Pink Pearl

She held her legs wide.

"Mmmmm. Good. Turn around for me, get on your knees I want to see what you looked like."

She complied, I could feel her getting hungry, watching her flush.

"Let me see, oh god, your pussy looks good like this. My good little cunt. Spread your knees wider" I stood behind her, as she looked back at me, holding my cock behind her, the perfect height to enter her, and began to stroke my cock.

"That's it, open your knees......oh, yeah." She was right at the level of my cock now, and her hair hanging down, she held her head low looking down between her legs, the arch of her back.

She was not more than a foot from me now. She cooed out, "don't you touch....."

She was undulating her hips, "Open your legs. Arch your back. Yeah. So open. You slut, you would let anyone fuck you right now. I could push right up into you. Pull yourself open again, I want to see your hole. Go ahead, with your hand. Pull your cunt open."

She reached her hand down between her legs, and spreading her fingers, was pulling herself open for me. I could see the dark gap, the open hole, her little anus, her cunt, creaming white. Spread out for me. She held herself open for me. Knew I was looking up into her. "Spread your cum around your pussy lips, rub yourself for me."

"Such a good little girl."

"Push your finger in, ahhh no farther just a little. Feel yourself there. . . Again. Yes."

"Feel good little girl. Your clit hard? Tell me."

"Yes."

"Tell, me your clit is hard."

"My clit is hard."

"Can you show it to me."

She lifted herself, tipping her ass high in the air. She asks, "Can you see it?"

"Oh god, yeah, I can see it. Your cunt is delicious. Let me lick you."

"Not yet," She whimpered "You have to make me cum."

"Let me fuck you right now." She began to rub herself. Stroking her fingers up through her center, tipping her finger inside. I let her.

She was rubbing herself furiously. I let her for a while, working herself into this frenzy. I loved the way she was moving on the bed. Her head was down and her hair all around on the mattress. Her ass rising and falling on her hand.

"Stop." I said sharply, and her hand remained between her legs. She was rubbing her pussy against her hand, her open hand, tipping her fingers in between her legs. Rocking her hips, squirming herself over her hand. I was leaning forward. My nose inches away, watching. "I said stop." Her hand moved away, and her pussy was quivering. She was close. I sat back down in the chair. Oh god, I could smell her, pussy.

"Let me fuck you." I said it again. I wanted to. If she said yes just then, I would have. "I want to shove my cock up into you. Feel me, you feel me inside."

And then I blew my warm breath on her cunt, she jumped. I blew again. The air tingling against her wet cunt. She jumped again.

"You can't touch me!!"

"I'm not."

She was arching her back as I blew my breath on her. "Tell me how you want me to fuck you, how you want me up inside you. I want to hear it."

"Oh god, Matthew, fuck me. I want your cock in me."

I blew my breath up between her legs again.

"I can do anything to you? You want me to lay on you, press you down, hold you down. Feel me up inside."

Her breath was so heavy, "Yes. Oh god."

"Bend you in front of me and bite your pussy, dig my tongue into you. Then fuck you down on me, you want to sit on me? I want to bend you in half push your legs up on your chest and bury my cock in you. Lift you on my lap, shove my cock into you, till it hurts."

"Oh god."

"You slut."

"Oh God!"

"Tell me what a slut you are."

"Let me come to your room and fuck you, any time I want. Take my keys and walk into the house in the middle of the night, go into your room, and crawl in your bed. You let me do that??"

"Yes."

"Tell me what a slut you are."

"Oh god, I'm your slut. YOu r slave." Panting, her words coming out in gasps. "Fuck."

She was grinding herself down, rubbing her fingers across her clit, fast and hard, getting close. I blew again, could see her whole pussy clench as I blew on her hot wet cunt, could see her legs trembling and her head rise up, as she was spasming there on the bed, laying out, legs drapping over the edge of the bed, legs open. Cumming. I could see her jerk on her hand, see her fall into the mattress, hear her breathing.

"Your my little girl, naughty girl, letting your brother watch you. Letting this cock up inside you, in your mouth, in your pussy. Look how wet your cunt is."

"Ah ah aha. Yes. Oh god, I'm cumming."

As she lay there utterly spent, naked, disheveled on the bed. I watched her crawl up onto the mattress and lay there, roll onto her back.

Me standing there with just my shirt on, as reality came rushing back in. As I realized the words I had said, as she lay silent. As I stood still so hard, so hungry. God I wanted to fuck her, this fantasy, and just at that moment she would have let me.

She had cum, I had not. I had to cum. I pushed down on the head of my cock, it ached. I looked at her laying there, anything. I thought about anything. I would wait.

I went back and put my boxers on, my pants. She didn't move.

"Fifteen minutes then?"

No answer.

***************

When someone offers you 15 minutes of anything you want to do with them. What would YOU do? I couldn't stop thinking about it. Her laying down before me. My hand reaching out touching her. Was she serious? As the days went by and she did not come over, the whole thing felt like a dream. Doubt. My heart, my body was in a constant state of arousal.

And something else. I kept going over and over my words, what I had said.

The same nagging question. Had I gone to far??

She was scared of me now.

I could do ANYTHING.

Then, the doorbell. She never rang the doorbell. I did not even think it was her, until . . . she was standing before me in a pair of blue jeans and a half top.

I was so happy to see her just then, she standing there smiling shyly, and I pulled her in to me, just took her with my hands and pulled her to me - just to be near to her - have her next to me. She took my hand and we walked to the sofa, sat down and I slid her over by me. Literally pulled her to me. And she lets me, sliding in close.

She asks immediately, "Is this our fifteen minutes?"

"No, I don't think so."

She smiles, "Ok."

Our legs tangle together and I lean in for a kiss, but she denies me. Turns her cheek to me, just a little bit. But I can see it in her eyes. Denial. Not the fifteen minutes.

What does she want? I back off. This little game. This irritating little game.

I am suddenly angry.

"You're very beautiful today." I say.

"That's because you want to fuck me," she says impishly and lays back on the arm of the sofa.

"Is that what you think?"

She is looking at me now, nervously. Her eyes drop down.

"I said that to make you cum." She looks into my eyes, but doesn't move. "You liked it didn't you?" I had. I had gone to far. I needed to backpedal now.

She says nothing.

I continue, "Admit it, I was there, I watched you. I simply said what I said to . . . "

"But, some of the things you said. . . .you."

"You wanted me to make you cum. I did." I was confused. This was not calming her down, she seemed agitated. I attempted a joke, "I'll still think you are beautiful after we've fucked."

She lifted up from the sofa, "See! Is that all I am to you?"

I don't want this game. I didn't need this. I moved closer, leaned in and kissed her on the lips, she does not move. Neither away nor responding either. Passive, but distant.

When suddenly she holds my face, my cheeks and looks at me, very serious.

I say, "What?"

She looks at me, right into my eyes, turning me one way and another, says nothing, before closing her eyes - those luscious green eyes and holds her mouth up for me to kiss. And we kiss. So delicious, long and slow. Deep kissing. A kiss we have never shared before. Man and woman. And we play, that is how I describe it. Play with our tongues on each other, and I pull her close. I let her press her tongue between my teeth and hold to her, our teeth click together as we kiss. Open mouths, pressing together.

And that is what we do for a long time, slowly sinking lower and lower onto the sofa. There is music, but I have no idea what it is. There is only us in the whole universe right now, and it is warm. Somehow, we are laying side by side, our legs still tangled and we are still kissing. Our hands are roaming now, I am so hard again.

I ask, "Do you want to go upstairs."

She shakes her head, and then moves into an upright position, not sitting exactly. She is deep in thought again, looking over at me. She says, "I have to go."

But she does not move, just keeps looking at me. I don't know what to say. I lay my hand right over the crotch of her blue jeans and squeeze. She lifts one leg onto the sofa then, opening herself for better access. I swear I can feel her squishing in there, warm.

And she lets me, closes her eyes, leans back on the sofa arm again and looks away as I rub my open hand over her pussy.

"Matthew," she says out to no one, opening her eyes again just watching as my hands rise up her pants and press under her top lay over her breasts.

I keep rubbing her, say nothing, rub her tummy, rub her breasts, lay my hand over her throat, run a line around her lips, and as I am touching leaning in to kiss her again, she is still watching passively, all quiet.

I tug the blouse out from her jeans and begin to unbutton each white button. Pull her top open and look at her breasts, no bra, and touch her soft skin and lean in, suckle her large nipples. She curls her hands around my head and presses me to her breasts. I kiss up to her neck, chew along her jaw line and breath in your ear.

"You have buried treasure," I whisper. "Tell me where it is?" as I squeeze between her legs again, poke and squeeze.

She sits up again and looks at me. She is sitting there now completely disheveled, her top fallen open around her lap.

I say, "I want my 15 minutes now."

She holds my hands, takes a deep breath. "Matthew, I don't know if I can." Her voice is distant and cold just then.

I freeze. This game. I feel anger rising again. I want to grab her and pull her upstairs, drag her there. God Damn it.

She sits up, turns, touches her feet to the floor, begins to button her blouse.

"What is it?"

"I got to go."

"Something I said?"

"I don't know."

She leaves.

***********************

Two days later the doorbell rings again.

But I don't answer.

I stare out the bedroom window upstairs. She doesn't come in, and I watch her walk back down the sidewalk and away.

I'm tired of games.

Watch her walking slowly, looking back once. Watch her pull a strand of hair from her eyes, until she is out of sight.

I play.

***********************

I am back to - This Has Got To Stop.

The pain in my heart is a constant ache now. My stomach churns and I cannot eat. I cannot sleep. I am telling Mandy I have a cold, that I am sick, that my work is getting stressful.

All lies.

Gradually, some semblance of reason, of sense, begins seeping back in.

Time.

I am sad again, but also numb. Gradually some relief. I need to stop. I think over and over and over. I reminisce, imagine the feel of her skin. Can feel it in the dark as I lay with Mandy stroking my hands over her bare hips, pull her to me. Sink into her.

I know she is right.

I don't want to fight this anymore. It has to stop.

I continue my internship. Continue studying. Pour myself into my work. I have been neglectful. Yet, this dull ache in my chest each and every day.

A weight I can not explain. Nothing looks real, not the colors, or textures. Food tastes as if my sense of smell is gone. As if I am color blind, as if my mind is only partly connected to my body. The tones of gray are all I see. To shut off these thoughts is to shut off my body. There is this irritant in my soul, this grain of sand, and I place layer after layer of I don't know what around it to make it go away. Stop the itch. It is still there, but it grows large, smooth. Not as irritating, but still . . . I can't get rid of it.

What am I trying to say?

************

I look up from my desk, and she is there.

In color.

It is as if I can see only her. Lisa, standing at the doorway of my office. Like some sepia tone picture where she stands glowing. Like when you see a movie star walk by, someone you have only seen on television. And suddenly there before you, and they do not look real. Not real at all. Or . . . more real.

A Star.

And every thought I have ever had, the ice inside, begins melting. My hands are numb.

"Hi," She says.

I just look at her. I know the game. She is hungry again. She wants. I feel an anger again.

I Can see it in her eyes. She takes what she wants and leaves. Every time. Leaves me, aching. Hurting. Just then I feel used, somehow used. But still . . . she smiles and walks into my office light as a feather, like a cat slipping into the chair before me. She is wearing earrings today, makeup. I notice right away. Lipstick. She is so beautiful, her long dark hair shining around her shoulders, red lips, delicate arms. The sun is shining in, the room feels as if it is glowing.

Color.

I had not even noticed sunshine five minutes ago.

"Hi," I say with the exact same inflection.

"I thought we should talk."

"Well, this seems to be the summit room for us." Not very nice I think. But I continue melting, lean back in my chair, and sigh. I can't win this. I feel myself falling.

She doesn't smile. I feel my heart rise into my throat, my anger melting, my thoughts, my resolve, my will - all liquid, soft. Her presence floods the room with warmth. She is nervous, scared. Why? This is all going through her mind as well. She feels what I feel. We are the same, buried beneath. I am under her skin as well. We are already inside the other. We are growing smooth together.

One pearl.

"I heard you are doing communion tonight."

"Yes."

"First time?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to the service."

"Good."

She is looking around the room now, picking up objects, setting them back down. The silence envelopes us. No one is in the church. She had closed the door when she came in.

"Can I . . . help you get things set up? Help you, I mean . . . you know, that one room."

The breath went out of me. I paused. No. No. No. God I want to see her, I want her to come here. I want to wrap my arms around her and tell her everything is ok. That this is ok. That we are where we are, and who we are. That we cannot explain all things.

"I don't think that would be a good idea."

She looks down at the floor, deflated; but then meeting my eyes, reaching her hands across my desk takes my hands in hers. Leaning toward me, this soft voice.

"How about after? Matthew . . . AFTER the service?"

"Lisa. I . . ."

"Say yes. I owe you something. I do. And . . . I want to give it to you."

She got up then, without me answering. I watch her body, the way she moves, her hips, her narrow waist. I saw the fall of fabric down her back, the bare skin of her back. Every ounce of every thought, resistance draining from me.

She opened my door and turning back to me, "Do they have locks on the doors?"

"Yes."

*********************

It is two hours to the service, and all I can think of is 'Lisa will be there.'

I have a meeting with the Senior Pastor, and listen to all of his thoughts. He does not listen to mine. He talks. That seems to be the nature of this profession, and as I sit in the room I wonder whether I should even be here. How can I possibly consider giving a communion. I am suddenly flooded with a sense of remorse, of a weakness, a hiddenness. It was Thomas Merton who wrote that it is the Secrets that make us human. I do not think he meant THIS, what I am feeling. It was Aquinas who said only the most wretched can give or receive the communion. Check.

I think about Christ. The body of Christ, the Blood of Christ given for you. How we eat it, pressing him into our mouth. The cannibalism, the oneness. The brotherhood, the sisterhood. The oneness. I think of the spear in the side of Christ, the water and blood coming out. I was told it meant he was dead for awhile, but that would not have been true. No. It is a symbol. A symbol of sex. The act of sex, the spear, the pure blood, the water, the semen coming out again. Going in, giving new life. The body dying and coming alive, the ever living acts of sex. This is my body given to you, this is my blood.

Sex. Eternal life. My body is the unbroken chain of a billion sex acts extending to the beginning of the first living thing.

The Senior Pastor is still talking, and he is saying my name.

"Matthew!"

"Excuse me."

"I was wondering are you ready? Do you have the book?"

"Yes. It is in my office."

We pray.

********************

I am not giving the sermon, thank god. I sit off to one side and scan the sanctuary. There is Lisa seated in the front of the church, five rows back. She is sitting there with mom and dad. She still has her earrings on, her lipstick. She is looking down, holding a hymnal. Everyone rises and sings a song. I watch her sing. She is small, not tall. Smaller than I realize when she is standing next to other people. I can see her peak in and out of view behind those standing in front of her, she is thin, full breasted. I think about after. The room at the back. I feel myself growing hard, feel my penis drip into my boxers. I look down at the robe I wear, the navy blue, covering me. Hiding my thoughts. My secret.

The communion goes perfectly, I have participated enough to have memorized it all before ever having set foot in seminary. I love the flourishes, holding the bread up and the wine.

The words have always been a comfort. The forgiveness of sin had always felt distant though, I felt 'good.' Always had. No forgiveness necessary. Now it was different, now I felt the need, the stain of sin. Now I held the elements aloft, and the people lining up through the middle of the sanctuary. I lost sight of Lisa.

I was on one side, the Senior pastor on the other. Suddenly Lisa was kneeling down before me, her hands on the rail, supporting her open palms crossed at the wrist. She was kneeling as I stood before her, my penis was erect beneath my robe, I was so aroused at the sight of her.

I took the host, said quietly, "This is my body, given for you."

She moved her hands from the rail as I said that and simply tipped her head back and opened her mouth, and I pressed the host onto her tongue. She, closing her mouth around my finger as I pulled it out.

I took the wine and said, "This is my blood given for you."

Her breathing deep, she closed her eyes, and opening her mouth to me, her delicate white teeth, her tongue, her red lips. I held her chin softly and poured in wine, my blood, into her mouth.

She crossed herself, rose, and walked away.

************************

After the service, I stood at the back and greeted, was congratulated, at a successful communion. Lisa was nowhere to be seen. I looked for her, the church emptying quickly, people are busy now and no one remains long. They come they go. It relieved me now. But looking about, I wondered, had she left. Had she again, changed her mind.

The Senior Pastor took his family now, gathered them together, said goodbyes and worked their way to the door. I told him previously I would take care of everything. There was only a janitor picking up programs, and in five minutes he would be gone. The Sanctuary was empty, only a light on at the back.