Angelorum et Stellas
The first card. X. Wheel of Fortune. A fearsome dragon, drawn in the solid Cubist-style of the Mayans, stares at her as if considering whether to devour or to crush her. This is a symbol of fire which changes and destroys but also purifies and refines. She sets it to the left.
Next card. XV. The Devil, reversed. The god Chac, with the curved teeth of the serpent as well as the anaconda’s hide, ponders her with polished obsidian eyes, seeking to hypnotise her in order to abolish her will. Standing on his head, though, negates his fearsome powers and after a hard stare she is able to set him to the right of the first card.
XVIII. The Stars. With her strong and naked brown body stretched out towards the Heavens, the woman, the Star-Catcher, captures the light and reflects it outward through the polished mirror of her skin. This card, too, joins its sisters.
Pushing back her long, dark blonde Farrah Fawcett flip, she hunches forward, staring at the cards, black eyes burning, trying to extract some sort of message from the images before her. The cup of coffee sits on the table untouched, as does the large plate of fried eggs and English muffins which are pushed to the opposite end of the table. The Moonstruck Diner is half-full after the morning work crowd has gone; mostly seniors taking their ease in the banquet seats, mothers taking a breather with small children and stragglers, silently making their way through plates of food preparatory to continuing their Kerouac journey.
She looks up only when the matronly waitress, an older woman with a sharp eye, comes to the table to refill her water and says from the corner of her mouth, “Eat, honey. You may not get another chance today.” Looking at the woman, she smiles wanly and nods, picking up her fork. She continues to stare at the cards, concentrating, focusing all her remaining energy and strength upon them. She needs a sign today, an indication that things are not going to continue in the same bad luck way they have been going for the past two years. Just some piece of good luck. Hustling is one thing; hustling without anything to show for it is quite another.
Shovelling the food into her mouth mechanically, her eyes still on the cards, she thinks back briefly to where it all spiraled out of control; to when her life really went down the flush. Not using the cards during that time certainly did not help her case. Examining the past yields many bitter and necessary lessons but what is necessary, what is really important is to focus on the here and now. The cards have a message for her, all right. She just needs to be smart enough to interpret them correctly.
She sighs and finishes her meal, thinking that perhaps the woman is right; this is all the food she’s probably going to be able to get today, so she’d better load up. She gulps the coffee like a prayer. Laying a twenty on the table, she signals the waitress that she is finished and gathers up the Tarot cards. Carefully, she wraps them in silk before placing them within her bag.
When her mobile rings she has to fish it out from beneath the cards. It’s a text from S, who has arranged for her to be “hyo ni” tonight at Amnesia NYC. She breathes a little easier. At least she gets 300 dollars tonight. Waving good-bye to the waitress, she leaves the diner feeling more hopeful than when she entered. It begins to rain lightly, the droplets standing on her skin like beads. She takes the Metro to the flat where she is crashing for the week. Finding it empty, she strips unceremoniously, removes her rabbit from her bag and sets to work. Within twenty minutes she climaxes and drowsily sets her alarm.
In the dark she cannot see but feels the pressure of something on her arms holding them down. Her legs are pinned and when she opens her mouth to scream bright arrows of light shoot out. The dark hands of the darkest god reach out to her and slather her body with the oils of death. Her skin crackles and begins to ripple with change. She is choking, her eyes are open but she cannot see and through it all is an ear-piercing sound, pulsating and insistent…
It’s the alarm. She’s been dreaming, her body still trembling with remembered terrors. Giving off a little laugh and shaking her head, she gets out of the bed and begins to get ready. An hour later she leaves the apartment and heads for the underground again, taking a direct line to the nightclub. The bouncers know her and scarcely glance at her as she heads inside. At the manager’s office she meets the organizer of the event, a slender, tall Japanese woman who smiles opaquely and then directs her to the care of her assistant, an energetic type straight from the Harajuku quarter. They go into the manager’s back room, where she is told to strip and use the restroom. The Harajuku girl removes her own blouse to reveal a tight black corset beneath. The assistant fills a bucket with water and ice and begins to scrub the other girl’s body down with handfuls of coarse sea salt mixed with ice water, followed by a ten minute ice-cold shower rinsing in the manager’s private shower. She complies without a word as this is the usual drill.
Within twenty minutes she has been carefully patted down with a soft towel and strung into a thong bikini bottom. Her hair is wrapped in another towel and she is handed a robe, which she slips into. Harajuku girl replaces her blouse over her corset. Without further words they leave the manager’s office and enter the prepped space on one of the multi-level dance floors.
The scene tonight is that each floor has its own “hyo ni”; a near-naked girl on ice, playing platter to Nobu’s best sushi and sashimi offerings, elevated and perfectly still while people throng, eat, dance and party to the hard house or Top 40 electro-mixes playing on each level. She is on level 7, and allows herself to be guided to the elevated perch; an elongated fish tank of ice upon which a wooden table has been stretched. Laying down upon the wooden table, she spreads her legs open and places her arms by her side. She closes her eyes as the preppers spray her down with the final salt and water dousing before tightly wrapping her legs, thighs, middle, breasts and arms in saran wrap. Small bags of ice outline her body while scallop shells of seafood are carefully placed atop her immobile body. Then there is silence. The preppers retreat and she is alone atop her sacrificial altar.
All is in readiness. She closes her eyes again, savouring the last few minutes of quiet before the crowds appear. Within ten minutes, the distant noise of the door crowd intensifies. The drift of raucous voices comes closer. With the click of heels, giggles, gasps of surprise and some spontaneous applause the horde arrives to the floor. Shouts of recognition and congratulations ring out. Then the dj drops the first beats to signal the commencement of festivities.
She is relaxed. Keeping her eyes closed, she drifts off to a semi-conscious state. Chopsticks click. There’s pressure as diners pick the sushi up from the dishes. Melted ice tickles her side for a brief moment before the ever-vigilant preppers replace it with fresh bags. Little circles of cold as used scallop shells are whisked away and replaced with newer colder ones. Furtive fingers tentatively touching her skin; soft, insistent whisperings as the interloper is reminded not to touch the “hyo ni”. All is going according to plan and she feels content as she contemplates that happy time when she is able to get off the table and get that cash in hand. Settled, she continues with her eyes closed, keeping perfectly still despite the insistent drumbeats of the music and the numbness of remaining in one position for an hour and a half without twitching.
Afterward, when the saran wrap is removed and she is allowed a regular warm shower in the manager’s lounge (with lemon juice though there is no real smell of fish but just to take precautions), she dries off quickly and dresses. After she is paid, she goes outside where she is pleasantly surprised to find that it is no longer raining. She decides to walk.
As she walks, she lets her mind wander. She’s been in tight situations before; but this is the tightest. Ever since she left behind the nightmare of her (abusive) situation, she has been living a hand-to-mouth in helter-skelter situations. A few friends help her out with food and shelter or tips for jobs, but on the whole she is the working, homeless poor. She’s surviving, but not thriving. Where is she going? What is she doing? She shakes her head. Answers at this time: none.
Passing the stores and restaurants decorated with Christmas cheer, she feels suddenly depressed, deflated. Wreaths hang on lampposts and in doorways; they look ghastly, funereal. Carols blasting from outside speakers sound warped and tinny. Hot tears spring to her eyes; life is hard for the lonely but no more so than at the season of togetherness known as Christmas.
Somehow she finds that she is walking straight towards Rockefeller Center. She doesn’t remember walking that far, nor even making the conscious decision to come here. Just as she turns to head back to the flat, a voice calls her name. Turning back, she doesn’t see anyone, just the usual shoppers but none are paying special attention to her. Shrugging, she again turns to walk away but the voice calls to her again insistently, while invisible fingers gently and firmly halt her flight.
When she whirls around, there is no one there.
“That’s it,” she thinks to herself. “I am not in my right mind.”
The voice calls her name again and this time she catches sight of two small silvery lights, shining from the shadows at the base of the tree. “I must be dreaming,” she thinks. Absently, she rummages in her bag and pulls out the Tarot deck. Eyes firmly on the steady silvery lights, ears attuned to the now-constant calling of her name, lips moving in silent prayer, she shuffles the cards. Stopping on one, she holds it aloft then lowers it to eye level.
The silvery lights glow brighter, deeper. The voice calling her becomes ever-more confident and melodious.
Replacing the cards in her bag, she stands still for a moment, then moves forward, towards the tree. As she crosses the 100 yards towards the brightly-lit beacon, it begins to rain again, lightly at first, but with increasing heaviness. She barely notices. No longer confused, for the first time in years she is filled with clarity, focus and determination-qualities that have been missing from her life for some time. Now the voice calls to her joyfully while her soul lifts and sings in response. Smiling, both from happiness and from a sense of relief, she drops the bag, beginning to shed her clothes as she approaches the tree. A trail of jumbled clothes, stockings and shoes lie in her wake. The only thing that matters to her now is that she unites herself with the voice, that she embraces the peace and healing that it promises and that she so desperately needs.
Reaching the tree, she ducks beneath the lowest branches and finds herself confronted with a hollow area within the base of the tree. Once inside, she finds that it is surprisingly commodious as she is able to stretch out quite easily within the clearing. It is both cool and quiet. The aches and pains and cares long hidden and obscured descend upon her. Tears pour from her eyes. Laying down, she closes her eyes, allowing herself to yield to sleep. On her side, like a small naked child in the garden of Eden, she curls around herself.
A touch from a soft hand caresses her shoulders. Still on her side she doesn’t feel threatened nor does she open her eyes. The touch, so very knowing, so very strong yet not inspiring fear, continues. The hands begin at her back and work their way downwards, massaging little circles of concern and well-being into her. She feels her body relax as it begins to warm. Tingles curl around her nipples and deep within her vagina as the hands knead the skin on her buttocks. They then proceed to the outside of her thighs, long, strong strokes easing and relieving the tensions within her body.
“Wake up, now. It’s time we have a proper talk.”
The voice is firm, pleasant and commanding. The tone is clipped and well-educated. It also brooks no second requests. She opens her eyes and sees the two silvery lights looking down at her. The rest is shadowy, indistinct. She sits up. There is still no fear, no sense of danger. There is, however, a strong sense of curiosity.
“Where am I? What is this? Who are you?” She asks these questions quietly while blinking sleep from her eyes. The shadowy Being touches her face for a moment. “I am here because you called to me and because you need me.” The being stops as if this is the most perfectly natural response to give. After staring for a few minutes, her brain begins to hum with activity. “Time to go” “You just boarded the train to crazy” “Thank you for a lovely time but no thanks” These are all the proper, normal, measured responses that make sense under such circumstances. She opens her mouth to contribute one of these brilliant insights to the discussion.
“Make love to me, please. Right the fuck now.” is what actually comes out of her mouth instead. “Wait, that’s not what I want to say” she begins to protest while The Being interrupts calmly with “But isn’t that exactly what you mean, however?” She cannot argue with that; she has uttered the simple truth of that which is within her heart.
“Yes, you’re right. I do want and need you” she says calmly. With assurance she reaches out to The Being’s face and bringing hers close to it she kisses him?her? upon the lips. The invisible flesh is soft, yielding and responsive. She wants more, she wants in and this time, she is going to get everything she wants. Her hands, wanton and free, wander up and down the alien’s body, touching warmth here, slight coolness there, everything covered in a soft, inviting down.
“Are you a girl or a boy?” she teasingly says and then her bold hands get a hold of the answer, about ten inches of an answer, thick, erect and pre-moistened. She pushes The Being down, guiding it to lay upon its back. She’s pre-moistened herself, and a rush of intense feelings floods her pussy like a river filled by a burst dam. She strokes its cock with one hand; with the other she guides its hand to her breast. Without further prompting it begins to fondle and squeeze the flesh there. She groans in pleasure as it sits up in order to lick and suck each nipple in turn, and by this time her body is warmed by desires.
She guides the cock in between her labia-but wait, The Being resists. Without further warning, it flips her on her back, expertly opens her labia, and with long, loving strokes of its tongue, coats her inner walls with the sweetest, wettest, warmest, most viscous substance. Not only does it feel warm and wet against her skin, there is a pleasurable tingling sensation. She realises that the same effect is taking place on her nipples, and then she cannot think or speak only moan and grunt as the creature takes her clitoris into its mouth and then pushes it back out with its tongue, over and over and over again until she begins to climb the waves arching outward from her uterus….
The Being guides its penis into her, slowly, ever so slowly, inching along, accommodating the minutest curves and crevices of her body. Her legs are upon its shoulders and the sensation of being filled, being completed, being wanted and loved overwhelms her and the waves crash down, again and again and again. She shudders and arches, the joys of her body too much to be contained. The Being stops inserting itself; it picks her up gently and holds her close until she cums the final time, eyes filled with tears of happiness and gratitude.
“Thank you,” she whispers, then thrusts her hips forward, feeling the filling as its thick cock expands and goes forward within her. They cling together for a minute, both breathing their way through the process, each enjoying the other. Then she begins writhing her hips, making circles around its cock. It responds by pulling in and out, the smoothness and warmth of her pussy juices mixed with its alien secretions making the experience that much more intense.
At one point in the thrusting she closes her eyes, and opens them to see a world with two perfectly silver moons hanging at opposite ends of the sky. At another point she opens her eyes to see unidentifiable wild creatures, long and thin, with sharp teeth and ruby eyes, fleeing along the wide open plains of an unknown planet. At another point she opens her eyes to see the red skies filled with thousands of black stars. She neither knows nor cares very much for what she sees just so long as she can cling to The Being and it is clinging to her and they are fucking faster and faster until she feels her heart is going to burst and then she hears a loud roar as of a planet coming to birth and the world fades to black as an orgasm stronger than that she has ever known rips her body apart. She, too, fades to black, peacefully content.
A kiss on her cheek awakens her. She rolls over and immediately puts her hand on The Being’s middle, feeling down to between the thighs. This time, her curiosity is rewarded with a very sticky, very tasty, practically hairless honeypot. She licks and sucks and fingers away to her heart’s content, moving its legs wider apart and using her tongue to full effect until she hears the roar and tastes a cascade of juices. With an impish smile on her face she reaches up to its chest, squeezing the soft and plump breasts she finds there.
“So, you are a boy, then a girl? Nice.” So saying she stretches and yawns.
She can feel, rather than see, The Being’s smile.
“Close your eyes. What I have to show you would solve many of the problems of the human race. Only joking,of course. I warn you,though, it’s not what you might think.”
She closes her eyes and grins. Too late to worry about what she thinks. She has already fucked a shadow under a giant Christmas tree. Then she feels a light and some sort of gravity-lightening energy. The Being’s voice calmly says “Open them now.”
Opening her eyes, she falls into silence, but one of utter delight as there before her is The Being, glowing like an angel. Tall and slender, Asian with sensuous lips and high cheekbones, he has both intelligence and sophistication. With long, black hair falling below his shoulders, he is well-formed and strong. He smiles at her with fondness in his eyes. From his shoulder-blades to his lower back sprout bird-like wings composed of black feathers. Naked and unashamed, he looks to her with some apprehension. “Do I please you, my love?”
She answers without hesitation, but with an amused smile upon her face. “Of course I am so very pleased with you…but I am still somewhat confused. Is it retractable?” At this he throws his head back and laughs and laughs, a sound like tiny ankle bells ringing. With a whirl the feathers close around him and he turns around.
There, standing before her, is a tall, well-formed, strong, African woman, with shoulder-length braids, wide eyes, high cheekbones and sensuous lips. Her naked body is a mountain of curves and undulating delights. She too has a look of intelligence and sophistication. She also has the same black feathers attached from shoulder-blades to lower back. The beautiful woman holds the package of Tarot cards out to her.
“I thought you might like to have these back.”
One being. Two forms. Male and female, become one. The best of both worlds.
A very Happy Christmas indeed.