Read Online Star Woman in Love by Piera Sarasini - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Piera Sarasini
Ads: Link
mellow as my blood ran sweet. I passed the cigarette to you. You held my hand for a long second when I did. Shivers through my bones: where did you start and where did I end? No boundaries between us. No separation from our surroundings either.
As you inhaled, you shut your eyes and leaned back on the bench. I copied your movements instinctively. By the time we had finished the joint, my head was resting on your shoulder and your arm was around me. In the simplicity of our first encounter, our souls merged with ease and innocence. It was one of the most peaceful moments in my life before transformation. I owe it to you.
Two perfect strangers on a bench. We could have kissed but we didn’t. I could have run my hand between your thighs to feel your throbbing virility. I wanted to. I could see you had an erection. But I preferred to keep my head on your shoulder, with my arms resting in my lap, and listen to the sound of your breath fuse with mine. The depths of your soul were in the rhythm of your breathing. We were synchronised. Home at last, that’s how I felt.
You could have let your hand slip under my cashmere dress through its v-neck, and feel the warmth of my skin, my firm breasts. I was feeling aroused. But you stopped your hand half-way to its intended target and let it rest on my fully-sleeved arm. You were shaking. So much energy was rolled up in your body. You weren’t ready to unleash it yet. I didn’t know how to help you unfold it either. Despite our awkwardness, neither of us wanted to break the magic of that moment. We had met only a quarter of an hour earlier and ended up in the sweetest embrace, as it if were the most natural thing for us. Now we didn’t seem to be able to part anymore. We didn’t want to let go of each other’s touch but didn’t quite know how to articulate what was going on between us. So we sat in silence for a while, I don’t know for how long. It felt like ages. It probably was ages.
I shook myself out of the daze: I kissed your cheek and squeezed out of your arms.
“Thank you,” I said, “great little trip.”
“Are you hungry now, Cassandra?”
“Well, yeah, I always get the munchies.”
You opened your bag and produced something which was wrapped up in a paper serviette.
“Guess this is yours?”, you said. The contents of your concealment were revealed: the scone I had left on the table when I stormed out of the “Soul Food” café.
* * * *
We found her at last. She was sitting on a bench with Oscar at her side. They looked comfortable. Their auras had merged and turned to gold. Some dark patches were still visible but the Light emanating from their bodies was mostly glowing. Their Core signatures had synchronised and were resonating to the sound of the Ancient Tune. It was a pretty picture, and one which brought us relief. It would have been impossible not to detect her now that she was being true to herself. Cassandra and Oscar mirrored each other’s aspirations and better selves in their embrace. They also echoed their fears and recent ego-generated pasts in this encounter. Love and hate in unison. Light and darkness in gestalt. She reflected his full being like no one else could. Like the Moon, she shone Light on his past. Like the Earth, she encompassed his present. Like the Morning Star, she pointed to his future, the future from where she came.
Oscar wanted to belong with her, in her, like any man in his prime. He had surprised us with his poise and the courage he displayed in pursuing the woman who had caught his full attention. Let’s bear in mind that he is not the kind of human being who can be called predictable. He’s an artist: a man of emotion. And he has been bipolar from a young age. His ability to slip in and out of the Dreamtime, the realm of potentiality, as a shaman was far from accomplished at the time he met Cassandra. He had been imparted ancient secret knowledge by the keepers of the Earth, that’s true, and was initiated in
As you inhaled, you shut your eyes and leaned back on the bench. I copied your movements instinctively. By the time we had finished the joint, my head was resting on your shoulder and your arm was around me. In the simplicity of our first encounter, our souls merged with ease and innocence. It was one of the most peaceful moments in my life before transformation. I owe it to you.
Two perfect strangers on a bench. We could have kissed but we didn’t. I could have run my hand between your thighs to feel your throbbing virility. I wanted to. I could see you had an erection. But I preferred to keep my head on your shoulder, with my arms resting in my lap, and listen to the sound of your breath fuse with mine. The depths of your soul were in the rhythm of your breathing. We were synchronised. Home at last, that’s how I felt.
You could have let your hand slip under my cashmere dress through its v-neck, and feel the warmth of my skin, my firm breasts. I was feeling aroused. But you stopped your hand half-way to its intended target and let it rest on my fully-sleeved arm. You were shaking. So much energy was rolled up in your body. You weren’t ready to unleash it yet. I didn’t know how to help you unfold it either. Despite our awkwardness, neither of us wanted to break the magic of that moment. We had met only a quarter of an hour earlier and ended up in the sweetest embrace, as it if were the most natural thing for us. Now we didn’t seem to be able to part anymore. We didn’t want to let go of each other’s touch but didn’t quite know how to articulate what was going on between us. So we sat in silence for a while, I don’t know for how long. It felt like ages. It probably was ages.
I shook myself out of the daze: I kissed your cheek and squeezed out of your arms.
“Thank you,” I said, “great little trip.”
“Are you hungry now, Cassandra?”
“Well, yeah, I always get the munchies.”
You opened your bag and produced something which was wrapped up in a paper serviette.
“Guess this is yours?”, you said. The contents of your concealment were revealed: the scone I had left on the table when I stormed out of the “Soul Food” café.
* * * *
We found her at last. She was sitting on a bench with Oscar at her side. They looked comfortable. Their auras had merged and turned to gold. Some dark patches were still visible but the Light emanating from their bodies was mostly glowing. Their Core signatures had synchronised and were resonating to the sound of the Ancient Tune. It was a pretty picture, and one which brought us relief. It would have been impossible not to detect her now that she was being true to herself. Cassandra and Oscar mirrored each other’s aspirations and better selves in their embrace. They also echoed their fears and recent ego-generated pasts in this encounter. Love and hate in unison. Light and darkness in gestalt. She reflected his full being like no one else could. Like the Moon, she shone Light on his past. Like the Earth, she encompassed his present. Like the Morning Star, she pointed to his future, the future from where she came.
Oscar wanted to belong with her, in her, like any man in his prime. He had surprised us with his poise and the courage he displayed in pursuing the woman who had caught his full attention. Let’s bear in mind that he is not the kind of human being who can be called predictable. He’s an artist: a man of emotion. And he has been bipolar from a young age. His ability to slip in and out of the Dreamtime, the realm of potentiality, as a shaman was far from accomplished at the time he met Cassandra. He had been imparted ancient secret knowledge by the keepers of the Earth, that’s true, and was initiated in
Similar Books
