tagIllustratedThe Creative Geometry of the Sea

The Creative Geometry of the Sea


There was something in the way that they interacted with each other that first caught my eye. It wasn't something I could easily define but it intrigued me, nonetheless. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. With me and men, it's always something indefinable. They're never the same type, although olive skin and dark eyes never hurt anyone's chances, but instead, it's more of an overall masculine presence that reaches me first, that makes my breath catch.

A friend once asked how long it took for me to decide whether or not I would sleep with a man. One date, two, three? His face sunk when I answered that I always knew within the first ten seconds. And sorry, no, I wasn't interested. Not in that way.

I was alone, enjoying a few days of well-deserved rest in a place far away from home. Hours in the sun had left my skin feeling warm and sensual. A bathing suit that I had never dared to wear before made me feel bold. And at the end of a long, lazy day by the pool, my room felt small and confining.

I don't usually like going to bars. Not by myself anyway. But the prospect of an evening alone seemed even less appealing. Really, I just wanted a few days to relax. Weeks of endless meetings, crowded flights and tepid room service had left my nerves frayed. A serious relationship was out of the question. Even the thought of a fling seemed like more energy than I could summon.

So I was surprised when I spotted them across the bar. Wrapped in deep conversation, neither was doing what I was doing, which was trying hard not to look like I was checking out everyone else in the bar. Both were handsome, but that wasn't what caught my eye. It was something in the nature of their relationship. The way they were conversing with each other. Definitely not brothers. Lovers? God, I hope not. But neither were they two guys on the prowl. Or if they were, they were doing a good job of hiding it. I pretended to watch a basketball game on the bar's TV and must've gotten more caught up in it than I had intended when I was startled by a polite, excuse me. He was taller than I thought he would be.

Soon I was sitting at their table, laughing at shared first date disasters, high school faux pas and a woman, another resort guest, who should have never been allowed to purchase that bright orange bikini in the first place. Perhaps it was their ease with each other that made me feel lucky to be included in their tight circle. Definitely not gay. And I knew within moments of joining them at their table that either would be fine. Both, although different physically, were equally attractive. And as the evening progressed and we found ourselves never running out of things to talk about, that balance that I was hoping might tip towards one or their other remained delicately but stubbornly poised right in the middle.

I think it was irritating cigarette smoke that made me suggest that we go somewhere else. If anything, bringing them back to MY room should have put me on guard. But changing locales did nothing to cleave the intimacy that I was feeling. Instead, I kicked off my shoes and didn't feel the least bit put off when one of them, the shorter one, opened the most expensive bottle of Chardonnay the hotel offered. At least he's got good taste, I thought to myself.

I don't know if it was the wine or the beautiful night or the months of endless e-mails and voice mails and impersonal push the pound key for more options. But standing there on the balcony, mesmerized by the ocean below, feeling their warmth and strength on either side of me, I reached out and put my arm around one slender waist and then, innocently, bravely, the other. It was me who drew them closer. Not him or him, but them. And I felt better still when the gesture was returned, one arm gently circling my shoulders, the other my waist. It was then that I began to contemplate why that blind balance of decision had stayed stubbornly stuck in the middle all evening long. For a few moments we, the three of us, inhabited an unfamiliar world of ambiguity. Vaguely defined by camaraderie, friendship, a shared beautiful moment. And, for the first time all evening, an uneasy silence.

You'll just have to believe me when I say, I swear, I really hadn't thought about it until that very instant. But in that instant I knew that I was going to have to break the uneasy détente that hovered over us. Not with words. Or a joke. Or a sigh followed by a pathetic comment about how lovely it had been to spend time with them. See you tomorrow at the pool. No, what I saw was dark and murky, yet so compelling that every fiber in my body screamed at me in a language I had never even heard before, to dive in.

A slight turn of my head was it all it took to find first, one set of lips, and then in an exquisite gesture that erased any remnant of ambiguity, another. Another set of lips. Different, yet so similar. And again. But this time with no hesitancy. Full, deep, passionate. Lips and tongue and teeth all at once. Followed by a rush of powerful hands sliding along my hips while someone else's mouth deeply inhaled that small dab of perfume I'd placed between my breasts. And now, a hot tongue probing my ear brings shivers across my back while another plants the most delicate flutter on my eyelid. Two hungry mouths on my neck leave me doubting my ability to stand. I can't stand, my knees buckle underneath me but I don't fall. Two hands tangle in my hair while another pair cups my breasts. And always a hungry mouth to feed me.

I press back against a strong chest while rubbing the muscled thighs in front of me. Fumbling with buttons while the hem of my dress floats magically up above my waist. Urgently undoing a belt with one hand and pressing my bare knee against another's hardness. I can't feign subtlety. I want to strip these men of all their clothes. Because right now, in my mind, that's what's standing between me and a torrent of sensation that has already nearly overwhelmed me.

Caught in a riptide, I'm flung like driftwood, first to one solid shore and then another. Overwhelmed and engulfed but never harmed. In a re-enactment of some ancient geologic phenomenon, these two strong continents collide with me as the malleable ocean that once separated them. Or better still, I imagine that I'm a magnetic tide that pulls them together. And soon enough, it's me who's been stripped bare. Pure and shiny and polished. I don't know what to touch first. Who to kiss. So, so much to do.

Like the mother of twins, I nurse both at once. Yet unlike any mother, I'm seared to the edge of ecstasy. My nipples throb and are sucked and stretched and tongued and pulled and I begin to believe that my milk may begin to flow. And if not milk from my breasts then the torrent between my legs is a fair substitute.

So intense are the hands that have begun to caress and rub me that I forget to breathe. Or maybe I'm holding my breath because I fear that if I exhale this magical whirling energy will vaporize, leaving me solitary and stranded. Instead of breathing, I scream as first one opening and then another is probed and explored. And when that's not enough, when I wish there were more, I find the closest cock and suck it in deeper than I thought possible. And it's only at the last possible moment, before I'm certain I'll pass out, that I come up for air. But unlike a drowning swimmer who struggles towards shore, I dive again, hoping that the deeper I go, the more I'll be fulfilled.

When we change positions and it starts all over again, I silently thank the creative geometry that's possible with this combination. Physically slight in comparison to their mass, instead of feeling vulnerable, my body is rippling with power and energy. At the same time, I'm completely drunk on their adoration -- omnipotent and insatiable.

I'm torn apart by the sensation of holding two stiff cocks at once. Never soft, they seem to have grown more urgent with each passing moment. I stroke and squeeze, delighting in their response, marveling at the differences in length, girth, taste and texture. And now it's me who's the baby, nursing on some fantastic chimera, shocked at my hunger and greed. If I could fill myself with both at once, I would. Instead, I alternate, trying to be fair.

I feed off their pleasure and grow bolder from it. Or maybe it's the slippery tongue, hot between my legs. Like finger-painting, smearing his moisture with mine across a small canvas of folds and crevices and a tight tiny aching place that if he doesn't start sucking on right now I'm going to, oh God, don't stop.

I'm not sure if it's him or me, but my hips are propelled into a throbbing rhythm that resonates through my entire body, that plucks me like a bow string. I can't stop, please don't stop. And now, that sinuous rocking that started low in my pelvis builds momentum like a wave as it, oh, God, I'm so close, travels up my spine, pinch my nipples harder, snapping my head up and down along this wonderful hard cock filling my, oh fuck, fuck me with your tongue, where out of nowhere my mouth is like a fountain, no that's my pussy, so wet and hot as I suck that, I, I can't move, I can't and a strong set of hands finds my hips and moves them for me. I'm sucked harder, as that tongue and mouth and hands, always hands, squeeze them, more, oh God, I coming, I'm, I'm totally blind to everything as that thundering tidal wave rolls across... Oh yes.

Finally, I'm thrown to the beach, only this time I'm kelp, limp and lifeless. It's all I can do to spread my legs and accept the attempt to resuscitate me through the pounding, hard pounding, against my wet center. He's fucking me with an intensity that threatens to, once again, overwhelm me. Still struggling to regain a sense of time and place, as my lovers, my eager guardians of life and pleasure, tend to my every need, real or imagined.

So gently do they coax me to change positions that I'm not sure if it's for their pleasure or mine. As one's energy begins to flag, he's replaced by a willing alternate. And not a moment too soon, because their efforts to revive me are working. I stir from that post-orgasmic stupor and soon again I'm possessed like a furious creature, climbing obstacles, overcoming gravity and nature to return to a place intensely etched in my single-minded psyche.

Now it's me urging them forward, as if the tidal surges of my own energy can combine with theirs to produce some marvelous outpouring of ecstasy. They say, never turn your back on the sea, and yet, I do just that. On my knees, head pressed into the warm wet sand, I spread myself open and wide. Take me, I cry silently. Any sense of modesty and caution is long lost to the incredible pleasure I'm receiving. I'm held steady at the very edge of being tossed up on the dunes or carried away from shore. And always there are hands, wonderful strong hands, to reassure me.

If heat were any measure of my desire, then certainly all would be lost. I'm feverish, on fire, yet my companions, my twin pillars, show no sign of melting. And having experienced them in sequence, in a well-structured order, I now know what I want next.

In my not-too rational state, I calculate that, until now, all I've done is compressed time: the parched days, weeks, or in my case, months between lovers. Now I need both at once. I give little thought, no thought, to previous boundaries. To the natural escalation of intimacy that breaks down resistance to the unknown and untried. Instead, I'm spellbound by an intense need to find a connection that doesn't exclude anybody. Not even for an instant. And if I'm the glue that holds this rapidly imploding universe together, all the better.

I kneel astride one willing lover, letting him slowly fill me. I sink slowly, until, like a punctured jellyfish, I collapse on top of him. My mouth finds his and the boundaries between us melt away. Yet, as close and intimate as this moment with him is, it feels more like an unwelcome orchestral silence in the middle of a passionate symphonic moment.

I'm poised and anxious. I'm beyond thinking of it in terms of simple anatomy, orifices or openings. Instead, I'm driven to experience a completion that shouldn't imply I was ever unfulfilled. Because until now, I wasn't. But tonight, every exquisite sensation, every shudder and moan, will have been meaningless unless I obliterate that aching deep inside of me.

And then, with one lover already tucked up safely inside of me, there it is. A slight pressure, now a little firmer, more insistent. I reluctantly, no - happily, yield.

The three of us struggle at first, perhaps a little overwhelmed with the nearness of it all. Only the thinnest sheath of flesh separates them, these two men, and I wonder for a moment if it is adding or taking away from their pleasure. But through some silent negotiation, we find a rhythm and begin to move as one.

If every stroke was love, if every thrust was adoration, then surely I am the most treasured woman in the world. And if the deep moans I hear from my partners mean anything, I know that this experience is engulfing them in a way that is no different than me. So I stop competing with their urges and instead let myself dissolve into a blur of pleasure. I'm utterly and completely lost to this moment. Is that their pace quickening or mine? I can no longer tell. I've lost the capacity to distinguish between them and me.

It's almost with a subtlety that borders on the obscure that all of this chaotic energy begins to organize itself into a recognizable shape: a swirling, roaring hurricane with me as the eye. But I'm not that calm mystical center. Instead, I'm both driver and engine and with every moment I gather speed and energy and above all else, power. A power that builds and builds, and oh God, not again, I can't move now but know for certain that, fuck me harder, I don't have to. It's me pulling them, releasing them, over and over I, I want it, oh God give it to me. Yes, I'm... I'm... I'm transported far beyond a place that can be measured in time and distance. Beyond any of the five senses or sensations that form the boundaries of my existence.


Much later, when I awaken and stir, hot and sticky and fragrant, and not surprisingly, alone, I can only close my eyes and breathe in the salty ocean air. The rising sun touches my skin and illuminates my thoughts. It makes me wonder about the nature of sensation and what is transient and what is forever. The question fascinates me and I replay moments from the last few hours over and over again. What is transient? What is forever?

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by cslt08/16/17

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