Commentary
by Guillermo Bosch
bosch@guillermobosch.com
epressed. That's what I feel tonight, depressed. About this issue? No...no...no. This Spring 2004 issue of Sauce*Box is one of the uplifting realities in my life -- another affirmation that there are so many creative people, generally unrecognized creative people, who can write such beautiful and passionate feelings and emotions about sex.

But I fear that the societal pendulum is swinging the other way. We seem to promote hate over love, war over peace, humiliation over acceptance, censorship over tolerance. If this is truly our deepest, most fearful reaction to attacks from ineffectual religious fanatics, then the fanatics have clearly succeeded beyond their wildest dreams.

We must, mustn't we, strive to remain and become even more a society that promotes a sense of community, not on that acts as an angry and divisive force? If not, if we stand for hate and retribution, for intolerance and exclusion, then what makes us different, or better, or more desirable as an example to the world than those we say we oppose?

Perhaps it's just the events of the last few weeks. Actually, I tend to be optimistic when it comes to the capacity of individuals for peace and love. How can I not be when I'm presented with the dreams and fantasies of the writers who contribute to Sauce*Box. Thanks, you guys. See, I feel better already.

Guillermo Bosch

---

Stolen Moments
by Modeste Balthus
Balthus@guillermobosch.com
rendan stood silently at the foot of her bed. The late afternoon light filtered through the blinds and bathed her sleeping form in its amber glow. He had responded impulsively to images aroused by their last phone conversation and driven to her apartment, just half an hour from the college where he taught.

She stirred and he stepped back into the shadows, wanting only to watch her silently for a while. A tangle of dark curls and the feminine curve of a bare copper-toned shoulder was all that peeped from beneath the swirl of glaring white sheets that wrapped her form.

Growing aware of the tumescent bulge in his pants, Brendan undressed and lay his clothes on the sofa. Moving deliberately, he stood by her bedside and gently pulled back the bed covers to reveal her sleeping, naked form. He gasped at the sight beneath the sheets. She lay on her back, her thighs relaxed and spread wide apart, her mons swollen and the wispy curls of her pubis still glistening wet from a recent bout of self-pleasuring. Her face was turned away from the glare of the light streaming in from the window, one arm bent to cover her chest while the other lay tucked by her side. He knew her well and smiled as he gently uncovered the fist that still clenched her green and white plastic dildo, playfully referred to as Dominic in their erotic phone conversations. Still sticky with her juices, it fell out of her hands as her grip relaxed and he placed it by her bedside.

His gaze rested on the single brown left nipple that peeked between the crook of her arm, its twin hidden by the hand that cupped her right breast. He imagined for a moment, the fullness of her ripe nipple in his mouth, the way his tongue would circle and taste the knub that crowned her nipple like a swollen raisin. He let the thought escape, allowing his eyes to rest on her swollen mound. The slit that separated her plump labial lips was sealed with her creamy juice of arousal. He trailed his finger with a practiced knowledge along its wet length towards the secret space nestled between her buttocks. He dipped his finger into the pool of wetness there and she moaned in response, waking up to the familiarity of the intimate ministrations of his finger.

Her eyes were half opened as she called his name in a sleepy whisper. "Shhhhhhh" he silenced her, bringing his wet finger to her lips. She sucked on it instinctively, arching and stretching her body in feline manner as he pulled himself on to her bed and knelt between her thighs. Her eyes remained closed as she writhed and purred sensuously in response to his embedded finger, spreading her legs wider and arching her pelvis seductively. Withdrawing his finger, he watched as her pussy lips parted to a swollen pout, begging for a kiss. He drew in his breath, and his lips closed in on her lips, his tongue, dipping and sliding along the musky pouches of her sex, drawing out her juices. Even as he devoured her hungrily, his eyes were alert and kept a watch on her as she writhed and moaned. Just as he had expected, her thrashing became more urgent as his tongue located and strummed her clit. He braced himself in anticipation watching her arms intently. As her hands flew to his head in protest, Brendan grasped and pinned her wrists down with stunning speed. He ignored her protests, and sucked frenziedly on the kernel of her clit holding her wrists down. "No means yes," the words drummed repeatedly in his head and he had well understood her language in the heat of passion. She fought against his restraining hands, the stimulation taking her relentlessly to the crest of climax. He latched on stubbornly to her clit until he felt her suddenly going taut. Her body tensed, arched and froze, while her pussy spasmed in a violent orgasm. She moaned, her body defeated as his lips released her engorged clit. He watched with a sense of triumph and then, slowly knelt between her thighs. Cupping his heavy erection in his hands, he aimed the slick knob between her swollen lips close to the perinium. With a single movement, he pushed his shaft into her still pulsating pussy, relishing its warm snugness as he forced his organ in. She mewled and moaned as her pussy walls milked his invading organ.

"Can you take it all?" he asked, concerned as he watched her wince. "Yes, please don't stop," she gasped, "Please, please, please don't stop." He leaned forward to kiss her lips, pinning down her hands, distracting her as he forced his last inch into her with a determined thrust. She gasped as he bottomed out, his scrotum sealing her vulva. Grinding deeper into her, he wrapped his arms around her head, his fingers lost in the tangle of her curls. Holding her soft, quivering form in his embrace, he kissed and nibbled her face and neck. She seemed faraway in thought and yet entranced by the pure awareness of his throbbing fullness within her sex, a fullness that poignantly held them together in a seamless oneness. It seemed to hold them in a bubble, often dreamed about and fantasized in their erotic conversations.

Memories flashed past as the most delicious sensations coursed through their fused bodies...

...memories of the tingling warmth as they stood close between the shelves at Borders, where he had read out a particularly erotic portion of "Birdsong" by Sebastian Faulks how his voice, low and sensuous in the reading had caused her sex to weep and flow with juices that stained her panties...

...memories of stolen moments of passion in stairwells, quiet, secluded parks and convenient niches in forgotten corners...

...memories of their first kiss at the Velvet Underground, the awkwardness, the mixture of fear, excitement and the pure, delicious hunger for more...

...memories of the occasional wandering finger that tickled her midriff when his arm curled around her waist at the Mitre for instance...little did he know that on some days, she was so primed for his sensuous touch that it was all it took, a single feathery drag of his finger across bare skin, to arouse her nipples and bring on a flood of juices from her sex.

They flashed past in her mind, memories vivid and titillating but the one that stayed suspended in erotic tension was of the evening they spent at a quiet pub, one afternoon two years ago. Upon a couch on the second floor of Senso, they had lain snuggled, their limbs entwined, his hand discreetly tucked into her stretch pants from the back, his fingers rolling the sensitized apex of her sensations. Her pleasure so consumate, almost dizzying as he placed the edge of his other hand into her mouth to bite into and smother her moans. And while intensifying the fingering of her clit, he whispered in a soft silky voice, the meaning of "the little death -- le petit mort" watching as her body trembled to a climax, her teeth sinking into the flesh of his hand.

As she lay intoxicated by memories of stolen moments from the past, Brendan felt the soft pulses of her tunnel turning stronger, milking his iron hard erection. Wrapping his arms tightly around her, he tightened his embrace and reamed his throbbing penis in and out, gently at first and then in ever increasing urgent strokes until he felt the churning in his testes and his semen rise and surge through his shaft. Almost simultaneously, her writhing body tensed to a tautness as her muscles gripped his organ, locking it in a series of mind-blowing orgasmic contractions. Bathed in perspiration, the tension in their fused bodies dissipated as the warm rush of his semen spilled deep into her. He held her close, rocking her gently and planting light kisses on her forehead. He waited for her breathing to return to normal and for her muscles to relax and allow his softening organ to withdraw. She lay still and quiet on his chest, lulled by the rhythm of his heartbeat and the pure and elemental pleasure of having his fingers rake the curls on her head.

---

3 Poems
by Dee Rimbaud
x-generation@ntlworld.com
http://www.thunderburst.co.uk

Vagina Envy
by Dee Rimbaud
am laid out on the mortuary table:
The wood warm and brown
Against this petrified skin;
The blunted edge of the blood trench,
So sharp I feel it
In my bones.

I may as well be dead.

You, my surgeon, my saviour,
Are grinning like a knife:
The dust motes,
A halo round your head
In dim shafts
Of late afternoon sunlight.

You are
What I want to be.

I want to feel
The pain of that dark red hole
That makes you so wholly real:
I want to touch the roots
Where soil is born and reborn;
And to sink away
From this man flesh
That is not me.

Caress me with your blade
And allow me to be unmade.


Sunday Night Tantra
by Dee Rimbaud
rom your secret smiling lips
I drink the animal sour sweetness
No other vessel will offer up.

There is nothing in heaven
Or on the Earth
That can fill
Without fulfilling
So completely.


Seduction
by Dee Rimbaud
t was the fool’s moon I saw in your face,
The shadow’s light, the pale wind
That pulled me towards the edge.

I was hypnotized by your lunar seas,
Swallowed by your ripped tide.

I followed, and you led:
Took me to your flowered bed,
Filled my ears with silk and song,
The melodies and discords
Of rope and metal, blood and bone.

White as milk and moonlight,
She dances half-naked, diaphanous,
Weaving webs between the legs
Of lounging diners.
Smiling, they toast her as she passes,
Their mindless chatter tinkling,
Like pink champagne
Overflowing from crystal glasses.

She undresses to lecherous cheers:
Her laughter, a brook bubbling
On the untroubled surface
Of her bankable veneer.
Rubbing feathered breasts
Soft against sandpaper cheeks
And visceral salivating mouths;
These wolves and hounds become ridiculous:
Like little children dressed up
In someone else’s finery.

She delights in her unsubtle youth,
The power to captivate and hold in thrall,
Her voodoo, this mistress of illusions:
She dissolves her soul before us,
Soluble in celluloid fantasy;
Pouting and posing, she is
Marilyn Monroe, Brigitte Bardot;
And one day, one day,
She will shoot up to cine-heaven,
A bright and blazing star.

But at twenty three, already she fears
The arc of descent: the magnetic touch
Of inevitable gravity: foreseeing the drab tales
Of how she was once so big
A whole room could not contain her;
The endless reminiscing, boring holes
In cruelly indifferent ears; the catalogues
Of wrinkles and requiems; the faded clippings
And sad remains; the dusted down show reels
Of another starlet, rotting away
In the vacuous chambers of Beverly Hills.

---

Essence
by Diane Ravella
diane.ravella@verizon.net
s I watched her saunter over to the bar, I decided I should make a graceful exit. That woman, my blind date was trouble with a capital T. She flirted naturally with everyone in the room. I half-expected to see her perform numerous blowjobs and other acts of outrageous sexual behaviors by the way she batted her eyes and swiveled her hips. I would have to ring Alice's neck when I saw her tomorrow. Our conversation still rang in my ears. "You're sure she's not a party animal."

"Oh Good God, No! We took a couple of graduate art history classes two semesters ago when I went to Virginia. She's smart, cute, and a little heavy for her petite frame just like you used to like them." I blushed thinking about my recent dating pattern. I had given up on chubby intellectual girls only because the West Coast coeds were health crazy and slender. Perhaps it was a stereotype, but it was what I was running into. "Anyways, I talk to her every once in a while when she comes up for air between classes and the library. Enid is very available and your ideal type."

When she said her name, I almost jumped for joy. I'm the type of girl who likes beautiful words and names. And Enid is one of my favorite names. Often overlooked, because it's old-fashioned and hard for some to pronounce. It can mean quiet woman or soulful. Arthurian legends identify her as the wife of Geraint who labeled her a cheater only to discover her most undying faithfulness for him.

There would be no more Tanyas, Natalies, Michelles, Yvettes, or Nicoles for me, women with beautiful, exotic names who were wanderers. They wandered from my bed to someone else's bed only to come back to my bed when it was convenient. I had finally found a girl that was the essence of loyalty and fidelity. But Enid wasn't anything like Alice described. Sure she was petite. Instead of being chubby, she looked to be about 115 lbs. And she wasn't cute; she was a knockout. Her skin was the color of honey evaporating into freshly brewed tea. Her eyes were more doe-like than almond-shaped. With a full and pouty mouth that resembled a pink rose ripe for a spring bloom. As she sang out loud to the music, I watched her sylphlike body grind to the beat. By the way she was acting her name might as well have been Samantha or Cara for that matter. I grabbed my purse and headed out the door before she got back with our drinks. The cool air stung my hot cheeks like a whip striking against my flesh. Earlier in the day, it felt like a late spring afternoon. Yet it now felt more like a January night in DC, cold and a little bit breezy. I was glad I bought my car instead of walking. Once I was in my car with the heat at full blast, I reached for my phone to call Alice. Her voice mailbox picked up. Of course, she wasn't available for my tirade.

"Hi, This is Alice. You know what to do."

"Yeah, I know what to do," I yelled into the receiver. "I can't believe you set me up. That woman, that En--, Oh Shit, she's headed this way, I've got to go."

My first thought as I hung up was could I just pull away. But instead I rolled down the window. "Look, it's obvious that you and I aren't right for one another. I tried to wait for you to come back with the drinks, but I really have to go. I have a paper due on 19th century English Literature and Poetry in three days."

It wasn't a total lie. But how could I tell her that I didn't date exotic or beautiful anymore. I waited for her to ream me out. Instead she said, "If you want to leave I totally understand. However you may want to take me with you. Because 18th and 19th century English lit and poetry is a forte of mine. Besides that I've always liked the fact that Great Expectations tempers romantic idealism with Victorian sensibilities."

I felt both my head and clit swell. Well at least Alice had been right about something, she was still a brain. "Get in," I said with a rather shaky voice.

The rest of the car ride was a blur, sort of like I was doing everything faster than everyone else. Once we were inside of my apartment, clothes just seemed to magically come undone as if our fingers willed them away, by our thoughts instead of unbuttoning or unzipping them.

"I thought you had a paper to write," she said as her lips connected with mine.

I pushed her down on my bed and said, "Fuck the paper, I'd rather fuck you instead." She laughed as my lips trailed from her shoulder to her left breast. My tongue made circles around her nipple, just as I was about to latch onto it she spoke. "You know Wordsworth was my favorite poet from the 19th century. You know his poem The Tables Turned."

"It's my favorite," I said before sucking on her raisin colored nipple. She mewled softly as her fingers entwined into my hair

"I love the line 'let nature be your teacher'. It's the essence of the whole poem."

Sliding between her legs I remarked, "Right now your pussy is the essence of everything." My tongue parted her pussy lips making contact with the clit. She arched her back like a cat awakening from an afternoon nap. My hands moved from around her legs, reaching upwards to tweak her erect nipples. I fastened my mouth onto her clit sucking on it like a pomegranate seed. I half-expected it to burst onto my tongue. Her moans became louder turning into small bursts of directions like "more" and "don't stop." Until finally she yelled out, "Use your fingers." I slid two fingers into her pussy. Her warm wetness sucked them in rather greedily.

"FASTER!" I obliged her moving my fingers in and out with vigor. Thrust after thrust, her voice grew louder as she recited lines from love poems by Browning and Keats. I nearly swooned…at last a woman who understood the essence of what turned me on. I reached between my legs finding my swollen clit. I stroked it with the same enthusiasm that I was using to fuck her cunt. Our orgasms arrived simultaneously, with her legs shaking about my shoulders, and my tongue vibrating my groans of pleasure into her pussy. We rested in my bed for a few moments, clinging against one another like clothes in a washing machine, dripping with exhaustion.

"Are you hungry?" She shook her head yes. "Wait here I'll warm up some leftover Spaghetti."

"Is it alright if I take a shower?"

"Sure, the spaghetti and I will be waiting."

She laughed and kissed me on the nose, then headed for the bathroom. I reached for my book of names, in red marker, I scratched out the definition for Enid. From now on, it would mean soulful woman who likes to scream.

---

---

3 Poems
by Brian Burch
burch@web.ca

The Last Time We Made Love
by Brain Burch
he last time we made love
did not feel like the last time.

It felt like a pause,
waiting for the right word to flow.

The last time we made love
did not feel like the last time.

It felt like the pause in a song,
the beat that makes a melody pure.

The last time we made love
did not feel like the last time.

It felt like a cat seeking a moment outside
just in case summer had reappeared.

The last time we made love
did not feel like the last time.

It felt like turning over at night,
sharing a pillow until morning.

The last time we made love
did not feel like the last time.

It felt like leaning towards each other across a table,
wondering at the new world about to unfold.


The It wasn't Quite
by Brian Burch
t wasn't quite what we expected.

13 years later and we reach out to each other
for security, not with intensity.

We find ways of entering each other
with distracted rituals---a tongue there,
a finger here, penis entering vagina
with practised inelegance.

It was quite what we promised each other:

following gravity to explore new surfaces

stretching out in front of eyes
too tired to be jaded.


The A Moment Of Unfierce Desire
by Brian Burch
reach through the bubbles you've piled on your breasts,
circle nipples that seem more like shadows than a part of you.

Your hands reach up to undo my shirt, the last barrier
between what might have been and what will be.

As I hover on the edge of joining you
the phone rings.

---

Do You?
By Eternal
eternalwytch@ev1.net
o you want me? Do you want to kiss me, trailing your lips down my neck. Do you want to feel my nipples grow taut from your touch?

Do you want to hear me moan your name as you explore the lushness of my curves? Do you want to see the light of loving passion in my eyes? Do you want to hear me beg for your caress?

Do you want to see the moonlight shining on my soft skin as I lay there, body trembling for you and you alone? Do you want to hear me whisper 'I love you' just as our lips meet?

Do you want to feel me move to make love with you? Do you want to feel my lips tease, my tongue torment? Do you want to know that I am yours for all time?

Do you?

2 Poems
by Stephan Mead
mead815@yahoo.com

Awhile
By Stephen Mead
ater the same day
Time is of no consequence,
None, none except
That ís where we belong,
Where everything comes,
Leaves, visits

Tonight we’re part of this.
I am a tunnel,
You go in & about. What treasures.

Are mined? Anything unearthed would seem
Common to most: birds & cats in the morning,
Strung dandelions on chains. But they wind
Round our throats & we say: exceptional,
Achieving heartbeats, sensuality infused
& breathed.

Envision intimacy, the pulse of candle-set eyes.
When older our skin will be connected by what
Is felt beneath whispers.

In between the range of infinity
Is a clock without hands.
It doesn’t even have numerals, & our faces too,
Though ticking seconds, may be wound back watches
Looking at, looking past every wrinkle,
The traits traced & erased by love…

Here time is recognized, told by gazes.
They glow. They’re excited, held by a future
Now in the present.

Awhile is retrospect,
What will come later,
After our sweet now has stopped.


Time Past
By Stephen Mead
ove made
By melding cuts, a near
Seizure only subsiding as if to prolong,
Prolong the rise again.

Who was the statue
That became wax, then skin, an ocean
Open in arms, in arms?

At first it wasn’t like that,
More caution before directness:
Time, taking time, a simmering,
A slow cooling & each temperature right
To bring in intimacy.

In. In. On. On…
A stereo, a bed spread, a garden of limbs,
Limbs given to what came between
Crazy talk, sanity, quiet entrances
& lots & lots of laughs completely
unmasked.

It is better now, being no idol
But someone who will listen over potato salad.
It is better knowing the cuts deeply, the healing
Marks & the never scarred:
A map bringing rains on soft winds,
Bringing warmth & suggestions of both
Dark & light.

They play over features the way time does,
Time & love made,
A creation so the earth
Should survive.

---

Neighbors
by Eternal
eternalwytch@ev1.net
rom her window she could see her, short shorts, bikini top showing off her tanned skin that glistened in the summer sun. She was a raven haired goddess, so beautiful, so out of reach. Fiona sighed and made herself turn away. She looked to her pale skin, her red hair and scowled.

"I can't even stand outside and watch her. I would fry." She snorted and flopped into a chair. "This so sucks! I have watched Lili for a month now and I still cannot get the brass to even talk to her! I know she's a dyke like me, but dammit! She is so... special. What would she want with me?"

Fiona gave up and headed to her car. Maybe a trip to the mall would help. She cast a quick look at her sexy neighbor as she left, feeling so ugly compared to the tall, sensual woman. Fiona was fat... there was no two ways around this. Not chubby... not plump... but F A T. Lili was tall, slender, toned and tanned.

Fiona sighed as she wandered the mall. She ignored the stares, the rude comments. She was used to them by now. She bought a few things she really needed and stopped for lunch at the food court. She got a salad and a bowl of sliced fruit... her usual summer lunch.

She was not fat by choice. Genetics played a large part in it. She hated the jiggling, the rolls of flesh. She cringed as she heard a couple of men making fun of her. She took a deep breath and ignored them, or tried to.

When they started making comments about maybe all she needed was a dick to get her off the feed bag she paled. She hurriedly tossed away her unfinished lunch and made a dash for her car. They followed her until she stopped beside a security guard. Only then did they go back the way they came.

Fiona was in tears as she got in her car. Why? What had she ever done to them? She made her way home, tears still sliding down her face. She didn't notice Lili watching her as she stumbled into her house, sobbing as she slammed and locked the heavy oaken door.

Lili scowled. She knew her pretty neighbor lived alone... and she knew the woman was usually fairly cheerful. She had been meaning to stop and visit, get to know the one neighbor she might actually like. Lili thought Fiona was sexy. All round and cuddly. The very image of the Earth Goddess.

"That does it... something is wrong and I am going to go see if she is alright." Lili took a quick shower and slipped into a t-shirt and shorts. Barefoot she padded across her lawn to knock on Fiona's door.

Fiona was trying to calm down when she heard the knock. She froze... what is it were those men?? She tip-toed to the window and looked out. Lili??? HERE? She had a serious case of the deer in the head light look going on as she slowly opened the door.

Lili saw the swollen green eyes and the remnants of fear in the woman's eyes and spoke softly. "Hey. Are you okay? I saw you crying as you came in. Oh, I'm Lili by the way."

Fiona gaped, then almost squeaked as she realized she was being rude. "Please... come in. I'm Fiona... and don't worry about me. I'm fine." ~Oh god, she's here, in my house!! Why? Not that I'm complaining... but surely she has better things to do then pay a pity call on me.~

Fiona looked at the nicely furnished home. Everything spoke of hidden sensuality. Soft fabrics, rich colours and gentle lighting. She smiled at the pretty redhead and put her hand on her arm. "Fiona, don't lie to me. Something is wrong. You came running in all pale and shaking... what happened?"

Fiona shivered at Lili's touch and found herself spilling out the story. "I was so scared, they wanted to... to...." She looked as if she was going to be ill. "I don't like men as it is, not like that anyway." She didn't realize they had ended up on the sofa, thighs touching. She wanted to lean in and feel Lili's arms around her so badly.

Lili shook her head. "Pigs, all of them. I'm sorry Fiona, maybe next time I should go with you, protect you."

"You would... you would want to be seen with... -me-?" Fiona stared at Lili in shock. "But why? I'm ugly, and you're so beautiful. People would laugh at you for being with a fat slug like me...."

Lili looked Fiona in the eyes, her ice blue ones stern. " Ugly? Fiona, I think you are beautiful and very sexy. I have been watching you for weeks." She trailed a slender finger down Fiona's softly rounded cheek. "I even have dreams about you. Spread out on the bed, red hair loose and flowing, you moaning as we make love."

Fiona felt the heat building between her legs. Her large nipples were straining against her super support bra and she ached to kiss those soft, ripe lips that were so close. Instead she blushed deeply and looked away in confusion. ~This has to be a dream....~

Lili tilted Fiona's face up and leaned in, brushing her lips softly over hers, tasting the sweet from the fruit and the salt from the recent tears. Fiona moaned and shivered as Lili pulled her closer. This was what she had day-dreamed about. The feel of sun-warmed arms around her, full lips locked with hers.

Lili normally didn't rush like this... but she wanted Fiona, wanted to taste her, caress her full form, make her moan with pleasure. She slipped a hand under Fiona's shirt and undid the clasps of her bra, then tugged the shirt and bra off. She gazed hungrily at the firm, ripe breasts and lowered her head, suckling the taut, rose coloured nipple eagerly.

Fiona arched her back and moaned, tangling her fingers in the blue black tresses that now cascaded over her. Lili worshipped Fiona's large breasts, taking turns licking, sucking and nibbling the rosy nipples in turn.

Fiona pulled back, eyes glowing with passion. "Please, let me taste you...."

Lili smiled and stood, doing a slow strip tease for her new lover. Fiona watched in awe, body aching. When Lili was nude she reclined on the wide sofa, legs parted. Fiona hesitantly undressed before kneeling between Lili's legs. Lili moaned as she got a full view of the lushness of Fiona's round body. "Oh Fiona... you are so beautiful...."

Fiona spoke not a word. She stroked Lili's wetness tenderly, parting the lips like the petals of a dew-kissed flower. She brought her mouth to Lili's throbbing button and licked it slowly, dizzy as the taste of her exploded on her eager tongue.

Lili writhed and moaned, arching so that her wetness was pressed closer to Fiona's exploring mouth. Lithely she shifted so that she could reach Fiona. Lili looked at the pouty lips and the juices glistening there and slipped a finger inside, rubbing tenderly, teasingly.

Fiona cried out and began to press two fingers inside Lili, teasing, tormenting as she sucked at her button skillfully. The two women writhed against each other, voices joining as they moaned out their passion.

For what seemed like hours they made love, moving from the sofa to Fiona's large bed. Darkness had fallen by the time they were cuddled together, breathless and sated.

Lili held Fiona tightly, suddenly protective of this sweet Earth Goddess made flesh and blood. She stroked the flaming hair and whispered. "Shall I stay the night?"

Fiona was nestled like a kitten against Lili. She looked up and smiled happily. "Yes. I would like that Lili."

Lili kissed her temple, yawning heavily. "Then I will, anytime you want me too." She was contented... strangely so in fact.

Fiona rested her head on Lili's breasts, eyes slipping closed. She could not believe that this was real. Sleep took her and this time she didn't dream, she didn't have to.

---