Good Things Come...ch. 3

Part III: All Hallow's Eve

It was one of those nights when we were invincible; youth was immortal and anyone over the age of twenty-one could go fuck themselves. It was, in a word, everything that one's eighteenth Halloween should be.

The power went off about 8:30, plunging the entire campus of my small college into darkness. The wind bucked and howled and thrashed the trees like nothing I had ever seen-and after living for so long in the windiest spot in the States, I was no stranger to the wind.

After sitting for a while in the darkness that seemed strangely apropos, the object of my affliction, James, turned to me with a heathen smile. "I've gotta go enjoy this wind." That was all I needed to hear. We flew up the stairs like the wind itself, and each grabbed our respective trenchcoats-mine a pewter-colored vinyl, his, black leather. Then we slipped into the night, and it began.

He laughed harshly and shouted into the sky, taunts tossed to a God he refused to formally believe in, egging Him on. "What you got, God?" His voice bellowed loud enough for me to hear it over the screaming wind. "All you're doing is making me look good."

And James did, indeed; he looked invincible, the wind keening around us as his trenchcoat billowed black into a night devoid of any light save the celestial... and the spark in James' eye. I knew at this moment there was more to his beliefs than the atheism he had informed me of one night a few months ago, the night I told him of my love for God.

"I'll be around longer than you will, God! I have everything!" He laughed, nearly giddy as a child. He was youth incarnate: a carpe-diem Adonis mouthing the words that have come for centuries, whether whispered in the back of young minds or screamed into the blackest wind. "I have YOUTH! I have LOOKS! What you got, God? You show me one thing tonight that impresses me, and I'll go pray for ya."

I prayed. God didn't show him... But He showed me things I'll never forget.. Things about myself, whispered into a wind so strong that none could stand in it but we two.

I am an extremely devout Christian, but even a fact such as that seemed irrelevant with my trenchcoat flapping and the dirt stinging my eyes, with my sacrilegious beloved next to me, shouting lines from Invictus, as if calling in a cosmic poker hand. After all, I, too, was young. It was so easy to forget at times.. But at other times, so easy to remember.

"It matters not how straight the gate, how charged with punishment the scroll:" His pale index finger thrust into the sky as he emphasized certain words. I'd never heard his voice so loud and ferocious, never heard such a determined tone. He emphasized each syllable violently and with the utmost care, as if he wanted to make sure that any who listened understood exactly what he meant. "I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul."

I wanted to laugh and cry and scream with him. And God, it felt good.

I turned and kissed him then, a primal impulse as our coats flapped in deafening percussion and the wind whipped our faces. His arms encompassed me tightly, and I could feel the cold brick beneath our feet. We clung to each other, holding on tightly enough to keep the wind from escorting the two of us away, James and I, the sinner and the saint.

To my surprise, his hand immediately moved to my pussy, no precursory groping. Earlier that night, we had decided to dress in all black to herald the holiday; my form of dress- a super-short, low-cut black dress that, when held to the light, was practically transparent, fishnets, and high-heeled black boots-far different and more daring than my usual attire. For this reason, I was far more accessible than usual. Standing in the pitch-blackness, on the cold walkway directly in front of the administration building, a couple hundred yards from the largest parking lot on the campus, he slipped his hand beneath the legband of my underwear and moved his thumb directly to my silken clit.

I moaned. "James.. For crying out loud, we're standing in the middle of the sidewalk.."

He trailed his tongue up my jawline, tracing my earlobe before biting on it gently. "I know. Isn't it great?" He slipped his middle finger deep into my pussy, rubbing my walls gently but insistently. I parted my legs to give him better access; I knew the streetlamps could come on at any second, but I didn't care. The wind stinging our faces, throwing dirt in our eyes, the high-pitched keening shriek of nature was one of the most intense aphrodisiacs I'd ever known. He twisted his thumb, pressing it hard against my clit, and pressed his middle finger deep into me, pressing against the top of my pussy wall as if he were trying to touch it to his thumb. The avalanche of sensory feelings overcame me-the feeling of his ministrations to my pussy and the wind on our faces, the sounds of the possessed wind, the pitch darkness. I cried out, and my cum bathed his hand in the darkness.

I couldn't help but do something very non-me: I removed his hand from my underwear, dropped to my knees on the freezing brick cobblestone, and unzipped his fly.

This time-and I blush to admit I found it amusing, fitting, and erotic all at the same time-James was the one exhibiting a bit of apprehension. He looked around anxiously as I took his cock from his pants. "I.. I'm not sure about this, Moir-"

His apprehension melted as I moved my mouth to the hilt of his cock in one single, tight, sucking motion. Without moving my lips, I did my best to swirl and massage my tongue along the length of his shaft. His head tilted back as his neck went limp, and he moaned, a wonderful, deep sound from the bowels of the earth that was barely discernable in the tempest surrounding us. My hands slipped to his hips as I guided him back and forth in my mouth, baptizing his cock with my saliva and my tears, which were nearly ripped away in the windstorm around us. I stopped for a moment, carefully and reverently shielding his sensitive cock from the flying dirt and rock with my trenchcoat. I looked up at him, bleary-eyed and devoted, much the way a newly-saved sinner will look up at the cross in awe and reverence. I knew I was worshipping James, and I didn't care. I'd been worshipping him from an aching distance for so long; my sin meant nothing as long as he was here with me. I spoke in such a small voice I was surprised it even reached his ears. "James?"

He looked down at me, black eyes sparking. It looked almost as if his eyes were a part of the amazingly black sky, or perhaps it was the skies that had taken its cue from the beautiful dark orbs set in the face I loved. His gaze was intense, longing, and I relished in it. "Yes, petite?"

I moved my lips centimeters closer to his head; me, the innocent, the perpetual virgin, the quintessential "good girl," me, who had never dressed like this in my life and whose lips were a few inches away from the cock of the only person I had ever met who held such disdain for the one Being I held dear. I gulped and stared up at him, helpless, licking my lips. "I want you to fuck my face." Words I never thought I would hear myself say, not spoken with the purring liquid confidence of an experienced cocksucker, but with the timid, shy uncertainty of a child just beginning to wake up to the world.

For all of the lust being wordlessly communicated between us, he blinked, every bit as surprised by hearing my request as I was. He smiled softly and warmly, caressing the back of my head gently. His gaze could only be described as loving, and he seemed proud of me. I smiled back, feeling a bit proud myself. "Of course, love."

My hands remained firmly gripping his hips as he pushed his cock into my mouth, though I had given him complete control. He knew my inexperience in this area, and so he started slowly, to allow me to get used to the feeling. As he pulled out slightly, I followed the motion with my tongue pressing on his head, then slipping to the sensitive underside for a single, quick flick with the tip of my tongue. For the first time in my life, I tasted the salty sweetness of precum; before this time, I had never even allowed that into my pure little mouth. I liked the taste; I loved the fact that it came from James. I felt as if I were taking communion. It was one of the most spiritual things I had experienced in my life. I thought I heard a growling sigh from somewhere in the heavens above me, but it was ripped from his beloved lips before completion by the selfish wind, devouring his sighs of pleasure with the same hunger I felt deep within me, creating a heat between my legs even in the freezing cold.

He began to really fuck my face, pumping insistently, with an increased sense of urgency and an increased need. I held on to his hips for dear life, and willed my neck to stay still. The head of his engorged cock began sliding right beyond my epiglottis, and every time it did so, I gagged slightly-which, by marvelous serendipity, caused my throat muscles to contract tightly on the area right behind his head. He tilted his head back and howled, one with the wind, and pulled out of my mouth, and not even an inch from my eyes, his cock convulsed, and I watched as cum spurted out of him, a stream of liquid, ivory satin, of milky moonlight arching and splattering to the dark brick. I watched it, mesmerized. It was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen.

He paused for a moment before returning his cock to his pants, and his breath began to come normally, as well. I stayed on my knees, looking away from him, uncertain.. Until he offered me a gentle and warm hand, helping me to my feet. He shyly moved his hand around my waist and kissed me with a beautiful innocence, as if I had never been his lover.

Soon though, the moment was gone and our walk continued, as did the dialogue between my love and my Lord. There were times in James' running argument with God when he would tell me to stay while he would walk away by himself for a few moments, and, as a good and obedient (sidekick audience observer sister lover) friend should do (forgetting, of course, the implications of being an accessory to second-degree heresy), I stood, wrapping my trenchcoat tightly around my shivering frame, to watch.

He always raised his arms above him, as if in supplication, yet his attitude spoke that he didn't expect a damn thing. At one of these tiriades he disappeared from view for a moment, black form fading into the black of night, Dazedly, I half-wondered if God might have exacted retribution by sweeping him into the relentless wind, but he returned, the last bit of his speech reaching my ears.

"I am the Accolade, God, and whatever I want-" he took my chin roughly and firmly in my hands, a grip so strong I would not have been able to look away if I wished it. I was trapped into staring into those consuming black holes, set in a fallen angel face. "I take." He kissed me again, in defiance, his tongue completely dominating my mouth. The wind had been whipping our faces for a long while, and I could taste the grit and dust from his lips and tongue... Or perhaps it was from mine.

And again, the moment vanished. And again, we walked.

We walked for a bit in silence, and I pondered the possibility that-for that last, rough kiss-I had been used; I was wholly and devoutly Christian, as well he knew.. Never mind my position firmly at his side (or on my knees) through all of this. It seemed as though the kiss did not stem from his feelings for me but from his feelings for a non-existent Deity.

Regardless, I matched him step for step, and never felt closer to him in my life.

The walk and tirade ended soon after, and we returned to the bland indoors. We amused ourselves with candles and the tentative exploration of our bodies until the power came back on around one in the morning, and the spell was broken. He eventually drifted into unconsciousness with an arm draped protectively over my chest as I stared at the ceiling, remembering-though when we awoke, it seemed the night had never happened, had been no more than a vision Morpheus had sent me on the wind.

I am still quite Christian, though a part of me wonders if I should have left him that night.. And the rest of me thanks God Himself that I did not. But I will always remember being immortal with him in that fist kiss, clinging and primal, preserved forever like butterflies in amber by the screaming wind... Locked in embrace, the pagan stars blessing us.