Return to Eden

Some descriptions duplicated from previous stories.

Return to Eden

      We walk between two car sized boulders and there, before my eyes, is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen.  We are in a large grotto.  There is a pool of steaming water in the middle of the grotto surrounded by fifty foot walls of dark black stone.
     Ferns grow hanging off the cliffs surrounding the pool.  The rocks are covered with green moss.  The air smells cool and fresh.  We undress and Peter leads me into the pool.
     The water feels hot around my legs as I wade in.  I sit down in the pool feeling the artesian water warm my body.  As I soak in the hot springs I feel the tension leave my body.  I wrap my arms around Peter and hold him for a long time.
     The turquoise sky bathes me in a saffron aura. We sit and bathe in the steamy pool.
     Peter squats between my upturned knees. With Tai Chi hand motion he sends messages of love with warm waves of water into my submerged nexus of nirvana.
     Sunlight casts a warm glow on my skin. I sit in the steaming pool of water in a hole in the rocks. Immersed in the brewing waters I feel the heat penetrate my aching muscles.
     My body is awakened. My femininity glows in radiant splendor. I feel so close to Gaia, as though I were immersed in her womb. My communion with the feminine earth is a sacred bond shared only between me and the earth mother. Her loving waters surround me.
     I sink till my breasts are floating in the warm soup. I feel a slight flush of shame to be naked and exposed to the world. But the closeness to the earth Goddess is too pleasurable to be denied.    
    Where I sit, a plume of water is aimed at my sex. The hot jet of mineral water erupts against my sex like a tiny volcano. I part my legs in delight. With my right hand I part my petals and press my bud between my fingers. I gently squeeze and stroke it until it ripens into plump fullness.
     Peter sees me in the throes of passion. I feel the embarrassment of getting caught, but am so close that I cannot for the life of me turn back now. The jet impales me like a tiny prick. Amazingly he says nothing. He just watches me as my revelry draws to a conclusion. My intimacy with the Earth mother complete, I sit back and pant in spent exhaustion. He smiles knowingly.    
     “Sorry if I’m intruding Julie.”
     “Of course not!” I giggle.
     He says, “You look like the girl who got the golden egg.”
     “I feel like the kid who got caught with her hand in the cookie jar” I say. I blush with embarrassment as he gazes hungrily through the clear water at the bushy curls in the apex of my inner thighs.
    He stands up waist deep in the thermal heat of our passion’s cusp. My femininity is laid bare with my orchid offering to him. My lips need no more liquor to sweeten the moment.  
     I say, “Mister I’ve been a naughty girl.” I look at him with puppy eyes. I pout and say, “Sir, do I get the ruler this time?”
     He gives me a hand up and says, “Julie I won’t punish you. I just want to warm your buttocks. Trust me Julie.”
     He lifts me from our pool womb. I pose with my back turned and bend like a fern frond. I prostrate myself by placing my hands submissively on the sandy shore with my bottom raised and my legs immersed in the steaming brew. He cups my twin moons in a cradle of nurture.
     My bottom is warmed by the swollen orange of the sun.  I feel the thick curls of my dark forest triangle soaked in the rich broth of the pool. I feel sensual and alive.
     Words are unnecessary as he stands erect over me.  I feel goose bumps erupt across my body as he pats my twin moons. I feel heaven in my supple derriere as he kneads my hunger. I arch against the urgency of his touch. The stimulation of his hands upon me opens my pores to breathe. His palms rub my bottom in a rose petal sutra. He touches arpeggios into my elegant orbs.  
     Under the spell of his touch,  my eyes close into mystic rose buds. My Buddha nature awakens in an iridescent pearl of awareness. Fiery tongues of desire run down my sex hungry body. The coronae of my opened eyes glow with sacred heat. My orbs face him, a milky gluteus galaxy. With a finger he strokes my tush cleft till I am still as a butterfly sunning on a leaf.
     Peter soothes me by probing my orifice, one of the seven openings of the body through which the sacred energies merge with the cosmic flow.
     He kisses my upturned bottom in adoration. I feel the wet strands of my hair tickle my back like pearls of water from a cloud in a sprinkle of rain drops. I think of how the flesh is fleeting like the wind or a whisper of love in the night.
     He cups water in his hands and consecrates my back. The droplets spill from his fingertips onto my Easter lily softness.  He follows the pebbles of my spine into my land of milk and honey. My orbs warm up under his silky touch. I feel him caress my moon cheeks.
     Then I feel the lick of his hand as he gently but firmly spanks my buns. The smacks echo off the canyon walls. I feel so alive, secure, and filled. I breathe to the rhythm of his hands.
     With priestly hands he turns my derriere into summer heat. I feel the intoxicating blush of my bottom beatified by the tender torrent of his palms. He plants star clusters of pleasure deep in my celestial cheeks whose golden globes glow with creation’s fire. He sows solar seeds which ignite deep in my posterior. The sacrament of his crashing hand waves upon my smoldering buns sends a surge of warm current through my body.
     His touch is lush with tropic splendor. My desire awakens in my womanly recesses where sumptuous fantasies ripen to fruition. I feel the saffron blue scintillation of his velvet hot hand sizzle my tuchis. My blushing bottom is on fire. I feel the fire of his hand prints upon my ivory canvas till his brushstrokes ebb. I am baptized by the blood red roses which which burn in my behind.  He knows then that I am ready.
      I part my legs in acceptance of the sacredness
of the moment. I am pregnant with the Goddess as he opens my flower. I gasp as he takes me from behind.  My tears fall like a sun shower. A sweet honey of craving flows through my loins. He moans with mannish delight. The tulip between my legs swells like a grape growing on the vine. He
presses into my buttery flesh harder and faster.
     The sun halo shines like a heavenly crown marking my passage from one world to another. The pulsing star in the nook of my inner thighs flares like a tongue of flame. I feel as though in a dream where the past seems like an illusion and the moments stretch out like an endless road leading to paradise.
     My heart thumps a mad beat. Blood pulses through my web of arteries. My fingers tingle with life. My female flower blossoms in the sun of his masculinity.
     “My love” he whispers “Say you are mine.”
     My voice cracks as the words begin to form then dissipate in a chorus of moans. My cries of passion reverberate through my body. The vibrations echo down my spine.
     My words spill like seeds of ardor which gush from my longing heart. “My love I am yours.”
     My tears come like a soft spring rain. They speak of eternal love. My tears answer. “I will cherish you in timeless enchantment, till the hourglass is empty, and the merged rivers of our lives flow out into the sea.”
     I feel euphoria deep in my vagina, like a heroin
addiction, with him my only fix. The cells of my body cry out for joy. My second coming sends meteors of pleasure deep into my florid flesh. I howl like a wolf who calls for her long lost mate. Peter leaves a trail of stars inside me as he pulls out.
     His fingers cascade down my spine in a smoky trail to my sacrum. The warm mineral water laps gently against my skin.
     Giggles of delight are born from my burgundy lips. He touches the tabernacle of my heart. Drunk on his manly brawn, my sunbeam soul shines in a dawn blossom of love.
     His hands grasp my naked hips and turn me like a potter turning clay on a wheel. I say, “I am the clay you mold into the shape of your desire.  I am your vessel fill me.” He crouches in the water in front of me like a tiger. In the heat of my yearning, my body entwines with his. He holds me in embrace. He tells me he will always be there even when the seasons pass into the winter and when the
rose fades in the late afternoon.
     My hands feel the stigmata. The nails of loneliness and regret pierce me with sudden violence. His glittering green eyes speak of a love deeper than the deepest sorrow. The truth unfolds in my heart that we follow parallel paths. I let go of my fear. I fall like a star into his orbit.
     Peter rises from the water like a God. His derriere is exquisitely outlined in muscles, so round and tight. As he turns I notice his erection standing like a colossus. My eyes wander the sculpted grandeur of his hips and thighs to the crease where his thigh meets his pubis. He lies back in the water with his prick poking out of the steaming water.
     “I see you’re really enjoying yourself” I tell him.
     He says, “I’m harder than Chinese Algebra.”
     I focus on his tent pole. I say, “You look like Apollo. I don’t think I can go for a third round. But you are the perfect eye candy.”
     Out of the corner of my eye I notice a small figure etched in the canyon wall.  Excitedly I exclaim, “A petroglyph!”  I stand up, get out of the water, and examine the figure closely.  It is a stick figure of a man with a large bonnet of feathers.
     “From the location and appearance, I’d say it is Paleolithic” I say.
     Peter sits in the water.  He says, “How did you learn about that, Julie?”
     I say, “I read about it in an archaeology book.”
     Peter says, “I didn’t know you read about archaeology.”
     I sit back in the pool beside Peter.  I gaze at our reflection in the pool saying, “There is a lot I haven’t told you about me Peter.”
     Peter says, “We have the rest of our lives to learn about each other. No doubt they’ll be plenty of surprises. If you hadn’t majored in nursing what
would you have studied?”
     My eyes light up as I look at Peter with a smile.  “Anthropology!” I exclaim.
     Peter asks, “Julie, what bearing does anthropology have on your life?  What personal relevance does it have to your life?”
     I say, “Once when I was a little girl, my mother caught me in the bathtub masturbating.  She called me a queer little girl.  She made me go to the priest to confess.  I felt humiliated.  I refused to go to that church again.  Then I read Margaret Mead’s book ‘Coming of Age in Samoa.’  In Samoa, I learned, children were not discouraged from masturbating.  It wasn’t taboo.  At an early age children were made to feel comfortable in their own skin.  Touching your own genitals wasn’t considered dirty or deviant.  It was normal.”
      Peter wraps his arm around me.  He says, “Julie, you can’t expect America to be that free.  We have a different history.”
      I pull my knees up out of the water to my chest, wrap my arms around my legs, and rest my chin on them.  I say, “It isn’t healthy to be as sexually repressed as we are.  Look at the neurotic Victorian women Freud studied.  Look how sexually and emotionally repressed they were.  They suffered terribly.  We are still not free” I say angrily.  “Look at how my mother treated me.  It was so wrong.  A child can be permanently scarred emotionally from such humiliation.  It’s like being in an emotional strait jacket” I exclaim.
     I feel a tear trickle down my cheek. Peter brushes it away and reassures me, “That’s all in the past now my love.”
     I look up at him and say, “No Peter It is a part of me.  I will have to live with the pain for the rest of my life.”
      Peter gently caresses my nipples.  He doesn’t have any more words, so he uses the universal language of touch instead.  He says, “Would you like to cool off?”
     We carry our clothes back to the river.  We walk naked in the brilliant sun. The sun feels warm on my back as we stroll down the sandy beach.  We come to a house sized pool of water in a pocket in the side of the canyon by the river.  The water in the pool is crystal clear.  
     We lay our clothes on some rocks and I run into the pool splashing and laughing.  The water is cold and sends a shiver down my body.  The fog of my depression begins to lift.  Peter chases me and follows me in.
     After soaking in the cool crystal water we walk back out to shore and get dressed. I sit on a rock beside Peter as he lies resting beside me.  I look up at the blue sky between the canyon walls.  The sky looks faraway.  I can see why the ancients identified the sky with heaven.  I wonder if it seems faraway because I imagine it to be so.  
     I wonder how much my perception distorts reality.  I think, perhaps reality is a projection of the mind onto the world.  Perhaps truth is just a figment of the imagination.  Perhaps the sensory world is a dream that with death we wake up from. These thoughts make me sad.  
     But then I think it doesn’t matter if it’s real. I watch a large cumulus cloud change shape high in the sky.  I try to imagine what the shape resembles.  It resembles a large dragon flying through the sky and I tell Peter so.  After a few minutes the cloud metamorphoses once more.  I say “Look Peter” pointing up at the cloud.  “Now it is a fish.”  
     I get off the rock, sit down beside Peter, with my legs folded, and lean against a boulder.  I say wistfully, “If life is a dream Peter all we can do is enjoy the dream as long as it lasts.  If the dream is a happy dream then it is good.”