Harmony looked spectacular and quite naked under the gossamer gown. The word sublime came to mind. Her hair, the color of champagne, dispersed in loose waves down toward her shoulders and as the early afternoon sunlight entered the room, it homed in on Harmony's head, disembarked across her tresses as sparkling streaks of light; her oval face was as radiant as a new bride's visage. Adroitly applied mascara, a deft blend of aquamarine and chestnut eye shadow complimented her blue eyes, made them look like blue opals. Pink gloss coated her lips and as the fragrance of bath splash and the scent of Navy perfume coursed through my nostrils, I kissed her, tasted the same scents in my mouth and all our intimacy, the fucking, the sucking, the fluid exchanges between us flavored my mouth.
The contours composing Harmony's face: the petite nose, the prominent cheek bones, the sweep of her chin, the cut of her jaw, the blue eyes, and the sensuous fullness of her lips were arranged in a flawless symmetry. The definition of her beauty found in its perfect balance, its easy acceptance by the eye, its imposition on the senses, its pleasing nature the garb of its mastery over most any man.
In anticipation of the festivities, its centerpiece, the act of taking a young man's virginity, Harmony had washed her hair, styled it, artfully applied make-up and then slipped into a nearly transparent gown, the special costume she had chosen for conducting a rite of passage.
Barefoot, oh those wonderfully sexy bare feet, Harmony stood at the foot of the sleigh bed in her bedroom. The filmy peignoir, nothing but a veil of mesh, closely covered her body, fell to her ankles. The material, thin and translucent as mosquito netting did nothing to camouflage or conceal her body. If anything it accentuated her nudity. Her large, over-sized bust, a beer maiden's ripe bosom, the slate flat stomach, the shaved delta between her legs, and the pleasing curve and swell of her hips, the long legs no less perfect then her plump breasts all seemed more enticing, elegant, sexier and bawdier under the netting.
"When they get here, you and John Ray will give us some privacy. I want this to be a special memory for the young man."
It definitely would be. The mesh pressed against her breasts made them appear larger, rounder, and perkier. The fabric drawn across Harmony's lush body called to my mind the image of a woman's moist lips mouthing obscenities jammed against a house's screen door, breasts flattened into white platters pressed against the pane of finely woven metal threads, labia forced against the screen lattice, its pink folds bleached white, stamping an oval shaped wet spot on the mesh. Touching the garment, thrilled by the material's visual appeal spurred my imagination, filled in details of the picture in my mind. I saw a white craftsman cottage squatting on a patch of wind swept prairie, the nearest house miles away. Solidly built, fronted with a porch holding a wooden sofa sized swing dangling on silver chains and several scattered pots of geraniums, a tinkling wind chime blown by a boisterous wind the only sound to be heard. A carnival roustabout, a wanderer or a farm hand, a rough hewn man too long without a woman, consumed with lust, stands on the porch, looks at all that flesh taunting him. With a pocket knife or his calloused bare hands, he rips through the screen, forces the woman down on the polished hardwood floor and amidst the country quiet, the chatter of the zipper's teeth in the front of his pants sounds as boisterous as a whispered curse uttered in a moment of silence during a church service. He paws his prick from his pants, forces his way into her wet slit, finds release as the woman, a stranger to him, says "fuck me."
Standing in front of Harmony, I reached out, took hold of the mesh molded over her body, lifted it, pushed her back on the bed. My intention was to gather the material just high enough to allow me access, to fuck her on the end of the bed with her beautiful bare feet still in contact with the carpeted floor, a touch and go fuck.
She resisted. "No lover. The young man, John Ray's brother, gets a fresh pussy to fuck. I will give you head though; it will take the edge off. The way you are looking at me, I better give you some relief or you might decide to rape me." She smiled. "Sit down in the chair."
Of course, I sat down in the chair. She settled on the floor in front of me, assumed the thunderbolt or diamond pose practiced in yoga, Vajra-asana in Sanskrit. I always found this posture or asana densely erotic to look at. The setting down on the knees, the straightened back, breasts thrusting forward, the heels of smooth bare feet pressed against naked buttocks, calves flat against the floor delighted me. Harmony unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my jeans, unzipped me and then quickly unhinged me with her mouth. The pleasure she induced with simple suction, frequent blowing, by relentlessly licking my stalk, in raking her teeth across the helmet of my cock never failed to astonish me. Her mouth in a serious assault on the cock of a president, a prime minister, a premier could be a secret weapon used to turn the tide of history.
Now, seeing all of her exposed under the mesh, the veiled slash soon to be visited by a virgin made her fellatio more exciting, more delicious. Captured in the sheer material she electrified me with her eroticism.
With perfect timing as the door bell chimed, I came in Harmony's mouth.
For less then one hour, not enough time to watch
CSI
or
Law and Order
, Harmony and I were the paltry population of our carnal colony, a veritable empire of the senses. Now, the arrival of two dark young men, one nearly my age, the other one slightly younger, sped us back, all too soon, in my estimation from our erotic expedition. In the past I had shared Harmony, planted my flag on a portion of her anatomy so to speak, and took my turn. For the first time in my relationship with Harmony Hill I felt these two buff fellows, one 21 or 22 years old and the other 19, now standing in the apartment were interlopers.
For the next hour we drank lemonade, extremely sweet lemonade from tall plain plastic tumblers. Desmond Elliot Thomas, John Ray's younger brother was old enough to fuck a mature woman, not yet old enough to drink alcohol with the same middle aged woman.
I expected Desmond to show nervousness, maybe a bashful innocence. He was too poised and if he suffered from any anxiety, he camouflaged it quite well. His brother seemed the more nervous of the two. Maybe it was the proximity of his younger sibling. I sat quietly in the easy chair, watched Harmony interact with the two newest callers to her domicile. Sitting between the two she acted as though she might be wearing the type of pants suit my mother favored instead of such a salacious garment packed with such eye popping appeal. Hardened nipples poking against the mesh, the runny nose shininess at the mouth of her womb were two in your face physical manifestations compliments of the sheer material. She was as turned on by the gown as we were.
She talked, asked John Ray about boot camp, whether it made him nervous. She kept me in the conversational loop by asking me about my job at the bar. It thrilled me to know my semen coated her throat. She turned toward Desmond, asked him if he liked what he saw. She leaned over, kissed him firmly on the lips, a chaste kiss, reached out and patted him on the front of his pants.
