The Burmese Fantasy

I had not spoken about these experiences ever since they had happened, and there was a pain in speaking them out loud. I was recalling a sensitive memory, that didn't want to be touched. But, as I saw her calm reaction, it also felt liberating, as if I was sharing a heavy load, yet without being a burden on anyone else. I was distanced now from what I did then. I could express regret, express shame, without feeling the self-loathing I had felt at the time. I was someone else then, and I would not do the same things again.

After my story finished, I said: "I don't know if I can ever love anybody, ever enjoy the pleasures of love without feeling a sense of guilt for what happened then."

"I have not had the experience of love, but I understand your pain." We were silent for a long time, and continued to walk back to the village. This day, we said nothing more, when we returned to the village, it was near evening, and everyone was busy making dinner in their own individual families, and I was to return to my host family, a traditional extended family with the village headman as the household head.

"Thank you for telling me your story, and singing your song. I found them both deeply moving." Her smile was so alive. I felt a tingling throughout my body.

"Good night."

That night, I felt completely liberated, all the pain of the truth and my own guilt felt absolved by her smile and eyes. I slept quickly and soundly, and for once, I did not dream of the painful days in Vietnam and the old, cruel husband. I dreamed of Nan-Hun and her amber eyes.

The next day, while teaching in the school, Nan-Hun came to my classroom, and, as the class finished just before lunch, she smiled through the window, asking me to walk with her to the temple in the hills this afternoon. The remaining students giggled, and we laughed with them. I instantly agreed; as I ate with my host family, I told them I was planning to go to the temple with Nan-Hun, and instantly regretted it.

"She is different; you should not go with her." The man of the house stated.

"I will just walk with her, then return."

"I do not think you should go with her, she is dangerous."

I felt trapped by their stigma, but, for some inexplicable reason, I was willing to risk the acceptance of my host family and the whole community for one afternoon walking in the mountains with this woman. I told them I would go alone, but Nan-Hun would show me the way to go, as she knew the region best, to which they reluctantly agreed.

We met outside the village gates, and Nan-Hun's appearance was changed greatly. Previously she had been dressed in the dark brown apron of the married women, but today, she was dressed in the elaborate, yet practical clothes of an unmarried woman. She noticed my gaze:

"We will go to the temple, although the village women see me as a spinster, the monks see me as an unmarried woman, so I have to dress accordingly."

Although the creases in her face and hands hardened by the harvesting of coarse mountain grains told of her age, there was far more youth and spirit to her appearance than before.

We walked for a long time, and I asked:

"Can you sing?"

"Yes, our songs are ancient and beautiful; most of us already do not understand them."

"Do you understand them?" I knew the answer, this lady was too special. She smiled:

"Of course." She began to sing, an almost inhuman voice rang out from her small mouth, and I started to look at her in a different way, almost as an object of worship. She seemed both carved from sacred rock, but yet so intensely alive, her figure was slim, with slight curves around the chest and thighs; her chest rose as she sang the high, shrill notes of Kachin ancient songs. The faint wrinkles in her face smoothed out as she sang, and a lock of her braided hair fell in front of her eyes. The wisdom of her years seemed to form a sharp contrast with a certain innocence with which she carried herself.

A long while after the song had lost the last of its echoes to the hills, I asked:

"What is it about?"

"It is very similar to your tale, two young lovers. But towards the end, they both become birds, and live forever in the mountains to the north," she smiled with humour, "We prefer happy endings here."

I gulped a mouthful of air before asking:

"Have you ever fallen in love?" It seemed a foolish question.

"No." She was quick to respond but her voice was soft, and a sad smile formed on her lips. "I do not think I believe in love any more."

The day was becoming hot, and we had walked for over an hour on steep hills; she looked back at me, I was panting with the heat and the exhaustion, so she gestured to a grassy patch beside a hill. We sat down and looked out at the lowlands beneath us. We were out of sight of the village, and the rich pine forests to the west had become visible from the mountains. We began to drink from our flasks. Sitting here, in utter silence, I became more aware of her proximity, her breathing. I became more daring, and asked her some more questions.

"Do you think you can live without romance, without feelings for anyone else?" She thought for a while.

"We say here that we can love anyone. Love for our family, for strangers, for nature, for all life on earth. This is the greatest love. Romance... my people only speak of it in fairy tales; many of our women marry for our family more than for ourselves. I can not say that I have not wished for romance. I am not a monk, I still have passions, but I learn to control them, focus them." I was shocked at how similar we felt.

"I feel the same way. But these songs, these stories that we sing. The characters in them, I envy them."

"I do too."

I risked a sensitive question:

"So you have never... been with a man." I asked, hoping the idea of 'being with' had similar connotations in Kachin, without seeming rude. She laughed slightly.

"In my village, such a thing would not happen; it would bring shame on my family." She looked down at the floor.

I suddenly felt a wave of desire for this woman, she was almost twenty years older than me, but she was intelligent, mature, brilliant in every way. My admiration turned to longing, and the desire to touch the coarse skin of her hand was overwhelming. Seeing her cool gaze, I knew I could touch her without any negative consequences. I moved my hand to hers and, as she moved her hand to feel my own, I felt her palm, rough and yet forgiving, against mine. She did not speak, accepting the touch and slowly moving her fingers to my wrist, the feeling was electric, coursing across my skin, and deeply primal, reaching to my core. I suddenly felt a lack of control of my own actions; I edged closer to her instinctively, my hand exploring hers. Was this really happening?

I had barely touched a woman in the last four years; I didn't know how to react. Part of me wanted to step back, keep an academic distance, not risk her scorn. But I could not. Any attempt at self-control felt wrong, felt like I would be both cheating myself and her.

The white sun shone overhead, it was still spring, but overly warm. Sweat formed on her brow, and a single droplet fell down to her faintly heaving chest, my hand moved up her sleeve to her wrists.

"You know what you are doing?" she asked, with a sense of both apprehension and acceptance. I paused, nervously. "Not really."

"Nor do I. But there is nothing to fear." On saying this she moved closer. Then she paused and smiled: "But I am older than you by many years. You do not find me to be too old."

In my eyes, there was no such thing as age at this minute. In her eyes, there was a surety, a confidence of her own attractions, and an awareness of my mind, as if she could read my thoughts.

"No." I said, moving my face closer to hers. She was so human, so real, I could not believe this was happening. I could smell the last meal she had eaten, sharply spiced lentils. A fraction of distance between us, I could feel the warmth of her body; feel her heartbeat quicken almost synchronised with my own, see the uncertainty in her eyes. I moved forward to place my lips gently on hers.

She kissed back, softly at first, a mere touch, grazing my own. The gesture was so simple, so powerful. Her hand moved to my back, and began to inch downwards. I responded in kind, a gentle stroking from her wiry shoulders to her lower back, while kissing gently with lips dry and cracked from the mountain winds. This continued for a beautiful minute, we held each other, lips touching; hands gently exploring soft skin through thin fabric; each moment of skin contact was charged with a terrifying power.

Suddenly, she pulled back, something in her eyes changed; the tranquillity of the moment was torn apart by the instant release of long-restrained desire. She frantically moved to pull the shirt from my back, ripping a button as I struggled to undo them. Her lips grazed my body from pale chest to slim stomach, as her tongue crept through, each kiss leaving a path of saliva. I pushed her gently back to the grass, and responded in kind, pulling off her clothing, layer by intricate layer, revealing dark, firm breasts and a flat stomach with a thin, dark scar through the middle. I moved forward to kiss her body, starting from the stomach, tongue lingering on the scar and the heavy curves beneath her breasts. Her back leaned against the coarse blades of grass as her breath quickened.

I kissed her breasts, and her body started to convulse as my tongue circled them. She moaned as my tongue graced the nipples. She threw me back again, kissing my neck, biting aggressively and caressing my back .Without looking, she reached to my shorts while her tongue explored my mouth, pulling them down past my ankles and fondling the shape of my penis. I shivered with what seemed to be an impossible pleasure and fell back, allowing her to remove my underwear. Her head began to move downwards, she kissed and licked from my stomach downwards, and I moaned uncontrollably and shook from head to toe as she started to kiss the head of my penis. She had never done this before, but her understanding of my body seemed primal and instinctive.

Struggling to hold myself down, I thrashed around for a few seconds, coughing out a few moans of pleasure, then, as she moved away for a second, I lifted myself up from the floor, taking control again. I tore her long skirt down to her ankles, she was wearing nothing beneath, and the sight caught me by surprise. I kissed the sensitive area around her upper thighs and allowed my tongue to grace her most private areas, which were covered by a thin layer of coarse hair. The smell and taste were so foreign to me, yet so human, so real, so overpowering. I continued to lick the clitoral area, she shook for seconds, moaning gently, then let out a high, thin cry, and threw me back again.

As I pulled off the last of my clothes, she leapt into my arms, rubbing her body against mine, our bodies slick with sweat and burning with unrestrained passion. Reaching down, she instinctively squeezed her vagina against my penis, and after a few seconds of rubbing, let out a low moan as I entered her. An instinctive fear of unprotected sex entered my mind, then disappeared as I stared into her eyes. The gaze was so intense, so primal, so serene. Right now, she was a goddess, and I was blessed to be here with her.

She wrapped wiry legs around me and started to rock, every second she let out a moan, and paused every few seconds to kiss me deeply. At this point her eyes glazed over, years of pent up desire revealed itself, and she forced me to the floor, and rode me, shaking furiously with a blank look in her eyes, as if no longer in control of her own actions.

She rocked back and forth, shuddering, screaming, as if speaking in tongues, Kachin words I could not understand. I felt powerless, objectified, almost used, but in utter ecstasy. This was not the feeling of restrained desire and mixed feelings I had felt before. This was utter joy. It kept on going, deeper and more intense with every passing second.

As she reached her first climax, she let forth a deep cry, rising into a primal scream, and I felt a trickle of blood drip from her as she collapsed onto my chest. There was a feeling of shock, I had not yet reached my own climax; the pleasure was so deep, so spiritual, it was as if my body had not yet reacted. She lay there shuddering, holding onto me with a moment's weakness, I kissed her neck, her breasts, and around her face, but it felt as if she didn't have the energy to return the kiss. For a minute, we simply lay there, holding each other in anticipation of the moment to come.

At this point, I felt my own desire swell so intensely, that the serenity of the moment became unbearable, and I began to mount her, finding her moist vagina and, as she opened her legs, squeezing myself as deep inside as I could. She moaned again, I thrust aggressively; the passion had become more primal, less spiritual. I needed to control her, feel her shake and shiver beneath me. I thrust in and out from the top position as her open legs rested on my shoulders, and she let out more cries. I was about to climax.

I thrust, again and again, deeper and deeper. I needed to hold her; I reached down until our bodies were touching at as many points as possible. The feeling of blood, saliva, sweat. Her body so close to mine, every inch of skin contact was utter pleasure.

The last few moments were slow and intense, my pelvis ground against hers, every angle providing a new sensation for both of us, she shook, and screamed again, and I squeezed her as tightly as I could. I let out a cry, and wave after wave of pleasure passed from head to toe, as the semen entered her vagina, a primal sense of meaning and fulfilment coursed through my body.

Past and present all condensed into this moment, I could not think about the future. Right now, she was all my wishes fulfilled.

The End