by Peter Baltensperger
Mickelson Taylor took his daily walks very seriously, even when it rained. He took a different route every day to avoid the boredom of routines and to challenge himself to find a different way home. He always took his as yet unfinished thoughts with him to give them time to grow and learn and become something when they grew to full size. They waddled behind him like newly hatched fragments and possibilities, keeping close to each other for security and cohesion. Sometimes he tied a string to some of them and let them fly, like kites, in the fresh air. The afternoon he took them for a walk was neither sunny nor cloudy, although it didn’t rain; a perfect day.
He was walking along his chosen route when a large boulder appeared out of nowhere and blocked his path for some inscrutable reason. He shook his head, perplexed, then shrugged his shoulders and started to walk around the boulder. He had to fight his way through some bushes and brambles with his brood in tow, but he managed to find his way. When he was back on the path, the boulder had disappeared and the sun appeared instead, precluding any possibilities of rain.
A woman was waiting for him at a cross-roads and handed him the key to her memories. He tied it to a string and let it float above his head. One of the roads led them to an expansive field of fragrant grasses and wildflowers and trees. They picked a tree without leaves and let the blossoms rain down on them. He peeled off the woman’s clothes as if he were unwrapping a precious gift, then carefully put her down in the grass underneath the tree so as not to spoil the effect. He drank in the moment before he took off his own clothes and stretched out in the grass beside her. They wrapped their bodies around each other, hungrily running their hands over their sun-warmed skin. The ground trembled under them, as if there were thunder in the air, yet there was no lightning, and still no rain.
Somewhere a freight train rumbled through a stillness, slicing a countryside in half to point out similarities, differences. Somewhere a sole bell, tolling, meting out time, separating death from life, life from death. The brood of newly-hatched probabilities shuddered, as if there were too much to learn. Mickelson had to get up to reassure them. He couldn’t afford to lose any of them.
He went back down to the woman and she turned over on her back and spread her legs, sighing with passionate anticipation. He climbed on top of her and sank his erection into her receptive cave, groaning with his own pleasure in response to her gasp of delight at his penetration. As soon as he disappeared in her receptacle, the cave expanded into a large cavern. Precious crystals flickered on the walls in the gleam of his flashlight. A pair of wolves with burning red eyes crouched in the far recesses of the cave. Stalagmites rose from the cave floor, stalactites descended from the ceiling, a labyrinth with cave bats fluttering through it everywhere. He almost lost himself in the dazzling bewilderment of her secrets, but then he remembered the key to her memories and felt more secure again.
When he finished his exploration and withdrew from the cave, a tunnel opened into an undulating white landscape, her breasts drumlins in the tantalizing expanse. Intrigued by their unexpected role in the panorama, he put his hands on them and massaged them and squeezed them until the woman moaned with the pleasure of his manipulation. His hands trembled with excitement as he traced the luscious contours, rubbed their rosy nipples, bent over them and took them into his mouth. He ran his tongue around them and sucked at their delicious promises until they were big and hard, two glowing beacons in the white land.
Without letting go of her breasts, he straddled the woman and slid his erection between the two succulent mounds. She helped him by pressing them together to provide him with the friction he desired. When he had satisfied his curiosity, he slid down the undulations into the valley of her white thighs until he arrived at the sacred well that fed all and nurtured all. He drank from her alluring medley of glorious emanations, inhaled her multitudinous scents, satiated his mind with her femininity. She moaned excitedly when he ran his inquisitive tongue over her labia and around her clit, another exploration of opulent secrets in the succulent landscape of their passion.
He completed his sampling of her rich juices and rose to his feet to feast his eyes on his surroundings. A sudden irregularity in the quiet air sucked his penis into a different dimension, a black hole in a white world, and started to manipulate his erection. He could feel the woman’s teeth pulling his skin back and forth, could feel her tongue lick and caress his exposed glans, groaned with delight at her titillating ministrations. He felt as if he were in another cave, except for the crystals and the limestone formations. Except for the teeth. The suction of the spatial irregularity more than made up for the lack of crystal walls and dripping columns of stone.
The unexpected phenomenon disappeared as suddenly as it had formed, and he was without a receptacle again. The legs of the woman under the tree were still spread wide and the blossoms kept floating down from the branches. He buried himself in her cave once more, although for other reasons than exploration, and they began thrusting against each other in the heat of the afternoon. He took her delightful breasts into his trembling hands again and the woman wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist. They pounded each other desperately in the cool grass until the ground shook under them and they cried out their triumph into the vibrant air.
They fell apart under their tree and he took her into his arms until their shuddering bodies relaxed and the woman disappeared among the trees. Mickelson gathered his unfinished thoughts around him and took them on a ferry ride across a lake, as a reward for their good behavior as much as a test for him to find his way home from a different perspective. Some of his thoughts were a bit worse for wear, but he spread them out all over his living room to let them assimilate the afternoon and become a bit more complete. Outside, the sun disappeared and a fine rain began to fall.
