Time Dancer Ch. 02

An instrumental with a lyrical Spanish guitar gave inspiration to her. The dance of her lips, fingers, tongue, the feel of her softness against me, her breast and nipples brushing when she reached across me, the touch of her breath against my skin combined in a glorious choreography of tactile sensation. Her timing was impeccable, her interpretation of the musicality masterful.

When she took me in her mouth, it was sublime. It was as if she could read my mind, knowing what will feel best in every moment. Her movements were slow, languid and deliberate. Occasionally her teeth teased with a frisson of menace, but she knew they were a distraction to be avoided. I felt her lips and tongue. Her lips pursed in a gentle O to hold me secure. As she took me in, her tongue traced lazy circles over the most exquisitely sensitive part of my shaft. The pressure of her lips released me almost completely as she began to lift her head, but her tongue lapped more vigorously, as if at a popsicle, as she withdrew. Her withdrawal was almost complete, to the point of a kiss at the tip of my cock. Then again she descended. As my arousal increased, her movement slowed still further. As she carefully drew out the suspense, tactile sensation, music, images, sensual passion blended in a synesthetic kaleidoscope that expressed our dance. The tension built quickly, beyond any peak I had previously known, and I strained to hold back. Another stroke and I was shuddering and moaning with the unbelievable intensity of it all.

The blind tenor sand again, and for a moment I was jealous of his blindness, the other senses becoming so much more acute, the gift he received for the loss of vision. To make love like this . . . the tactile experience of my lover's ministrations is indescribable.

My climax came, and she surprised me once again. She held me in her mouth as I ejaculated, the intensity immediately heightened by this unexpected gift. The dildo was slowly removed with the successive spasms of my cock, augmenting their intensity. Her tongue still lapped very gently now in small circles. She knew that the tactile sense in my cock was so intense that any excessive movement would be torture not bliss. She softly, slowly sucked me dry. She continued to hold me until the tumescence began to soften, then, quickly, moved to kiss me fiercely, her tongue thrust deep in my mouth to share the slightly acrid taste of my fluid.

Every night in my dreams
I see you, I feel you

As Celine began to sing, she clung urgently to me as we listened to the lyrics with a different ear, forever changed by this moment.

Love can touch us one time
And last for a lifetime

We both knew that this song always be heavy with our own pathos; never again to be heard without an eidetic memory of what we had just shared

She unbound me, and untied the blindfold. Wordlessly, we wrapped our arms around each other and lay clinging tight, the passion spent. Simply holding on to a precious experience we knew was close to its end, etching every single moment indelibly in our memories. No words . . . words were simply inadequate for the moment. A spell hung over us, a gossamer veil of thankfulness and grief, passion and serenity, and above all awe at the unexpected vagaries of fate that brought us together. Our words would not break the spell yet. Music still played and the songs of passion and loss said it for us

When you find love
When you know that it exists
Then the lover that you miss
Will come to you
On those cold, cold nights
For every single memory
Has become a part of me

My throat was tight. I knew that to attempt a word was impossible, to do so would release a flood of tears that I feared would never stop. I felt her tears on my cheek and lifted her head to wipe them away with my kisses.

A zephyr, a whisper of change, disturbed us. Our sexual energy was spent, and we were fully sated. Our energy was insufficient to maintain the integrity of this anomaly in space/time and the fabric of the continuum we currently inhabits gave warning. Subtle . . . unmistakable . . .

She sat up suddenly. "Did you hear that? We're running out of time."

I strained my ears and barely discerned the faintest whispers of a far distant busy city heard along with the music. My eyes strayed to the window to see stray photons beginning to limn the ghostly outlines of a world outside.

"Better hurry." She dressed quickly. "Make sure I have nothing of your world and you have nothing mine. Today proved how important that is. There better not be any more surprises or complications this time. This place is not coming back."

"What about information?" I asked desperately, not wanting to forget these memories to quickly fade like dreams with the light of day. That stopped her in her tracks.

"Good question, I'm not sure. Information and memories have no mass so it's hard to see how they could effect any change. Will they survive . . . . I don't know."

We hugged each other desperately as we both fell into the rabbit hole. For a moment, nanosecond/eternity, completely outside of any existence, we were pure sentience waiting for a time and place to rematerialize. SNAP. The hubbub of the city crowded into the room

There was one last surprise, however.

I matched the person in front of me with the memory of a description scrolling across the screen of my computer. I quickly remembered all the details of a chance encounter in cyberspace, a spark of attraction stimulated by enjoyment of my erotic writing. For once, I caught on before she did to the to the last amazing twist.

"You're Joanne. I've been writing to you." I replayed the preceding weeks in my mind. "This is the fantasy I wrote for you."

"Imagination has power and magic in it. The fantasy I was writing was quite different. Somehow it collided with yours and yours was stronger. Bits and pieces of mine must have been present though. You know, I'm sure your iPod had something to do with it." Yes, I remember the extraordinary synchronicities."

"But what happened here, last night and tonight. That was real?" The memories are vivid, etched so deep that they will never be forgotten.

"Yes."

"So you are saying that I wrote this fantasy AND experienced it in its physical reality."

"She grinned "pretty damn strange isn't it. Guy who figures this out is going to be up for a Norbarla prize, the theoretical implications are staggering."

"Are we on the same world-line." I asked suddenly.

She was suddenly somber and looked sadly up at me. "We'll never know for sure. If our world-lines are different, they must be very close or they would never have intersected. But I don't think we want or need to find out. You know very well that our real-world lives can never intersect. "

"Thank you for this."

She threw her arms tightly around my neck, a last lingering kiss, before she bolted from the room.

The scent of her perfume was all that's left . . . . . . . a gust of wind shaking the curtains, and it too was gone.

POSTSCRIPT

Months later:

I sat at my computer staring the screen. "It's self-correcting you know", her words echoed in my ears. The memories were beginning to fade, but were revived reading my words or hearing certain music. Life was good, in fact better than ever.

I was sure by now that we were indeed from divergent universes that somehow intersected through our individual fantasies. The ripples continued for a while, discontinuities and unexpected changes still occurred in my world, as a result of the intersection of the two world-lines, although fading with time. My world/universe returned to its "pre-event state" with no residual perturbations. From time to time I returned to read these words again and wonder. Did it really happen?

There was one last remaining trace. My gmail inbox with her responses. I had tried to contact her again, but the message was bounced with an unusual "undeliverable" header. I looked again at the .dot com name, but I didn't recognize it. In fact it looked almost alien, with at least one character I'm not sure I've seen in any written language before, not on this earth.

A brief interruption in power dimmed the screen. When the monitor came back to life the computer was locked, the mouse frozen on the screen. Ctrl-Alt-Del failed to bring up Task Manager. I paused before pressing the power button, but there was no other way to deal with the frozen computer.

A minute or so later everything ran smoothly. I opened my browser, found the gmail log-on screen and clicked in the username box, but nothing appeared. Again and again, no response. The power surge must have corrupted a cookie, I reasoned. No problem. I kept a file, misleadingly named, in a subdirectory so deep in subdirectories that no-one would ever find it by chance. It contained everything. My writing, her responses and most important of all the codes for my online pseudonym's accounts.

I found my way to the location and stared dumbfounded at the screen. The directory was gone! I directed the computer to search everywhere.

No file found

And I realized . . . . the last ripple was gone.

All I had left were my memories and her online name . . . timedancer.

IN AN ALTERNATE WORLD-LINE

In an alternate universe, there was no warning and the portal closed before the lovers could leave. Since that place is timeless and eternal, everywhere and nowhere, they are unaware of passage of time. They continue their dance of passion. Their sentience exists in that mysterious anomaly and will waltz into eternity.