This was written sometime in either 2005 or 2006, and was my first attempt at writing anything that could pass as erotic fiction. I used to blog on an adult website as a way of letting go of some of the things I had kept inside for many years.
I consider myself fortunate enough to have been in the company of some really excellent bloggers, and this was dedicated to one of them. I've chosen to include the original heading from that post.
This story is based on a real person that lives in a tropical paradise. We've never met face to face, and likely never will. I still love her anyway...
*The characters in this story are older than 18, and freely consenting to the acts within.*
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Lately, I have seen a lot of the bloggers that I read writing erotic stories. Some are based on fact, some on fantasy, but they are all based on our need to express our sexual needs and desires. As an early teen I used to sneak my older brother's porn novels out from under his dresser, lock myself into the bathroom, and I suppose you could say engaged in some erotic friction while I read them... I still remember bits and pieces of them, and have yet to see any of them come to life, I wonder why.
This story is entirely made up. It started off as a random thought about 1HotWahine. She has blogged lately about casual sex, its usefulness, and its pitfalls, and about her Gatekeeper that helps her decide whether or not to pursue the friendly fuck. From that random thought, and her musings, I developed this story. It has taken me a few days of scribbling and pondering to reach the point of where I think it is OK. I'm not a professional writer that is apparent.
What is apparent is that I am somewhat prudish in how I convey the actions. Unlike those novels of my youth, I don't want to be outright crude, and say stuff like, "My throbbing cock plunged into her hot, slippery cunt." The women I like deserve better imagery than that. I also tried to avoid sounding too Victorian by using phrases like "And now gentle reader, we must draw the curtains closed."
Wahine, this is for you, I hope you like it...
*
They had seen others like me before...
We were called seekers by the locals, or sometimes, fools. Our stories were mostly the same, we were looking for a cure, had heard the stories, and believed them. None could dissuade us, we simply believed.
At first, the locals hadn't shown much interest in the seekers, they were just more tourists to them. They came, spent their money, and went away. Mostly they were alone, but sometimes several would come at once from different parts of the world, that's when they began to take notice of them. Now their feelings were mixed...
Some resented them coming to their island, not that they ever caused trouble, but as one left another showed up, and another. Others felt if these seekers were foolish enough to come, why shouldn't they take their money?
None of them so much as bothered the locals, except to ask the usual questions.
Some of them were answered quite matter-of-factly; some were given such embellished nonsense that even the teller was amazed at the bare-faced nature of the lie.
The answers were never questioned, but received with a quiet "Thank You".
When the local men were gathered in their favourite places, away from the seekers, they always spoke of her and what new information anyone might have to share. Some spoke of her with reverence normally reserved for the Gods, others with the fear of invoking her wrath. Some of them bragged of having seen her, and one even claimed of having been with her, but he was dismissed off-hand as a fool and a liar. "The Gatekeeper would never allow you to enter", they said. "You are not worthy"!
One constant remained. No matter who you spoke to, or what questions you asked, they all referred to her as "The Wahine".
The stories about where she came from, and where you could meet her varied wildly. Some say she would come up from the ocean, and meet you on the beach. Others said she stepped out from the jungle, or the sugar cane fields. Some claimed that she comes out of the mist, gently shrouded by it, revealing hints of hidden delights, and forbidden desires.
If you asked the children, they laugh and say "The Wahine just lives down the street". The women say she can be found shopping at the market like everyone else, and mutter under their breaths something about silly men with their little heads doing all the thinking.
Maybe they're right...
I've been here for weeks now, my money is almost gone, and my credit card is limp from over-use. If only I could say the same about my penis.
It hadn't always been like this, except for those early teen years when I first began to realize that girls were different. I didn't take notice of exactly when it happened; I was too busy trying to make a living. I don't suppose any of us notice it until it's too late, by then you are being consumed.
