But Jane knew what she was doing. As I adeptly shifted from the upswing of one vine to the downswing of the next, and onward (these were very long vines, for we were at least five miles up and getting higher) Jane hoisted herself a little higher on my haunches and then jammed herself down onto me, all the way down to the balls.
And so we swung through the air, our bodies interlocked and bucking. We swung in long arcs like trapeze artists, her body dropping inches, inches, inches away from mine as we fell miles, miles and miles, and then as the arc reached bottom and we swung up I jammed up and she squashed down, down, down into me as we rose for miles and miles and miles over the jungle until we reached to the top of the arc and switched to the next descending vine.
Carrying both our squirming, gyrating bodies and having to switch from vine to vine every so often, my arms began to tire, and in the midst of my delicious ecstasy I felt a core of panic begin to open in my gut.
I couldn't hold on any longer and we fell.
We were falling but still fucking, tumbling, and then I glanced down and saw to my surprise that the earth wasn't coming up at us after all, we weren't falling-soaring instead, propelled by the very thrust of our bodies. Each time I pumped my piston into her we'd shoot ahead like a jet and then soar on with each near withdrawal.
I don't recall how long we flew this way, but all of a sudden something happened to intensify infinitely the quality of my sensations-I don't know how it came about, but suddenly I was lying flat on my back and Jane was riding me as if I were a magic carpet. She was rocking the boat but I was keeping us aloft by swimming the backstroke through the air. The action of my hips as I swam did strange, delicious things to both of us and as I neared a climax I could hear the squealing and squeaking of the wild animals many miles below us.
“Jane, Jane!” I cried out as I began to come. The sound of my voice woke me and I looked up into Sandy's wildly excited eyes as she sat in the very position Jane had wiggled into in my dream. I didn't-couldn't-stop, and I still heard the wild animals-reduced to bedsprings-screaming still, and stopped swimming to grab Sandy's flank as I pumped my sperm up into her loins.
She lay alongside me on the bed.
“That must have been some dream,” she said. “Who was Jane? What did she look like?”
“You know-Jane, Tarzan's girl friend, like, grandma was talking about before.”
“Yeah, but what did she look like?”
“Just like you, stupid, what did you think?” I kissed her gently on the mouth and tried to forget that Jane's face was Mother's, and when I finished the long, warm, satiated kiss I had almost erased the unsettling thought from my mind.
“And who were you in the dream,” she said when we broke the kiss, “Tarzan?”
“Nah. I was Boy.”
“Where was Tarzan?”
“At some U.N. meeting.”
“Oh.” She turned toward the window. “Look, Terry, it's getting cloudy.”
The giant, sculpted cumulus clouds that had hung so whitely in the sky all morning had begun to move across the sun. The sky darkened, and the few blue patches were quickly covered with more grey clouds. A wind started rustling the cherry tree outside the window, and cooled the room suddenly.
“That feels good,” I said, raising my arms over my head and letting the breeze play about my body and evaporate the film of sweat from my sex-hot skin.
I looked down at Sandy. Her eyes were closed, her head lay resting on my chest, her breasts pushing warmly against my ribcage. One of her legs was draped between mine. Our toes touched. She had fallen asleep. I lowered one arm around her, down her back, and rested the other hand on her hip.
I shut my eyes and joined her in soft unconsciousness.
SIX
A long, rollicking thunderclap woke us up:
Bababadalgharaghta kammnarron-nkonnbronntonsrronntounnthunnt-hunntrovarrhounawnskawntooho o- hoordenenthurnuk!
The house shook.
“What was that?” Sandy asked.
“Thunder.”
“I'm scared,” she said. “Hold me tight.” I held her so tightly I nearly knocked the wind out of her. She buried her head in the crook of my neck. I looked at her golden hair sprawled across her shoulders and smooth back and watched it sparkle as lightning illuminated the gloomy room.
The eye of the thunderstorm rumbled away southward, the intervals between thunderclap and lightning flash lengthened and it started to rain. There was no decent graduation between light drizzle and downpour-the rain came down in heavy torrents from the start, straight down at first and then in glassy, windblown sheets.
A fresh gust of wind drove the wet barrage through our window and I disentangled myself from Sandy to shut it.
“What do you feel like doing now?” she asked, still lying on her back as I perched on the sill.
“I'd like to run around naked with you in the rain and then fuck in the flowers.”
“They'd be muddy.”
“That would make it better.”
She smiled, considering this. “I'd be scared of the thunder and lightning.”
“You wouldn't have to worry. I've got a lightning rod, and I'd ground you.”
“Grandma would see us and tell.”
“Yeah, the old bitch. Maybe we could drug her.”
“What else can we do?” she said, turning over on her belly and resting on her elbows, forearms flat under her so that her nipples grazed back and forth across them.
“Let's go up in the attic,” I said.
“The attic?”
“Sure. Remember how we used to hide up there when it rained? You can hear the rain pounding right over your head, and it's all warm and dark up there, and there's all kinds of musty old smells.”
“Okay,” she said, swinging around and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Think we should get dressed?”
“What for? Nobody's going to come up there.”
“Just for the fun of it. We could dress up like Tarzan and Jane.”
“Okay, but what can we wear?” I got up and she did too, melting against me.
“What did they have on in your dream?”
“Oh, some kind of leopard skin stuff. You don't have anything like that, do you?”
“I don't think so. Let's go see.” We went into her room and started rummaging through the drawers.
“Here's something,” I said, taking out a handful of her old hair ribbons. I found a long one, an inch wide- yellow, with black polka dots. I tied it around her hips, looping over one strand so it dangled down amid her fuzzy bush.
“There,” I said. “Now you've got to be decent on top too.” I picked out a very narrow black ribbon and turned Sandy around so she faced the mirror. I placed the ribbon right below her nipples, on the smooth, moist, pink flesh of her conical aureoles and tied it very tightly in the back so that it squeezed the lower part of her breasts and forced out even further the strawberry-colored spikes of her nipples.
Flushed at the picture she made in the mirror, Sandy turned on me and took a long scarlet ribbon, moving behind me. She held up my balls with one hand and put the ribbon under them like a sling and drew it around behind me. Folding the ribbon over itself once, she tightened it so that my testicles were pushed upward and outward. Then she moved around in front of me and tied the ends in an elaborate bow around my erected penis, an inch below the head.
“There,” she said, patting her handiwork.
“Merry Christmas,” I said, brushing up against her.
