We took ourselves into the open air of night once golden sun now silver moon...Dean had lined up a swanky hotel room just down the beach through some family connection, and we informed the women that we were heading back there, with their approval, to wind things down, leap without leaping from anywhere and sleep off what was sure to be some kind of hangover...The place was dead empty. Sharpe found his night clerk connection and the girls and I made words in the lobby and felt some relief when he appeared again with a key and a grin... “top floor for the guests, nothing but pomp and circumstance for us tonight...” “Woohoo” said Candy, flashing me a sly grin and grabbing the gymnast’s hand in ascending the stairs...we piled in a large square room made of Mennonite wood with two queen beds right up alongside each other and a tiny table and lamp in between...we were in the interval between idea and action...no booze, no smoke, no television...
I guess it was New England obvious what we were all there for and from the way the girls jumped to the respective beds (me too Dean too), there was only one thing left to do: kill the lights. The gymnast threw her legs up over her head and smartly closed the wall switch with her toes, leaving the room hued over with a tender wooden sadness...all clothed, we slipped under the bed sheets and the hands got handy, mine finding Candy’s bobbins under the undershirt, quite smashed in by a coarse lace bra...she in turn took turns at my buttocks and back, stroking and scratching just enough to get a hair-rise on the neck...this was accomplished under the bedclothes to ward off Dean and his solemn games of ducks & drakes, who’d love nothing more than a live porn played out in a circle of clucking admirers…Meanwhile he was getting his dong serviced by the gymnast…and dear Candy was ready to move on...my mouth was slowly having hers and moving down to the her myrtle hedge with a smooth and slick shift into masticulation...she was in agreement to a full extent, pulling the covers up over her head to create a safety ¬cocoon around us, and keeping the probes of Sharpe seeing white..I earnestly gave her privates a good whipping... the torrents were swollen and I was up to my ears in a tropical cocktail of our making...it wasn't long before she had pulled me up to her again and quickly returned the gesture, sliding down my stomach with the perfunctory treasure trail teasing, ending up with a mouthful of cock and creating all kinds of physics, from action/reaction, friction, vacuums, etc...
To the melancholic this would seem melancholic, but it was an action attuned to the vast, and my part of the action/ reaction principle was the latter, my reaction being a quickly manifested batch of the glorious semen, whipped from my exploit and deposited into the insides of candy's mouth and throat ...I was admittedly fast, coming off the Ramona failures...it was a relief to spill my guts and look at my actions without tremor...but it was rather fast and I had to believe that I could muster more compassion for Candy, making a strong go at it later, which I explained to her, that I needed some rest before I could build up the enemy, being a much advanced old man in the boudoir and knowing it ...shame...I had a powerful urge to sleep…next door, the still active Sharpe and gymnast circus was in full swing, which at this moment featured Sharpe on top, the gymnast in some rather crab-like receiving position, and him taking deep and long strokes into her...But I was exhausted and quickly fell into a deep nod…and the thought of fair innocent Ramona rolled over me like putrid fever...This jarred me awake, eye wide, motionless, disorientated, with the usual reaction of silence…and the room was quiet and asleep, the gymnast snoring slightly, and Sharpe turned away in a fetal position towards the dark other half of room...at these moments there is no cerebration, some ripped mind caught a-wares in stupor, from tragic dreams, sysyphusian, and strange, into a room that bears no marks of familiarity, wanting to lull backwards into sleep...But erection! I had one! The dreams, like death, extraordinary for their recuperative powers...Candy, candy...To awaken her I slid my hand down to the pussy...and she awoke and demanded that we French kiss...soon enough I had myself inside her, stroking smooth and slow, thinking “to love is to die” all the whiles inventing my future, my favorite escape, my fucking...and dying little deaths each time......Eat candy: Sugar baby. Marathon. Fun dip. Big hunk. Sugar daddy. Fuck Candy. Faster. Look to your left. See Sharpe through the solid black air. Notice his enthusiasm. Keep fucking. Shift down into deep ignorance with a heavy rocker arm. Become furious. Don’t finish. Roll off. Say some sweet guilty things in the ear of candy. Slip away. Jujubees. Jujubees Jujubees...The insidious red Sharpe told me the next day that I fucked like the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland…and I laughed and said he fucked like Bella Lugosi…
And off we went in the morning—girls one way, men another...to my bed I crawled and that was the last time I would see Dean in this blown down spring...and I couldn’t have been giddier about it—his plane left the next day for the states and the two women were leaving together that afternoon—and I couldn’t have been blitzier...I really couldn’t have been even if I was being eternally blown in the summers and the brightly dressed pastel colored boys and girls with chalk piece smiles were showering me with Maker’s Mark, Parliaments, Raybans, cocktail ice, smoke and sideways glances...these are the things I dreamt about that morning, spellbiding and sidewinding from tequila backlash and damn near sicko-ness...and rhythmic guilt that came and went like a stiletto in the ribs, saying Ramona, give me all your Ramona you motherfucker, and I reach down my throat towards that heart and try to pull her visage and there she is plunging the blade in towards my spleen and back out and in again at the other lower vitals and it’s seeing situations as they are you howl and howl at your stupidity and your one-eyed monster who says “we have to learn in order to unlearn,” the cunt when all I needed was the Practice of Purification, hence
1. The power of regret
2. Power of the basis
3. Actual application of opponent forces &
4. The power of resolve
...instead I woke up in my dream drumming on bamboo, calling the tortoise, eating jade mushrooms, plucking the lute, summoning the Phoenix, and drinking from an alchemical crucible...
-Michael Price
