Red Dust

The voice of Paul broke the enchantment. "Tom! G'day, how ya doin' mate?" and a happy hand came down on the now no longer nameless shoulder. "I didna know you were home. How was Alice? Good business for Christmas? Oh , sorry, let me introduce you - Cathy, this is my friend Tom - Tom, this is Cathy, uhmmm ... Miss Sanders." "It is my pleasure meeting you, Miss Sanders." the black velvety voice said, dark eyes fastening on light blues. "Cathy..." was the breathless response.

"So, will you be at the barbie later too, Tom?" Paul asked as they slowly started to make their way back to the parking lot, the last rays of the setting sun putting a halo around the red rock that slowly drifted into the shades of dark browns, turning to colorless greys. Catherine let herself fall back a little, following the two men who were busily chatting away in a slang she had a hard time understanding. While Paul was sure a descendant of the Pommies, his sandy, rustspeckled hair and comparatively light complexion even suggesting an Irish influence somewhere along the line, Tom seemed to be a pure line descendant of the Australian native tribes.

Clad simply but clean in Jeans and a T-shirt and feeling obviously comfortable, the clothing nevertheless seemed to be oddly wrong on Tom. His long legs were disappearing in sneakers he wore without socks and his dark curly hair stood off his head as if he was a figure out of a cartoon who had put his finger into an electric socket only shortly before. Cathy giggled silently and almost bumped into the backs that had come to a sudden stop before her. Two pairs of eyes were settled on her in an inquisitive stare. "Uhhhh....pardon?" she stammered, blushing intensely about obviously not having heard the question.

Tom's dark eyes mirrored the glowing ball of the disappearing sun, underlining his savage parentage considerably as his rich full voice repeated "I take it you will be our guest too tonight, Miss Sanders ... Cathy?" His burning eyes seemed to absorb her, his voice reached out to touch some secret hidden point. "I .. uhmmm, sure, ...I think so..." she gulped and almost forcibly broke the locked gaze, turning to Paul.

"This is the festival you were talking about earlier, right? With the dancing and music and all?" 'Geeze, Cathy', she admonished herself, stop babbling! What on earth hit you?

"Very well then - see you later! Paul, Cathy..." Tom nodded briefly into her direction before jogging away to a pickup truck parked close by. After a few steps Paul started to tell Cathy about Tom, who was a rather well known and sought after artist of the traditional painting style. Although never having studied officially he was a quite sought after capacity in regards of ancient cave paintings and pieces of art left by his aboriginal ancestors. Being the traditionalist Tom was, Paul continued with a giggle, he would return to the former tribe lands close to Ayers Rock and try to get across some of the ancient lore to the tourist during the busy traveling month, organizing semi-authentic feasts, as much for tourist entertainment as for the social reason to maintain some source of income to the tribe who would not be finding work in any city but be doomed to alcoholism and racist discrimination anywhere else.

By then they had returned to the parking lot where the tourist group was slowly assembling again at the bus. And only a few minutes later they were on their way to the Billabong Lodge where they would be spending the night - or what would remain of it after the BBQ.

They had about an hour to get to their rooms, shower and change before the bus would take them to the festival place at the foot of Ayers Rock. Catherine fell on the bed with a sigh of relief. The air conditioned room and the soft bed underneath felt luxurious after having spent the last hours in a hot bus on bumpy roads. She closed her eyes for a moment, recalling the views of the day, but soon the red earthy landscape was replaced by the splendid rock formation and then by a pair of burning eyes. "You must be a special woman" he had said, as they were looking at the shivering rock, and again she too shivered recalling the full velvety voice. The image of a primitive savage, hunting and haunting the vast red desert in tune with himself and nature seemed easily to come to mind, when recalling his firm body moving catlike under his shirt.

His glowing eyes seemed to zoom back and then his face filled her mental field of vision. No beard, the distinct flat and wide nose that was so typical for his race. The skin was a black that reminded her of ebony, the eyes just as dark, but shining with a bright sparkling spirit. The wildest dark curls framed his wide face, and with a silent chuckle she imagined a little bird building a nest in them without difficulties. Then the focus of the vision shifted again. This time centering in on his mouth. His lips were dark too. Not the rosy color of the Europeans, she thought, but a deep earthy dark shade, almost blending in with his facial skin if not for the velvety structure. His mouth too was wide and his lips had seemed full, almost puffy, displaying surprisingly even teeth that had seemed to shine bright white in their dark frame. How would it be to be kissed by those large full lips? Cathy moaned and stretched, forcing herself out of her reverie. It was high time to shower and dress - and she sure wouldn't miss the event, specially since chances were she would be seeing Tom again.

With a "plop plop" her dusty sneakers landed on the floor, followed by her almost equally dusty shorts and T-shirt, and a second later bra and panties joined the pile. When she entered the bathroom she caught a quick glance of her nude self in the mirror, and couldn't help but chuckle as she noticed the slight change of color where the sleeves of her T-shirt had ended. The red dust had settled on her sweaty skin like powder and gave her a light bronze glow where her limbs had not been covered by clothing.

She reached into the shower cabin to turn on the water, careful to not be hit by the first , most likely cold, dash. Alas, there wouldn't have been any need for that kind of precaution, since what ran from the shower head above was not really a rush, more a trickle. Willing herself to positive thinking, arguing with herself that any shower was better than none at all, she stepped into the cabin. The water was left at a cool temperature - not really cold, but cool enough to make her nipples harden. Or was it more than just the cool trickle of clear liquid that made her body tingle?

Catherine watched the little clear rivulet run down her shoulder and along her arm, starting to gather little red and gold crystals as it reached the edge where her sleeve had ended, leaving a lighter trace in its wake. She was reluctant to let her hands take up the business of cleaning, the traces painted on her skin by the running waters were so fascinating. Now there were light golden streaks starting to show in the dusty red cover of her thighs, just below the line where the fringed edge of her shorts had been, conjuring up the images of savage natives, covered in the colored patterns of mystical body paints. She felt her heart skip a beat as her vision summoned Tom, this time not clad in the garb of civilization, but in a loin cloth and the traditional body paintings she had seen in the brochures when planing her trip. Strange enough, this seemed to be a much more fitting image of Tom than the appearance he had displayed at the vista point.

She felt her body shiver in response to the powerful and decidedly male charisma of this image. A thought dead tingle of sensual excitement spread from her tummy up to her ample breasts and down between the soft folds of her sex, leaving her trembling and surprised.

With a gasp she noticed the time and quickly finished her shower, drying herself of and giving her hair the merest styling by shaking it violently a few times over her head and running her hand with a tad of styling gel through it. From her backpack she pulled a set of lacy bra and panties and a moment later her long shapely legs were disappearing under a layer of shining rust crash-silk while a sleeveless bronze colored matching top slid over her head and arms and like a hugging caress settled on her upper body. By the time she put on her sandals and finally a touch of lip gloss, forsaking all other make-up, she already could hear the people of her group walk past her room to gather at the bus again. A last check-up gaze into the mirror - and with flushed cheeks and shining eyes she arrived at the bus.

Poor Paul was totally unable to tear his eyes from Catherine. Even though she wasn't aware of it her earlier "dream time" in the shower had left its traces in her big blue shining eyes and her still lightly flushed cheeks - and as she sat in her seat again, her eyes unfocusedly staring into the red desert a little shiver made her skin crawl … in anticipation?

By the time the bus had arrived at the festival site the shape of Ayers Rock lay like the shadow of a giant sleeping primeval animal and the intense reds had given way to more mellow grays and pastels. In the darkening sky the first sparkling stars were already faintly visible where the horizon turned a velvety dark violet.

Letting the others proceed, she deliberately stayed back a little, enjoying the enchanted scene as the voices drifted off towards the camp.

The warm wind felt like a caress on her bare arms and for a moment she was tempted to just start whirling and spinning around as she had done when she was a little girl. The wind carried the omnipresent red dust, but with it the scents of hundreds of years, the whispers of thousands of stories and the promises of a million adventures.

Catherine closed her eyes and inhaled - deeply - as if the night air was a liquid she could get inebriated on. Then the breeze carried something else towards her - the sounds of the Outback, the sounds that seemed to reach deep into her soul. A sound that seemed to radiate from the very core of Ayers Rock itself. Was the ancient giant moaning in his endless sleep? Vibrant, as if tentacles were reaching out to her, into her, the full deep humming sound of the Didgeridoo engulfed her senses, captured her in the ancient Dreaming.

The night had come - fast and silent. Catherine turned around to join the group at the now crackling and blazing campfire, not least to follow the mouth watering smell of something yummy cooking on the BBQ. Just at the edge of the illuminated circle she stopped short though, her body reacting violently as the scene she was so unprepared for confronted her.

On the opposite side the shine of the fire was dancing over semi-naked wild and untamed prehistoric figures. With unique grace the moving ebony bodies emanated barely controlled strength, knowledge beyond our modern day understanding and a fierce determination to survive. Savage symbols decorated the faces and torsos of the moving men, and illuminated only by the flickering flames they seemed to turn into unearthly ghosts and myths.

Only when she felt her body desperately claim oxygen with an exploding gasp she realized she had been holding her breath. In that instant one of the dancers broke the trance and his eyes locked with hers. Again Catherine felt a shiver creep all over her skin although in the warm evening air there was no reason for it. The intensity in the aborigine's gaze startled her, disturbed her. And there was no way to avert her eyes. She was firmly locked in the hypnotizing enchantment and all her struggles to break free were in vain. She tried to close her eyes, tried to block out the vision, but there was no way to shield herself from the deep humming of the didgeridoo. And even though she couldn't see the dancing flames and savage bodies anymore the visions that had already haunted her in the shower now returned, magnified in their intensity, multiplied in their impact.

The hot wind seemed to additionally carry the fire's heat. Unaware of her own vision Cathy stood and stared, oblivious to the world, perplexed listening to the suggestive, almost bawdy whispers coming from inside her, from places she had thought shut-up forever.

For Tom though her appearance had been almost as startling as his had been for her. Concentrating on the ancient gestures and moves that told the story of the nomad adventures of his ancestors he too had been caught unprepared. Had Catherine been stunning in the afternoon already, she now simply looked magnificent. The shining material of the skirt and top she was wearing seemed to have leaped out of the camp fire and she appeared to be dressed in rust and bronze flames - immortal, a goddess. A marble statue of almost unbearable perfection who had been given life and whose skin started to fill with the glow of pulsing blood. Only the fact that this performance was a well practiced routine for Tom allowed him to finish while his mind was caught in other spheres.

As if they were drawn together by invisible strings Tom and Catherine found each other sitting side by side, absentmindedly "functioning" as they had dinner - but they both knew that they were only maintaining appearances as they conversed with everyone around, and Cathy gladly fell silent as Tom in his incredible voice started to tell stories of "the Dreaming", how the Mala-people, the hare-wallaby tribes, used to come to Uluru for their rites, how the Pitjantjatjara and Yankuntjatjara roamed the lands and what became of their heirs in modern days.

Cathy slid off into her own Dreaming, unfocusedly staring into the flames and letting Tom's velvety voice soothe the impassioned sensations that tormented her since she had first seen him. It didn't even occur to her to refrain from getting up and following him out of the vicinity of the fire and cheerful conversations when he took her hand and got up.

In silence he lead her away from the party crowd and only a few steps further, as if they had entered into another time, the shine of the fire had disappeared, the only sound carried so far the once again humming evocation to the spirits by the didgeridoo that had taken over the evenings entertainment again.

A silvery sickle of the moon was pinned to the sky, reflecting enough light for Catherine to see whitish and ochre symbols moving in the dark whereas Tom's dark skin seemed to disappear in the night, giving him an almost hazy consistency, as if he only was another of the fairy ghosts of the aboriginal lore. Catherine had to reach out and touch - hold - feel - to believe he was real. And under the watchful eye of Uluru they embraced and kissed. He felt like a statue made of stone, warm vivid stone, polished by eons of wind carrying red sand, leaving a cover of dust on it. But where her hands caressed he reappeared black and shining from underneath. His big ebony hand took her small white one. Her fingers tightly wrapped around his in the same contrast as was the pale sickle of the moon on the pitch black night sky.

He led her through a ring of shrubbery to a secluded spot, a clearing of sorts. There the red sand shimmered fine and soft, like a blanket put down for Catherine to lay down and forsake her educational corselet, become part of the outback, follow her primeval instincts. Tom seemed to feel the transformation as he watched her - and before she could pull back into her societal turtle shell he pulled her into his arms and his violet lips met her rosy ones in a kiss that made her forget who and what she was. His hands swiftly pulled her top over her head and a moment later her skirt ballooned and finally fell in a puddle of molten copper around her feet. Tom gasped and let go of her - taking a step back. Her skin had seemed an alabaster white compared to his deep dark ebony, but now that she stood there, the light tan she had gathered set off her bra and panties in an almost fluorescent white. The warm wind caressed her until now covered body, her legs, her belly , the curves of her breasts.

Tom, fascinated and enchanted by the fairy creature that had climbed out of the forging flames, almost absentmindedly undid his dusty loin cloth. Snapped back into a dreamlike awareness by this movement Catherine too started to discard the last layers of civilization and then they stood - facing each other in all their natural beauty – black and white - male and female - Ying and Yang.

And just like the ancient symbol, representing the opposites but only being one, they were drawn together in the red sand. Her pale slender fingers seemed fragile as they ran through his dark stubborn curls. His black hand rested like a silhouette on the small of her white back.

His proud black cock was disappearing in the clutch of her hand, a nymph's hand wrapped eagerly around the onyx shaft. The milky globes of her soft round breasts rested in his hands, for a moment reminding her of zebra stripes in the contrast of white flesh peeking through black skin. The pastel pink nipples hard and erect and begging to be sucked between his wide full lips. Down in the sand they lay, and like the Ying and Yang they entwined, black and white, the serpent who gave birth to Earth with the black and white pattern on her back

His rigid black cock was sucked between her shimmering lips, giving her the appearance of feasting on a delicious chocolate bar. In reaction his face dove between her pale thighs, as if diving into a pool of milk. Their moans of passion where carried away on the humming sounds of the didgeridoo and the warm wind added his unique caress of millions of years to unfettered pleasure and passion of genuine love making.

Soon Catherine didn't know any longer if she was dreaming or awake - if it was the night sky above her or another delicious piece of Tom's ebony body for her to devour. She didn't care, caught in the trance and secluded world of sensations his exploring fingers and tongue created. She abandoned her rational mind and drifted into the Dreaming, her Dreaming, something not part of her own experience only but of all her ancestors back to when they hadn't relied on anything but their instincts to survive. The sharp contrast of white limbs wrapped around black solid flesh added to her excitement, enhancing the unreality of this moment. And then Tom took her - his eyes, like the gates to the Otherworld, burning deep into her soul as his onyx cock slid into her well prepared pale milky pussy. Stroke by stroke she met his moves, in a feverish frenzy, the sweat mingling with the red dust on her skin painting the valley between her shining full breasts with the ancient symbols of passion, making her a savage, a female - a woman! The hunter was claiming his prize, his prey, under the stars and for the world to know.

The warrior cried out his victory, answered by the howling of a dingo somewhere in the bush. And Catherine died. Died the little death in the black embrace of night personified, in the ebony embrace of primal urges and genuine passion, in the onyx embrace of male strength and infinite sensuality and overpowering sexuality - in the burning charcoal embrace that had purified her captured femininity from the taint of education and civilization.

When she slowly spiraled back into her body she watched Tom's dark finger paint patterns all over her chest and breasts with the mixture of sweat and red dust, igniting a deep fire within her she knew she must never loose again. When he proceeded further down over her belly and finally reached her thighs, adding their mingled love juices to paint her body she knew he had given her something ancient, sacred.

With a sad smile Tom kissed her, and mumbling something she didn't understand, he rose and pulled her to her feet with him. Still naked as nature had created them they embraced, knowing that the enchantment would be over as soon as they entered the camp. The howl of another dingo sent shivers over Catherine's alabaster skin and in a last tight embrace they stood - ebony and ivory, male and female, ancient and fleeting, night and day.