Ofelia Ch. 03 Pt. 01-03byCervanServidor©
Then he looked back at his sister. He took his finger just as she had done and pointed it at her, stabbed the air with it, then slowly raised it up and curled it several times around his ear. The sign for loca : crazy. Ofelia broke into a tight, reluctant smile, and she had to suck in her cheeks and lips to keep from laughing.
Manuel walked over to her, his jeans sagging, and plopped down onto the couch. At least Manuel understood that he could never have her the way he wanted her. She couldn't be his sister, his soul-mate, and his lover. He was smart enough to know that, and she knew that he knew. There was a communication between the two that didn't require words, or even signs. They could have a conversation just by sitting together, saying nothing, doing nothing.
Manuel could feel her displeasure, and yet he knew he wasn't the source of it. Ofelia cast a glance back over her shoulder at Dominga. She made a little walker with two fingers and walked him over to Manuel. The little finger-man walked along his forearm, onto his leg, to his knee.
Manuel looked over at her and smiled. Ofelia smiled back at her little brother. Then she leaned over and said softly in his ear, "Ven."
Manuel's heart jumped and he watched her walk off down the hall. She was standing in front of her closet mirror when he came to join her. He closed the bedroom door but not all the way. She took a scrunchy from her wrist and tied her loose hair off in a ponytail. Manuel had always been fascinated watching females when it came to their hair. How deftly their fingers worked, making those impossible braids, or the way they switched their hair-ties from their fingers to their hair. It was pure sleight-of-hand. He liked to watch her groom herself. She was always doing it whenever she was sitting idly, watching television, watching someone play a video game. She would examine her hair, staring wide-eyed at each tress that she would pull in front of her. She would find split-ends, break them off, wind them around her finger. She was like a pretty little monkey, he thought. A chongita.
It was even more pleasant to watch two women together. They would inevitably start fussing with eachother's hair. Manuel liked to walk barefoot across the house. He would wind up with long dark hairs wrapped around his toes. Since the hairs mostly belonged to Ofelia, he didn't mind at all. He came over and sat on the edge of the bed. Ofelia leaned into the mirror, looking at her eyebrows, her lips. Manuel wondered what it must be like to see a beautiful face looking back at you from a mirror. What a wonderful feeling that must be, to see and know that you are beautiful.
His heart swelled with the love he felt for Ofelia. He wondered if there would ever be another woman for him, someone who could make him feel glad simply to be alive. Manuel was happy just to breathe the same air that Ofelia breathed. He was happy to occupy the same general space as she, to walk the same ground. That he was related to her by blood was a magnificent accident for which he was profoundly grateful; that he had become her brother, and her only sibling, was an even more magnificent accident.
Or maybe it wasn't an accident.
Manuel didn't have much religion in him, except when it came to Ofelia. He could believe in God when he saw her walk across the room, the way she seemed to glide effortlessly like some diaphanous spirit shaped like a woman. Though she didn't have the wide hips or the full bottom common of a more earthly type of female beauty, she was undoubtedly, unspeakably feminine.
He was lost in these reveries when he heard her voice. "Papi."
Manuel got up from the bed and went to her. "Stand behind me." she told him. Manuel did as she told him. He looked at her in the mirror, his face a dull brown cloud of gratitude and hope. She wasn't looking at him, but was reaching for his hands. She took his hands and put them at her flat belly, under her halter-top. She leaned back against him and Manuel's heart thumped as he reached up, up, slowly, feeling her ribs sticking out through her skin, until he arrived at her breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra. He saw her close her eyes and drift away. Her nipples scratched his fingers. A small, quavering groan crawled up and out of his throat like the pitiful cry of some poor soul lost in the depths of an abyss.
Ofelia opened her eyes. "I'm going back to him soon, today, in the afternoon."
Manuel continued to caress her bare breasts under her top, totally fascinated by them. "I figured that."
"You can have me again before I go, if you want. I don't know when I'll be back. I'm sorry for pulling your book away from you, Papi."
"No problema." Manuel said, "Mi reina."
The two of them heard the volume on the television get louder again. Dominga must have tired from her crossword.
"I don't think Leonard wants to marry me anymore." Ofelia said, and eased herself out of her brother's embrace. She went over to the bed and flopped onto it, onto her side, and curled up. Manuel came to sit behind her and stroked her arm, her hair.
"I know you don't understand, Papi, but it is what I wanted."
"You're right. I don't get it. You say you're going to this other one, and you're upset because Leo dumped you. What do you expect? That's crazy, mi amor. What do you really want? You have to get it straight."
Ofelia was crying. Her shoulder shook with it. She put her hand up to cover her face. Manuel left her alone.
Ofelia drove to Daniel's apartment shortly after two o'clock. There was nothing wrong with her car. She had just used that as an excuse to occasionally arrive home from work a little later than usual. On the phone Daniel told her to dress "sexy", because he was taking her to a friend's house for a clam-bake, and he wanted to show her off. Ofelia had no idea what a clam-bake was, but she was pleased that he was already treating her like his girlfriend. She hadn't told him a thing about what had transpired between herself and Leonard that morning.
Ofelia tried to change her mental attitude towards these recent events. Instead of imagining herself as the future Mrs. Leonard Santiago who happened to have a lover named Daniel, she tried to just envision herself as the future Mrs. Daniel Davidson, faithful wife and pillar of society. She was nervous as she pulled into the driveway at the duplex where Daniel lived. She had her hair out, per his request, even though it made her feel unkempt and uncomfortable; and since it was hot she was wearing a tiny pair of denim shorts with little flowers on them which she had purchased from a consignment boutique that specialized in ultra-modern clothing for young ladies, and a tight fitting white cotton halter with a good push-up bra. On her feet she wore heeled sandals, also per Daniel's request. He didn't care a fig that she might be as tall as him with heels on.
"I want everybody to see those legs." he had told her over the phone.
Ofelia was nervous about meeting Daniel's friends. She asked him how many there were going to be at this clam-bake, and he shrugged. "A dozen or so?"
Daniel wanted to have her before they left his apartment. At first Ofelia protested lightly, saying that she would have to shower again. But she was soon very warm to the idea, and was responding to his kisses ardently as they stood in his living room. His hand cupped her little bottom, squeezed her flesh with a good deal of pressure. He kissed her throat, under her ear, along her defined and prominent jaw where she was covered with tiny follicles like a peach. Ofelia tossed her head back and relished his attentions to her, and thought to herself that it would be easy being Mrs. Davidson. She was wet between her legs. Soon he picked her up and carried her effortlessly to his bed.
Daniel kissed her all over when he had her clothes off, her face and throat, her peaked breasts, her flat belly that shivered when his lips brushed across it, her tiny navel. "You have an innie." he told her, looking at her face. Her hands were in his hair. Her eyebrows came together.
Then he was down between her legs. She opened them up far and wide for him. That morning, shortly after she had had her cry, Ofelia ran her brother's electric shaver over her peppering of stubble, smoothing the area nicely. She applied a bit of hydrocort cream and a special lotion that smelled like coconut which her cousin Ana had given her. The thought of Ana reminded Ofelia of her Aunt Delia. Tia Delia was Ana's mother. She wondered if she would be home the following morning when her aunt came to pick her up for church.
Daniel explored Ofelia, enjoying the view of her perineal area illuminated by the sunlight pouring in though the blinds. He opened her up, watching the outer labia literally peal apart to reveal the sanguine smaller lips inside. She looked brand new, and he had a thought that she must not have been as experienced as he imagined, at least not in regard to intercourse. He put his tongue to her gently, licked the moisture that was gathering at her very center like warm dew in a summer field. She made little noises from the back of her throat and her hips started to move of their own accord, a slow circling motion, with her bottom frequently lifting up off the bed. He licked her clitoris gingerly, its pale pink bulb peeking out. She gasped. He licked it some more, pursed his lips at it, tugged it carefully. She gasped and sighed.
At this point Ofelia was to discover a sensation so forceful it almost frightened her. She had felt hints of it during intercourse with Manuel and then with Daniel, had angled her body towards it, tried to pin-point its source and exploit it. But it was like trying to focus on a single star in the night sky. She knew exactly where it was, but when she sought it out, it eluded her.
Daniel took first one finger, then a second, and slipped them inside her. His hand was situated palm-up, towards the ceiling, so that when his fingers were inside he could curl them upwards. He was crouched over her, still fully dressed, except that his shirt was unbuttoned. Daniel found her unusually tight. He had attributed her unusual tightness during intercourse to the fact that he was pretty well-endowed and that she was so small and slight. Ofelia felt a little discomfort but it quickly transformed into something entirely different. She felt his fingertips exploring her inside, upwards. He began to stroke her across the wall of muscle he found there which yielded to pressure but sprang elastically back. It felt smooth and full. He ran his tongue at the top of her vulva, used his tongue and his thumb with restraint on her clitoris, the swart, fatty hill of her mons veneris.
He moved his fingers back and forth and across her, inside and up, pressing and sliding along that smooth retracting wall. Ofelia began to breath louder, faster, and she became very wet. Her fingers grabbed his hair as if to tell him he'd better not even think about stopping. She braced her heels in the rumpled sheet and ground her pelvis upwards, outwards, into his plunged fingers, into his mouth. She sighed louder and louder, her breath very fast. Each soprano gasp and sigh was drawn back in almost as soon as it was emitted; each inhalation changed the cries that each exhalation tried to give voice to, inverting them, twisting them into sounds that could never be misinterpreted as expressions of pain.
Ofelia started to climax, and Daniel felt her pushing downwards and outwards, as if she were trying to give birth to his fingers. She opened up and became absurdly wet, and she was moaning and sighing with great enthusiasm, involuntarily. He kept stroking that wall of muscle that contracted and pushed. Her vagina squeezed his fingers, and Daniel realized that she was ejaculating. Or had ejaculated, more correctly, because his hand was suddenly covered with her issue. It was pungent and rich. More of it came, and her climax seemed to just build and build. He almost recoiled because of how powerfully she was coming. She was moaning so loud she was almost yelling, and her taut little buttocks remained off the sheet for several seconds at a time.
They had to move to a dryer part of his queen-sized bed. Daniel asked Ofelia to roll over and saw a faint flicker of concern in her drowsy, drunken eyes. But she turned over anyway, and, without being told, raised her tiny cinnamon-brown bottom for him, her knees drawn up a little, her lower back scooped downwards. In this way her pussy as well as her small, tightly-pursed asshole were advantageously exposed.
Could the female of the species possibly appreciate what the sight of her posterior opening did to the typical male? For one thing, it wasn't engineered for sex. Or at least not primarily. Its function was anything but romantic. But that, in itself, was one of the reasons men were drawn to it. It was the least lady-like organ on a lady's body. It was universal, but secret. It was common, so common that virtually every animal on earth possessed one, both male and female; and yet when it was found tucked away on the person of an attractive woman, it was a delightful surprise. Add to this the simple fact that it was a smaller, more constricting opening. It was nice to philosophize and wax poetic, but there was no messing around with the facts.
But Daniel had no intention of deflowering Ofelia's duskier opening. Which isn't to say he didn't admire it as he slipped on a condom retrieved from his night-table and mounted her. He mounted her as if in the missionary position except that she was upside down. He put his knees outside of hers and once he entered her he used his knees to push her legs closer together, tightening her vagina's grip. She felt so exquisite in there, even through the condom. Daniel locked his elbows and watched himself plunging between her thighs, making her buttocks quiver, watching her asshole wince and tense and open and close, sometimes blossoming enough to expose the tender pink muscle inside.
"My God, you're so fucking beautiful..." he moaned, "So perfect...."
"Mi vida..." Ofelia responded, her face turned on the pillow. Soon his groin was making fleshy slapping noises against her upper thighs and buttocks. She was very wet. Still, not again. And yet also very tight, resistant yet accommodating, slippery but grabby.
Ofelia moaned as Daniel told her he was coming. "Oh, mi amor! my baby....my baby..." she cried. When his penis finally expelled its plugs of gratitude into the tip of his condom, Ofelia shrieked and yelled something in Spanish which Daniel didn't recognize and Ofelia couldn't translate without using every English expletive she knew. She was overcome with pleasure but simultaneously frustrated and upset that she couldn't take his semen into her body. She wanted to feel it bursting in there. She couldn't feel it with Manuel, her sweet and gentle groom-by-proxy, and now she couldn't feel it from her own lover, her only lover. She wanted to feel it shooting, spurting, smacking the inside of her; she wanted to feel its forceful wallop, each throb of his cock firing its white hot bullet into her blood and being.
They lay like that for quite a few minutes, Daniel trying not to lay his full weight on Ofelia. After a while she asked him to let her turn over. When she managed to get turned around she pulled him to her and wrapped her arms around him. She told him to let go and lay on top of her with all of his weight. He did. She lay there squashed under his one hundred-seventy pounds, happy as an oyster in its shell.