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80_ym_lunarmadness_nrichardson.jpg
Art by Noelle Richardson 2020

LUNAR MADNESS

 

by j brooke

 

 

She was an alien, young, skin brown like a piece of seared naked amber, tall, a hedonistic shoelace stood on end. The beach, Jamaica, vacay, sand, blue water, indigo like her eyes, and our eyes had locked, blue, hers, brown, mine, and that was it, for the salt water melding on her nude body, those golden breasts, tummy, cunt, her small toes made me break every fucking promise I had ever made.

 OKAY, I fucked up, stumbled the other night, no more one night stands, but I remembered the feel of a woman’s skin, satin touch, silk pouting lips of fog, lies, denial, promising day dreams, nightmares, delusions I felt I was over with. You remember those vows, don't you my man? Sex, torment, mind-bending, hell raising, gut wrenching pleasure promises, where which way is up depends on conjecture and the moment and you’re crazed, wild in each other’s arms. Jettison the food, water, oxygen means nothing and your insatiable appetite for her and you is overwhelming, each second locked in each other’s arms a hammering mind piston of an electric jolt of a lifetime of denial.

No dinner, no cocktails, no promises of tomorrow, she was a fucking savage, a tipsy-turvy top girl, no manners, carnal, honest, a stunning female alpha wolf, I guess me her prey, and then it began, the madness, the beat down and it wasn't hell, no baby, nowhere near bad. It was ecstasy, rapture of rock 'n' roll, swaying palms, teak, bamboo, a banal hotel room and whatever highs could be caged. I remember cold sheets of some summer night, stripped naked, lava skin, heavy brooding eyes, mascara bleeding, playing, teasing, tearing at one another, crawling on top of me, ripping my skull to her eyes, leering at me. She was drooling, panicked, static, eyes dilating, bitten lips, on her velvet knees, slamming fists against the bed rails, chewing at the white sheets, my cock buried inside of her cunt and then an orgasm of a lust-driven mind implosion wracked her, shattered her and she seemed to go insane.

On and on it went, sweat pouring from our bodies, my cock slammed down her throat, and it was wild, she was insatiable and why, well because common sense and ice chips for parched lips were left at the door with the last free-falling rustle of her nylons, high heels kicked to the ceiling.

 I remember that skin, a curling finger tempting, begging, pleading for me to come, just an inch, just a little bit, the whimpers, the moans of promises so you can touch that skin, that you can smell, taste and envision strapped around your body, legs splayed, her teeth chattering, her eyes looking like lug bolts. She tasted like orchids and burnt brass, legs blending, flailing, swooning towards the moon from the touch of your fingertips, that plays her body like a rare, violent violin, sweet, taught, ravaged of solo octaves strung so taught that baby diva was likely to cat gut explode.

Yeah, I know, I promised never to be that way no more, but what the fuck, there she was at first, bad things happen to good people and she was an enigma in my cigarette smoke, wet lips, engorged, full like a Caribbean Lunar dream, hanging lazy, seductive, wanting on an ocean rim, oh it was sin. But I was a weak fuck, for a moment as she shot me a laser stare of fire, ash, eyeliner and coal smudges beneath her drooping eyes, telling me. "Come here honey, I have a little sweet for you to taste."

And I kinda shrugged, felt drugged, intoxicated, drunk from her body perfume, reeling, not knowing my own name, and wondering now what this baby doll really wanted. But, I knew as she laced me with her twenty-megaton wicked eyes that there it was, that devil in my red blood and I passed to her, a topaz ribbon laying on white sheets, heard a whisper, a soft tendril of a purr, a growl. "Come baby, come here, lay right here, don't make me beg, just fuck me, don't you think that is fair?"

I moved, it was moving easy and cool, though terrified and petrified, yet what magnificent terror did I find and see and everything melded into one and a day passed before I saw nothing but her. Then, more time burned away and even more and then I saw within her lips the image of a Goddess, a slut queen that was capable of anything, being anything, a paramour, a virgin twist in her own demented mind. She was insatiable, hair like wet rusted chains, moans, screams, psycho-babble speak, and there was heat, saline water drops, cum, semen and tears, red embers and heat and I remembered painted red talons lashed on my back as some long lost treasures recaptured from the darkness of my soul.

We seemed to feed for days along this ocean paradise, I tell you it was so, kisses encapsulating, embracing, encrypting secret saline naked secrets to the world, to reawaken my fears, tongues, bodies braced as one and then the moon rose so many times and we rested as insane Siamese twins, sippin' hard gins, rum, tequilas and all the time bathed in moon light, star light, sweat and warm Jamaican salt winds and of course, banal, carnal and so-real sins.

Servants brought us Guava, Papaya and Mango treats and things animals need, for they well knew a great passion play was at hand. Black faces of Island ways understood sex, love and for a moment their gifts nourished us and we ripped it up again, though such moment to moment play might be thought of as a different thing, but it was that on the island, maybe love, probably not, and I forgot as we bathed in night salt water and our bronze skins burned up the cotton sheets, that sex, love have nothing to do with one another. Yet, I still remember her and realize more than once, she made me feel alive, vibrant, made me forget my oath, which all the while was a lie, that man can live without a woman and this I finally understood, caged away from a woman's touch, a man must surely die.

Set within the palms and thermal winds I sat as she slept, breathing air along the cotton sheets as arousal strapping my body allowed my heart to live and I wanted to wake her and ravage her and bring her to moans and screams and cheat our brains of oxygen. I wanted to show her that if dead at dawn we might hardly care, nor remember before and as she woke, for I touched the sweat that beaded on her copper breasts, she smiled, reached forward and wrapped a lily around my neck and dragged me to her parched lips and kissed me, and I felt again, how I felt, and we were one, gone forever, frozen and forgetful in a moment of time, savages tip- toeing on the very edges of life.

In the morning dawn came with the winds and she was gone, white orchid on my pillow and I simply sat and remembered and took my pen and upon white paper wrote these words.

I never saw her goddess golden cunt again.


J Brooke is a writer with over 100 credits, and never lists them. It’s simple for J., for it’s never what you have already written, but what you are going to write next. Contact info: jbrooke2001@yahoo.com

Noelle Richardson comes from a relatively large family and has been illustrating and painting for about twelve years. She writes a little on the side, plays a couple of instruments and dabbles in tattoo design.                                                                                                                             

In Association with Black Petals & Fossil Publications 2020