Gillian and the SeabyVFucci©
Gillian Anderson falls silent, squeezing the steering wheel with angry, white knuckles. The radio squawks futilely –Bob Seger murmuring about the sound of thunder. I turn the music off; in this close, brooding quiet, the song seems out of place.
“Listen,” I say, “you asked if . . .”
“Why the hell would you say that?” Gillian demands, cutting me off, “You thought I was gay? What are you, a giant walking mouth with no fucking brain? I was trying to reminisce.”
“Hey, I was being honest. I saw all this stuff in the tabloids . . . and then there was GLAAD magazine.”
“This is not helping.”
I throw up my hands, exasperated. Gillian bites her lower lip.
“How would you like it,” Gillian hisses, “if I told you I thought, when we first met, I thought you were a neo-Nazi?”
“That’s a tad melodramatic. You’re blowing this way out of proportion!”
Gillian says nothing. The tires hum beneath us; the rebuilt transmission wheezes and whines, straining as the incline of the road becomes steeper.
I give up. Something has set Gillian off –something other than my foot-in-mouth comment. Whatever it is, there’ll be no coaxing it out of her. The truth will bloom in time.
As we drive, I look out my window at the brown, dirt wall. It seems to flow by us –as if we were standing still. The wall is featureless. Few sprigs of foliage manage to push their way out of that pebbly, close-packed soil. The ones that are visible are flowering beautifully, albeit on a small scale. Turning to look out the driver’s side window, the vista opens. The world races by in stages. Trees which line the road dissolve into green blurs; the guardrail is a line of dull silver. Beyond the trees, I can just see the beach stretching vast and the surging sea clawing lazily at the white sand and the tourists. Further away, at the head of that long coastline, the volcano looms. Its crest is wreathed in cirrus clouds, and its feet are lost in dense jungle. Gulls wheel over a mile-long sandbar reaching from the horn of the cape into the azure ocean. Behind the rushing trees, this fantastic view creeps by us like a cooling lava wave. The big volcano is so far away, it seems utterly stationary.
“So, how was rehearsal?” I ask. Gillian purses her red-stained lips. Her eyes are still blazing angrily.
“It was all right,” she replies, “I really wanted a smoke once it was over.”
“You want one now?”
Gillian looks at me. Is there humor in that glance?”
“No, thank you.”
We ride the rest of the way in silence. When we reach the lookout point, day is waning in the west. Gillian parks the car near the cliff edge and we get out, the wind tousling our hair. I carry the blankets to our usual spot and sit down, looking out over the ocean. Gillian stands removed, over-hung by the arching bough of a wild papaya tree. She is beautiful there in the half-shadow. Her cherry-red hair is pulled back in a short ponytail. A too-taut black and white baseball shirt hangs just above her bellybutton. Her arms are crossed; her breasts are heaved up into prominence. In her hip-hugging sweat pants with the black stripe down the sides of the legs, Gillian’s amazing ass is cradled tightly and well shaped. She must have driven the men at rehearsal crazy in that outfit.
I rise and walk to where Gillian stands sulking,
“I’m sorry,” I say, sliding my arms around her, “I’m tasting shoe polish right now, if that makes you feel any better. I think I may have gotten my ankle in there even.”
Gillian allows herself a laugh.
“It wasn’t just you,” she says, “I know you’re a lout. It was Adrian. We fought today about some bullshit line I kept saying wrong. Thing is, I know I was right. He just kept fucking shouting at me like I was a ten-year-old. Then, he found out he was wrong after all and apologized –that just pissed me off even more. Like, ‘Sorry I belittled you in front of your peers. No big deal right’?”
“He’s a fucking child. I knew it when I first met him.”
“He’s got a vision . . . that’s what I like about him as a director, but it’s also what makes him unbearable.”
“I think I can help you relax,” I say, putting my hands on Gillian’s waist and turning her to face me, “Why don’t you go sit on the blanket?”
Gillian smiles. It never ceases to amaze me how beauty can well up in her –like water bubbling from a spring long-dry in the desert. When her anger begins to melt, that shy, loving smile shines. This is a side of her that Adrian and the rest of the world will never see –the human side.
Gillian comes with me to the blanket and sits Indian-style. I kneel behind her and place my hands on her shoulders, massaging the tense cords of her neck.
Terns cry in the cliffs below. The warm wind brings inviting smells –sensual smells. Gillian sighs lovingly.
“Lower,” she sighs.
I slide my hands under her shirt. Her skin is cool and smooth. I press the small of her back, moving up to the thin strand of her bra strap. Deftly, I unclasp the single hook and her bra comes undone, exposing the pale skin underneath. Gillian leans against me, her eyes closed.
“That’s good,” she says. Her voice is husky, aroused. Looking over her shoulder, I see her erect nipples stretching the fabric of her tight top.
She is ready. I move my hands across her sides. With one, I cup her small, supple breast. My other hand slips down her taut tummy; I push my fingers beneath the hem of her sweat pants. It’s moist and hot down there. Gillian’s bald labia blossom in response to my grazing touch, offering the tender bud of her clit. As I finger her engorged clit, Gillian sucks in ragged breaths. Her chest heaves like the sea below; I gently squeeze her nipple, eliciting a gentle moan from Gillian’s throat.
Soon, Gillian is grinding against my hand. My palm rubs rough on her clit as I push two fingers into her vagina. She begins to buck, her moans escalating as she rides the waves of orgasm.
“Oh shit . . .” she croons. The world is dead to her. Only the gentle movements of my hands exist.
After two minutes, Gillian’s body is wracked with a shuddering climax. She reaches her arm back to cradle the back of my head as I bend to kiss her neck. Her flesh is wet with sweat-sheen. Her knees are up, her legs are spread wide.
Gillian moans: “Fuck.”
As her orgasm subsides, she clamps my hand between her muscled, gracile legs. I remove my fingers from her sopping cunt; Gillian pulls away from me and turns to look me in the eyes.
Wordlessly, Gillian pulls off her top and bra. Her breasts are round and plump. Here eyes are deep, deep green –the color of pure, cut jade.
I know what she wants. We’ve never made love up here at the lookout; the crashing of the sea and the sighing of the trees in the tropical wind add to the sensual mien of this place. We undress hurriedly, heaping our clothes on the far edge of the blanket. Then, beneath the darkling sky, Gillian and I stand naked, embracing each other. Our mouths lock, tongues dancing together in passion. Her breath is strawberry-sweet. Her full lips feather my mouth, neck, and chest, leaving a burning trail as she kneels slowly before me.
Gillian lies backward and I stoop, poised between her open legs with my cock standing at full attention. Gently, I lean forward and press the head of my dick against Gillian’s silky pussy lips. I tilt on my knees, the veins in my arms and hands standing out as I hold myself up.
As always, the first entrance is the sweetest. I sink deep into Gillian’s cunt; her soft flesh massages the head and shaft of my penis as I thrust. Gillian moans loudly, biting her lower lip. As I begin to pump in and put of her, rocking on my knees, Gillian wraps her legs around me and grits her teeth. She is wet from her earlier orgasm. I move one of her legs up over my shoulder and ram my cock faster and faster into Gillian. She is intensely silent now, speeding quickly toward orgasm with my balls slapping against her ass. Her skin is so smooth; my cock swells impossibly inside her as it pistons into her wet depths. The rush of orgasm stirs in my balls. My dick begins to spasm, squeezed and kneaded by Gillian’s masterful cunt muscles.
“Oh my god . . .” Words flow out of me. I grunt and sweat with Gillian’s bare foot pressed against my ear. Her knee is on her shoulder. I’m going to explode; my balls tighten and I plunge deeper and deeper, sweat running down my face.
Just when the orgasm begins to seize control of my muscles, forcing me hilt-deep into Gillian, I manage to pop my dick out of her. The air is suddenly very cold.
“Suck it,” I say to Gillian, “Finish me off.” It’s all I can do to keep from shouting; the pulsing, surging orgasm strains in my balls and dick
Gillian rises to her knees and sucks the head of my dick into her mouth. I slide into the warmth, massaged by Gillian’s twirling tongue and gulping throat. Her lips pump on my dick; her head bounces as she cups my balls.
“I’m going to cum!” I say. Normally, she slides my dick out of her mouth and closes her eyes as my cum leaps onto her face and tits. This time, Gillian continues to suck.
She makes no move to back away. As she bobs on my cock, I lose utter control. Semen bursts from my cock head, jetting down Gillian’s throat. I grab the back of her head and push my dick far into her mouth, unable to control the bucking of my hips. The release is incredible. I empty my swollen balls into Gillian’s stomach and then fall back, exhausted. Every muscle in my body is relaxed –I feel like a man stunned.
Wiping her mouth, Gillian lies down next to me. Her lipstick is smudged. Her ponytail is loose; wisps of red hair catch on the breeze and trail like spider silk.
“You were right,” Gillian sighs, gently stroking my face, “That was relaxing.”
I manage a smile. My mouth is dry, my lips feel numb.
“We should do this more often.”