In Search of a Story

"No, I just needed a piss, so while I was down here, there's the opportunity. You know me, I'm a time and motion expert!"

"Yeah right. Motion, maybe, but you're always late for everything."

I touched my head, and realised there was a drop of blood from where the sign had hit me.

"Can you go to the Kombi and get me a band-aid?"

I was sitting on the cobbles now, my feet in the gutter (avoiding the stream of Ella's pee), and I could see the sky-blue Kombi van parked up a side street, its twin square windscreens reflecting the glitter of the sun. Had someone stuck those flowers on the side? I didn't remember them being there before.

Ella returned, and fixed up my head. She dusted me off and gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

"You're doing well, Alex. One of the girls in the competition just got eliminated for showing a darkness between her legs. Seems that a trio of strapping young farmers without their lederhosen was too much for her."

She grinned.

"I could see why, their cocks were identical, all hard and long."

She grinned again.

"They must have been triplets. Or maybe it was the little bells they had tied around their pricks that did her in. Poor girl, she sounded like a remake of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. The bells, master, the bells. Still, that's one less in the competition. You've just got to get past the next test, and you're done. You can do it."

I don't think I can. The burgermeister of this town is just an evil bastard. Arrayed before me, on both sides of the street leading up to the town hall, are two rows of naked men and women.

On one side, a row of boys, guys and men of every age and every size, all arranged from smallest to largest. In every way. A row of thrusting erections, rising proud from fit bodies, fat bodies, all kinds of bodies, their hands idly stroking the different sized shafts to keep their cocks hard.

And on the other side, facing them, a similar row of girls, ladies, women, every height, every tit size, every shape. There were girls with no breasts, just puffy thick nipples and long, lean torsos; all the way through to big girls with huge bosoms and multiple bellies.

There was a body shape and gender here for everyone. Both sexes catered for, every inclination, every ideal girl or boy, man or woman. Nobody could get through this gauntlet without finding at least one person to their taste.

Even the sci-fi and alien crowd were catered for here. Standing just behind the perfect girl (boy - insert your own (trans) gender and description here) - stood a tall, oval eyed dude (dudette? - insert unknown gender options here), with a small suitcase by his long toed feet, with a sticker on the side. Roswell or Bust. Hmmm, must be lost, we're in Europe.

As I say, the burgermeister is an evil bastard, and there he is, at the top of the steps, grinning. And fuck, he's got Ella, tied to a chair beside him, her beautiful sex spread wide. The final test is to climb the stairs, my eyes able to look nowhere else but into the depths of my partner, my Ella. As I said, an evil bastard.

The next five minutes were hell. Everywhere I looked there was a flash of flesh, a curve of tit and a length of cock, red heads, blondes, brunettes, shaved bald heads, short hair, long hair, Lady Godiva's hair, Rapunzel's hair. Great thick patches of pubic hair that would have given John Ruskin an instant heart attack, all the way to smooth and shiny mounds that made Barbie look like a hairy crack whore.

In my groin, I couldn't help myself, I felt a tightening. Don't show, don't show, don't show. Keep going, keep going, you're nearly there.

Ella's divine darkness beckons. Close your legs, you silly bitch, don't make it so hard for me to do this.

And then a little, innocent voice rang out from the crowd, a child's young voice, ringing high through the air. And the whole place fell hushed and silent, and I quivered. I was revealed.

"Mummy, he's wearing...clothes."

--- ooo OOO ooo ---

"Jesus, boss, that was hard work. I didn't think I'd make it."

The three of us were sitting back at the cafe, coffee cups clattering, doing the debrief. My hand was getting sore from writing.

"Fucking Ella though, fuck, she was going out of her way to make it hard for me, right from the get go. And peeing, for chrissakes, did you have to do that?"

Ella's all innocence. "Hey, I was busting, all right, and the queue to the toilets was a mile long. Besides, if you hadn't hit your head on the bloody sign, I wouldn't have been crouching down beside you. Who would hang a sign that low, anyway?"

They both turned and looked at me, suspiciously. Wait, no, it wasn't me. You've got to blame the short asses who built the place for that one. I just write this shit, I'm no architect.

"And boss, another thing, did you have to set it in 1972? That was so humiliating. I'll never live this one down." He looked at Ella. "Please don't tell any of the others, please?"

What do you mean, set it in 1972? I didn't do that.

"Yes, you fucking did. The sky blue Kombi van with the square screens. It sure as hell never had those flower stickers on it when we bought it. Did it Ella? Help me here."

She turned her big eyes to me, questioning. "No, Alex is right. Why did you have to do that? I hate tie-die, and poor Alex. That was pretty unfair." She reached over and took his hand, solid with him for the first time in what, nearly 5000 words.

It's not often that Ella stands up for Alex. I'd not realised I'd written that amount of empathy into her. I guess I owed them an explanation, because it was pretty cruel. Pretty funny, but cruel.

At that point a kid walking past stopped, recognising Alex and realising who it was.

"Hey man, you looked like one of those lame assed disco bass players, with your tight satin high waisted flares. Fucking bright orange, man, that cracked me up. And those fucking boots! Man, no wonder you hit your head on that sign. I laughed till I cried. Even the gold chains and the medallions. Far out, man, dig your shit. Rock on. Disco, yeah!"

And off he went, jiving.

Alex looked at me with a filthy stare.

"See, that's why it was so hard to do the walk. You humiliated me in those clothes. No wonder there was so much pressure on my groin. How the fuck did those guys ever get their tackle into those pants? You bastard. You did that for a fucking competition?"

"But look on the bright side, Alex. You won the prize. None of those girls or boys could ever get a rise from you. Not in those pants."

She smiled at him, the most lascivious smile, it even made me jealous.

"Not like I can...."

And her finger traced a curious line, meandering up his thigh, just a single finger-nail digging into the denim. I saw a shift in his jeans. Or did I just write that for him, to make up for my meanness?

"But boss, do you reckon you'll get any scores at all from those Lit readers? They're a fickle bunch, and let's face it, you didn't hit any genre, and you sure as shit didn't write anything remotely arousing."

"Be fair, Alex," Ella rides in, "we didn't help much because we were always bickering like a pair of silly school kids. You were such a tool in the beach scene, I lost patience with you, and then you ignored me this morning. I was shitty all day because of that."

She looked down, a bit sheepish and apologetic.

"I know you had a competition to get through, but I was feeling so horny."

She looked at Alex again, and her eyes softened. Oh good, they've finally made up. Thank Christ for that.

"But the points, boss, we gonna get any? Do you need to write in some readers?"

Idiot, what are you thinking? There are enough conspiracy theories already about the scoring of the contests, dodgy scores being swept, all of that. I don't need to add to it with my own made up readers.

Wasn't the Roswell gag enough for you? Fuck, you'll have me down on the grassy knoll and in the NASA hangar behind Houston Control next.

No, there's only one thing for it. I'll have to rely on Ella.

--- ooo OOO ooo ---

Ella turns to the reader, and looks her or him straight in the eye.

Don't look down, not yet.

Her gaze is intense, almost hypnotic, the pupils of her dark eyes dilating and contracting, and you are aware that there is a stillness in the room, but the slightest sense of movement; a silence, but the faintest sense of sound.

Ella's neck arches back, and there is a tension in her body. Her throat is taut, and with a single finger she brushes a lock of her long, lustrous hair from where it has fallen over her cheek.

She blinks, and her dark eyes shift focus, turning from some inner thought, some private sensation, to the reader in front of her. She smiles, and the smile is ambiguous. Is it seductive, is it playful, is it gentle? Ella's moods shimmer and shift with the wind, her mood can change with each exhalation of your breath.

Don't look down.

Follow the line of her finger tip as it moves slowly down her cheek and just touches the side of her mouth. Her lips are full, luscious, and ever so slightly parted. The delicate tip of her tongue is a redness between those full lips. She moistens them, such a tiny bit, and her lips glisten.

Follow that single finger as it traces over the line of her jaw, into the shadow where her jaw line touches her throat. The movement of her finger is so slow, but its arrival inevitable. On the shadow of her throat a faint blush is spreading, and the silence in the room grows louder. It's your heartbeat, and you can't hear it, but it's just a little faster.

Ella's finger is at the base of her neck now, and she splays the fingers of her hand over the top of her chest, and hides the blaze of freckles starting there. Her skin is dusky, tanned, but not so dark that the delight of freckles disappears. She is a creature of the sun, and the faint golden down on her arm shimmers in the light. The movement of her hand is a caress, a warmth on her own skin.

Follow her hand down, it's a trail, a trace, the faintest pathway over her skin. Ella lingers, her finger tips are longing, but her hand is curving upwards now as it meets the high curve of her breast. She is so slow in her movement, each tiny inch of progress, and her arrival is inevitable, is a tease and it's a torment, but she luxuriates in the tension caused on her own skin.

Look down now, but not past the line of her nipples, which are full, and long, and tight, and pull up the ends of her breasts. Her breasts ache beneath the skin, and Ella presses the palm of her hand over the fullness there and the hot heat of her nipple. The heat of her hand soothes the sharp fill of pleasure in the heat of her flesh.

Ahh, Ella gasps as the pads of her thumb and forefinger tighten and squeeze on the other nipple, and she sighs as she twists. The dark nub is tight and long, and imagine your tongue swirling upon it, and the hot heat of your mouth sucking the end of her breast, swelling between your lips, and your teeth the gentlest bite.

Close your eyes and taste the sweetness of those nipples on your tongue, and the dusky scent of her skin. Breath her in. Ella. Savour her rising scent and known there is a circling movement of her fingers, slick now between her lips.

But don't look down. Oh no, don't look down, not yet. Just savour the faintest scent, and listen for the faintest sound. Ella is all senses, but she hasn't whispered yet.

Her slow moving hand drops from the fullness of her breast and the heat of her nipple, sideways one way across her ribs and the other way across the top of her belly, and her hand rises as she takes a sudden deeper breath, a gasp. She is breathing faster now, her belly rising and falling like a cat stretched long in the sun.

The centre of her belly is slightly rounded, her navel a double crescent moon of flesh spiralling into darkness, and her finger tip explores the little dip as it wanders past. There is the faintest, faintest trail of the softest hair, starting from the cradle of her navel and trailing down the centre line of her belly.

But don't look down. Follow the line of her hand and her fingers slowly moving, gliding in circles over the lovely curve of her belly. Ah God, her skin shivers as she touches that most sensitive bit, just inside the height of her hip. Her belly quivers, but still her movement is so slow. How can she bear it, because you can't, not any more.

You want to look down, but you know you can't, not until the slow luxury of her touch releases your eyes, her finger tip pointing.

Ella stops. The room is still and silent, no movement here. There is a moment between heart beats when time stops forever and forever is a very, very long time, drawn out and seductive and forever. And you can't wait. But you must.

Because Ella hasn't finished her movement. Not yet.

Look down.

The tops of Ella's thighs are primly closed together, just a faint triangle of hair at the base of her belly but her centre all hidden. Both of Ella's hands rest, palm down on the tops of her legs, her fingers spread wide and gently resting on the inside of her thighs.

"Look up," she commands, and your eyes are drawn to her face, where her eyes are wide and her pupils dark. She smiles, and her smile is slow and mysterious and you cannot read what it means. But her smile is in her eyes as well as on her lips, so you know it means the most.

"You can look down now."

And you do, your eyes immediately drop to that spellbound place that is her centre and her seduction, and it's still hidden.

Your heart beats faster now, as you will those long, slender thighs to part, to reveal her darkness and her light. But her will is stronger than your will, and however much you want, she denies.

You cannot see it, but you sense a smile in the room, and Ella slowly, oh God, she does everything so slowly, begins to part her thighs.

Her hands remain on top of those long lean curves but her fingers grip her flesh, she can't wait either, and slowly they part. As they do, your eyes remain fixed on the exact centre of her, the place you know will be dark, and split, and you know, you just know, the edge of her lips will glisten drops of honey dew.

Her legs part slowly, oh so slowly, and there is a dark shadow between the long sides of her thighs, and the hair is coiled, short and black and soft, gently curved from the triangle covering the base of her belly. It's a dark place, holy and enchanted, and has been haunted by a demon lover and a woman wailing.

Ella's fingers drop between her legs, and her breath is coming in faster pants as her fingers enter between the wetness of this dark place, and then she moves up her fingers onto her pearl, and her breath deepens and thickens, and a momentary lust is forced upon her and her hot centre shudders and her fingers slip in this place of pleasure. Your eyes are watching because hers cannot see, her eyes are shut tight.

Ella leans forward, squeezing her fingers tight between her thighs, and the bountiful vision of her hot, wet centre is gone. And she leans forward and drifts one finger, ah fuck, that scent, one finger so near you can scent her; one finger to just touch your lips, and oh fuck, you can taste her.

Ella leans forward, and her face is beside yours and you turn your head to hear, because you know the words will be whispered, and the whisper will be like a ghost on the air. Every sense in your body is alive, and you nearly beg for her whisper.

With the vision of Ella's dark centre still imprinted on the veil that is in your mind, you lean a little closer so you can feel the drift of her breath in your ear, and you hear her whisper:

"You know you want to, you know you can. My dusky darkness must be enough, surely, good reader?

"You know you want to, so go on, just do it. Just put your finger on that tiny place, and press that fifth star.

"Go on, do it now, just for Ella. Just one little vote? Go on, you can do it."

Her breath sighs, and her whisper lingers, and you do it. A five vote.

Just for Ella.

--- ooo OOO ooo ---

"Hey boss, you keeping an eye on those time zones. You don't want to get confused, being on the other side of the world, and all that. You need to submit this on time, don't miss the deadline. Not after what I had to go through.

"Ella though, wow, how good was she? Where'd you find her? Damn."

No, we're good regarding the day. We've still got a couple of hours to go on the 12th July, yeah?

"Um, boss, the competition closed on the 11th...."

Fuck.

Don't even think it, just don't.