satyr above me and inside me, blending her loins with mine, delighted me to no end. She spoke no more, merely smoked delicately as she rocked back and forth inside me. I felt her dragon swimming back and forth and up and down within my pool, on occasion coming up for air and sinking down again, until she had created a series of wavelets that slapped together, fell apart, and came together again to form new ones. Soon these smaller turbulences merged to form larger ones, and then one much larger still, that swept the length of my body, from crown to loins, building strength and speed as Zoe's dragon continued to plunge my inner depths. Zoe grinned gleefully, and I could tell by the grip of her hands on my thigh and mandrake that she was approaching the edge--and then she held me hard, her dragon diving clear to the bottom of my pond, and rose again, jetting bubbling green fire from its mouth and nostrils into my pool. In response, the wave she had created rose up and leapt over the verge of my pond, dousing everything, covering us both in juice and generation. Sated, her dragon slipped from my pond and my cavern and back to the land of Faerie, while Zoe collapsed into my arms, planting one last smoky kiss on my lips before putting out her cigarette and dragging me with her to sleep.
That was our first night, the first of three nights, together at the resort. She was a very attentive assistant; none of my needs were unmet, which was not difficult, considering that she and I both slept through the night entirely, wrapped around one another.
I awoke alone, alas! and thought that my memories were but fancies, until I saw her hibiscus resting on the nightstand, with a note reading "Tonight?" "Tonight indeed!" I said aloud, and never has a day seemed so long as that one did. The nurses had, I think, heard the story from Zoe, or so I assumed from their smirks as they attended to me, and though I was as randy as a goat, I made no effort to pursue them, so thoroughly had Zoe satisfied me. In any case, I wanted to preserve myself and my fluids for her, when she came again that night.
So I spent the day reading, recovering, sitting beneath the jacaranda where first I had seen that fairy maid; never has any day seemed so long! I wearied myself with waiting, until I nodded off and dreamed that she and I were floating on a cloud of clove and patchouli, snug in one another's arms. She came up behind me in the dusk as I dreamt, announcing herself with her private scents--and something new, which I could not place--and stroking my hair gently to awaken me. Knowing that I no longer dreamed, and knowing that no dream could match the pleasures of the night before, I rose and kissed her.
She kissed back, but with closed mouth, and slipped out of my grasp. I took the opportunity to note her dress; she wore thigh-high high heeled boots, tight fitting jeans and a light green t-shirt with the clinic's logo--a leaping satyr--on the back, and a straw hat, with a ring of flowers, to complete the ensemble. "I've been horseback riding today; I hope that my appearance and scent do not displease."
"Ah, yes, a horse! I could not recognize the scent. Nothing about you has displeased me so far, lady!" She smiled as she held out holder and cigarette for me to light, and blew a ring of smoke toward me. She sat down beside me; I felt a bit uncomfortable in the way that new lovers often do, but she asked me how I felt, what I had been doing, and so forth, in such a way that I soon felt much more at ease again. All the while she smoked as if she were wooing me with her cigarette, showing off all the repertoire of the experienced smoker: snaps, drifts, triple pumps, and, most frequently, perfect rings which she pierced with an expert stream of smoke, as if to remind me of the pleasures from the night before.
She had taken care of the dinner preparations; she had inquired as to my preferences and had ordered my favorite meal, fresh crab and pears for dessert. While I partook, she delicately devoured a heaping plate of various fruits (the juice of which dribbled down her chin) and a few vegetables; I watched, fascinated, while her strong white teeth flashed as she stripped corn from the cob, announcing, between bites, "I like the way it tastes as it goes into my body and the way it feels as it leaves." I meanwhile ate with great hunger, and she laughed to see how voracious I was. "How very like you last night, the way you are eating now!" she laughed, and her pink tongue and white teeth delighted me. "I have never had the fortune to meet such as you, all the time I have worked here."
"How long have you worked here?" I asked, growing a bit jealous, I think.
"About a year," she said, bending close for me to light her cigarette. "I came her because I know that they would have a place for someone like me, and I figured on staying until I found a reason to leave. I never know how long I'm going to be in one place."
"I have never been anywhere in my life," I said, with some regret in my voice, "and I see now what I have been missing."
"I'm glad that I can share this with you, then." Blowing a cloud of clove to me, she rose, picked up a basket, and stretched out her hand.
Since Zoe and I formed our union, I have heard many folks, including many dragon ladies, assert that the attraction that the dragon lady holds for the otherwise straight male is the obvious deviation from beauty of the female form. I speak not merely of that snake hiding in a garden which some think ought to be free of serpents, but other traits that set a dragon lady apart from the female not blessed with the Y chromosome: a heavy brow, a deep voice, strong jaw, or some other, less than feminine, characteristic.
I am not one who likes to speak for others, so I will speak only for myself when I say that when I saw Zoe for the second time, I looked long for such deviations, and found none. In every respect, in every trait she appeared to be a female, born of the union of man and woman, her beauty perfect in every detail--a perfection which she transcended by means of the serpent rising from her loins.
We went behind the cabins to the horse trails, which wound through a gently sloping valley shaded by sycamores, walking a short while until we came to one that sprawled, polymorphously, along the ground, up into the air and back again. "This," she whispered, "is my tree. I like the way that it runs in all directions without giving a hint of where it's going." I assented; though I had long lived a life of the utmost predictability, I was discovering the joys of unexpected circumstances and encounters.
Last year's leaves were soft, and crackled beneath the our feet. Holding out a cigarette for me to light, she blew a series of perfect smoke rings and then said, "Tonight I will be your dryad, and you will be my faun," and, after rummaging in her basket, she pulled forth a leather head band with horns set on the front. Kissing the back of my neck and pushing herself against me as she did, she tied it around my head and then turned me around. "Perfect! Now you are the King of the Woods, and I am your Queen." So saying, she pulled my lips to her neck and surrounded us both in the winds of the east, hiding us from the known world. Her bosom, round and firm, her navel, and the seed from her serpent all delighted my tongue.
Still, I shivered a bit, though the night was warm enough, and she asked me, in a professional tone, how I was feeling. "Truth be told, I have had a feeling that the earth I knew no longer revolves beneath my feet, and that I might fly off into the night sky at any moment. In fact, I had a dream to that effect late this morning."
She sat and patted the ground beside her. "That is a common feeling for many after this sort of operation; what you need is grounding. I know just the thing for it, if you are game."
"What did you have in mind?"
"Well, the male organ of generation ties us to the earth, and when it is not used enough or put to new purposes, one loses one's connection to the soil. I am a trained priestess of the earth goddess, and by connecting with me, you will be able to draw a healing grounding feminine energy out of me, even as you replenish me with your male spirit."
I envisioned what form this might take, and I said, "Well then, I think I'm game."
"Good, good. Lie down on the blanket, then, and close your eyes to visualize. You are in a sacred grove, surrounded by oak and ash and thorn--you are laying there, a mandrake root without a home, cast out by wind or flood or earthquake, and you are seeking to return to your home in the soil."
As she spoke, I envisioned these images, and my mandrake did indeed stand erect, looking for its safe place. "Gentle hands grip it--" and here I felt her fingers, coated with dinosaur jelly, sliding over my manroot--"and place it gently back into the soil."
One can only use the word "indescribable" for a limited number of encounters before it becomes meaningless; nonetheless, this event was as invigorating, as exciting, and mind-shattering as the one before. I felt her earth open for me, gripping me in a way that I had not thought possible, drawing me in as she sat down upon my mandrake, her back to me. Reaching back and taking my hands, she whispered, "Now, without breaking our contact, we must rise together." This was difficult, but we managed, and soon we were standing together; she leaned upon the sycamore before her, her spine straight, and parallel to the earth, while I shadowed her, gripping her tightly.
Deeper and deeper she pulled me in, as I cried out,
"I am rooted in you, rooted in your soil!" I cried, and she responded in kind: "Plant yourself inside me, let me feed your manroot, sink it deep in my dark brown hole, straight into my funky earth!"
I could see in my mind's eye that the root structure was taking hold within her, and that the mighty storm that raged in my body above posed no threat to the stability of our union. I drew back and pushed back into her fertile soil, each time increasing the gravity of our connection. We fit together perfectly, down there, and I laughed aloud at the sensation, at the scent of horse rising from her, the scent of earth and dinosaur juice rising from her cavern, and at the sight of her firm, muscular body, parallel to the earth, gripping the sycamore before her with insatiable grip.
The sensation of being inside her, of joining with her in this way, made the hair on my body stand on end and my skin shiver, despite the warm night air. My left hand slipped from her hip to her dragon, which reared up as I coated it with jelly, thoroughly again and again; I pushed deeply and more deeply within her, my mandrake growing thicker and longer under her ministrations, as I moaned as mandrakes, when parted from the earth, are said to do. Any feeling that I was no longer part of the earth had vanished; I pushed myself as far as I could go within her, lay atop her and gripped her bosom, pinching her rosebuds as she begged, and lay my head beside her. The scent of sycamore bark and clove covered us as we sought each others' tongues, as my mandrake took seemingly permanent root in her earth, as she pushed back against me.
I could feel my mandrake growing larger than ever it had before, until she cried out, "Oh by Gaia! By Persephone and Shiva! You have grown so big, so big! Ahhhh--" This last seemed a genuine gasp of discomfort, but I knew not whether to pull out or not, until she hissed, "Hold yourself still--you are too too deeply rooted in me, only with your release can I release you!"
Her hands being wrapped around the sycamore, she must clench her cigarette holder in her teeth. Though she was clearly in some pain from my prodigious member, her breathing was slow and calm, as evidenced by the slow intake of sweet clove through her clenched teeth and the gentle steady exhale of smoke through her nostrils. Breathing thus, she began a series of slow spasms, shivers or tremors deep in her brown crevasse that passed themselves along to me; Zoe's face, half turned toward me, showed me that her eyes were completely white, the pupils having moved up into her eyelids, and her every muscle was taut as I held myself as still as possible, my every muscle tensed, as she gripped me with the mouth of her earth-brown orchid. Tongues, chest, back and belly--at every possible point, we were in contact, and I could see in my mind's eye a blue lightning playing over our flesh. Nearby a mare whinnied, and Zoe moaned unintelligibly around her cigarette holder as she pushed back against me with one final thrust, and held herself against me. Her seed flooded warm through my fingers, as I lost control and poured myself into her Charybdis, and collapsed with her to the leaves. We had just enough strength to wrap ourselves in the blanket before we fell asleep.
She came an hour or so before sunset, the next day. "Tonight is my last night," I said, somewhat sadly, "for tomorrow I am to be discharged--unless an expert such as yourself insists that I need more recovery time," and I tried to smile.
"That won't be necessary," she laughed, and kissed me full on the lips, her tongue redolent as always of good tobacco and clove. "And I've planned something special for tonight, just because."
She was dressed in a leotard dyed dark green and brown, and wearing a skirt to match, and her ears, made up to appear as if they were pointed, peeped out from beneath her thick black hair. In response to my question, she replied, "I am in a band, Sister Satyr; we're all mermaids, fox maidens, rusalka or other mythological creatures as suits us, and I am a dryad. I'll show you my tree, later," she said, smiling. Taking my hand, she led me across the beach toward the bluffs. "Let's see just how goatish you really are," she said, and broke into a run. I have never before been athletic, but I found that I could almost catch her, despite having three legs, until she stopped at the bluff's edge and let me catch her in my arms. "We sleep there tonight," she said, pointing upward, "and there lies the golden stair." I saw, in the late afternoon sun, a rope trailing up the cliff and down again with a sort of harness at one end. "Saddle up, goat boy!" she said, helping me to slip it over my legs and around my waist, "I'll make sure you don't fall, but you must rise of your own efforts!" With that, she went hand over hand on the rope straight up the cliff, providing me with a splendid view until she had pulled herself over the edge of the cliff some thirty feet above.
I don't think that I could have, or would have, climbed that bluff for anyone or anything else. The thought of her up there waiting for me, however, gave wings to my feet and claws to my hands; I half-floated, half-clambered up to her, treasuring her encouragement, her laughter, and the scent of clove drifting down to me. The thought of repeating the previous nights' activities drove me as well. I knew that she would not let me fall, but my dragon became a turtle at every misstep, at every new step, on that bluff. Finally, finally! I reached the top, and pulled myself up onto a plateau, a grassy sward not twenty paces on any side, with Zoe in the center, loosening the rope from her waist.
Night was falling fast, up there, and soon the sun sank and the stars and moon--a full moon--rose. "Full moon near midsummer--a good omen!" she said, around the cigarette holder in her teeth. "I have a gift for you--it came to me in a dream," she said, smiling. To my answer of "What more could you give me?" she said, "I found your porn star name. You shall henceforth be known as Arkady Cornflower," and she tapped her cigarette holder thrice on my shoulders as I knelt before her. "Rise up, Sir Arkady," and she knelt to kiss me, open mouth, and filled my willing lungs with her sweet exhaled fumes. She spread out a blanket from her pack and, laying down upon it, released her dragon from its lair.
In the center of the plateau was a willow, leaning casually back away from the sea; against its trunk Zoe reclined like a countess, spreading apart her legs and so revealing her muddy rose. "You may kiss my dark cornflower now, Sir Cornflower," she moaned, and gently pushed my head down deep between her thighs, so that there was no mistaking what she wanted from me. I was surprised at her request, and a bit apprehensive, since the entrance to the infernal regions is not usually remarkable for its cleanliness or for its pleasant aroma, but I was eager to please her, and so I nestled my head between her thighs and extended my tongue. The last thing I saw, before she as she slipped her skirt down, closing me in with her private spaces, was the pink and brown flesh of her bachelor's button opening and closing in anticipation of my attentions.
What I discovered there was as unexpectedly pleasing as everything else I had encountered in our time together. I later discovered that Zoe, like the dryads she loved so, ate mostly vegetable matter--some vegetables and honey, but mostly fruit, flowers, and a dark red clay with all of the good earth's healthfulness contained within it. She also drank and flooded daily the hindmost entrance to her pleasure dome with a fluorescent green soda which had been discovered some decades ago by alchemists in Kentucky; due to her diet and her ablutions, her nether regions and their exhalations were sweet without having given up their pungent and funky earthiness. The scents issuing forth from her hindmost parts, as I gave her the osculum profundum, made me feel as if I were lying in an orange grove with freshly turned earth during a light rain, while a spice laden wind from the east passed by.
And so, pleasantly surprised, I nibbled and licked her delicate brown pansy, while she giggled and moaned above me, filling the air around us with clove all the while.
Still, it was very close in there, under her skirt, and soon my head began to spin with the thick vapors that she deliberately permitted to silently slip free of her body. Zoe must have anticipated my reaction to her miasmas, as she soon gave me a most interesting piece of information. "Aeons ago, when men worshipped the earth, prophets would seat themselves before an oracle such as mine, imbibe her gases, and submit themselves to the goddess, who would give them visions of the future. What do you see, my dear Arkady?"
The vision that came to me then was not unpleasant, and my muffled voice rose up through her skirt: "The ocean! The ocean! The deep blue sea that goes on forever! Above it, a pair of serpents, one with wings, the other with horns, taking each others' tails in their mouths. They writhe together, forming an inseparable knot, and green fire courses along their scales!"
As I spoke, her own serpent, which I held in my hand, rose up to its fullest height, and Zoe shouted triumphantly (I did not understand her words at the time, but she clarified them for me later): "Yes! Yes! The Rebis! The Rebis!" Then, seizing my head, she pushed my face deeper into the darkness below her garden, the source of those heady fumes that drove me into mantic delirium, the cavern from which my new knowledge arose, as she cried out, "Dig deeply now, Arkady--plunge into my nether regions!"
Curious as to her excitement, but at that moment wishing only to please her, I pushed through the brown petals of her fuliginous pansy, reaching my tongue as far as her third eye, which waited like a hermit in a cave for a visitor, and thrust against it as the mouth of the cavern, the jaws of her dark Venus' Flytrap, closed down upon me. For several moments I laved the inner chambers of her infernal regions, until "No more, no more for now!" she squealed, and she pulled me up to her lips, and kissed me. Holding her serpent, she whispered, "Come, kiss your Queen Ophelia." I eagerly knelt before her as she reclined majestically, and took her in my mouth; though my tongue performed a rain dance, she withheld her rain. She reclined majestically as I pleasured her, drawing ardently on her holder and languidly blowing forth great clouds of smoke which surrounded us, hid from the world outside. To this day, of all the positions we practice, to see her so, to adore her serpent and receive her seed as she smokes, is my favorite.
Finally, she finished her cigarette, sighed, and moaned, "I must taste you, now!" As I rose up, she said, "I think that's for you," and I saw that a large drop of dew glistened on the end of her hibiscus. Before I could move to take it, she had bent down, extended her tongue, and captured it; she then bent forward and slipped the shining pearl of her love into my mouth. I was amazed, and later discovered that she practiced yoga daily, for just this and even more astounding purposes. Savoring her seed on my tongue, I lit her cigarette and lay down as she asked. She released my mandrake from its captivity, blew smoke upon it, and then lay down as she slid her open lips over it. Moments later, I did the same for her.
Laying side by side, we tasted each other; her dewy drops brought clove, musk, and patchouli to my tongue, and soon her greased fingers, tickling my almond, brought visions of satyrs and strangely-equipped nymphs rolling in the grass together. Taking the jar of Vaseline from her, I soon slipped my fingers into her Charybdis, and felt her dragon rear up in response. I kept my pace equivalent with her slow movements and her tantalizingly light touches; time stopped, it seemed, until I felt my geyser rushing through the earth, held back no more, and I poured everything that I had been, everything that I was, and everything that I ever would be, into her. electric currents ran from the top of my head to my loins, into her mouth and thence back to me. She was not shy in returning the favor, and though we were spent, we nuzzled and cuddled the shrinking serpents, unwilling to let go of even those diminished things. Like yin and yang we lay, a bit of ourselves in the other, as we savored the warm seed that coated our tongues.
At her request, I told her again what I had seen while I was worshipping beneath her skirts, and she then rolled over to her pack and took out a small leather bag. "I think this might be yours?" and she took out a ring and slipped it into my hand, her fingers trembling as she did so...
I held part of my vision in my hand: a snake with horns, open mouthed, writhing in an S shape. Trembling at my own daring and the import of my words, I answered "I think it might be mine, yes." Drawing on her clove deeply, she then handed me another ring; the counterpart to mine, an upside-down serpent with wings, its body curving in the direction opposite mine.
"They fit together, thus," she said, her voice hoarse and her eyes not meeting mine, as she showed me how the two came together, the winged serpent fitting over the horned, forming a figure 8, and each taking the others' tail in its mouth. "That is the double Ouroboros, symbol of infinity. I found these at an antique shop on my fifteenth birthday, after I dreamt of it, so I knew it was important. Now I know why." So saying, she slipped my ring onto my finger, and I did the same for her with hers. We had a beautiful ceremony a few months later on the edge of a lake for our friends, but our true marriage took place on the edge of that bluff, when she and I drank of each other, and we slipped our serpent rings onto each others' trembling, delighted fingers.
And so it was that she and I left the clinic the next day together, in her VW mini-van, while she, her voice full of the sweet clove smoke, sang a folk version of "Come Live With Me And Be My Love," which expressed my desires perfectly. The goats in the hills bleated merrily as we, two royal serpents joined in an endless circle, drove through the gates and rolled into the future as two halves of the same soul, equal but opposite.
The true tale of my clove-smoking shemale bride,
and how we came to meet
by
Arkady Cornflower
Inspired by, and dedicated to, Lilienne Li
"If God made anything better than a woman, he kept it to himself."
Jerry Lee Lewis
"Could I imagine myself falling into life with a woman who trails smoke and ashes everywhere she goes?"
Richard Bach
I suppose the story of how I met my dragon lady bride begins with an operation I undertook at a private clinic on the West Coast. Retired, my energies, never very abundant, had been flagging, and I feared that I would slip into that sleep from which we never return too gently, but slowly. Such had been the pattern for several members of my family, and I did not wish to follow them, and so I turned to a procedure with few adherents in the present day. The goat has long been a symbol of not only of fertility and lustiness but also general vivacity. A certain doctor, dismissed by his colleagues, had theorized that a portion of the testes of a male goat, if transplanted into those of an otherwise healthy human male, would confer upon the recipient renewed vigor and health. Some of my siblings and cousins had benefited from this procedure, and so I, too, in my turn, made a reservation to submit myself to his knife and so awaken from my stupor.
As I said, my energies had not been abundant; in fact, I had passed my entire life without enjoying those activities which are a normal part of human experience upon the onset of puberty. The doctor at the clinic told me that it was very likely a case of hormone imbalance, and that the operation might very well provide the necessary fluids to turn my winter into spring.
The operation went without a hitch, and the goat, I am glad to say, suffered only a little and lost only part of his organs before being stitched up and released back into the hills; I could swear that I heard his bleating laugh as I lay abed, recovering from the operation. My room, though a functional hospital room indeed, was disguised as a comfortable resort cabin. The views were magnificent--a sliding glass door let out to a view of the hills where my new goat-brother roamed free, while the front door framed a view of the Pacific Ocean, within easy walking distance. The hospital bed was disguised as a divan, and the convalescing guests were encouraged to use the jacuzzi in their rooms as well.
All of that equipment was much-used during my recovery. Since the operations often served the purpose of regenerating the flagging virility of the client, the staff had a relaxed, one could say even encouraging, attitude toward the recovering patients. I came to the clinic more inexperienced than most, and managed to pack into two days and nights more experimentation than most undertake during their lifetimes. Freud asserted that we are polymorphously perverse by nature, and I did nothing to disprove that concept during my sudden spring. At the end of those two days, I was happily exhausted.
I took a nap in the afternoon and awoke in the early evening from a dream of houris whispering to me from outside my window. I must tell you that all of my senses, which had been as dull as a worn shoe my entire life, had been awakened by my recent operation, and so I was awakened by just the slightest scent of spice and other botanicals slipping on a breeze under my door, and so, arising, I stepped out to seek its origin, like Livingstone searching for the source of the Nile. As soon as I set foot outside the door, I beheld the most delightful sight I had until that point beheld: a young woman dressed as a fairy with battered luna moth wings and a bruised garland, dressed in gypsy garb, standing beneath a jacaranda in bloom and blowing smoke rings around the full moon caught in the branches above her. I will admit that I had spent a lifetime watching women smoke, and this young lady was mistress of all its charms; I know, because I paused to watch her for several minutes before continuing my approach. She smoked a clove cigarette in a black holder, about as long as her slender, delicate hands and fingers. Keeping it between her index and middle fingers at hip height and slightly behind her, she delicately flicked its ash with her thumb against the holder each time before lifting it to her lips. Leaning her head back to pull more fully the smoke into her lungs, she clenched the holder with her teeth as her fingers drew apart and released it momentarily, then dropped it, in an arc, back down behind her and flicked the ashes, as she blew streams or rings or, most beautifully, let it drift slowly from her open mouth. Clearly, she was enjoying the act of smoking as much as I was enjoying watching her. All too eager to suspend my disbelief, I approached this delightful phantasm, fully expecting her to float away on one of her billows of smoke, when she turned at the sound of my approach and greeted me.
"Good evening, Dr. Katahdin," she said, in a sweet low voice. "Should you really be out here in nothing but your bathrobe?"
"The night is not too cool for one whose blood runs so warm at the sight of such as you," I said, surprising myself with my sudden poetry. To my delight, she blushed, and then patted the seat next to her. "Have a seat, if you like," she said, her voice full of the gold of spice and mine, blowing the sweet clove smoke toward the moon, which did not prevent some from reaching me. "I'm Zoe, the night nurse's aide this week, and I'll be taking care of you as soon as my shift starts. You're welcome to join me, and I hope that you won't be bothered by my smoking," she inquired, exhaling the words toward me on a sweet cloud of clove.
"Not at all, miss." At a loss for words, I managed to bleat out, "How, may I ask, do you come to be dressed so?" I asked, motioning toward her crown and wings. "It quite becomes you."
"Well, you know, Jerry Lee Lewis once said that if God ever made anything better than a woman, he kept it to himself. I am it, and I have escaped! but the ride down was a bit bumpy. Now I'm a fairy maiden, trapped in this world!" and she laughed then, a quick low laugh, which said more than words to me. "Are you sure that my smoking doesn't bother you?", she asked, stubbing out the butt and blowing one last stream of smoke from the side of her lips, away from me.
"Not in the slightest," I replied. "In truth, strange as it may seem, there is nothing in which a young and beautiful female appears to more advantage than in the act of smoking. How captivating is a fairy lady, barefoot on the sand by the sea, and inhaling sweet clove smoke through such a smart holder!"
"Well, if it doesn't bother you, I'll have another," and true to her word, she fit another cigarette to her long black holder, and casually, apparently without intending to toy with me, extended it toward me. My heart beat rapidly, my hands trembled, as I found her lighter on the bench and lit--for the first time, but not for the last!--her cigarette for her. As I did so, I looked more closely at her, as she lowered her eyes; she was of indeterminate origin, but appeared to be descended from the inhabitants of some South Pacific island. Her hair was long and dark, and her skin was of a lovely olive hue that complimented her dark brown eyes and green eye shadow. Her lips were soft and red--I would later discover indeed how soft--and her curves were bounteous, but well proportioned. Indeed, she looked so like a fairy slipped from her own world that I longed then that I might sit beside her forever, smelling her cast-off smoke and watching her blow rings around the moon! The smoke, drifting away, became in my mind's eye the dancing form of Zoe and her sisters, enticing me up and away.
Looking at her garland, I saw one flower whose showy red petals and yellow-anthered stamen, which sprouted forth shamelessly, appealed greatly to me. "What flower is that, so prominently displaying its organ of generation in the garden of your hair?"
Her laugh was full of delicious smoke as she answered,
"It is a hibiscus. They grow wild in the land where my ancestors came from, and so I have a special association with it. It also gave me my porn star name--that is how I am known in the industry, as Hibiscus. What's yours?"
I stammered that I did not have one, but that I'd be delighted if she would find one for me, and she laughed, and said that she would be happy to do the necessary research.
A small cloud sailed before the moon, then, and left us in darkness; the only light came from her cigarette. I breathed in the salt air, the clove, the sand and sagebrush, and sighed contentedly at how my life had changed. I was by no means exhausted by my recent rounds of activity, and the desire I felt for this nymph had only grown since the moment I first saw her, but I was, for the moment, content to sit near her and smell her scents blending with those of nature.
Sending out a series of small rings, which she pierced with an expert stream as they floated away--only later did I understand the symbolism of this act--she put out her cigarette and turned to me. "As your personal aide this evening, I believe that it is time for you to get indoors." So saying, she arose, and took my hand. "Why, Dr. Katahdin, you are burning up! Come with me at once."
In fact, I did feel a bit feverish; her cool hand on my wrist and forehead brought images of a naiad reaching from a stream to pull me in, which did nothing to soothe my fever, imagined or real. Zoe was insistent, and I followed her back to my cabin, where she helped to lie down on my divan. Her fingers were cool and gentle on my wrist as she took my pulse. "Your pulse indicates that your heart is beating much faster than normal." She bent close to me then, and whispered, "Do I excite you?"
I could not say a thing. I had spent my entire life until then tongue-tied before the fairer sex; the last few nights had taught me nothing about how to respond to flirtation, and so I did rather what my body and the goat newly planted within me commanded me to do, but more gently: I pulled her to me and placed a small kiss on her lips.
"Oh, so sweet and gentle," she murmured, and returned the favor. She tentatively extended her tongue between my lips, and I reciprocated, as her arms slipped around my neck and she lay down beside me on the divan. "The goat in you smells of musk, it drives me so!" she said, hoarsely, and kissed me gently on the ear. I returned the favor, trailing the tip of my tongue down her neck, nibbling there for several moments, as she loosened her top and let her bosom free.
She responded encouragingly to my ministrations, gasping and laughing as if she had slipped into an unexpectedly cool ocean, and the waves had slapped her gently with their bracing salt water. "I need to check your stitches, Dr. Katahdin!" and so saying she ran her tongue down my neck, my chest, my navel, and so on to the mighty oak tree which had arisen from my loins in her presence. Her tongue gently probed the new incisions, licking them clean, as she grasped my staff with her hand, squeezing it firmly. "Has it been raining?" she asked, licking juice from the top, and then taking it whole into her mouth. I gasped and moaned as she massaged my still-healing seedpods.
She released me, and I heard then the snap of a latex glove as she told me, "I need to see how you are doing from the other end, as well." I heard her open a container and felt a dab of smooth thick gel on all parts of my nether regions. "Vaseline is one of technology's finest inventions," she sighed, and I replied, "Ah, yes, petroleum from fossils to rub down an old dinosaur!" and we laughed. Her hand was gentle as one finger slipped between my cavern entrance and thence inward to my underworld. "How does that feel?" she asked, as she stroked that gland often called the third eye. I could not respond verbally, however, as the slight touch of her hand upon my inner almond had summoned up visions of satyrs ravishing nymphs in Arcadia; my spine was on fire, my oak tree straining against the clouds. I could only close down upon her digit and moan. "I'll take that as a positive response," she said, and I heard a smile in her voice, and she slipped a second finger inside me. "Everything seems to be in order here," she smiled, "and here as well," and she grabbed my staff and held it firmly. She took me again in her mouth as she slid her fingers in and out; only when I started to cry out did she draw away, before the risk of my spilling my seed was too great. "You look to be in fine shape--you are healing up as planned, and your scent so musky and goatlike. I need to take your temperature, though, because you seem to be a bit warm."
If you have read this far, you likely know what happens next. I do not know how often such fantasies are borne into our world, but I do not think it a common event. I have since seen so many movies depicting the revelation at this point, afterward, to know that such discoveries are indeed as surprising as the actors make them look. Zoe stood up and loosened the stays of her skirt, which dropped to the floor. As there was no light but that of the moon behind her, she was completely in shadow. I reached out to her, expecting to find the entrance to her jacaranda blossom, and it was no small shock when I felt something like a slender serpent rising quickly in my hand. In no wise deterred by the unexpected, I gripped it firmly and stroked it several times from its base to its head. She paused to draw on her cigarette and then said, in a voice full of smoke, "I'm honored to introduce you to Ophelia, queen of serpents." She hesitated, anxious (as I later discovered) that I would be repulsed by her strange mixture of female and male principles, but my own serpent, straining beneath me as never before to break free and to mingle with its double before me, indicated that I was if anything drawn toward this beautiful creature, half nymph, half satyr. I had experienced any number of situations and encounters during my recuperation, and most had been exciting and pleasant, but by the beating of my heart, my shallow rapid breathing, and the line of fire burning from my loins to the crown of my head, I knew that this creature of smoke and earth, this clove smoking dragon lady, was the most beautiful being I had ever seen in my entire life.
I, without thinking, responding only to my own desires, took Ophelia whole in my mouth, while Zoe moaned a mouthful of smoke into the air above us. Her serpent was not overly large, but long and slender; subsequent experience has shown me that I would rather coil with no other serpent in the world. This was not my first experience in sword-swallowing, but this was by far the most pleasant. Her bosky was redolent of clove and the soft smell of a healthy house cat, while her flesh carried the honey-like scent and taste of a young Amanita phalloides. So gentle were her movements that she tickled the back of my throat only once, and henceforth her skill allowed her to slip into me without further annoyance.
My efforts, though amateur, nonetheless pleased her, and she laid her hand gently upon my head to encourage me. The hood of her viper was intact, which delighted me, as I had not experienced such before, and her serpent frolicked in my mouth to Zoe's rhythmic thrusts. My tongue tickled every edge and moulding, and I had managed to take her fully down into me, as I massaged her love-apples.
I had hoped that she would allow me to drink fully of her spice-laden juices, but, saying "I am too close, too close," she withdrew, despite my efforts to hold her with my lips and tongue.
"Part of your treatment includes massage and healing visualizations, and I think we should start that now." I watched her in the full length mirror before us as she moved beside me, standing level with my hips, stroking my back gently. She could not help but notice that I was trembling.
"Dr. Katahdin, you are so tense--could this be your first time?" I could only nod, and she reassured me--"Fear not, I am practiced in introducing virgins to this experience, so please try to relax--you'll enjoy it more that way. And let me add that I am honored that you should allow me to be the first to enter your nether regions!"
I tried to relax as she suggested, breathing deeply of her smoke, and it was easier than I expected. Her hands were like butterflies upon my back, her image in the mirror in front of me was beautiful beyond my ability to describe, and her voice fell upon me like mist as she spoke. "Imagine that your body is a pool of water in a forest, still, cool, and clear, a green eyelet in the face of the earth. Let the tranquility of the water become you, feel the gentle spray and the droplets of water coalescing on the leaves above you, take them into yourself. A bird sings a short distance away, and the sound of water splashing on stone soothes and calms you. You are calm, and quiet, and tranquil, aware of your surroundings, and at peace with them."
I felt and smelled a clove laden stream of smoke come to rest about my body as she continued. "You hear a slithering sound as something approaches through the underbrush something approaches. You see a slender green dragon, born of water, approach, her brown eyes bright, her crest erect. She bends to drink from your waters, gently lapping at your shores," and here I felt Zoe climb swiftly and smoothly atop me, and her dragon come to rest against the shores of my own cistern. The image, in the mirror before us, of this fairy princess straddling me, preparing to take possession of my underworld, excited me beyond anything I had experienced before. "It drinks for a time, enjoying the quiet stillness of the pond, and then, smoothly, effortlessly, born of and for the waters of this pond, she slips into your depths." Zoe paused only long enough to light another cigarette and exhale a cloud of smoke into the air above; and then Zoe's dragon, coated in prehistoric slime, smoothly and effortlessly slid into me.
To say that I did not experience a bit of discomfort would be dishonest. I was as relaxed as I could possibly be, given my excitement, and as prepared as was possible, given the fact that this was the first time the gates to my Hades had been breached. I gasped and held my breath, and Zoe sent me a cloud of cloves, saying, "Breathe this, to relax," and so I took a deep breath, which did indeed calm me, and so reduced the discomfort. Her dragon grew larger within me, but at this point the discomfort had subsided, replaced by a feeling of fullness and pressure on new, unexplored depths--uncomfortable only because they were unfamiliar to me. "The dragon is drinking, the dragon is resting at the bottom of your pond, resting in the cool water. How she enjoys the cool water of your inner pond! She was born of this water, and born for this water. She has had a long journey, and she feels home at last."
So saying, she drew out slightly and gently pushed back into me. I cannot say how long her serpent swam in my waters before she began to withdraw completely; I knew only that I felt as if I were aflame and floating in a cool mountain stream at the same moment. Each thrust awoke new pleasures, but all too soon, I felt Zoe's dragon pull herself from my waters.
"Ah, ah!" I cried, addressing her image in the mirror, "stay within in me!" Her eidolon blew a stream of smoke that settle about us, as she whispered "Hush, hush, my love," slipped herself from me, and gently rolled me onto my back.
Effortlessly, her left hand and holder resting on my inner thigh, her right gripping my mandrake, her worm slipped back into my pond, creating a wave that ran the length of my body and back again. Though I could no longer see our union in the mirror, this vision of a half-fairy, half-satyr above me and inside me, blending her loins with mine, delighted me to no end. She spoke no more, merely smoked delicately as she rocked back and forth inside me. I felt her dragon swimming back and forth and up and down within my pool, on occasion coming up for air and sinking down again, until she had created a series of wavelets that slapped together, fell apart, and came together again to form new ones. Soon these smaller turbulences merged to form larger ones, and then one much larger still, that swept the length of my body, from crown to loins, building strength and speed as Zoe's dragon continued to plunge my inner depths. Zoe grinned gleefully, and I could tell by the grip of her hands on my thigh and mandrake that she was approaching the edge--and then she held me hard, her dragon diving clear to the bottom of my pond, and rose again, jetting bubbling green fire from its mouth and nostrils into my pool. In response, the wave she had created rose up and leapt over the verge of my pond, dousing everything, covering us both in juice and generation. Sated, her dragon slipped from my pond and my cavern and back to the land of Faerie, while Zoe collapsed into my arms, planting one last smoky kiss on my lips before putting out her cigarette and dragging me with her to sleep.
That was our first night, the first of three nights, together at the resort. She was a very attentive assistant; none of my needs were unmet, which was not difficult, considering that she and I both slept through the night entirely, wrapped around one another.
I awoke alone, alas! and thought that my memories were but fancies, until I saw her hibiscus resting on the nightstand, with a note reading "Tonight?" "Tonight indeed!" I said aloud, and never has a day seemed so long as that one did. The nurses had, I think, heard the story from Zoe, or so I assumed from their smirks as they attended to me, and though I was as randy as a goat, I made no effort to pursue them, so thoroughly had Zoe satisfied me. In any case, I wanted to preserve myself and my fluids for her, when she came again that night.
So I spent the day reading, recovering, sitting beneath the jacaranda where first I had seen that fairy maid; never has any day seemed so long! I wearied myself with waiting, until I nodded off and dreamed that she and I were floating on a cloud of clove and patchouli, snug in one another's arms. She came up behind me in the dusk as I dreamt, announcing herself with her private scents--and something new, which I could not place--and stroking my hair gently to awaken me. Knowing that I no longer dreamed, and knowing that no dream could match the pleasures of the night before, I rose and kissed her.
She kissed back, but with closed mouth, and slipped out of my grasp. I took the opportunity to note her dress; she wore thigh-high high heeled boots, tight fitting jeans and a light green t-shirt with the clinic's logo--a leaping satyr--on the back, and a straw hat, with a ring of flowers, to complete the ensemble. "I've been horseback riding today; I hope that my appearance and scent do not displease."
"Ah, yes, a horse! I could not recognize the scent. Nothing about you has displeased me so far, lady!" She smiled as she held out holder and cigarette for me to light, and blew a ring of smoke toward me. She sat down beside me; I felt a bit uncomfortable in the way that new lovers often do, but she asked me how I felt, what I had been doing, and so forth, in such a way that I soon felt much more at ease again. All the while she smoked as if she were wooing me with her cigarette, showing off all the repertoire of the experienced smoker: snaps, drifts, triple pumps, and, most frequently, perfect rings which she pierced with an expert stream of smoke, as if to remind me of the pleasures from the night before.
She had taken care of the dinner preparations; she had inquired as to my preferences and had ordered my favorite meal, fresh crab and pears for dessert. While I partook, she delicately devoured a heaping plate of various fruits (the juice of which dribbled down her chin) and a few vegetables; I watched, fascinated, while her strong white teeth flashed as she stripped corn from the cob, announcing, between bites, "I like the way it tastes as it goes into my body and the way it feels as it leaves." I meanwhile ate with great hunger, and she laughed to see how voracious I was. "How very like you last night, the way you are eating now!" she laughed, and her pink tongue and white teeth delighted me. "I have never had the fortune to meet such as you, all the time I have worked here."
"How long have you worked here?" I asked, growing a bit jealous, I think.
"About a year," she said, bending close for me to light her cigarette. "I came her because I know that they would have a place for someone like me, and I figured on staying until I found a reason to leave. I never know how long I'm going to be in one place."
"I have never been anywhere in my life," I said, with some regret in my voice, "and I see now what I have been missing."
"I'm glad that I can share this with you, then." Blowing a cloud of clove to me, she rose, picked up a basket, and stretched out her hand.
Since Zoe and I formed our union, I have heard many folks, including many dragon ladies, assert that the attraction that the dragon lady holds for the otherwise straight male is the obvious deviation from beauty of the female form. I speak not merely of that snake hiding in a garden which some think ought to be free of serpents, but other traits that set a dragon lady apart from the female not blessed with the Y chromosome: a heavy brow, a deep voice, strong jaw, or some other, less than feminine, characteristic.
I am not one who likes to speak for others, so I will speak only for myself when I say that when I saw Zoe for the second time, I looked long for such deviations, and found none. In every respect, in every trait she appeared to be a female, born of the union of man and woman, her beauty perfect in every detail--a perfection which she transcended by means of the serpent rising from her loins.
We went behind the cabins to the horse trails, which wound through a gently sloping valley shaded by sycamores, walking a short while until we came to one that sprawled, polymorphously, along the ground, up into the air and back again. "This," she whispered, "is my tree. I like the way that it runs in all directions without giving a hint of where it's going." I assented; though I had long lived a life of the utmost predictability, I was discovering the joys of unexpected circumstances and encounters.
Last year's leaves were soft, and crackled beneath the our feet. Holding out a cigarette for me to light, she blew a series of perfect smoke rings and then said, "Tonight I will be your dryad, and you will be my faun," and, after rummaging in her basket, she pulled forth a leather head band with horns set on the front. Kissing the back of my neck and pushing herself against me as she did, she tied it around my head and then turned me around. "Perfect! Now you are the King of the Woods, and I am your Queen." So saying, she pulled my lips to her neck and surrounded us both in the winds of the east, hiding us from the known world. Her bosom, round and firm, her navel, and the seed from her serpent all delighted my tongue.
Still, I shivered a bit, though the night was warm enough, and she asked me, in a professional tone, how I was feeling. "Truth be told, I have had a feeling that the earth I knew no longer revolves beneath my feet, and that I might fly off into the night sky at any moment. In fact, I had a dream to that effect late this morning."
She sat and patted the ground beside her. "That is a common feeling for many after this sort of operation; what you need is grounding. I know just the thing for it, if you are game."
"What did you have in mind?"
"Well, the male organ of generation ties us to the earth, and when it is not used enough or put to new purposes, one loses one's connection to the soil. I am a trained priestess of the earth goddess, and by connecting with me, you will be able to draw a healing grounding feminine energy out of me, even as you replenish me with your male spirit."
I envisioned what form this might take, and I said, "Well then, I think I'm game."
"Good, good. Lie down on the blanket, then, and close your eyes to visualize. You are in a sacred grove, surrounded by oak and ash and thorn--you are laying there, a mandrake root without a home, cast out by wind or flood or earthquake, and you are seeking to return to your home in the soil."
As she spoke, I envisioned these images, and my mandrake did indeed stand erect, looking for its safe place. "Gentle hands grip it--" and here I felt her fingers, coated with dinosaur jelly, sliding over my manroot--"and place it gently back into the soil."
One can only use the word "indescribable" for a limited number of encounters before it becomes meaningless; nonetheless, this event was as invigorating, as exciting, and mind-shattering as the one before. I felt her earth open for me, gripping me in a way that I had not thought possible, drawing me in as she sat down upon my mandrake, her back to me. Reaching back and taking my hands, she whispered, "Now, without breaking our contact, we must rise together." This was difficult, but we managed, and soon we were standing together; she leaned upon the sycamore before her, her spine straight, and parallel to the earth, while I shadowed her, gripping her tightly.
Deeper and deeper she pulled me in, as I cried out,
"I am rooted in you, rooted in your soil!" I cried, and she responded in kind: "Plant yourself inside me, let me feed your manroot, sink it deep in my dark brown hole, straight into my funky earth!"
I could see in my mind's eye that the root structure was taking hold within her, and that the mighty storm that raged in my body above posed no threat to the stability of our union. I drew back and pushed back into her fertile soil, each time increasing the gravity of our connection. We fit together perfectly, down there, and I laughed aloud at the sensation, at the scent of horse rising from her, the scent of earth and dinosaur juice rising from her cavern, and at the sight of her firm, muscular body, parallel to the earth, gripping the sycamore before her with insatiable grip.
The sensation of being inside her, of joining with her in this way, made the hair on my body stand on end and my skin shiver, despite the warm night air. My left hand slipped from her hip to her dragon, which reared up as I coated it with jelly, thoroughly again and again; I pushed deeply and more deeply within her, my mandrake growing thicker and longer under her ministrations, as I moaned as mandrakes, when parted from the earth, are said to do. Any feeling that I was no longer part of the earth had vanished; I pushed myself as far as I could go within her, lay atop her and gripped her bosom, pinching her rosebuds as she begged, and lay my head beside her. The scent of sycamore bark and clove covered us as we sought each others' tongues, as my mandrake took seemingly permanent root in her earth, as she pushed back against me.
I could feel my mandrake growing larger than ever it had before, until she cried out, "Oh by Gaia! By Persephone and Shiva! You have grown so big, so big! Ahhhh--" This last seemed a genuine gasp of discomfort, but I knew not whether to pull out or not, until she hissed, "Hold yourself still--you are too too deeply rooted in me, only with your release can I release you!"
Her hands being wrapped around the sycamore, she must clench her cigarette holder in her teeth. Though she was clearly in some pain from my prodigious member, her breathing was slow and calm, as evidenced by the slow intake of sweet clove through her clenched teeth and the gentle steady exhale of smoke through her nostrils. Breathing thus, she began a series of slow spasms, shivers or tremors deep in her brown crevasse that passed themselves along to me; Zoe's face, half turned toward me, showed me that her eyes were completely white, the pupils having moved up into her eyelids, and her every muscle was taut as I held myself as still as possible, my every muscle tensed, as she gripped me with the mouth of her earth-brown orchid. Tongues, chest, back and belly--at every possible point, we were in contact, and I could see in my mind's eye a blue lightning playing over our flesh. Nearby a mare whinnied, and Zoe moaned unintelligibly around her cigarette holder as she pushed back against me with one final thrust, and held herself against me. Her seed flooded warm through my fingers, as I lost control and poured myself into her Charybdis, and collapsed with her to the leaves. We had just enough strength to wrap ourselves in the blanket before we fell asleep.
She came an hour or so before sunset, the next day. "Tonight is my last night," I said, somewhat sadly, "for tomorrow I am to be discharged--unless an expert such as yourself insists that I need more recovery time," and I tried to smile.
"That won't be necessary," she laughed, and kissed me full on the lips, her tongue redolent as always of good tobacco and clove. "And I've planned something special for tonight, just because."
She was dressed in a leotard dyed dark green and brown, and wearing a skirt to match, and her ears, made up to appear as if they were pointed, peeped out from beneath her thick black hair. In response to my question, she replied, "I am in a band, Sister Satyr; we're all mermaids, fox maidens, rusalka or other mythological creatures as suits us, and I am a dryad. I'll show you my tree, later," she said, smiling. Taking my hand, she led me across the beach toward the bluffs. "Let's see just how goatish you really are," she said, and broke into a run. I have never before been athletic, but I found that I could almost catch her, despite having three legs, until she stopped at the bluff's edge and let me catch her in my arms. "We sleep there tonight," she said, pointing upward, "and there lies the golden stair." I saw, in the late afternoon sun, a rope trailing up the cliff and down again with a sort of harness at one end. "Saddle up, goat boy!" she said, helping me to slip it over my legs and around my waist, "I'll make sure you don't fall, but you must rise of your own efforts!" With that, she went hand over hand on the rope straight up the cliff, providing me with a splendid view until she had pulled herself over the edge of the cliff some thirty feet above.
I don't think that I could have, or would have, climbed that bluff for anyone or anything else. The thought of her up there waiting for me, however, gave wings to my feet and claws to my hands; I half-floated, half-clambered up to her, treasuring her encouragement, her laughter, and the scent of clove drifting down to me. The thought of repeating the previous nights' activities drove me as well. I knew that she would not let me fall, but my dragon became a turtle at every misstep, at every new step, on that bluff. Finally, finally! I reached the top, and pulled myself up onto a plateau, a grassy sward not twenty paces on any side, with Zoe in the center, loosening the rope from her waist.
Night was falling fast, up there, and soon the sun sank and the stars and moon--a full moon--rose. "Full moon near midsummer--a good omen!" she said, around the cigarette holder in her teeth. "I have a gift for you--it came to me in a dream," she said, smiling. To my answer of "What more could you give me?" she said, "I found your porn star name. You shall henceforth be known as Arkady Cornflower," and she tapped her cigarette holder thrice on my shoulders as I knelt before her. "Rise up, Sir Arkady," and she knelt to kiss me, open mouth, and filled my willing lungs with her sweet exhaled fumes. She spread out a blanket from her pack and, laying down upon it, released her dragon from its lair.
In the center of the plateau was a willow, leaning casually back away from the sea; against its trunk Zoe reclined like a countess, spreading apart her legs and so revealing her muddy rose. "You may kiss my dark cornflower now, Sir Cornflower," she moaned, and gently pushed my head down deep between her thighs, so that there was no mistaking what she wanted from me. I was surprised at her request, and a bit apprehensive, since the entrance to the infernal regions is not usually remarkable for its cleanliness or for its pleasant aroma, but I was eager to please her, and so I nestled my head between her thighs and extended my tongue. The last thing I saw, before she as she slipped her skirt down, closing me in with her private spaces, was the pink and brown flesh of her bachelor's button opening and closing in anticipation of my attentions.
What I discovered there was as unexpectedly pleasing as everything else I had encountered in our time together. I later discovered that Zoe, like the dryads she loved so, ate mostly vegetable matter--some vegetables and honey, but mostly fruit, flowers, and a dark red clay with all of the good earth's healthfulness contained within it. She also drank and flooded daily the hindmost entrance to her pleasure dome with a fluorescent green soda which had been discovered some decades ago by alchemists in Kentucky; due to her diet and her ablutions, her nether regions and their exhalations were sweet without having given up their pungent and funky earthiness. The scents issuing forth from her hindmost parts, as I gave her the osculum profundum, made me feel as if I were lying in an orange grove with freshly turned earth during a light rain, while a spice laden wind from the east passed by.
And so, pleasantly surprised, I nibbled and licked her delicate brown pansy, while she giggled and moaned above me, filling the air around us with clove all the while.
Still, it was very close in there, under her skirt, and soon my head began to spin with the thick vapors that she deliberately permitted to silently slip free of her body. Zoe must have anticipated my reaction to her miasmas, as she soon gave me a most interesting piece of information. "Aeons ago, when men worshipped the earth, prophets would seat themselves before an oracle such as mine, imbibe her gases, and submit themselves to the goddess, who would give them visions of the future. What do you see, my dear Arkady?"
The vision that came to me then was not unpleasant, and my muffled voice rose up through her skirt: "The ocean! The ocean! The deep blue sea that goes on forever! Above it, a pair of serpents, one with wings, the other with horns, taking each others' tails in their mouths. They writhe together, forming an inseparable knot, and green fire courses along their scales!"
As I spoke, her own serpent, which I held in my hand, rose up to its fullest height, and Zoe shouted triumphantly (I did not understand her words at the time, but she clarified them for me later): "Yes! Yes! The Rebis! The Rebis!" Then, seizing my head, she pushed my face deeper into the darkness below her garden, the source of those heady fumes that drove me into mantic delirium, the cavern from which my new knowledge arose, as she cried out, "Dig deeply now, Arkady--plunge into my nether regions!"
Curious as to her excitement, but at that moment wishing only to please her, I pushed through the brown petals of her fuliginous pansy, reaching my tongue as far as her third eye, which waited like a hermit in a cave for a visitor, and thrust against it as the mouth of the cavern, the jaws of her dark Venus' Flytrap, closed down upon me. For several moments I laved the inner chambers of her infernal regions, until "No more, no more for now!" she squealed, and she pulled me up to her lips, and kissed me. Holding her serpent, she whispered, "Come, kiss your Queen Ophelia." I eagerly knelt before her as she reclined majestically, and took her in my mouth; though my tongue performed a rain dance, she withheld her rain. She reclined majestically as I pleasured her, drawing ardently on her holder and languidly blowing forth great clouds of smoke which surrounded us, hid from the world outside. To this day, of all the positions we practice, to see her so, to adore her serpent and receive her seed as she smokes, is my favorite.
Finally, she finished her cigarette, sighed, and moaned, "I must taste you, now!" As I rose up, she said, "I think that's for you," and I saw that a large drop of dew glistened on the end of her hibiscus. Before I could move to take it, she had bent down, extended her tongue, and captured it; she then bent forward and slipped the shining pearl of her love into my mouth. I was amazed, and later discovered that she practiced yoga daily, for just this and even more astounding purposes. Savoring her seed on my tongue, I lit her cigarette and lay down as she asked. She released my mandrake from its captivity, blew smoke upon it, and then lay down as she slid her open lips over it. Moments later, I did the same for her.
Laying side by side, we tasted each other; her dewy drops brought clove, musk, and patchouli to my tongue, and soon her greased fingers, tickling my almond, brought visions of satyrs and strangely-equipped nymphs rolling in the grass together. Taking the jar of Vaseline from her, I soon slipped my fingers into her Charybdis, and felt her dragon rear up in response. I kept my pace equivalent with her slow movements and her tantalizingly light touches; time stopped, it seemed, until I felt my geyser rushing through the earth, held back no more, and I poured everything that I had been, everything that I was, and everything that I ever would be, into her. electric currents ran from the top of my head to my loins, into her mouth and thence back to me. She was not shy in returning the favor, and though we were spent, we nuzzled and cuddled the shrinking serpents, unwilling to let go of even those diminished things. Like yin and yang we lay, a bit of ourselves in the other, as we savored the warm seed that coated our tongues.
At her request, I told her again what I had seen while I was worshipping beneath her skirts, and she then rolled over to her pack and took out a small leather bag. "I think this might be yours?" and she took out a ring and slipped it into my hand, her fingers trembling as she did so...
I held part of my vision in my hand: a snake with horns, open mouthed, writhing in an S shape. Trembling at my own daring and the import of my words, I answered "I think it might be mine, yes." Drawing on her clove deeply, she then handed me another ring; the counterpart to mine, an upside-down serpent with wings, its body curving in the direction opposite mine.
"They fit together, thus," she said, her voice hoarse and her eyes not meeting mine, as she showed me how the two came together, the winged serpent fitting over the horned, forming a figure 8, and each taking the others' tail in its mouth. "That is the double Ouroboros, symbol of infinity. I found these at an antique shop on my fifteenth birthday, after I dreamt of it, so I knew it was important. Now I know why." So saying, she slipped my ring onto my finger, and I did the same for her with hers. We had a beautiful ceremony a few months later on the edge of a lake for our friends, but our true marriage took place on the edge of that bluff, when she and I drank of each other, and we slipped our serpent rings onto each others' trembling, delighted fingers.
And so it was that she and I left the clinic the next day together, in her VW mini-van, while she, her voice full of the sweet clove smoke, sang a folk version of "Come Live With Me And Be My Love," which expressed my desires perfectly. The goats in the hills bleated merrily as we, two royal serpents joined in an endless circle, drove through the gates and rolled into the future as two halves of the same soul, equal but opposite.