by Viy Sitante
My name is Clarinda. My daddy is Clarito and my momma is Miss Maede. I have to call her Miss Maede because she hates being old, but she doesn’t look old at all. She also says calling her ‘momma’ is degrading, so I call her Miss Maede. She looks awfully happy when I do, especially when I hug her.
I can’t give you the name of our town, because no one knows what it is. It’s been that way long before Daddy moved here from a place whose name he’s also forgotten. But the people are nice, despite living far away from them up here in the mountains. It takes almost a day to get down there, so we have to always spend three days for the trip: one to rest, one to get every food and material we need for at least three months, and one to come back home. I wish we could stay more but by the third day, Miss Maede’s allergies start acting up while Daddy starts getting antsy. He starts talking about people staring at us and thinking about hurting us. I can’t think of a reason why. The town is full of folk like us: God-loving, Devil-fearing, good-living believers.
…Although Miss Maede always corrects me and says God-fearing, because that’s what God wants. But I don’t think she’s right, because she’s not a priest or any sort of holy prophet, so she can’t talk on His behalf like that. Why would God create us to fear Him? That’s what someone like the Devil would say, and I fear him. I have nightmares of being taken away by the Devil and his horde of lechers.
God created everyone to be nice and to love each other. So the townsfolk love God as I do, because they treat everyone nicely as I try to.
The townsfolk don’t fear the Devil though, which is strange. Instead, they fear the spirits that linger around the town. Spirits of the inhabitants who used to live here centuries ago, before the founders of this town moved in with paid killers. Once the inhabitants died of gas and guns, the founders built the town atop their corpses and the corpses of their ancestors. These corpses then come through as spirit folk, wandering the town for revenge whenever they feel like it. Or so the story goes…
Apparently the town don’t like that story. They prefer the one where the area had been abandoned by the souls before us. The real mystery was the presence of strange devices and objects left all over the place, especially inside the buildings. They appeared to be from a strange place where smart, or smarter, scientists lived, one where the townsfolk could press a button and a female voice would start asking you questions about your daily routine and your needs of the day.
I wouldn’t have known the difference. Not like nobody’s been able to figure out the devices either. But that’s why I like talking to the lady in lace. She tells me stories like this.
Oh, I should tell you the story of our first meeting during my first year of homeschooling in winter. Daddy and Miss Maede were upstairs making noise, and out of the blue, I saw her through the window. It wasn’t snowing, so it was good viewing. Her figure was out there, staying still like cockroaches do when you’ve spotted them in a showdown.
I swore I heard her wailing and thought she was crying. You got to help people when they’re crying, so I went out. I knew Daddy would be mad but he’d turn glad when he realized why.
I forgot my coat and sure enough, it was super cold. Icy, even. But the air got warmer the closer I got to her. She was real pretty and looked a little like Miss Maede in that they both had big noses and brown eyes. While Miss Maede was blonde and fat though, the lady in lace was thin and brunette. She kinda looked sickly. Her dress was pretty: lacy sleeves going down to her hands, connected to a white buttoned shirt with a red line underneath the buttons. The line came out of her dress, red as blood with splotches of brown at her hemline. The red looked like it could swallow her completely.
“Hullo.” My knees had stopped shaking by now, and my hand wasn’t shivering too much when I offered a handshake. Good thing too; Miss Maede would have gotten mad if I didn’t greet people properly.
“Hello, child,” she answered. At that moment, I remember my body warming up differently. Like when Miss Maede or Daddy hugs me. Or when my teacher Miss Escovedo pats my head.
We talked a little about what happened. Turns out she wasn’t doing the wailing, that it was the wind through the trees. When it gets awfully cold, the icicles create their own music—and sometimes the wind collaborates, not knowing that its contribution frightens or confuses people.
I didn’t know that. Daddy never bothered to tell me.
The lady in lace smiled a lot while we were talking, even with sad stuff, and I didn’t know why. I promised myself to ask later.
After a while, she said I should be going back because my family would be worried. It was getting colder now, despite the fact that the area had been warm. I said thank you for the conversation, I waved her goodbye, and I ran back home. The wind was picking up, which was good if I made it fast enough.
When I next saw the lady in lace, it was after my first week of schooling. I learned that she was someone who stayed away from town like we did, because the townsfolk didn’t like her. I would have pointed out that the townsfolk didn’t hate us, that it was Daddy and Miss Maede who were blind to what I saw always. But the initial shock of her admission about her spirit self overtook all my thoughts for the rest of the day.
“How was school, Clarinda?”
The lady in lace calls herself Bárbara. She told me once that the people used to call her Doña Bárbara. But unlike Miss Maede, she said I can call her by her actual name. That makes me happy.
Right now, spring’s starting, and schooling was about to end soon. Because I’m homeschooled by Miss Maede, I have a different schedule that ends in June. That works for me, because it’s not like I’m in town with the other kids from the high school. I don’t have to worry about being sad that they’re outside and I’m still inside. They barely know me, except as a visitor to the town akin to salesmen and con men, to the circus and to the fairs. So they always are happy to see me, at least. I used to be sad that I don’t have friends but Bárbara became my friend when I needed her. I thank God for looking out for me.
“It was boring,” I respond, taking another bite of her muffins. “We had to dissect a squirrel, look at its innards. It was supposed to be a frog, but Daddy didn’t get one in time.”
“I see. Then this week is biology?”
“Uh-huh.” I finish the mouthful off before I cross my legs. I make sure my dress covers them.
Even though Bárbara is a ghost, she never acts like one. She doesn’t even look like a ghost! When I see her from afar, unless it’s winter, she is a mite pale and translucent. When you’re closer to her, the only indication of her ghostly form is her never-changing appearance. She still looks the same way she did when we first met. She still looks like an adult like Miss Maede used to be, before she got older and fatter.
Our meeting today is in a clear, clean and crisp green-filled meadow. Trees surround us, and we’re not so far away from the house if something happens. Miss Maede told me I had the rest of the day free to myself, but to dedicate one hour to schooling before I eventually go to sleep tonight. When I left the house, she was going up the stairs to meet Daddy again.
Once in a while, Bárbara will bring foodstuffs or items for me. She says that she can control other people to bring them here for her, and then leave. When they ‘wake up’, they’re back to where they were before she took over them. It’s the only nice thing to do.
Whenever I think of someone who exudes God’s love, Bárbara comes to mind immediately. I don’t appreciate the act of controlling other people’s souls, and when I raised an objection once, she showed me how it works in action. The people actually agree to this control first, especially if they believe in the supernatural. Then Bárbara slides in and out easily without a visible difference in presence, and takes care to make sure there is no physical harm done. Since then, I feel better that she tries to protect other people too. That she does it to help me is also a plus. It’s thanks to her that I’ve been able to learn things that Miss Maede doesn’t know or refuses to teach me–
She speaks, cocking her head: “So is it animal biology? Or are humans included?”
“Humans are animals, silly!,” I corrected her, huffing myself with pride.
“So we are.”
Her giggling is very cute, perfect in the way it should be for a woman. The way she composes herself is how sometimes I’d like to act, but unfortunately I can’t. No matter how much I try, I can only seem to be ‘like a boy,’ like Daddy says. He says it’s convenient because I take to the masculine activities like a son, and I can help him. I’ve helped him a lot and that makes me happy. But it also means Miss Maede has long stopped trying to prepare me for social sorority parties, for one. I don’t mind the dresses, despite that.
“When will you learn about the human body?”
“We already did.”
Bárbara looks confused. “You did?”
“Yep,” I say, taking another muffin. I cross my legs after I move to be closer to her. Somehow it feels like I’m yelling and she’s far away, so I want to be polite and not have her strain her hearing. “Took us about fifteen minutes. We went over the parts of the body; skeletal and muscular. We went over the parts relevant to me, like my breasts and my vagina. And that’s it.”
“Remind me,” she says, her hand light on the edge of her jaw, “have you been taught about certain situations with your body?”
“Say, if you want a child.”
I cough and cough, more from the sudden shift in her voice than from the topic. I clarify as such to her, when she worries about my possibly choking on another mouthful.
“We didn’t cover that. Or. Well. We did today, but it was about how someday I’ll have a child and the child will come out through my vagina—and when Miss Maede told me about the option to cut up my stomach, I immediately shot that down. Miss Maede laughed at that.”
“You do not like pain?”
“No, I can handle pain. I just don’t like the idea of cutting up my body. God gave me this body, so I want to take care of it to thank Him. I know he doesn’t get mad if an accident happens, and I know he won’t get mad if I have a child in another method, because a child is a miracle either way. It’s His gift. But I don’t want to ruin my body. I also just…”
Despite being a ghost, sometimes Bárbara smells like fresh grass after the rain. I wondered often if that was my imagination—if perhaps I confused the smell of spring each year with her–or if she wasn’t a ghost. I knew she was a ghost however; she proved it when she walked through the trees and put her hands through rocks. But the smell was so…tactile in a way, that sometimes my own faith in reality faltered.
The scent is on her again now, when she leans close to me.
“Bárbara, is it wrong to not want a child?”
Suddenly the air becomes thick and it’s immediate; I made the mistake of asking a forbidden question—one that I had asked Daddy and Miss Maede before, and they told me that I simply thought like that because I was a child (at the time). That when I grew older, I’d want a child because that’s what every woman and man wants. To leave something of theirs behind after they die.
But I didn’t want that.
I don’t care about leaving something behind when there wasn’t going to be anyone who cared. We live in an isolated part of the mountain. We were going to die without anyone knowing, ever, just like those corpses under the town.
I stutter and shoo away from Bárbara. I try to stand up but fall over my own dress, because I forgot that when I cross my legs, my dress gets caught in my boots.
My hands get a little scratched and it hurts, but I kneel on my knees and shake my head. I know that to let the pain not be immediate, I have to wait a bit. I see Bárbara’s red dress from the corner of my eye and I start to stutter in apologia.
“No, please—please don’t tell anyone, I’m sorry—I was only joking–!”
“Clarinda, it’s fine. Come.”
She kneels down in front of me and takes my hands in hers. She kisses them before turning them over. There’s dirt and grass blades, and a red mark indicating the wound I surely will have to nurse when I get home.
“It is not a bad question,” she assures me. “After all, there are plenty of other people to take up your role. I bet you figured that out, right? That you don’t need a child if there are others to go forth and multiply.”
…That’s correct. I hadn’t seen it that way, but I suppose Bárbara isn’t wrong. There are enough women and men; the hundreds in town, the possible thousands over the hills and far away, the millions and billions of God’s creatures. The world had kept cycling on, as that astronomer said from the book that Bárbara brought me once, and the human race had kept existing on the pale blue dot over the centuries. In all that time, there must have been people like me who simply lived. Lived for God’s love as others multiplied for the behalf of His Creation.
My train of correct thinking is interrupted by a warmth I feel inside my chest. My eyes take hold of Bárbara lifting my hands to her mouth, and her tongue starts to lick my dirty hand. Something unknown in me quells and rises up at the same time I pull my hands away.
I feel my ears burn and my cheeks burn. “Bárbara! That’s—that’s not good hygiene! We have first aid kits!” The words come out of my mouth but I feel like I just lied. I don’t know why.
“I’m sorry,” she says. I don’t think I quite believe her, because she doesn’t look that sorry at all.
My heart is beating fast, faster than it’s ever done. The few other times it’s beaten this fast is when I walk with her, when she teaches me things, those times she’s taught me how she functions as a ghost.
“So you were taught how to have a child,” she reminds me, as if what I’m feeling is irrelevant. “What about pleasure? Were you taught how to pleasure a man?”
“Oh…no. Miss Maede says I don’t have the right.”
At this, Bárbara’s face takes a color I’ve never seen. I’m not sure if that was the wrong answer or not. “The right? You are a woman, and every woman will need to learn how to pleasure a man first before she can be a mother. For his sake, as I was taught.”
My eyes widen because I never knew this. “Really?”
“What have you been taught? I do not remember.”
“Because I never told you. Shortly after I finally had my period and learned the ways of proper womanhood, I asked Miss Maede about her activities upstairs with Daddy. She said it was a fun exercise for adults. When I asked her if I’ll do it too, she said no, because I’m a woman and women don’t know how to do that. When I told her that she was a woman and she knew how to do it, she laughed at me and said it’s because in her case, she fears God. Because I love God, I don’t have the right. God rewards those who fear him with the luxuries of this world.”
I nod, because Bárbara guessed correctly. I didn’t get it either. Why did Miss Maede say one thing and then say another, as if both answers didn’t contradict each other? I’m happy that Bárbara knew immediately what I meant. I feel like sometimes she’s the only one who understands me…
Bárbara shuffles to be closer to me. She’s still kneeling in front of me. Her eyes suddenly are clear and I see my reflection in them somewhat, I swear, but they’re still as brown as the soil beneath us. The pain in my hands stings but somehow it’s not hurting as bad as it usually does.
“Clarinda, I do apologize, but your mother is a silly whore.”
She raises a hand; a rage starts to rise within me, at how she suddenly insulted Miss Maede, who hadn’t done much wrong by me. She was my mother; only natural to protect your mother, as God’s Son protected The Virgin Mary even after death. Bárbara’s hands cup my head. She’s not really touching me, of course. Part of her fingers go through and I know this because they’re cold. It’s more the gesture, the thought behind it, than a human reaction.
“Mary Magdalene was a whore, yes or no?”
I hesitate before I answer: “…No.”
“That’s right,” she continues, “she was not a whore. She became one by the scribes of men. And it is men who have convinced women like your mother to believe, and to become similar. Someone who lies like she does is a whore, and someone who enjoys the carnal pleasures of this world and denies it to others is less than a whore. She is vermin. She steals to enjoy. She takes to enjoy. She believes that she deserves anything, and to share anything is a weakness.”
My brows furrow. I can feel my eyes stinging, and I’m not sure why, until I feel a moist sensation. My sight’s become a bit blurry too, but one of Bárbara’s fingers gesture at wiping away a tear at the corner of my eye.
“Oh, but you know this already, don’t you? Why else would you keep coming here, instead of staying in the house where all she does is teach you the bare basics, then whore around for most of the day?”
Miss Maede does good by me. I can be stupid at times, and instead of hitting me like Daddy would at times, Miss Maede only ever gently tapped the top of my head with a pencil or the palm of her hand. She’d stay there the whole night by my side if she had to, forcing me to drink unknown beverages or the occasional pill, the same workers in town would take, in order to make sure I stayed awake. She would take some too, but she had a stronger constitution. I was a child, so I was weak and needed the drinks or pill. Sometimes both. I’d feel miserable in the morning but my education was worth it, she justified.
In actuality… I don’t think it was.
My eyes start to properly cry now, as memories flood my mind–of asking the kids in the town how their parents helped with their education; memories of the answers being a gentle pat, a tender word of support, an additional tutor if they could afford it, an attempt to be kind and an acknowledgment of one’s limits. Nobody had to take drugs to stay awake. Nobody had to be taught to sleep less to work more.
More memories flood in: asking the kids if their father ever said thank you; asking the parents about the worst thing their child has ever done; asking the parents their thoughts on physical discipline, couching it in clear verbiage that indicated curiosity about family rearing. Necessary details for my future, that sort of thing.
I don’t remember much of what happened afterwards before I went home. But I sure remember Bárbara holding me and stroking my hair, the way she often did.
When I would talk to God at night, I frequently ask him if perhaps in the next life, I could be born to someone like Bárbara instead.
Me, Daddy and Miss Maede drive on down to the town on our first day of our three day stockpile shopping. This time, the season had been good, so we didn’t need much of items like eggs or potatoes, but we still needed to buy at least one pallet in case of an emergency. I had gotten my period, so I was in a tough spot, but thankfully Miss Maede’s pill for controlling that sort of thing was working. I still wore a pad just in case, and this time, actually, Miss Maede said I can finally buy my own set of pills, since I needed them anyway to be able to keep helping Daddy around the house.
We’d arrived right on schedule and get to passing by the police at the security point at the edge of town. They already recognize us and let us in with a wave and a smile. There are times where I wonder if they do the same for everyone. I would hope so. At least they weren’t new officers; last time there was a new recruit and he aimed his guns at us before we even reached the security point. He kept saying that we were spirit folk, and clearly we were there to kill and eat all pairing of sisters found in the town.
Something like that.
I didn’t begrudge him—when I saw that his eyes looked like mine after barely an hour of rest across three days, I realized that he had been at risk of hallucination. I waited until we were at Mister Grimble’s hostel and prayed to God to look after him. Hopefully the lack of this new recruit today is His answer.
Speaking of Mister Grimble, he too salutes Daddy and waves us in when he sees us at the hostel’s entrance. He’s dressed fine today, but he always dresses like this. Today’s color is turquoise, offset by the green carnation he also always wears on his lapel. I learned about the meaning of this flower from Bárbara, who appeared to have known of Mister Grimble. She’s the one who told me to be alert next time for his husband. She’s the one who told me to be alert next time for his husband, who married him outside of town many years ago.
I learned this from Mister Grimble himself, when I asked him once about why he looked so lonely on one of our trips years ago. To this day, I don’t know if it was because I live in the mountains or because he saw in me the same God-love I saw in him, but he told me about his husband who went away to fight that week and would return in three weeks. They had to pretend to be eternal bachelors, sleeping around with women, so they could be left alone.
In reality, they never did sleep around but the townsfolk believe them automatically because otherwise, they couldn’t live there. There’s no such thing as a man loving another man in this world. They’ll believe a simple story because they trust people wholeheartedly, before believing in anything else outside of their perspective.
At the time I reminded Mister Grimble that no matter what, I don’t think it’s bad. Because God created him just like he created me, and so he has the divine right to exist like I do and to love like I hoped to one day.
I don’t think he appreciated it as much as I thought he would have, to be honest. The situation became a little awkward. But ever since then, he asks me more about myself and gives me extra goodies when we arrive and leave. Sometimes I would find a psalm card of a random saint in my welcome bag, oddly always befitting the stay.
I don’t think he likes Daddy or Miss Maede, since they never get anything extra.
Our room this time is bigger than usual. There’s a dividing door, which means that I get my own room. I chirp happily, and Daddy and Miss Maede whoop in agreement. This time, because I was of working age, it means that I can go walk alone once we unpacked our bags and planned for the next day. That never takes a lot of time, so only about ten minutes pass when I indicate my plans to walk because it’s such a nice day.
Daddy and Miss Maede don’t mind, and they go to the other room immediately. I hear them shuffling around in the cabinets and the minibar. They’re discussing on who gets the remote by the time I leave.
When I get downstairs, I ask Mister Grimble if the pathway to the White Forest is open. I want to go there and see the flowers blossom without any distractions. He smiles and nods, and answers in the affirmative. I skip a little—his titter at my impatience is the last sound I hear before boarding the trolley that coincidentally comes by in time.
The town’s bright and vibrant as ever. A lot of activity today. I think the fair is coming back again for the year? I’ve only been once, by sheer coincidence of the fair syncing up with one of our stock trips. I don’t remember much because Daddy and Miss Maede rushed through everything so much, we barely ate. I can remember an entrance to a magic forest that was popular with the kids because I wanted to go, and begged at least for some mercy. They kept saying it wasn’t worth it, that the entire fair wasn’t worth it. I’d be bored after a minute, and they only took me through the entire thing in less than five minutes, as if to prove their correct stance. I wasn’t going to miss it afterwards, they said.
As expected, they were wrong. But I made my peace with that. Besides, I had my own magic forest to visit today.
The White Forest is a phenomenon unknown to the townsfolk. Even Bárbara doesn’t know about its creation, which was shocking to me. However, she remembers being told that the White Forest was important for lovers. Legend says that whoever can make love on the flowers will be blessed by the ancient gods, and will be forever by God’s side once they make it to Heaven. I asked her how that contradiction would work; the ancient gods and God aren’t the same, and followers of the two would have a crisis of faith. She shrugged, with a comment:
Perhaps, Clarinda, it was created by desperate children, to convince the illiterate and the strays who didn’t know any better…Or perhaps someone split the spirit of the universe in two, and split love two-fold, her words repeat in my mind, causing a sensation of warmth and giddiness in my body. Such a poetic way of thinking of nature, of everything around us. I know I would have a similar crisis of having to wonder if these deities would be mad at me.
I can see why lovers would want to come here, I think to myself as I jump off from the trolley. By now, the car had emptied, since the townsfolk didn’t bother visiting here much. The kids in town may come soon, maybe. I’m not sure. Anyway, the White Forest is blanketed with spots of green and brown among the white, with the browns being some checkpoint here and there for resting areas. The smell of the flowers intoxicates me completely.
The decrepit, rusting sign is still here; wavering as always at the top of an equally ancient pole at the equally rusted entrance. A triangle, with curving and interchangeable waves around a black dot, is still half-visible, along with half-faded text where the only letters barely able to be read are N, C, L and R. Nobody knows the meaning behind these drawings. Not even Bárbara. Again, shocking, but the sign had been here before the founding of the town centuries ago. It simply turned into an old friend; a sign (no pun intended) of familiarity. The day it’d disappear would be a sad day for all. Yet somehow, that day may never come. The sign had been in this condition forever, as if it also didn’t want to stop belonging to the town.
The scent grows stronger the further I walk in. As I suspected, no other soul could be found.
As I also suspected…my own body is growing weary. Weary of waiting. I can feel my breasts starting to warm, my cheeks too. The insides of my vagina are tingling, and I’m hoping nothing else happens until I see Bárbara. These flowers are indeed too powerful.
As if God made sure to answer my impatience, I see her near a small hut. Or rather…
Is this reality? Or is this a fantasy?
“Clarinda,” Bárbara yells from afar, waving and smiling. If she wore spring clothes instead of her lace and dress wear, she’d look right at home. Her hands are on her lap and she’s sitting on the front porch of this hut.
I don’t answer. I am unnerved. I make sure to walk right up to her, however, to determine if I am not dreaming or hallucinating. I’m wearing my cross today, and I clutch at it underneath my shirt. My heart beats faster not from expectation but from anxiety.
She smiles wider, though she blinks at my confusion. She realizes why I stop in my tracks as she turns to her side and looks at her companion: a pitch-perfect copy of Bárbara, posed like a puppet waiting to be awakened, with her eyes closed.
“Do not worry. This is part of our plan. She agreed to it. I have it in writing here,” she adds, as if she expected the obvious question. She hands me a neatly folded sheet of paper, and the touch is soft to my skin. There’s a faint perfumed scent, like the most expensive kind that Miss Maede uses. I let go of my cross naturally, because I have to read the letter—no, a contract, where a Miss Marisela Mercado, spirit medium and tarot reader, has agreed to be used by Bárbara for all her needs. I quote, ‘of my free will and of my birthright of choice, I become servant to the dead whose cries for help go unheard.’
I do not feel better. I crease my brows in, may God forgive me, judgment of the person next to her. I don’t know who she is and I would have liked to talk to her—and how did Bárbara find such a stranger—a twin—
“It is better for you, isn’t it? You will be seeing me instead.” She smirks and chuckles, in a tone I hadn’t heard before. “That boy you mentioned wasn’t good for you.”
My cheeks burn red. I had suggested that perhaps the boy from the lumberyard could have been a good candidate for her to control. So long as he knew and agreed to everything. He had mentioned belief in the spirit folk before, so I knew that made everything easier. After all….if…
“I…” I grab at my hands and clasp them together. I pace around nervously.
Bárbara’s voice suddenly becomes sultry: “Pleasure…”
I turn my head to her, curious and confused.
“…is pleasure. What matters is what we feel in our hearts. Don’t you think?”
Once she says that, she stands up and positions herself behind the living dead ‘doll.’ It’s incredible that this person’s appearance matches Bárbara’s, right down to her dimples. I can’t stop thinking she’s a twin. But that would be odd, for even twins aren’t of the same mind, body and need. And she wasn’t lying. I…I want to see her…
I take a deep breath to calm myself. I’ve never done this before, so I am at Bárbara’s mercy. But my body is acting as if I know all the steps, as if this were innate. As natural as breathing air into my lungs. When she holds out her hand after having taken control of the body and I take it in mine, she walks me along the path next to the hut, and brings me to the place where we’ll make love.
“You don’t love that boy, do you?”
“…I don’t know.”
My voice is shaky, I notice. Not like hers: enticing. Alluring. I can’t stop glancing at all the parts I’ve memorized but never dare think on why I had implanted them in my brain. Her lips, now a wine red bordering on the darker shade of color; her breasts, as her chest lifts from her breathing; her hands that are now going to my pants—and touching me so lightly, yet so welcoming.
“—Oh–!” I can’t stop myself from moaning aloud as I hug myself in the shockwave of pleasure, to keep myself tied to this earth. I thank God in my mind for allowing me to experience this, to let it be Bárbara who’s teasing me, and who’s carefully stroking my crotch area. I can feel my underwear become damp from the wetness dripping from my insides. I’m wobbling but I stand my ground.
When she pulls her hand away, I open my eyes and breathe. I breathe to calm down. I swallow and I pant, and I look down to the ground. It is not shame I feel, but I can’t pretend that I didn’t expect that, nor did I plan for it.
“Do you think he would have made you feel that?”
Her voice sounds as intoxicating as the smell of flowers. Even more so perhaps.
“I,” I say, unable to allay my tone from its whining tune. “I don’t know.”
Her nodding is light. She lets go of her twin’s—no, her hair from its semi-bob and her curls dance around her. My wetness builds in my underwear, and I sense my breathing stop when she starts to tease at her breasts.
I forgot to say, she’s wearing a thin yellow, long-sleeved shirt that accentuates her shoulders with its v-shape. I mention the thin part only because her nipples are protruding rather noticeably, and in my experience, normal clothes don’t show that unless you’re not wearing a brassiere. My lips servicing her nipples suddenly come to mind–
My wetness spills out further, and I worry that my pants may get wet through my underwear. I move my legs apart before realizing how bad of an idea that was. The sensations feel better once I close my legs.
She stops teasing herself and her eyes fall on me with a degree of lustfulness I had never seen from her before. I remember a random story, about David committing adultery with Bathsheba. It had never occurred to me to ask if anyone else’s Bibles were different, but I remember Miss Maede’s being so…explicit, that in hindsight, it may have been my first instance of some sort of sexual awakening. Maybe the desire to also want to experience such a situation.
Something deep in me reminds me that I should not hope for that, because I wasn’t even a candidate for my period at the time…and it must say something about me that the feeling had formed within me at that young age. Something deep within me reminds me that I should not hope for that, because I had yet to reach a mature age to experience certain events…and it must say something about me that I had been so young when that feeling formed within me.
I return to the present and decide to instead let my base desires take over. I send out a small prayer for God to forgive my temporary madness of selfishness.
“You’ve touched yourself before, haven’t you?,” Bárbara asks, as she steps back, never turning her head to make sure she’s walking backwards correctly, until she meets the wall of the hut. Her hands find her black dress and unfurl the knot in front, and lets it drop to showcase…a most beautiful sight: her legs, as smooth as the surface of the bathtub back home, lacking in underwear; the shaved area above her vulva, dripping wet as if it’d been waiting a while.
I can’t stop myself: I can’t tell if I’m breathing again, but I bring my hands to my breasts, massaging them once or twice, before I bring them down to my own crotch area. I unzip my own pants, then I lead my hand to my underwear, going under the band and feeling the wet, wet evidence of my own need. My pubic hair gets tangled in my fingers and it’s bothersome, but I can manage. I nod vigorously, as I touch myself and moan for her.
Sometimes I’ve wondered if she’s seen me touch myself—the first time I couldn’t come to visit her, I had…sudden thoughts about her that echoed Miss Maede’s filthy words to Daddy when they were having intercourse upstairs. I knew they wouldn’t hear me but I still made sure to keep quiet as I took off all my clothes, and touched myself in the way that my body knew innately. Whether it was due to the oral ‘teachings’ of my parents or due to some of the books Bárbara gave me, I had some idea of how this all could go down. I thought of Bárbara’s lips, I thought of her body, I imagined her body around me, I imagined her touching me, I imagined her vagina—and on that last one, I had come for the first time in my bed, the self-love sticking to my fingers, the evidence dripping on my sheets. The euphoric feeling, the air kissing my naked skin; I finally understood the notion of the Ecstasy of Saint Teresa that time.
It wouldn’t be the last time. Again, I had to make sure Miss Maede or Daddy didn’t find out. It was honestly easier at night, and easier when they were distracted with each other. I would use my pillow, covering it first so that naturally, I could still use it afterwards…after I finished imagining someone underneath me, penetrating me with a force beyond this realm. Sometimes, if I was lucky enough and alert enough to be wholly silent, I would touch myself in the bathtub, using the running water from the handle to come quickly if I was tired. On one occasion, I lost count of time, enjoying the heavenly arousal when I would interchange between using hot and cold water on myself. I only realized that ten minutes had passed when Miss Maede knocked on my door and yelled at me over the waste of water bathing myself.
As I touch myself more and more in the present now, and mutter her name over and over, I remember the time I used a small device that was left behind by Bárbara in one of my book packages. It likely wasn’t its intent but I was so desperate for new ways to climax, that once I figured out how to turn it on, it vibrated in such a way that I placed it near my guess of my clitoris’ location, and imagined her licking me right there. I came so fast, I spilled more fluids than I thought possible. Some of this clear material appeared to be of a similar fashion as was described of men’s ejaculate.
When I asked her about the device later, she had no clue as to what I was talking about—yet again, in hindsight, I wondered if perhaps she was wanting me to learn ‘appropriate sexual measures,’ as my own mother had refused me. And now Bárbara is here in front of me, willing to teach me even more. She offers herself to me as she places her hands on her chest and spreads her legs even further.
“Clarinda,” she calls in a desperate tone, “touch me the way you touch yourself. Make me cum. I want to be with you.”
I take my hand out of my nether regions and take off my shirt. My cross dances around my collarbone, but I leave it alone. I’m wobbling and wavering, but I make it to her and I grind against her initially, forgetting her plea. We both moan at the same time, and my heart is light when she takes my face in her hands and kisses me, Her tongue is swirling inside me immediately, and I roll my eyes upwards and close them. I keep grinding against her as if I were a man, and while I’m not sure if that’s how it’s supposed to be with a woman, Bárbara moans against me and grabs at my rear end. She pushes against me and I have to move my legs in a way where if I had a cock, I could truly tease her with it. She takes both of my breasts in her hands, massaging them before she pulls at my nipples. I whine and grind—I’m surprised at myself for my joyous reaction.
“Touch me, Clarinda.”
Bárbara takes her shirt by the v-neck and slides it down under her breasts. I finally see that which I had only imagined, and my vagina tingles at the happiness of such a sight. Her breasts are perky and perfect, maybe a little bigger than mine, but I don’t hesitate in licking the left one. The skin tastes sweet like a cherry bonbon, and when I suck at her areola, it’s even sweeter. She’s saying my name in a way that drives me more and more to grind against her and I stop only because I want to smash our chests together and rub mine against hers. I love how she feels. I become confused at her hands pulling me away by my waist.
Then I understand completely when she drags my pants down—I see from above the remnants of my wetness on the period pad, and the cool air meeting my skin, my body shivering in delight.
I shiver even more when she kneels down and sticks out her tongue. What follows next is a release of inhibitions, orally and physically. I don’t hold back in crying out of pleasure, as I grab at my breasts for a place to hang onto, though my knees almost give away. I try to remain standing, even as her tongue swivels around my slits–
This is everything I ever wanted, and I hang my head back when her hands push against my rear.
“Clarinda,” she mutters in a husky voice when she pulls back, causing me to shake my head from its control. “You’re delicious.” Her mouth kisses and suckles the folds of my vagina, her nose tickling the hairs above it. Her fingers trace the barrier between the outside world and my virginity, playing, stroking it to my delight. “And so dirty.”
My heart jumps at that lusty statement. I also close my eyes and hold on to her by her shoulders, her fingers stroking my…my…
I grind against her fingers when she speaks. Her voice is inside my head…
“M-may I…may I please,” I pant out, moving in reaction to a particular touch against my clitoris. She stops, perhaps out of pity. “Oh, may I please,” I start again, looking down at her directly, “may I please be lewd?”
Her lips look fuller now, her hands on my waist. “How?” She didn’t ask unnecessary questions of the small talk variety; she always knew what I meant.
“With my, my mouth,” I answer, a bit whiny near the end. “I want to speak to you like a lover.”
Bárbara smiles and nods. “Be as filthy as you want, my little whore.”
The word she had used to refer to Miss Maede–my sudden confusion at her use of this insult towards me leaves as fast as her tongue lapping at me like a puppy drinking water. I stumble against her, grind against her tongue innately. Maybe…maybe I was a little whore. I must be, doing all of this in the open without fear or shame.
Bárbara lets go of me to go lie down on the bed of flowers beneath us, and spreads her legs as an offering to my wet altar. I tell myself that if I am a little whore, then I am among the greats of those like Mary Magdalene who were called whores by people who hated her.
Yet something must have broken in me. I enjoy her calling me by that epithet, and I want her to keep calling me that. I..I…I need her to call me that.
I kneel down in front of her. I lean down and forward, take my tongue out and oh, I’m so nervous. But her mating call is intoxicating, so I lap and suckle at her vagina and oh, the taste is divine.
“Oh yes,” she coos aloud, “yes—from down and up—down and up—yes, like that…hmmm…”
My first time tasting mana from Heaven…I quickly get addicted, as she moans louder and louder the more I lick and suck, the more I drink her up and she travels down my throat. Her moans cause my own genitals to ache for her, as they’ve only done for her. She pulls at my hair, tells me to lick at her clitoris too. When she shows me where hers is, I lick at it carefully and prompt her to say my new title in such a lustful way, that I may come right now if I’m not careful.
I spread my own legs—and I keep hearing Daddy and Miss Maede calling me more of a son than a daughter over and over in the back of my head. Except I don’t want a penis (I think), I just want my pussy to be on top of hers.
“Touch me, Clarinda,” Bárbara begs, loudly. Has she also released her inhibitions? “Pierce me with your fingers, right here,” she begs further, pointing with her hands to her red, red pussy. I follow, of course, and I position myself to place my hand between us. She’s giving me instructions on how to tease her, so it becomes easier for me.
I stroke her with my fingers, any will do. I fix my position so that my pussy is high up and won’t interfere. My one arm is under her head and I smile at the way her face is contorted in pleasure.
“Oh…oh Bárbara…” I don’t hold back in my volume, my voice having suddenly acquired a finely-tuned grave voice. “This feels so good…” Her skin against mine is a dream come true, and her lusty expression grows more flushed with the signs of passion as I take to stroking her clitoris. Then her fingers have found my own pussy again, causing me to stop and react happily to this now-familiar sensation. Deep within me I knew this could happen, but I welcome it, for I want it for so long too.
“Don’t stop, my little whore,” Bárbara scolds. “You’re so perfect.”
This is part of the fuzzy world I live in now, I realize, when her body makes a push for us to lay side by side, facing each other. She doesn’t hesitate in placing one leg over mine, just as I don’t hesitate in pushing us closer and holding her by the waist with my left hand. We kiss, passionately as the spring sun witnesses us and showers us with its warm light. Truly the human mind and body, when in a carnal state, know what they must do because we are all carrying this pocket book of knowledge, for that moment of finding our lovers.
Our tongues dance, and she bites my lower lip. I groan in reaction; yet like her nickname for me, it is a welcome act rather than a malicious reaction. I look down when she’s readying to pleasure me as I will her, and in an image I’ll never forget, my cross is against her breasts. I’m making love as I am protected, and I find delight in that this union was meant to be.
Our fingers find each other and immediately, the contrast is wonderful. Bárbara teases fast, playing with my pussy’s own lips as I stroke her own, slow and careful. We both agree to finger each other at the same time. One last kiss between us is the precursor, as one finger each slowly injects, penetrates and finally pushes inside to a mutual loud moan of joy.
At last–! I’ve given my virginity to her, her fingers inside me, marking me as hers, making sure my body now knows my new status as a woman. I can help but smile and gasp happily. It feels like…she’s saying I’m home! and the next second she’s dropped her shoes on my toes. This new sensation, of skin meeting new skin, is as fleeting as my hold on reality. We both hold each other close, as we finger each other continuously. Her walls are so wet, her fluids are drenching me completely. But I also feel her secret walls reacting to my touch and when she begs me to place another finger inside, I beg her to do the same for me.
When her second finger enters me, my eyes well up. The sensation overtakes me, overwhelming my body. I can’t help but moan so loud and shamelessly. She’s so good, everything about her is so good and I don’t want it to stop.
“Oh—hmm. Do you feel it?” she pants out, my hips buckling against her.
“Do you feel—ahhhn,” she moans and tosses her head back. Her walls are closing around my fingers, to which I take as challenge to stretch her roughly, playing with her as I always wanted to. Now she’s yelling my name with a wild grin on her face.
“I feel you—I feel you,” I answer, assuming that’s what she wanted to ask. We stay like this for a few minutes before she stops fingering me, pulling out and holding onto my shoulders instead. She tries her best to wrap her legs around me, all the while I don’t stop pleasuring her. She even moves against me for a few seconds before she cries out in delight and roughly swerves backwards, laying on her back.
“Oh, good, good–” Bárbara bends her leg upwards and pulls me by my arms, my shoulders and kisses me again. I stop for a bit, grinding to feel more of her presence until she’s begging me to penetrate her again. Before that, she orders me to tease her at her clitoris and I do. She’s praising my diligent work, louder still when I enter her again with both of my fingers. I don’t believe she expected me to be this good, and I didn’t either. But I want her to feel good—I want her to feel as good as I feel when I touch myself, as she wanted.
“Oh—oh—oh, my little whore’s making me–”
I’m stumbling on the edge of my first proper orgasm, her voice pushing me to jump. I don’t say anything, only moaning and moaning, the volume increasing as her cries do.
“I’m cumming—oh, my sweet whore is—yes—yes!”
I come on her sweet whore, then she comes a few seconds later. Our screams combine together and are so loud against the general silence of this environment, that for a split second I’m frightened at being found out. I ride our climax, regardless, not wanting to come down from the clouds. My pussy spills out everything, my thighs now slick and sticky. Her fluids bathe my hand, spilling out as my reward for dedicated love.
Time feels like it’s stalled. An hour, two hours pass, perhaps more. I’m not sure, and I can only hope it’s not too long, but I still find myself holding Bárbara when I finally open my eyes. My breathing is shallow, the same way after my climaxes from touching myself. And the first thing I see is Bárbara with her eyes closed, panting, her cheeks red beyond compare. Her hair is askew, strands of hair falling over her like paintings at a museum. I know that I must still want her like this, because my chest feels warm again, and my pussy wants her again.
I take the initiative: I don’t find myself as tired as I thought I’d be after my first time, while I stand up and wipe my eyes, rub my face. I move Bárbara gently to her initial pose, flat on her back. She’s moaning and moving, her legs bending and spreading as if she knows what will happen. In fact, there’s a grin on her face.
I place myself above her again and kiss her. When I pull back, she’s able to open her eyes and gives me that look of a lover that I’ve always wanted.
“Tell me how, Bárbara,” I beg. “Tell me how a woman does it like a man.”
Her grin grows wide and my pussy tingles. She takes me by my torso and leads me to where I should be. Once she tells me how to perform, I grind against her clitoris once I position myself better, spread my own legs to stand my ground. I hitch a breath at her wriggling under me, her legs bent upwards.
“Move, my little whore. M—ah,” she mewls when I follow her command. I move the way I know a man would. Her body is heaven-sent, and her clitoris is no exception. We both climaxed just a few seconds ago, and now here we are making love again, our bodies connected to each other. I’m beginning to wonder if this is genetic, considering what Miss Maede says about Daddy. But I shoo away those feelings because I want to think about Bárbara’s pussy, how good she feels against my skin. I concentrate on Bárbara’s lewd lips spilling out such profanities.
“Yes—yes!–oh, my little whore’s cock! Dirtying me—ohhnn, you’re such a good little thing—aren’t–you–”
The image of my clitoris as a man’s cock gives me pleasure in ways unimagined before. I hadn’t touched myself to images of myself (or even Bárbara) as a woman with a large appendage—but somehow now, the idea is appealing for experimentation, and I curse myself that I don’t know how to do such a thing. But her body against mine is so, so good on the other hand, that I can only acknowledge that truer love-making has never existed before this moment!
I lower myself more to be closer to her, and grind even faster. She answers me with every word I want to hear. I hold onto her, my hands on her back, and let myself be washed away by the mountain of pleasure around us.
“—punish me—my little whore, punish me with your cock–”
Given my position, I can only imagine her legs to be dangling in the sky, the way I imagined her taking me in my dreams. My pussy’s close to climax with that in mind, and I’m smiling when her hands land on my back. I dare not repeat her blasphemous words when my cross dangles over her, but it matters not, because I call to her one more time so I can hear the truth about me–
“Inside—inside, Clarinda! Clarinda! My sweet whore!”
She must want that to be my cue, because I come again—and this time I release additional fluids again, the way a man would, and I bathe her in all my passion I can muster, in all my love I hold for her. She holds me the way I love while we come, while we enjoy flying in the skies before landing on earth. My body trembles, spent, and I feel the spirit of lust leave me before Bárbara embraces me close, as if she’s afraid I will leave her like she, the ghost.
I try to speak words of love to her, to make sure she can find comfort in them before we look to each other as normal beings, but to be frank with you…
Until I got to the hostel, I don’t remember anything else that happened afterwards.
You were always a quick learner, Bárbara tells me after our second time.
Daddy and Miss Maede sleep like the dead in the other room, as they tend to do on the second day of our trips. Me and Bárbara keep quiet in my new solitary room, the trick to doing so as natural to me as it was for her. She fingers me while the moonlight hits her, the prism peaking through the slits allowed by the blinds. She’d started with one, now increased to two at the same time her other hand teases my clitoris. An eternity passes by us as we stay like this, my own body wobbling and trembling on its knees, bucking my hips for more of her like her sweet whore.
I moan low into my pillow once she finishes me off properly, laying there with a staccato movement like a toy who’s met the wall and keeps crashing against it. My fluids spill yet again onto the bedsheets underneath my body. I had never known such love, a love so addicting and intoxicating, I could only ask for more. We come about three more times, one of those in a mutual position of pleasuring each other to utter climax. I even show her how I thought of her whenever I used my pillow, which delights her beyond compare. She ends up joining me on the other side of the pillow and climaxes to the idea of my ‘penis’ inside her.
I thank God everyday that she returns these feelings for me. Someone loves me in this world the way I love them.
As for the quick learner remark, she refers to my behavior in bed. I did not act like a virgin but rather like a madwoman possessed. I know what she means, in fairness, but I must point to my slight theory: having had an idea of the carnal acts between humans beforehand, and my own body filling in the rest of blanks innately because we humans must have a shared knowledge that comes out whenever is necessary…in case we have no teachers around us. This must be a good theory, I believe, because it helps me explain my willingness to accept the profane and the lewd from Bárbara, after having never experienced it before. It helps me explain how I was able to deftly navigate making love with only the basic questions left, of course: Do I lift my leg like this? Will I hurt you here? Does it feel good? Do you want more?
My creed has slightly become that last question—I suspect I’ll figure it out eventually, but I hadn’t had so much love around me in this way, that I never bothered to check the proper limit. Is there a limit? There must be; after all, whenever Bárbara wasn’t around but I was around people, I still act properly. I still am Clarinda, a studious and hard worker, daughter of Clarito and Miss Maede. I still am the girl turned woman in secret, letting others believe that I was still a girl of purity.
It’s also true that when I find myself alone, all of my thoughts are of Bárbara. No longer were they reminders of to-dos and to-not-dos during the day and the next. No longer were they permutations and percolations on the topics of the day’s schooling, given further thought in my solitude as I wonder on whether to integrate them into my routine and beliefs.
No longer…did I even re-read the Psalms from Mister Grimble every Sunday. I did read the psalm given to me the day before me and Bárbara’s intimate encounter, but I couldn’t process the words. It was similar to feeling drowsy, when the sleep is coming over your eyes and you won’t be able to remember what last three lines you read before deciding to give up the ghost.
I couldn’t even see the words. All I kept seeing was Bárbara everywhere. In the ink, in the paper, in the colors, in the letters, even the rotting wood of our house. I would touch myself intensely almost nightly. I only stopped for a week or two because it started to hurt.
When next we meet, I tell Bárbara about these strange happenings. I didn’t mind but they were getting a tad distracting at the same time. It got to the point where I could only do manual labor because that requires a strength of will that no woman can ever put asunder. I didn’t have to think, only do.
She titters, her hands on my shoulders. “Welcome to a lover’s honeymoon,” she gently says, “where for the first few weeks, perhaps even a month or two, you will have nothing but me on my mind. You could see a rat and think of me splayed on bed instead.”
I make a gagging gesture. “That’s never happening!”
Oh, I forgot to ask Bárbara about the woman who served as her vessel for our first time. “Bárbara,” I say as I look directly into her eyes. “Did Miss Mercado look all right to you?”
“Oh, that.” Her hands are still on my shoulders. She takes my hands to lead us deeper into the forest. “Don’t worry. I made sure she was breathing the next day.”
I nod and grab at my cross under my sweater. After we made love on that second night, we went to Miss Mercado’s home, which was really a cozy little shop in the wall with her room above. Miss Mercado’s shop truly fit her description of a spirit medium, as the incense filled our lungs and the hearth colored the surroundings with oranges and purples, among different artifacts and statues. I hoped God would forgive me for our trespass because the first thing me and Bárbara did when we entered the shop was to kiss each other, to fondle each other, to take our clothes and then to make love on the table with the cards and an ashtray laid out. Her pussy felt better there than in my room, but I do believe that it may have been the incense giving me additional energy as I held one of her legs above my shoulder and connected our pussies together harshly.
After our climax, we dressed and kissed. Bárbara urged me to re-read the contract before she returned to her original ethereal form. I believed I did, but clearly, Bárbara once again knew better, thankfully: Miss Mercado and Bárbara had agreed to check in on each other after the latter left her body, and I was to be part of this aftercare. I didn’t mind. People should be helped, no matter what. And as long as Miss Mercado knew all the terms, I felt better about the whole thing. I did not want to be part of hurting someone, accidentally or otherwise.
Miss Mercado turned out to be as lovely as Bárbara, though not as appealing to me. She spoke much more shrilly and laughed freely, as opposed to Bárbara’s controlled temperament. After I introduced myself, talked a little, we left. Miss Mercado promised to make sure that we could love each other properly whenever we wanted. She said she was bored either way, because nobody approached her.
I thought that was sad. If maybe someday she and I could make love, so that she could be herself for a little while, I can make her feel better about her existence. I didn’t want her to live for my or for Bárbara’s needs. I believe God would think that holy: to consider the free will of living creatures.
Now of course, in this current moment, in the landing near our house, this is yet another time where Miss Mercado agreed, and Bárbara once again is in her body. It’s a beautiful body that glistens under the sun as I take off her top and suck at her nipples. She’s laying on a fallen log, and I kneel before her, humping her leg. I can still hear Miss Maede from afar and something malicious in me hopes that Miss Maede hears us too, I want her to know how much someone loves me and my pussy as I lay down on her face and let them ravish me with her tongue as a pseudo-cock. Oh, her tongue feels like a branch reaching out for more sunlight, deep and thick. On command I move up and down, learning how to ride as a woman. Though I know I am woefully lacking in carnal experience in comparison, that Bárbara can stretch my walls with such a flimsy organ—were I not in lust, I’d consider the strength and possibility of such a change in appendage form. After all, tongues are small and fragile, not girthy and strong. But I didn’t care, because it feels so good. She then pulls out and licks at my pussy and makes me squirt—yes, I finally learned the proper name for my whorish show.
When I left Bárbara and came back home, I still had a lustful need within my soul. As I still hear Miss Maede going at it with Daddy, I sit down at the living room table and decide to risk being seen by my parents, lifting my dress up and touching myself. My vagina still remains sopping damp, so it’s easier to become aroused again.
The more Miss Maede screams, the faster I touch myself. I can feel my fluids dripping on the chair but I don’t care. Perhaps this was an unconscious need to be found out, so I have an excuse to leave and be with Bárbara forever.
Regardless, I come when Miss Maede yells on climax, moaning a little more audibly than I try to be.
It’s been five months since I first made love to Bárbara. Her ‘honeymoon’ adage may have been false, because I still can’t think of anything else except her. I see myself becoming more obsessed with her for the next decades to come. That makes me happy. I’ve begun to think about marriage, even. Perhaps I’ll be like Mister Grimble and his husband, where we’ll leave for a while so we can get married and enjoy a bit of life together before coming back. We’ll perhaps even move to town and leave this house. I’ve been thinking that I’d rather live in town where I can talk to others. I can also help at the church and perhaps be able to help the townsfolk in understanding God better.
Speaking of God, I haven’t spoken to Him in so long. Last night I took some time to do so, because I truly did miss Him and I first apologized for having abandoned Him for so long. A little bird chirped outside at the same time. I smiled and took it as His answer of forgiveness, though I didn’t seek it, for I couldn’t have been forgiven for forgetting the existence of a Friend.
I updated him on my relationship with Bárbara. The more I talked to him, the better I felt and the lighter I felt. It was as if I needed someone else to listen. That became part of my growing desire to leave here and move down the mountain. I want other people to talk to, and other people to listen to me.
When I tell Bárbara about this, with an odd confidence never found before, she appears surprised. Her eyes almost appear to tear up, as she covers her mouth and turns away.
“Oh…did I say something wrong?” I ask, my anxiety bubbling up because I didn’t think it was such a weird plan. I didn’t think it was weird to want to improve and to evolve.
“No, no,” she assures me, waving the tension away. She looks as if she’s wiping her eyes with her lacy sleeves before turning to me with a gentle smile. “I just think it’s wonderful that you’ve blossomed into a lively woman. I’m happy to see you taking hold of your future.”
I blush at this. My hands grab at my pants. I’m wearing these since I’m finally allowed to wear these for comfort. “Thank you. I…would like you to share it with me too.”
Bárbara doesn’t respond to my proposal, which causes me to readjust my plan mentally. Not like I was planning on asking for her hand now—after all, we would need Miss Mercado to agree—but I thought that something as simple as a future together wasn’t a huge question. Then she says: “Do you think we can?”
I look at her and I meet her eyes. Her own confidence frightens me, and her smile is ambiguous like that of ancient paintings whose purpose has been long lost. I nod in the affirmative strenuously. “If we can plan it, we’ll be able to make it. Maybe we can even live with Miss Mercado, if we can manage to talk this out.”
Bárbara goes silent, simply staring at me. The hairs on my neck prickle, because I don’t remember ever seeing her like this before. But she strokes my hair and kisses my forehead, and smiles her most beautiful smile.
“Then I believe I can also tell you a future I had in mind as well…”
Today is the third day of the stockpile trip but I’m sick in bed and my fever’s through the roof. I stayed behind because my parents still had kindness in their hearts and knew that if I was this sick, it meant that it was serious. I never tended to play pranks or get out of things, so they believed me even more as well. So they went ahead without me, trusting me to sleep my sickness away.
…Except I wasn’t actually sick. I had only put Bárbara’s plans in motion on how to stay behind, so we could make love in a way that apparently would help us live together soon. Part of that was her controlling the temperature from a distance close enough, so that the thermostat in my mouth proved I was sick. She controlled the temperature around me carefully enough that I could prove my body was sick. I waited two days afterwards, because Miss Mercado needed to get some supplies on behalf of Bárbara and then of course, she needed one day to get here as me, Daddy and Miss Maede needed to get to town.
My heart leaps when there’s a knock at the door. I don’t believe I ever explained my room, but it’s not really a room. There’s only one room, which belongs to Daddy and Miss Maede, upstairs. The rest of the second floor is Daddy’s workshop. I never asked why the workshop had to be upstairs instead of outside, but the house never crumbled from the weight either way, so it’s a moot point. The first floor is just the kitchen, the living room and my corner of the living room. My wardrobe’s there, as well as my study table, my bed and my own storage space. That’s where I’ve kept all the extra items from Bárbara hidden.
However, today I don’t didn’t want to make love on my bed. I want it to be proper. Bárbara agreed. She had recommended somewhere else within the house.
I open the door, and Bárbara is standing next to Miss Mercado, who’s wearing sunglasses and a summer hat, in addition to a lovely light blue shoulder-length dress. I kiss Miss Mercado on the cheek, as she gives one in return. Me and Bárbara gesture giving a kiss, and the cold of her death soothes my lips. Miss Mercado is carrying a small bag, one that Bárbara tells me has relevant contents for our love-making later.
“Hullo there, Clarindita!” Her hands are on my shoulder. “You look spiffy!”
I’m dressed in my Sunday best or, what I believe to be a Sunday best as Bárbara’s lover. I’ve taken to the consideration of a balance of self; while I know I’m a woman, I’ve made peace with my masculine aspect. Everyone has projected it onto me against my will, there is no qualm about that. But I have talked with God. I have read about the holy monks and nuns who have struggled with this idea as I have. I have received answers from God through the wind, through a book flipping on its own. I can become comfortable with acknowledging that everyone was only correct in one thing: I am better at male things, but only because I was only allowed to do male things. Bárbara had been the only one who allowed me space to learn how to be good at female things.
Thus, I’m wearing black trousers with my favorite blouse underneath a black jacket. I’m wearing a tie that matches the colorfulness of my lapel and blouse. Underneath my trousers…well, you’ll see. And I’m wearing boots, the kind that clack-clack across the floor.
“Bárbara,” I start, taking Miss Mercado’s hand in mine, “I’m ready.”
“I will watch out for your parents,” Bárbara notes as she nods. “Let me know when you’re finished.”
“I will. I love you.”
Bárbara smiles at my admission, and walks to my corner of the living room. She sits on my bed, and the desire to skip the first part of our plan and take her right there on the messy matress grows palpable. But we had a plan and needed to follow it.
The first part of today’s plan, her recommendation for me and Miss Mercado’s love-making, takes place upstairs. Up in Daddy and Miss Maede’s room. I had thought of, well, a much better place, maybe further up in the mountains. We could pretend to go picnicking. But Bárbara thought it was better to remain in one place, or else our plan would not work. So Miss Mercado and I go upstairs. She’s giggly, flirting with me and touching me the way friends do. I act similar in return, because I do like her. How can I not? She has done us so many favors, befitting someone who clearly acts the way God wants His children to be towards our fellow men. So the first thing I wanted to do was to thank her.
Before preparing Daddy and Miss Maede’s room for us both, I had never been upstairs. I found myself clutching my cross when I finally made it up, with the air sure thick as smoke. If I had to describe it, it would be similar to finding a dead animal on the way home, or seeing images of war where the meek are hated.
The only thing that separates their room from Daddy’s workshop is a screen and a curtain in the middle right when you go up. We walk to the left, lifting the curtain and opening the door within the screen, welcomed by the cool air from the open window that also cuts at the tense air that surrounds most of the room.
The bed is prepared the way Bárbara asked; everything covered by a white sheet, with one or two pillows on top. I left my parents’ items on the bedside table alone. One of these had been a bottle of olive oil, something that I knew we could use thanks to my books downstairs. I take it in my hands and bring it to Miss Mercado, who starts looking it over intensely. I start to take off my jacket, and inhale at the lustfulness swelling up immediately within me.
“This is almost empty,” she notes with a raised brow.
“Um,” I mutter, scratching my head. “Well, I did use it yesterday…for practice…”
“Ah-ha!” she guffaws, throwing her head back. “Good girl! You prepared yourself really good.”
I know I’m blushing, and my ears burn like a warm summer’s day. “It was the least I could do. I want to do this for you.”
“I know. I don’t really get it,” Miss Mercado says as she drops the item on the bed. “But you’re a good kid. I like you too.”
Miss Mercado’s lips contort into this strange duck-face gesture. But I know what this means, and so I hold her by her waist and I connect our lips together. Our kiss is passionate, and our hands travel all over. I fondle her breast which causes her to moan against me. Her own eyes feel like mine: glazed, blurry, full of love. She takes the neckline of her dress and pulls it down under her breasts.
“You love these, right,” she pants out, offering them to me, and I nod. I kiss her breasts to her breathy reaction, and suck at the skin, trying to leave a mark around them. Evidence that someone loved her today. I hold her by her waist and grind against her when she coos.
We stay here for a few seconds, as I keep grinding. She’s holding onto my back, smiling and resting her head against mine. I pull back and kiss her again. I let her go, and I start to unzip my trousers. I didn’t get to practice using this much, as I was…distracted and rubbing it against my vagina instead, but I try my best to reveal my gift for Miss Mercado: my first time acting like a man, with my decently sized penis toy flopping out and erect, ready.
“May I ask you to suck me?,” I ask, my voice changing its mood. Our eyes are on each other, the heat of passion clear. I hold it proudly in my hand and offer it to her. “I want to know your mouth first.”
The next few seconds are foggy: Miss Mercado strokes me first instead, the image convincing me that…yes, I’m in her hand, and then in her mouth as she takes me in after she kneels down. She makes quick work, slathering it with her saliva. We stay there for a few seconds, as I start to moan out of enjoyment.
You see, when I had asked Miss Mercado to be a part of today, with Bárbara’s permission, she acted very eager. The only thing she asked was that it be me who would take her, and not only me, but me with a toy because she hadn’t been penetrated in so long due to her lover dying many years ago. After some years, she’s “had dicks by the wazoo” in a “frenzy”–her words, not mine—but none of them compared to her lover’s.
“Oh, oh,” I groan, holding Miss Mercado by the head. She’s been going faster and I need her to stop, which she does. Despite not having anything inside me to simulate pleasure on my own end, I must have the wonderful ability to be able to be aroused by even this type of thing. And it must be working on her too, because she looks like she’s lost in a forest of lust, sucking on my tip as if telling her to stop for a few seconds was too much.
I manage to pull away, however, and I force her to get up by grabbing her by her shoulders. We kiss again, our tongues dancing and drooling. I fondle her breasts once again, as I move us towards the bed. She understands what I want, so she lets go of me, turns around and kneels on all fours on the bed. Not before taking off her sandals, but I wouldn’t have minded that.
Miss Mercado lifts up her dress, then takes off her underwear for me—not before I notice the large stain of pleasure caused by our foreplay. She starts to give me a wonderful show, as her fingers start playing with her pussy. In her ass is a black object that’s stretching her to no end, which alerts me to where I should go.
“Hurry…” she’s moaning out in a low tone that doesn’t fit her personality, “…hurry, Clarinda…”
I find myself stroking my cock when I look down—I hadn’t noticed I’ve been doing that. No wonder my pussy’s becoming wetter. This will be my first time performing sodomy, and while I’d prefer Bárbara, I had wanted to repay Miss Mercado for everything as I told myself I would try to do so many months ago. I wanted to shower her with love that she deserved for being a kind soul. Today appeared to be the day I could finally pay Miss Mercado back, so I’m more than happy to oblige as I first kiss her rear end. I decide to let my tongue slather it all, going down to her thighs and sucking at each one tightly enough to leave a mark. She’s begging me to take her already, still, even as she sounds out enjoyment at my actions.
I kiss at her fingers, and I try to suck a little of her fluids. She moves abruptly, and I need to stroke my cock again. I’m getting impatient myself, but I can manage because besides tasting her pussy, I want to taste her ass too. After one long lick across her pussy, I take out the black object, its form one that’s very well-fitting for this sort of place. Miss Mercado moans, and moans even more when I lick her now slightly gaping hole. I would have licked her pussy again, but she wanted everything under board—it wasn’t my first time performing behind here, though. Both Bárbara and Miss Mercado taste like copper, which I thought was a weird taste. But as I made peace with this for Bárbara, so did I accept it for Miss Mercado, who’s whimpering and fingering herself again.
I try to avoid letting my tongue go inside as I lick the rim, and pushing my mouth against her anus and sucking at it when she starts to wriggle from pleasure. The bottle of olive oil thankfully isn’t too far from us. I open the cap and try to dab a little directly into her, at which she whines and coos when the liquid hits her. My tongue swishes it all over her, prompting her to lean forward. Miss Mercado stops fingering herself to look back at me with her eyes half-closed.
“Clarinda…hurry…I need it…”
Miss Mercado’s looking at my cock directly as I make sure to rub oil on it too. When I move forward and hold her by her waist, she yelps and wriggles when my cock’s under her pussy, rubbing, creating friction. Before she can even say anything, I move up and insert the tip first, slowly and surely. Thanks to her own toy, being inside her fully becomes an easy task—her fully stretched walls welcome me so lovingly, making my pussy tingle at the sight, and I want to come already at the loud noise that follows from her mouth.
What further follows is a wondrous spectacle, as I see Miss Mercado below act like a bitch in heat. Bárbara too, would look the same—no wonder naturally, given that they both are twins visually. They’ve said there’s no relation between them, and I often wondered if that was true. Everyone has a twin in the world, and it sure was a coincidence that theirs happened to be in the same place. But as I thrust and thrust, my cock slick in motion as I commit sodomy, I find myself not caring in times like these. Miss Mercado’s body feels so good, and when I think of how much Bárbara has used it, I can only thank God that I get to experience the same body in a different manner.
“Marisela…Marisela….” Her name spills naturally from my lips as I hang back my head—it’s only fair that I call her by her Christian name since I’m taking her like a man, and men are the dominating force in the bedroom. She’s my Marisela Mercado now, and those outside the window bear witness to our loud love-making. These notions wet my pussy even more, bathing my harness that holds my cock. I push myself deeper inside, hold for a few seconds. I shiver at the way Marisela screams just like Bárbara, except Marisela only moans and moans. She doesn’t speak any other words and the fact that she’s reduced to this state has me loosen my tie, rip my blouse open by force, massage my own breasts.
Marisela’s outfit is so damp from her sweating, it’s teasing me to take her even more. I toss it up her back further before I bend down slightly. The shift in position causes her to scream, begging for a chance to come. Her screams urge me even more to push in deeper again, have her truly feel me.
“Marisela!,” I pant out, my fingers digging into her skin. “Marisela, my seed—my seed is–”
I maintain my thrusting motions for a few more minutes after I declare my intention, albeit not completely. The idea of filling her up with my ejaculate is going to make me climax anytime soon.
“Oh—Marisela–,” I yell out before my cock pumps her full of my seed. I feel it pumping through my harness, and my pussy splashes all over, wetting the inside of my pants. I see white all over, arching, struggling to hold on to Marisela. Her cries are music to my ears, and I accidentally thrust one more time into her, causing her to cry out more—I thank God for a second before I forget Him again.
Marisela drops down on the bed and to the side—the fake ejaculate drips out of her, showing me that my cock worked. I was unsure of its use, given that it was a new one, and this time the liquid was stored in its equally fake scrotum. I squeeze for assurance, then the tip spurts out a little more, falling on her thighs.
Marisela’s dress is stained as I lay down on the bed, next to her. She reaches out for me and we embrace, topping off our love-making with a gentle kiss. I rest my forehead against hers, when she reaches for my arms to hang onto them.
“You really are…good,” she pants out, shallow breathing. “I haven’t cum like that in so long…”
I can’t open my eyes, so I keep them closed for now. “Was it…that good…?”
“Yeah…oh, was it really good.” I sense her shuffling. Her hand’s on my cheek, and I try to open my eyes, as tired as I am. We kiss each other again, and I try to take all of her in me.
“Stay with us, Marisela. Stay with us.”
My statement takes her off guard, given her expression. I clarify: “All three of us…we can be together…” I take a moment to inhale deeply, to calm myself to make my case. “I can make you happy.”
Marisela doesn’t answer; she only grins, teeth showing. She gives me a kiss on my cheek and lays her own forehead against mine now.
“You love Bárbara, don’t you?”
“Can you imagine being alone without her?”
A fear grabs me, as I harshly say: “No. I’ll surely die!”
…I must admit, she caught me there. My love for Bárbara is different. Me and Marisela is a love of appreciation. I can imagine a life without Marisela; not without Bárbara. But the woman in front of me right now notices my reluctance and simply guffaws.
“Aw, don’t worry! Bárbara’s plan will work out! And then we can be friends with benefits!” she says shrilly, leaving me in the dark, confused.
I’m not sure of time anymore. I think maybe a few minutes have passed or half an hour since Marisela left me. But it also feels as if more than that has passed. You see, I’m currently blindfolded. Marisela tied it for me, giving a goodbye kiss before she left earlier. It’s part of Bárbara’s plan. So I’ve been lying here for some time. The knot is tight enough for my blindfold to not fall and I don’t wish to take it off and ruin Bárbara’s plan, but…I am getting worried about the passage of time. Has it been longer?
I’m also naked, as I was able to take off my clothes earlier. I don’t know where they landed since I’m lying in bed. Hopefully far away to not interfere.
My blindfold’s a dark color, so that way I can’t see anything. This was Bárbara’s request, and I’m not sure why. She said I’d know, but to be honest, I really don’t. I’ve been getting antsy in the meantime, and I’ve been teasing myself, my fingers touching my pussy folds slowly. I tease my breasts, pushing one of them upwards in an attempt to lick the nipple myself, which helps in giving me the extra energy I needed for my self-love.
I could yell for Bárbara, but she also requested that I not do that. Essentially I was simply meant to stay here and wait.
It’s agony, to be frank. I couldn’t hear anything coming from the outside. The acoustics made me wonder if perhaps all this time, Daddy and Miss Maede never heard anything outside their room, after all. Me and Bárbara perhaps could’ve made love on my bed downstairs, after all.
I’ll never know, I suppose. However, I should be hearing Marisela. Her normal volume is very loud. But I can’t. I don’t. I’m so lost, that I take the initiative again and start touching myself properly, spreading my legs apart. I rub and stroke at my clit and pussy, the fluids immediately drenching everything again. I insert one finger inside, my walls aching for more. I moan for Bárbara over and over, concentrating so much on my passion that I didn’t hear the door open. I mention the door because how else could someone enter and tickle my fingers with their breath…before a tongue licks me at my current onslaught of self-pleasure. My hand stops and grabs at the sheet. Both my hands do, really. The tongue continues its onslaught, licking and lapping quickly as I arch my body in response.
I give myself to a tongue that is as thick as that day in the forest when I rode Bárbara’s tongue. Its texture is so strange, yet wonderful. I give myself to lips that kiss my folds, and nip at them cautiously. I sound out all the sounds I can muster, as these same lips part me and the tongue enters me. My body welcomes this wonderful visitor within its walls, the visitor rolling around within quickly. Perhaps it was the disconnect of the world that the blindfold kept giving me, but the texture feels so…bulbous. I cannot ask too much about it because it’s so good and so intoxicating that when the tongue purposefully teases my secret spot, I can’t even last anymore—and I come with a roaring geyser of lust. The entire lower half under my body is stained with damp evidence. My body quivers and shakes from the shock, and I gasp for air, needing more oxygen than ever.
To speak of intoxication as well, the smell of the flowers from the White Forest pass by my olfactory senses. Has the wind been that powerful today? The sweet smell isn’t unwelcome, though it burns my throat as I keep trying to breathe more for air. My skin shivers when it meets another, when her hands caress my sides, my breasts, my neck.
“You took off your cross,” she coos. “Very good.”
Another request. I didn’t want to not wear it, but I also didn’t want to hear any more blasphemy. I had taken to not wearing it most times we made love, due to that. But this time, she was particular. So I obeyed. But I smile, I hope a big and wide one, and I “look” towards wherever I hear her.
“K-kiss me,” I beg, and she gives me a deeper kiss than any before. I embrace her tightly, and she does in return.
A few seconds, minutes, I’m not sure again, but time passes as we kiss, fondle, touch each other to memorize each other’s bodies again. I go to finger her, stroking her entrance, feeling her already immensely wet. I’m about to go to her clitoris, but she stops me. She titters, as I feel her hair all around my face. “Not today…not until you correct yourself. Call me by my proper name.”
“…Ah.” I smile. “Yes…”
I am Bárbara’s little whore, Clarinda. I aim only to please her. I exist only for her, and she exists only to use me. I will finally now be taught how to properly please a man via proxy.
I ask her first to let me prepare for her offering, and she steps back. I shuffle to lie on my back, head on the pillow. I stretch my legs out, and I push my breasts together. And I take a deep breath.
The bed creaks under her movements. “I want you to swallow me like a good little whore,” she commands. I nod, and my heart beats so fast that I hope she doesn’t hear and misunderstand.
Then suddenly: an object touches my ribs, a rod-like object. I can feel the nubs all around it, poking at my skin, as it makes its way to my joined breasts. It pushes through the two conjoined masses and pokes at my mouth. I open, of course, because I want to suck her—I want to suck her cock. I want to taste it, as I do when she pushes in and lets out a beautiful moan.
“Hmm…oh, my little whore’s mouth…” She pushes it in deeper, even if I’m choking on it. The tip of the head is bigger than her staff, both hard and stiff. She pulls out agonizingly slow, letting me cough for air before I open my mouth again and accept her.
For the next few–I don’t know how long…the blindfold has fully made me lose my sense of time, and my sense of decorum. “Continue—hmm, good, continue–” While Bárbara slides in and out, my breasts creating added friction, my mouth continues its slutty function. I moan against her incredible cock and I suck whenever I have the chance, the head often crashing into the back of my mouth. She calls me by my title over and over, praising me for my service. My own pussy wants to come too, but she throbs and it’s not long until–“Swallow, my sweet whore—swallow your mother’s cum!”–until she comes into my mouth. The blindfold covers my eyes but I still close them out of the wave of pleasure hitting me. Hot and thick is she, and I drink all of her, almost choking from the amount when she pulls out. Acidic, burning but unique to her. Hearing her without seeing her has heightened something in me, that I feel as if I may also have come.
I hear nothing except our breathing. I feel some droplets still around my mouth and I try to get to them, until I feel a soft texture wiping the remnants of her seed away.
Whatever cock and harness she’s using, it’s much more intense than mine.
“You did so good, my little whore,” she says, kissing my jaw. She traces and peppers kisses on my neck, my breasts—she suckles at my nipples and I hitch my breath. She remains there as her fingers find my pussy, stretch me wide when they enter. I can only hold on to her and wrap my legs around her, as she shows me gentle, lazy love.
Her stiff rod is bumping into me, and I have a high desire to be penetrated by it. That was our plan, of course. She wanted me to be marked by her properly. She wanted me to give myself to her completely. And I was only happy to do that, because I knew that nobody could deny us anything if my pussy belonged to her fully.
“Men,” she says huskily, taking a break from suckling, “determine that despite our long relationship, we remain virgins until our bodies are forced apart by their cocks, violently. Are you prepared then, for today to be your first time? To be sullied?”
On the last word, she goes back to suckling, licking my nipple and breathing over it while she increases the speed inside my pussy. I’m lost and needy, as I scream and I scream–“Yes, Momma–!”–and scream on climax along with her. I don’t reach the sky but I reach the branches of the trees, and I come normally. I feel so spent, that I worry I don’t have enough energy for her to take my ‘virginity.’ I can feel my throat starting to hurt, and I worry I won’t be able to speak words of love. But for Bárbara…no, for Momma, I’ll do anything. Because I love Momma.
Momma finally allows me to touch her cock—I’m sitting in bed, with an idea that she’s standing outside the bed or kneeling in bed, while I hear her coo and moan as I stroke her. I touch her balls, ones filled with ejaculate for our pleasure. Incredibly, she hasn’t had to stop to refill like I’ve had to. I hope she doesn’t take it off before I take my blindfold off, because I want to see what an incredible device this is.
“Yes–harder–make Momma cum–”
I keep stroking, teasing, squeezing her balls. I suck at the cockhead, before I take her in completely once and release with a pop. I open my mouth in preparation, as I go at her faster with my hands before she groans and releases her cum. I can feel it drop on my face and near my mouth. I try to lick and wipe at all her cum, swallowing it happily.
“Look how beautiful you look, Clarinda.”
Perhaps the sex is more intoxicating when sight is blind to you, because…the more time passes, the more I hear shuffling. Shuffling of other people besides Momma. I sense more than her presence around me. But she’s so amazing, and perhaps the sex is more intoxicating when you’re in love, but I. I almost would accept her bringing in more people if it meant we could share in her love. Oh, if I could make love to Momma and Marisela at the same time–
She moans loudly as I go to lick her shaft again. I nip at her cockhead before swallowing her again. She pulls me back, before rubbing her cock across my lips.
“Momma,” I whine, “Momma feels good—”
Now I’m on all fours, like a bitch in heat. Momma’s hands are on my hips as she moves between my legs. Her cock rubs itself against my pussy harshly, and she leans forward and over me once, begging for a kiss. My cheeks are burnt with lust beyond recognition, and my entire body aches. I imagine her lips are wine-red again as we kiss, our tongues connecting and licking each other. She pulls away and continues to thrust her cock between my legs.
“You feel so good,” she answers with a slight whine of her own. “—your filthy pussy is addicting, ahnn–” She buckles against me and I smile, panting lustily. “Clarinda, let me in—let me in, please.”
“M-Momma—Momma, I want to marry you–”
I moan on command when she pulls out. I wobble and have to rest my body’s weight on my hands. My knees are strong, though I still move on the bed. I don’t move, only lay my head on the pillow. My breathing is ragged, but I try to turn to where I think she may be.
“A mother and daughter getting married….” she giggles. Her hands are on my rear, rubbing circles. She finds her way to my clit, touching it once before I react loudly, in an odd way. It feels different this time. “Do you not want to be my whore anymore?”
I shake my head vigorously. “N-no! I want to be your whore—I want people to see me—see me–oh, Momma!” I start to finger myself, impatiently. “I want them to see you fuck me! I want them to see me become your husband!”
The bed creaks. I’m being moved and I place my trust, not fighting it. I’m still on all fours, still trying to finger myself before my arms are held at my side. I think it’s Momma but the skin is rougher. The flowers of the White Forest reach my nose again and I have a shiver up my spine despite my lust overpowering me.
“I want D-Daddy to see me be a woman! I want Miss Maede to—to–”
I yelp as I feel a force lift me up by my waist–a million hands take my body and spread it open for someone’s viewing pleasure–and Momma’s fingers stretch me one last time before she rubs the tip of her cock against me, pushes into me so harshly as she slams my body against her cock. Suddenly my body is split in two—I’m being invaded by Momma’s cock and it’s big, so big that it hurts at the same time it feels—it feels like the Holy Spirit is fucking me instead, preparing me for a divine reward. Her cock grows, I swear, and all I can do is wail and be held in place by Momma.
“When Momma fucks for the first time, it’s supposed to hurt,” she moans in that lustful tone I love. She pulls out and thrusts again with a louder groan, yet not as loud as mine. “To make you remember me.”
My head is lifted by soft hands, hands that feel like Momma’s. Oh, who is it behind me then? Has Momma duplicated herself? Has she taken over someone else’s body and it’s actually Marisela in front of me? I can’t tell—oh, but the pain and pleasure, I cannot–I cannot–
Fingers dig into my ass as I’m held down, with Momma’s cock inside me thrusting wildly. I bounce like a ragdoll, still on all fours while Momma laughs in the background.
“I knew you were hiding it,” she whispers seductively. Her voice surrounds me as if she truly has been duplicated in multiple bodies. I whine on a particularly stinging thrust and I loll my tongue out because my pussy loved that. Her breath’s on me when she continues: “You were hiding your filthy pussy from me. For shame. The sight is so gorgeous, ahh—oh, if only we could be in a museum—show everyone the artistry you’re creating…”
She groans suddenly and I roll my eyes from the non-stop wave of pain and pleasure. My insides are vibrating the more the cock inside me continues its motions. I feel strange hands around my torso, leading to my waist, ending on my pussy and stroking my clit. Something in me snaps, and I don’t want to stop for anything—and so I buckle backwards against the owner of the cock, moaning happily when the cock goes in deeper and holds it there. I slam down to the bed as a result, jumping up and down before whining loudly.
“–Ahhhh—it hurts—so good, Momma!” Suddenly the owner of the cock stops, as if to let me lead as my own body shivers again. I don’t know what’s happening, my body’s being pulled at different parts. But I feel a woman’s body below me and I move my legs open to grind against this unknown body. My pussy tingles when the cock leaves me but I take this opportunity to grind like the bitch in heat that I am, legs wrapping around me quickly. I moan out of delight, grinding over and over.
My head hurts, my knees hurt, my hands hurt. My eyes have been closed, the sweat stinging me from inside the blindfold. The pain grows and my muscles expand, though I don’t question it. We move to the side and I whine when the other party goes away before I lie flat on my back. My arms feel as if they’ve been strengthened beyond compare, and my legs follow suit. Someone rides me the way they would a man and I go hold them by their waist. We remain like this for a few seconds before this new body leans forward on account of Momma bending my legs upwards. I’m lifted up a bit more before Momma’s cock finds my insides again and marks me once more. Her thrusts become a bit deeper, causing me to cry once more.
“You’re going to remember my cock, you little whore. You’re going to want my cock only–”
No man will ever suffice, she screams into the room as my body is torn apart. I didn’t need to be convinced—I don’t want a man ever! Not even someone like Daddy. I don’t feel good thinking about a man, I want to be fucked by a woman! I want to fuck women! I want to have a cock and be inside them and come inside them like a man! I want to be a woman who fucks women! I want to be a woman who’s fucked by Momma and Momma alone!
Our bodies are sweaty and damp, and the air from the window is kissing us, as she doesn’t stop, as I hang my head back from the amount of joy.
“Oh, I knew you were good, Clarinda,” Momma groans after a few minutes of our united animal heat. “You’re such a good little whore–”
My genitals ache for someone’s touch, any touch. I grab the unknown person’s waist again. They start to jump up and down on me as if they read my mind, moaning and groaning loudly in pleasure. It sounds like a woman, at least, and I’m imagining the ability to have grown my own cock and push deep inside to her loud delight. I’m imagining having grown bigger inside her own pussy, the tip of my cockhead teasing her with dripping ejaculate. I’m settled fully, this pussy my new home, and the stranger accepts me fully, continuing to let me penetrate more and more. I’m imagining slamming into the limits of my new home, as I want more and more. I can’t help but moan at the heaven we’ve created—at the intersection of reality and fantasy we’ve created.
Bárbara mewls: “Do you want my baby, my little whore? Do you want my sperm?”
Reason and logic had long left me; only lust remained and I wanted her to give me everything. I wanted to be a woman and women are filled with the seed of their lovers.
“—Momma–are you sure—ahhnn!,” I trail off, quick thrusts distracting me.
“I want it to be you,” she moans out, whimpering practically. “I want you to have a little sister! The kind Miss Maede never will give you!”
I’m pushed to the edge with that statement: ”I’m your whore, Momma! Dump it all in me, dump your seed,” I yell, a babbling mess on my face. I wanted to be a man and fill my lover with my seed. The female stranger and I kiss and we hold onto each other tightly. “I need to—I need to release my seed too!”
“—all of this is yours–” I hear her stutter, her cock about to–”I love you—I love you, Clarinda—Momma loves you–!”
Split asunder earlier, my body now unites as one again, this time united to Momma and Momma’s soul. Angels suddenly appear around me, embracing me with all their arms as I have an orgasm by double cock—an orgasm accompanied by the angels touching me and enhancing my high, an orgasm accompanied by Momma’s thick batch of seed filling me up. The image of myself filling the stranger with my offering of lust keeps me higher. I’d experienced nothing like this. My mouth cannot form words or sounds to even demonstrate this euphoria. I can even feel my entire body changing the more Momma keeps coming, becoming materia of the universe as I finally am one with it, and one with her.
Momma stays in me still, while I remain with the angels. They leave one by one as I come down, and I whimper when Momma pulls out. My pussy hurts again, but I know it’s temporary. I feel her love spilling out of me and I’d plug it up with my hand but I can’t move. My body is still and breathing, all the energy in the world out of me.
“I,” I start, rasping, “I love you too…Momma…”
Clarinda is upstairs. I wait here for her, here in the living room. The last stage of our plan is going to become a reality soon, and the sooner we can live together, the sooner she can be away from this rotting house. Yet here I wait for her, because our lovemaking turned out to be devastating for her, physically. Her strength during previous lovemaking sessions had been like that of a man: sturdy and steady, unwavering. She could go forever, were I not there to control our sexual intake.
But this time, in our earlier session–I had never seen such a specimen be so willing and alert, acting like a toy running on unlimited power, suddenly become so deathly tired and unresponsive after the, what did I tell her it was? Ah yes, proof of a proper loss of virginity. Just to get her in the mood for roleplay. Just to make sure she didn’t realize the ultimate purpose for today’s outing.
Truly, humans are easy to manipulate and fool. Such an absurd waste of a species in the end.
The wood creaks when the wind blows against the house. Being so high up the mountains, the structure never quite received the impact that Mother Nature brought to the town below but there were still worries to be had. It’s a house of wood. The plumbing is as old as the town and in equal need of fixing. Everything needs fixing. Everything rots.
The work never ends. The wood still creaks. The wood creaks even more when Mari slithers down the stairs with Maede in tow. Maede’s spent and used body limps in Mari’s coils. Her very presence is so old, it’s insulting.
“She had fun,” Mari shrills. Her voice vibrates against my own flesh. Acute, loud to be heard from a thousand blocks away. “This bitch’s face was great, right up until she fainted. Serves her right.”
“Oh, how could we all enjoy intercourse like that,” I state. I move ever so slightly, with Clarito’s body limped against my lower half. I had been eating his flesh while I waited, since he long served his purpose.
“Clarinda sure did,” Mari chortles. “We’ll never tell her, right? Sure would suck to break her psyche after so much fun with her.”
“Perhaps when her mind has fully finished adapting itself. A century or two of waiting.”
All that’s left of Clarito right now is his lower half. Well, his legs are gone. Rather, merely his hip and prick area remain. His prick was delicious, both in terms of his semen and in terms of his taste. No need for seasoning. I let him inside me, he was that good. Of course, it’s why Maede became addicted to him.
“I still don’t understand one thing, Barbie.” Maede’s body is flung to the floor, near the fireplace. Mari’s coils hit it once or thrice, before slithering on top of it to sit on it. “Why didn’t we just kill Maede? Traitors get eaten. I mean, look, she hasn’t even changed back. She’s assimilated to the settler race completely.”
“That is her sin to deal with, not ours.” I take Clarito’s remaining body part and hold it out to Mari. She does not restrain herself from her joy, her teethed branch reaching out and splattering the blood and bits all over the room once she bites down.
“Please Mari. When will you learn to eat properly?”
“Never,” she shrills again, chomping and scrunching down. She slurps the cock, coos and wiggles from arousal, before swallowing it whole. “Clarito really was a specimen, though. You could have told me you were gonna use his body upstairs. I was shocked when I came downstairs and found the two of them knocked out!”
“That was part of the surprise. I couldn’t tell you at the time that I had planned to meet them face to face…You would have blurted it out halfway through your lovemaking with Clarinda.”
“No, I wouldn’t have,” she wriggles, chortling. “She fucked me good, I wasn’t paying attention to nothing but her.”
“The end product of good grooming.”
Noises upstairs, muffled, the wood creaks. I continue: “Clarito’s involvement can’t be denied, of course. His own family were known to be beasts of carnality, and he was no exception. Granted, all his family continued through only having sons, but change can be good in that way.”
“You never loved him, did you?”
“Naturally. Only for carnal pleasure. Settlers are only useful for that.” I slither towards Clarinda’s part of the room. I take notice of the gifts I’ve given her, saved and archived ever so nicely in a box. Some of the more salacious ones are deftly hidden, causing me to exert more strength than necessary. My own coils take hold of the vibrating device, an object Clarito himself forced upon me when I was transitioning between my real form and the human body one night. I learned about it properly later, and thought it would be good to send it to the girl for a perverse laugh. That it smells of her soft maidenhood causes my antenna and body to tremble.
“I hate them,” I say. “Ever since they invaded us and performed their…what is the word?”
“Yes. How lovely of a euphemism they use, like every word for every action they do. Coming here because they claimed to have been oppressed in their original land. How can an oppressed peoples have enough resources to leave everything they know behind? How can they travel without struggle and arrive here, to our peaceful home? Such a long journey, they only appeared bothered by our appearance. Fake, they said, fake and distorted, they said we were. Invented by some cabal to control them. How absurd. We were at peace before they came, mating and eating.”
“Everyone left us alone.”
“Because they knew who we were. Yet the settlers changed every dynamic. And now we no longer accept others from elsewhere, from anywhere. They accuse us of isolationism, but it is easy to project your faults onto others, especially after that group begged for your help…and were left at the mercy of settlers instead. Alone.”
Mari slithers to my side, poking at Clarinda’s books. “God, Faith and Violence. That’s what they gave us, Barbie.”
“Their men were children, their women were slaves and their children were doomed to die by their own hands.”
We both stay staring at Clarinda’s room for a while before Mari speaks: “With exceptions!”
I lick Clarinda’s vibrating device with my antenna and coils. “…With exceptions.”
I was left for dead after my mother gave birth to me, caught for lynching by the settlers. I saved Mari from a similar fate. She has been with me since. Then Clarito came into our lives, and after fooling us with his kind mask, proceeded to break every careful piece of peace we had created for ourselves. It did not shock us to see that he, like the rest of the humans, multiplied like the worst of every species. It did shock us to see that one of our own had fallen “in love” with him, and wholly willing to live as a human in everything and more.
But we live long, Mari and I’s race. We can wait, like the two of us waited for Clarinda. We can wait, like the two of us waited to use her for our own selfish needs. The lesson that every human gives us, a lesson that has turned out to be useful in the end: never consider the free will of a living being as sacrosanct.
The stairs creak against the antiquity of the wood. Both of us turn, for Clarinda’s time has come to join us. I cannot hold back my arousal as I see her slither down now, though her form is not complete. While this may be the first time a transition from human to our form has occurred, the pain and time needed to learn to shift is the same. Right now her lower half is like ours, while her upper half is humanoid with certain exaggerated features.
“Hullo, Bárbara.” Her voice is lower, the way I like it. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
I can sense her shared arousal. I slither and reach out a coil to her underside, seeking, and finding, the holes of pleasure. She moans and with that, I enter one and have my way with her. Mari joins in, reaching under and settling herself next to me. Her entire body wriggles as Clarinda cries out for more. My sweet little whore’s insides are hot as always, with the slime released burning us over and over. My own holes call out for her and she responds with an attempt at her coil-hand reaching under my underside. It is not perfect but oh, does it feel so intense.
Our collective slimes spill onto the floor—with part of the puddle eventually reaching Maede. Clarinda has not noticed her body and it is for the best. I do not wish to answer any questions, especially when Clarinda’s mind has come close to forgetting about the betrayer and Clarito. Maede never woke up, and she never will as the slime burns her to a crisp in an acidic, silent way. The bubbling arouses me more as I see the death of a traitor occur, and I go faster inside Clarinda. She follows, reaching the limit of my organs–then Mari coos out of the blue when Clarinda meets her own hole.
Slowly both Mari and I reach a peak of sorts, raised higher and higher as we let go of Clarinda and let her take us fully. Clarinda’s coil-hands bulge, engorge with her life essence, as she reaches her own peak and fills us up to the brim. My insides slurp it up through my arteries, splitting it off to the various rows of nerves and coils inside my form. The essence refines and morphs into fluids that my body can process for substance.
Once we collectively calm down, and we soothe each other with our coils, Clarinda notices the burn outline of Maede’s body. “Oh, what happened here?” The body has disappeared, leaving behind only a white outline.
“That was an attempt at drawing,” Mari chimes in. “I got bored waiting for you.”
Clarinda nods. She was never one to ask too many questions if the sight in front of her could be confirmed with statements given by other people. A true believer in the honesty of others. A true fool. That’s why she’s easy to lust for.
“Marisela, Bárbara,” Clarinda says, slithering to her corner of the room “I’m so happy we’re finally together. If you give me a few seconds to take my things with me, I’ll be ready to leave.”
Mari shrills a giddy noise, slithering rapidly outside. She never waited for anything if you ever told her as much. I remain behind, as wont my duty. Clarinda is quick, as she always is, quick to gather her things. She’s prepared her bag already, the way I told her to do, but she quickly grabs a few more items from the box. “Will we come back to get more things to bring to our house?”
“Yes, I will ask someone from town to help me again.”
“That’s good. The town always loves helping us, don’t they?”
“Will there be a church where we’re going? I want to tell God about everything that has happened. He has blessed us today.”
“I suppose there may be. You’ll learn everything when we get there,” I chuckle.
“Yes,” she says, fixing her bag. Her body wiggles again, and my antenna can smell her arousal again. Truly, she’s assimilating to us as beautifully as I thought. I didn’t think it would ever work, but I suppose when the lonely are desperate for an ear, anything is possible. That’s one thing Clarito and Maede did right. Isolating themselves from the settlers and from us, the natives. Isolating Clarinda from society, schooling her by themselves and raising her without consideration for her humanity.
The mind of a broken child since birth is the best conductor for revenge.
Then again, that’s how I’ve settled the score with Clarito’s family. That the last of his kin now will belong to me is but the greatest victory for me.
When she finishes checking everything over and slithers over to me, Clarinda’s upper half, particularly the part of her face where her settler features are still present, leans towards me. Her tongue, trying to decide if to exist or not, licks the equivalent of a face on my person, and her coil-hands caress my flesh.
“I’m scared, Bárbara. What if I can’t survive in your home? I have never been elsewhere…”
I caress her back with my own coils. I tease at her chest, still one of the few parts still intact in its settler form. Though now, they are a bit bigger. “Do you remember the White Forest?”
“How could you assume I forgot?! Our first time there together…”
“It will be like that. Perhaps a bit more sweet-smelling.”
Clarinda gives pause and thought to that. Then she nods eagerly, or tries to in her half-form. She attempts to do the equivalent of hand-holding, but I take the lead and instead link our coils at the suctions, which will make it easier for us to walk. It will also symbolize our mated status, a surprise that she may enjoy when we arrive at our home.
The wood creaks when the wind blows against the house. We make haste to the outside and when Mari leads us to our destination, Clarinda stops and looks back. I say nothing, wondering if perhaps her memory has not been adjusted as much as it should have been. But she beams with pride, as if she has reached a rite of passage and looks to me with happiness on her face. We walk together again behind Mari, leading into the forest, into the meadows and into the places long spoken as myth.
The house of wood is taken by the wind, destroyed in pieces and upwards to the God of the settler. Perhaps like He, the house will also become a thing of superstition and fakery for future wanderers.