story for a chilly autumn day

I was shipwrecked and my clothes were in tatters. Wandering across the sands white as a blank page, I looked at the setting sun the color of blood as in my fountain pen, and I cursed my fate. Up in the palm trees the parrots were prattling. They wouldn’t let me joke around with them. Even the mosquitoes avoided me and were whispering behind my back.

The crabs took no heed of me as they made bubbles in their pools, the eyes of the shore. On a large volcanic rock a lizard and her mate were coupling unashamedly. They paid me no mind as they reached their green and lightly silvered climax. Above, among the palm fronds, a male monkey pursuing females proclaimed his ardor.

But I was quite alone in my ragged clothes and with my fountain pen. The night set to filling me with its darkness, its desires, and its terrors. The twilight breeze caressed me with its bewitching hands. But I was alone with my tattered clothes, and my bulging fountain pen.

Then I heard a voice far off.  “You have come, my vagabond poet! You have come!”

It was a woman’s voice that drew closer to me. It was sweet yet resolute in hunting for my ears. This charming voice surrounded me but in the now complete darkness I couldn’t locate its source. My eyes were just starting to adjust to the deep tropic night.

– “You have come, vagabond poet!”

The sensual voice filled me with sweetness, with longing, with exhilaration. But I could not find its source. Then there was a whisper near my ear.

– “Poet, welcome!”

I turned. When I saw her, my heart leapt with joy and my fountain pen popped up, eager to serve her as a poet’s pen should. She was a nymph dressed in a sarong with an elegant geometric design. The long naked sinuousness of her right leg shone in the light of the rising moon. Like a goddess’s her eyes glowed as did her shoulders of such delicate skin.

– “How do you know I’m a poet?” I said to her.

– “From your clothes in tatters” she answered smiling.

– “And that I’m a vagabond?”

– “From your bulging fountain pen…”

The roguish breeze kept on trying to lift the sarong’s edge to discover the sweetness beneath the fine cloth. I wanted so much to help but I only said a prayer for the success of the gentle wind’s invisible hand. But my goddess took me by the hand and led me toward deeper shadows.

– “You must be hungry, thirsty. Come with me. I will give you all you need…kisses, caresses, unending urges…” she told me.

Among the palm trees and the burgeoning grasses she made me lie down. She was still standing as she untied her sarong and let it fall.

That’s when I awoke. Among the shadow-laden sheets of my bed there lay a sarong with an elegant geometric design…and a strong scent of orchids.

*    *   *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2014

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