Date: Sat, 13 Jul 2002 00:36:49 -0000
From: ancil <ancil@ticklingthemarrow.com>
Subject: eurasia dances

If you're reading this, it means the people at Nifty smiled upon me and
nestled me into their wonderful archive.

This story is, I hope, erotic, and therefore should not be read by those
offended by that. hopefully much more along the same and entirely different
lines to come. i love my readers, so please come visit me at
ticklingthemarrow.com for more of my work. thank you, lovely lgbt folks.

ancil


Eurasia Dances

Dances to the surging techno beat as simmering spotlights wash over her, blue-
white and yellow-pink shining on her skin dark as our species's african womb.
She is visible only in flashes of pulsing light and must be assimilated in
pieces: camoflauge tank top, orange and green capris, stone-shaped shaved
head, huge smile and eyes shut tight.

Arms gyrating and bare feet pounding the floor, she creates the illusion that
it is she who is producing the music, that the music is merely dancing to her
rhythm, struggling to keep up with her movements in the center of the dance
floor.

Is it the center, or is that another illusion?

It is the center, Aly thinks to herself, for in a circle with no perimeter
every point is the center. There are other dancers drifting through that
space, but Eurasia is the glowing center from which the rest of them spread to
darkness.

It is that darkness, the darkness outside of the circle where the spotlights
do not touch, the darkness which gives the circle its lack of perimeter, it is
that darkness in which Aly hides, watching the beacon shine in the center of
the floor.

Sinuous, Eurasia undulates in the ice-hot glow of flourescent lighting. She is
something strange and glorious, and none of the girls will dare to come near
her.

Aly dares. She steps into the light, entering a round spiral that will take
her into Eurasia's orbit. A prisoner of her gravity, she spins around dumpy
white dykes and lipstick-sporting femmes to move in close to the girl in the
center. She keeps a safe distance, a satellite dancing in the light that
reflects from her.

Eurasia's eyes open. "Come here, stud," she says, and opens her arms wide to
beckon Aly forward. Eurasia's hands slide over her dyke-shaved head, and they
dance close together in the warmth of each other's bodies.

They dance for a long time in the darkness and fire-light in the center of it
all, alone but for each other, silent but for the music. Finally Aly speaks,
leaning in low over Eurasia's shoulders to shout into her ear. "Where's your
shoes?"

"Left `em at home," she answers.

"Where's home?"

"Don't got one."

Aly licks her lips, running wet palms down Eurasia's sweat-slicked
shoulders. "Then I'm taking you home with me."

 . .

Eurasia lies belly-down on Aly's bed, arms tucked beneath her sides and body
entirely still. Her feet hang over the edge, heels and toes of her yellow
soles the black of dogs in moonlight. The bed is in an already-dark nook of
Aly's apartment, and under the low light of evening she is almost invisible.

Motionless in the darkness, she blends in completely, Aly's eyes swimming over
her as she glances around the room, her body tuned out as if a longtime
fixture of the apartment. Could be the camoflauge, Aly thinks, standing at her
kitchen-counter sipping milky coffee. As she does so she watches for the
gentle waxing of Eurasia's form that will reveal she is still breathing. The
room is silent as the earth.

Aly sets her coffee on the table and walks over, sitting on the side of the
bed above the still form. Eurasia suddenly rouses, curling up on her side. "I
want to eat your pussy," she says.

Aly stares, taken off-guard. "Uh, hmm?"

Eurasia rolls into a sitting position. "Your pussy," she says, "here,"
pointing to her mouth.

She stares at Aly with a low, commanding stare, the kind of stare with which a
mouse could make a cat its bitch, and under that intense gaze she hurridly
unbuttons her jeans, kicking off her shoes as she hustles herself into bed.

Eurasia topples her instantly, pulling up her shirt to reveal a slope of
smooth skin the color of melting chocolate. She runs her hands down Aly's
stomach to the neon-orange panties that cover her crotch.

One finger curls under the waist at each side, pulling her panties out and
down from her hips. Beneath a small patch of thick hair like a black forest,
her vulva spreads like an exotic plant, anthurium pink and white with tiny
green veins.

Eurasia does not waste time but begins to feast, tongue suddenly inside and
wailing at her walls. "Uhuhuh-huh, uhuhuhaa!" Aly groans, disarmed again. Eyes
bulging, she wraps her hands around Eurasia's head, fingers spreading like
rivers around her ears, and pulls the relentless tongue from her crotch before
she climaxes.

Eurasia's eyes glare up at her, fierce and hungry. Fires fan in those eyes,
and Aly shivers, her own pupils shrinking as she releases her lover's head,
hands backing away in quivering fear.

"Oh, no," Eurasia says, fires quieting to hearths, "come here, dear."

She puts her arms around Aly softly, easing her shirt up and over her head.
Her breasts slip out from under the fabric, dark things soft and sensuous like
the night. Eurasia runs her hands over them, thumbing her nipples softly. Then
she pulls Aly's pants and panties from her legs, leaving her body naked but
for her socks, her nude form suddenly lithe and lean.

Eurasia pulls her own tank top from her arms, exposing her own breasts, ebony
slopes running down to dark knolls. She shifts, her backside gaining light and
turning her to a silhouette. Streaks of shine detail the curves of her arms,
her head, her breasts.

With barely a sound the shadow before Aly plunges from sight, and then there
is that strong tongue lashing inside her. Her moans almost gurgles, she wrests
Eurasia's head from her groin again.

"Now what?" she asks.

"I want to see your cunt," Aly says. She looks into Eurasia's eyes, firm,
rising from shadow.

Eurasia stands on the bed, crouching beneath the low ceiling. Her capris cling
to her legs, military-green with patches of thin orange material. Her hands
glide over the taut landscape of her stomach, running towards the waist of her
pants. They seem to dance around her navel, a sensuously dark hollow in the
slope of her belly.

Unable to resist, Aly jumps forward, wrapping her hands around Eurasia's ass
and curling her tongue into that dark, mysterious navel. Cheek pressed to
Eurasia's slick, warm belly, she explores the tight enclave with the wet
softness of her tongue.

"Mmmmm," Eurasia growls, running her hands around Aly's smooth head as if to
mold it into something. Then she folds them around her chin, pressing her
thumbs into the dimples of Aly's mouth and guiding her head away.

Aly sits back onto her legs and watches Eurasia's hand undress her. In slow,
steady motions they undo her tight orange belt, loosing the elastic to hang
from her waist. She unzips the capris and they fall from her like a bird from
a tree.

Her vulva spreads from the shadow between her legs like a red fern in a
starless valley. Beads of light collect on scarlet and yellow lips, folding
from the pink walls of her entrance which pool darkness within them like a
lagoon and promise still greater secrets. Her clit slips from blankets of
tissue like the dripping pistil of a flower, wet dew building in palpable
drops on its tip.

Aly shudders weakly, the space between her legs filling with juice. Her lips
drizzle wetness onto her thigh.

"Now?" Eurasia asks.

"Now," Aly answers.

And then she is upon her, tongue slamming her walls and clit like a steady
drumbeat, muscular tongue lashing until she cums and cums, screaming her
passion in tongues into the night. Her skin is baked bronze in the heat of
Eurasia's kiln, fire blazing up into caverns of earth within her, burning the
world back to wet black soil.

Then they lay, the two of them, around one another, wet flesh on wet flesh,
heads on legs and hands on thighs, faceless, nameless, homeless, daughters of
the night and fire.