Rendezvous 10

July 21st had been the hottest day of that Summer. Few people were on the early evening streets, and an air of uncertainty permeated the city. Sarah Marchmont had awakened and been gripped with this same feeling. She was just 26 years old, a petite 5 feet 3 inches tall, with an oval fair-skinned face inset with hazel eyes and framed in strawberry blond ringlets that fell to her shoulders. Her entire form was balanced and pleasing to any eye. Sarah was two years returned from finishing school in Charleston.

Inside the house, all seemed consumed with the same detachment from reality. Conversations were short, but typically Southern genteel, and the day languished as if held back by the stifling heat. . As the light eventually began to fade Sarah took herself to her quarters, bathed, and prepared herself for the evening's rest. Of late she had been donning a simple linen nightdress, but this evening, as she stood naked before her closet, her hand brushed against the full length white chiffon nightgown she had received as part of a trousseau on her recent graduation. She caressed the soft, silky fabric and found her spirits lifting. Removing the garment from the satin wrapped hanger she lifted it over her head and let it cascade over her body. Sarah turned and mixed a Mimosa, carried it with her through the French doors and, a wry smile on her lips, sat upon the chaise lounge on the second floor veranda.

A slight breeze had arisen, and the air carried the scent of the last lingering magnolias to Sarah's nostrils. There was something else in the air that night also, a heavier less pleasant scent that came from farther off, though seemed to be approaching. She sipped on her Mimosa and thought back to the days before her Charleston education. To days when she and her fine, young blond headed beau would walk the Atlanta lanes and talk of tomorrows to come.

Gabriel Harker was the son of a plantation owner, and, as they say in Southern circles, of the right stock. His association with Sarah Marchmont was looked upon favorably by the community at large. In 1861 Gabriel enlisted in the Southern Army, and had not been heard of since. Sarah went to Charleston carrying their brief and binding love in her heart.

As she lay back on the chaise lounge, Sarah slipped into the arms of Morpheus, her head filled with memories of stolen kisses and secret trysts of which her family was unaware. For before Sarah had taken Gabriel's love to Charleston, the young man had taken her virginity for his keepsake.

The full moon was now all but fully risen over the Atlanta landscape. The breeze had quickened and Sarah lay recumbent and relaxed on the chaise. The light chiffon was no match for the breeze, which played with the fabric, sliding it up the legs and over the thighs of the sleeping belle. The sheer white material gathered at her hips now to heavy to be pushed further by the Atlanta wind. She lay semi-naked in the Summer night, when the male form set foot on the veranda.

She lay in the moonlight as a porcelain princess. Her naked body visible through the chiffon. His eyes moved slowly over her. Down her pretty face, her slender neck, over the firm breasts, the nipples dark under the fabric. His gaze wandered over her flat stomach and down to the naked pelvis. He stood transfixed by her beauty, stared appreciatively at her sex, the sweet split that along with her breasts defined her gender. He looked along her legs, and then brought his gaze back upward taking in the vision of her. He inhaled and stepped softly toward her.

Soft, quick, feather kisses traveled up her inner thigh as she lay in that state between sleep and wakefulness. She reacted instinctively to the oral caresses, her mind and body not yet in sync. She murmured as his lips awakened the sensitive nerves. He inhaled the scent of her womanhood, the pheremones invading his senses, she stirred but did not wake as he kissed her mons.

She moaned a soft moan, as his tongue flicked out and found her clitoris, a soft sigh escaped her, and her back arched under the wet, warm touch. He became emboldened and ran his tongue down her sex separating her labia. Tasting her. Her hands spread above her head as her body stretched out believing she was dreaming. He lathed her womanhood with an urgent tongue, devouring her, exciting her. Her thighs involuntarily spread in response to the hot, wet excitement. She was excreting her feminine nectar now and he lapped at it, pushing his curled tongue into her vaginal opening flicking it upwards and withdrawing it, sliding it up the moist groove and flicking at the now hard bud at the top of her open delta. Ecstatic moans escaped Sarah's mouth as she surrendered in mid -wakefulness to the oral seduction. She felt his body mount hers, it seemed almost weightless to her. A function of her state perhaps? She felt the stiff shaft of his manhood press against her vulva and arched to grant access. She felt the length invade her almost reaching her cervix. She kept her eyes closed and lost herself in the sensuality of this moment. Met his long deep thrusts. Gave herself and took what he was giving. Gripped him urged him to orgasm as he breathlessly urged her. She spasmed as her release came and milked him as she felt his own release. They lay together until they were both spent. She never felt him leave.

When Sarah awoke she was in her chiffon nightgown. She oriented herself and looked at the graves that surrounded her. The nearest was inscribed "Gabriel Harker Died in battle October 12th 1863. In the distance Sarah could see Atlanta burning.