Memories of Raeanne

More Memories of Raeanne

That night we met at the Hotel Allison, a dumpy slum on Stockton Street for cheap or poor European travelers. It maintained, in spite of its low prestige, a facade of proper accommodations, sporting a faux-Victorian lobby tended by a reticently-pleasant fifty-year-old gentleman with a full head of white hair.

She had just gotten her throat, nose and lip pierced. She was in some pain and discomfort throughout the night whenever she tried to eat or blow her nose.

We strolled through Chinatown and North Beach. I was her tour guide.

Being a bit sleepy, I gulped down colas and got a caffeine buzz going, leading the way down such streets as Grant, Broadway, and Columbus, showing off the strip bars, the secret Chinese temples, the loud Italian restaurants, the vibrant bookstores and all the things that make this a tourist magnet.

Raeanne and I began to talk about romance and sex. At last, when we got to my place, Raeanne put on the Smashing Pumpkins’ double album, a record we were both in love with, and one that made us feel more deeply in love. This was the second time we’d made love for hours to this music. As she held me, after a sexual episode, she sang lullabies to me, as though I were a child; and I am a child. Freud would have been sickened at how she mothered me and protected me with her words and cradled my head against her breasts.

Now we were drinking gin and tonic and looking into each others’ eyes. She told me all about her frightening bouts of diabetes, the horrifying accidents she’d survived, her many psychiatric illnesses, the long list of medications she’d taken, the mad, crazy lovers she’d had, the heartbreak of the falling out with her parents and all the contrasting wonder of her explorations of the world.

Her life story seemed already as complicated as mine was, yet she was less than half my age. It seemed almost impossible for there to have been time for her to amass so many experiences.

Just being with her, and gazing into her very large, blue eyes, revived my life. And before long, just by being in her presence, my scant, red bikini underwear was bulging with an erection.

“I want to give you a massage,” she said. I was again naked, this time with my whole body under her command. We turned down the music and lit some candles. She touched me so tenderly and so kindly caressed every pore of my skin, that I began to feel like one massive internal sex organ, like my body was one huge penis or vagina. If she touched my eyelids, I whimpered with joy. If she touched the curve of my back, I sighed with pleasure. She cupped my balls so magically, that I lost all of my inhibitions and broke free of many emotional chains. When she kneaded and scratched my scrotum, it felt as though she was reaching two feet inside me and massaging all my internal organs. It seemed as though she was massaging my very heart. I let out screams of ecstasy which made her uneasy at first.

But now it was her turn to be pampered. When we first met, she’d been hesitant about letting me lick her pussy. Of course I was dying to do just that, since she was the first woman I’d ever been with who had a totally-shaved pussy, the mother-lode fantasy of all dirty, old men. All the other women in that last couple of years had tons of pubic hair bursting out of the sides of their panties. Mostly there was so much hair on most of these womens’ pubic area and thighs that eating them out seemed to involve
mostly swallowing a lot of hair. In most cases, the actual pussy seemed like an afterthought in a sea of unkempt, untrimmed, unmanaged chaos. But here was Raeanne with her perfectly-shaved cunt. Her pussy lips practically puckered. The clit itself bulged, almost as if especially-made by the gods to deliver excess pleasure. I sucked her clit intensely and repeatedly. I fucked her pussy hole and her asshole with my tongue ferociously. Her vaginal fluids tasted like sweet and fresh candy. As I basked in the joy of tasting this ultimate angel-food cake, I breathed heavily between her legs
and constantly told her how hot it was to eat her out.

She wrestled with all of this at first and seemed confused as to which way to go emotionally, but soon her hips did the deciding for her. Before long she had lost control and was grabbing my head and forcing my mouth and my long, valiantly-outstretched tongue to ram harder and harder against her clitoris and vagina. She was now fully-engaged in the struggle to try to come. A few times she stopped, refusing to climax, wanting the orgasm, if it should come, to be bigger and longer and wilder than ever before. Her breathing got heavier and heavier, and she let go, totally, and called out to the world as though shot into outer space.

She was like a restless ship that had suddenly broken free of its moorings in a violent storm. Her eyes glazed over in wonder. Her bright, red lips puckered to form a surprised “o,” and she remained like that, inaccessible, lost in a shimmering galaxy of her own, free in body and mind and spirit. When she finally spoke to me, she said, “I can’t remember how many years it’s been since I’ve had an orgasm like that. Now I want you to fuck me.”

She had predicted I would like doggie style the best, and, immediately rolled over before I asked her to. Although I was certain I could not get another erection, she coaxed one out of me anyway, through a kind of magic I’ll never understand. She arched her back up and my penis went gloriously into her. She moaned with post-orgasmic ecstasy as I inhaled with joy. What a blessing to be all the way inside this merciful being.

After our intercourse, she allowed me to lay back and receive one last glorious hand-job, (the length of time it took, at first annoyed her). But she decided to grant me the time I wanted to have a massive tantric climax. I was able to let go of all tension and not try too much to force an orgasm. I took deep breaths as she used one hand to deliver, deep, long, twisting, turning, thick, slow strokes on my ever-growing cock. “It’s getting so big!” she said. With her other hand she rubbed oil all over my balls, and again I felt my whole torso turn into a vast internal sexual organ, a vast pleasure center.

At last I exploded, like a rising volcano. The orgasm was forceful, and furious, hot wads of cum shot everywhere. Raeanne let out a shriek, surprised at the power of the boiling cauldron she had so methodically and carefully stirred and tended.

I was finally, and perhaps for the first time, so satiated, and so satisfied, that not one thing remained to be done. I had nothing more to ask, and no desire felt unfulfilled. Sexually, I finally felt at peace. My heart was light, and I felt energy flowing through me that was clear and pure and gleeful and crystalline.

Again we lay down to talk about our lives. It was then she uttered the most reassuring words any human has ever uttered to me. She said, “I know why the gods sent me to you, because I’m your reward.” Intuitively, I knew this was true.

There are so many circumstances in my life that seem to preclude marriage, and yet superficial involvements were not enough to satisfy me. The only way for the universe to reach me with the deepest love would be for it to defy time and space by being condensed into a few days in an impossibly-fast and inexplicably-vast way. And then the beloved would need to be called to the other side of the continent immediately before the depressing and unworkable economic and health issues
in my world began to take their toll and reverse the magic.

And thus I always regarded this as my special time of validation, a high and holy celebration of the work I had done on this planet and the person I mad molded myself into.

On that day we parted, I told her, “I’m not going to cry in front of you. She too decided to bite her lip and refrain from ending our time in a sea of tears. We kissed goodbye, and, wanting to avoid prolonged waving and emotional gushing, she held me very tightly again and turned resolutely away without looking back. She knew we could not bear to see each other’s faces fading away from each other. After that I rushed home, trying not to break out into a crying fit in public.

Once safely behind my door, I sobbed as hard as a human can. After it was all over, I knelt before all of my shrines and felt the gods looking back at me without judgment, and I felt not a trace of bitterness or regret, only everlasting love.

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