Wednesday, July 7, 2010

The Cloisters

My mother once told me that men never bother with married women. “A ring on your finger,” she said, “works on men, like Raid on roaches.” Which explains why, on one recent afternoon, I set out wearing my grandmother's gold ring—inlaid with turquoise, emeralds and diamonds (“Turquoise,” my grandpa said, “to match her eyes,” emerald for her birthstone and diamonds “because [he] could”). This I did on a recent trip to New York City. In addition to the ring I wore an emerald green sundress, sandals to match, and nothing else. It was so very hot in the city that day.



Because I teach high school French, I decided to visit The Cloisters This outing, plus my projected visit to the Librairie Française (which someone forgot to tell me was closed), as well as the “tasting menu” at a place called Dégustation, in the East Village, will make for a legitimate tax deduction, come April. But I digress.

There were very few visitors to The Cloisters, that afternoon. The venue is somewhat off the beaten track, in a part of Manhattan so far to the north, it might as well be the Bronx.
As I entered the building I felt immediately the pull of Medieval Europe. I felt drawn to the images, somewhat more by their vibrant hues than by any other aspect of their content. The blue of Mary's raiment in Les Belles Heures of the Duc du Berry that fascinates me. I don't know how long I stood there. But when I again became aware of my surroundings, I had the impression I was not alone. I turned and began to walk into the next room. And that's when I caught site of him. Tall, with a nicely trimmed beard, that looked as though it might tickle, in all the right places.

Since beards that tickled in all the right places were decidedly not what I'd come to New York to find, I walked a bit faster, fingering the thick ring on my left hand. I'd noticed he wore a ring as well. And at any rate I was determined to find the Unicorn Tapestries. Apparently toward the end of the 15th century it became necessary to document unicorn hunting. (No wonder the poor beasties are extinct.) Unicorns were handsome and beneficent beasts that boasted one very large horn, in the middle of their foreheads. Though they couldn't be hunted and caught in the usual way, they were suckers for a well-placed virgin. Upon finding one alone, a unicorn would just naturally approach and make himself comfortable in the damsel's lap.

I was busy reviewing all I know of the curative and purifying power of unicorn horn, when I stepped back to take in a fuller view of the unicorn and other fauna around a fountain. I felt a sudden heat on my neck, back and thighs. I'd stepped backward into someone. I whirled round to face the tall bearded fellow. He had a warm smile.

I hadn't come all the way to New York to be distracted by a warm smile, a potentially tickly beard and rock hard pecs. Which this fellow certainly had. He must work out five days a week. Holding my upper arms near the shoulders to steady me, he smiled, in a way that made me wonder if he'd read my mind.

I quickly banished all thoughts of workouts, said, “Excuse me,” and walked off without a backward look. Who did he think he was, smiling his warm smile and sporting those pecs—the result of untold sweaty workouts? I felt a tingling somewhere deep down and there was the sharp scent of aftershave in the air, both of which I chose to ignore.

I walked out into the perfectly charming herb garden, at the center of the cloisters. There were tables and chairs beneath the roofed area that bordered the garden, but no one had yet come to dine. I reveled in the subtle fragrances all about me, the tiny delicately formed leaves of the medicinal and cooking herbs. I'd wandered to the far end of the garden, perhaps unconsciously seeking shade. I felt one strong arm encircle my waist from behind me, smelled the now familiar scent of aftershave. Let myself sway as I leaned against those manly pecs. Behind them throbbed life, power and , I knew, desire. My bearded stranger took me by the hand. He lead me through a door, all but hidden by an aggressive climbing plant.

We descended a series of roughly cut and slightly damp stone stairs. The air became cooler with each step. Our path was like a labyrinth. And for some reason I recalled the story my Medieval French History prof told about promiscuous nuns at the time when the catacombs served as brothels.

At last we came to an oaken door. My beautiful stranger pressed against it, then pulled me through. On the other side was a wooded area. He led me to the largest of the oak trees and pulled me to him. I felt the throbbing once again. This time lower down as well. The throbbing in my pussy was the response to his urgent call.

I took six steps back, crossed my arms and lifted the emerald sundress over my head. Then I stood there before him in my emerald sandals with the four-inch heels. I let him look at me, knowing his cock was becoming more and more engorged with each passing moment.

I walked slowly back toward him. All the while he was watching my tits, checking out the shaved spot where my pubic hair used to be. I reached forward and unbuttoned his trousers. That seemed to waken him. In seconds he stood before me, naked. His cock extended to the max. I wanted him. Wanted to feel his lips on my mouth, my neck. To feel his breath near my ear. And then, I did.

We knelt beside the tree and simply kissed. I climaxed three times just from the feel of his tongue in my mouth, my nipples brushing against his strong chest. I moaned, arching my back. “I need you,” I said, to this man whose name I didn't know, “inside of me.”

“Yes,” he said, running his hand over my belly and down to just above my clit.

“Now,” I said.

He placed his legs in a V-position and pulled me up on top of him. I bent my knees around him, as his cock slid almost effortlessly into my wet and welcoming pussy.

His cock seemed to rise and expand even more. I've never felt so full before. Then I commenced to rocking, ever so slowly. He let me set the pace. I thought only of my pleasure-—the pleasure of riding his hot cock to my bliss, over and over and over again. When at last I thought the pleasure would make me lose my mind completely, he came with more force than the unicorn's pure fountain.

We held each other and made love till nightfall, my beautiful bearded stranger and I. “I don't know his name, but I've been meaning to thank him."

Best,

Diane


PS So much for mother's advice.

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