Midnight At The Oasis Read online

  "So soon?"

  "Yes! I was wet when I had your balls in my hand. Sucking on you only makes it worse. Give it to me!"

  When I move over her she wraps a hand around and pulls me hard against her wet opening. Both hands snake to my hips as she tries to pull me into her.

  "Give it to me all at once."

  Now I know what she likes. When her hips come up off the bed to meet me I plunge into her as far as I can. She cries out and grunts, then her hips drop back to the bed.

  "Fuck, I can't move. Hold still."

  "I thought you wanted it all at once, woman."

  "I do! I like it like that," she manages to say through more grunts and then she starts moaning. "It's the size of you."

  "But you had to try, didn't you?" I start to move on her.

  "Oh. Yes. Like that. Oh. Fuck. Jesus. Go easy for a bit. Hold still. Fuck. Fuck me easy."

  She reaches around to get my balls in her hand, squeezing and fondling, from one to the other and back. She manages to get both in her hand and holds them, lifting, feeling the weight.

  "My God. They're so heavy. The heat in them. They're sweating! Your balls are sweating. I can't believe they can be so hot like that!"

  "It's all you, woman, it's all you."

  "No, it's your balls! I'm almost there. Don't move. Let me hold them. Oh God. I'm coming. Your balls! It's your balls!"

  All this while she's cupping and pulling at me in a steady rhythm.

  I can feel her opening up for me, her slow hip-rocking against me helping me fill her. When she finally gets all of me she wraps her legs around me, crossing her ankles over my back.

  "You've got all of me now," and I start moving with her.

  More grunting. "Yes. Oh. Fuck. I can feel the heat of your balls on my ass. No more easy. Hard now. Go hard! I can take it. Leave some of that heat in me!"

  When I start to move her grunting stops and she starts moaning again. "Fuck. I'm full of you. I can't take any more."

  But she does. Her hand moves back to my balls and she starts all over again.

  Rachael is giving me the ride of my life.

  The warmth of the sun beaming through the window wakes me, and I pull down the covers to get a better look at what I couldn't see in the darkness last night. There's definitely a body under those sheets. I don't pull them back up.

  Rachael comes to with a start.

  "It's daylight! I have to get out of here!"

  She bounces out of bed, throws her nightgown over her head and runs out the door. She picks her way through the sagebrush. When her nightgown catches she tugs at it desperately and disappears.

  We meet the same way every night. I'm by the pool while she swims in the dying afternoon light. We walk for dinner and then back to a fire in my room. She leaves at the same time—she says it's to help her grandmother get ready for bed—and she returns at the same time, threading her way through the sagebrush behind the adobe.

  I adopt the habit of leaving my door unlocked, and every night she performs the same ritual. Her greedy mouth and hands go to work on me, and then she's on her back, taking her fill. Her wild, unintelligible outbursts echo through my room, regular and unchanging—music to accompany the dance that I look forward to each night.

  Part 3

  Dying palm

  The fan palm's growth is limited in areas of low water or cold. In shade it grows faster and has a smaller trunk than those growing in full sunlight. New-growth leaves emerge vertically from the growing tip of the trunk, pushing aside the old. If this growth tip is injured, the palm tree dies.

  It's my last night.

  After Rachael's swim I walk to the bar to pay my bill. I've been thinking about whether to tell her I'll be leaving tomorrow. I think not.

  "Where are we going for dinner tonight?" she asks.

  "Let's stay here. We can have an early fire and listen to the palm trees whispering by the pool."

  "They don't whisper," she says with some finality. "They rustle."

  After an abbreviated dinner of soup and wine we stumble and fumble against each other on our way back to my adobe. At the gate I stop and pull her towards me. She turns away and I follow her inside.

  She won't let me light the fire. Instead she pushes me down on the bed and is all over me. I pretend to fight her off, but that only lasts for a moment. Naked, she climbs onto me. I watch as her swaying intensifies, her breasts keeping time. When she finishes she leans forward and looks at me.

  "You're leaving tomorrow, aren't you?"

  "I have business down in Mexico. I told you that."

  "Where will you go?" she asks.

  "I'll be in San Felipe for a day or two. When I'm done I'll stop back here and we can spend some time together," I lie. I'm starting to feel like a coyote slinking away in the darkness of night and I haven't even left yet. The full moon gleaming through the window reveals her look of disbelief. I ease out of bed to light the fire.

  She seems pleased with that.

  "Now come back here and make love to me before the fire dies," she says.

  I shouldn't be doing this, I think to myself, but then moonlight illuminates open arms and I lose myself in our private fantasy.

  One last dance couldn't hurt.

  The fire is out. Rachael is gone. The moon is still throwing down pale light and dark shadow. I lock the door and go back to bed, certain that she won't be returning. When I hear a key slide in the door and I think I must be dreaming. I roll over in the darkness to see Rachael standing in the doorway. She doesn't say a word as she walks to the edge of the bed. I pull the covers aside but in the moonlight but she's still dressed.

  "I know you're angry with me. I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd be back tonight."

  "I wasn't going to, but then I couldn't very well leave things unresolved between us, could I?" she asks.

  "Unresolved? What's unresolved, Rachael? I'm leaving tomorrow and that's it."

  "I want to come with you!"

  "Yes, and what about the responsibilities you have here? Your family needs you."

  "And I need you!" she screams.

  She raises the back of her hand as if to wipe away a tear but her arm keeps going over her head. I look up and see her fingers, pale in the moonlight, clenched in a fist. Oh great, she's going to take a swing. It'll be over in a few seconds. Then her other hand comes up and she clenches both fists together.

  Suddenly everything is in slow motion.

  I decide I don't want to take this punch and I roll across the bed. A flash of silver misses my shoulder by inches and sticks into the mattress up to the handle. While she's off balance trying to pull the knife out for another go I grab both her wrists and hold on for dear life, twisting as I edge across the bed onto the floor. The knife stays wedged in the mattress, and I come up holding both her hands in mine.

  I pull Rachael across the room and ease her down into the chair in front of the fire. She hunches over, shaking and sobbing. I look over at the knife handle sticking out of the mattress and wonder if she has a gun somewhere.

  I need to be getting back on the road. Fast.

  Rachael looks up at me and wipes away tears with the back of her hands, sobbing as she does.

  "So what was that all about?" I ask. "Did it make you feel any better?"

  "No." She's pouting now, and still shaking.

  "Here, put this around you." I hand her the bedspread. The knife hasn't gone through that.

  Finally I calm down too and try to console her as best I can. What else am I going to do? I'm not going to call the police even though she just tried to stick a knife in me.

  She keeps breaking into sobs and tears, and I keep telling her that it's going to be all right. Finally she says she wants to go home.

  "Will you walk with me?" she asks, still sobbing.

  "All right. Let me get dressed."

  We walk around the front of the adobe to the house. At the door she stops and puts her arms around me.

  "Kiss me," she says
, demanding still.

  I do.

  And then she's gone.

  I figure Rachael is one step away from the nuthouse and I don't want to be here when she uses her key to get into my room with a gun instead of a knife. Back at the adobe I waste no time packing up and getting the hell out. I'm not on the road ten minutes when I notice a pair of headlights in the rear-view.

  Gaining.

  Did I tell Rachael where I was going? I can't remember.

  Just in case, I twist the wick and the lights eventually disappear in the blackness behind me.

  More by P X duke

  Dreams Die Fast

  www.feedbooks.com/userbook/17494/dreams-die-fast

  First Time & Other Stories

  www.feedbooks.com/userbook/17710/first-time-and-other-stories

  Two Good Eyes

  www.feedbooks.com/userbook/18487/two-good-eyes

  About the author

  My gypsy spirit has taken me to some strange places in the world, but now I’m content to limit my adventures to riding a motorcycle and whatever I might encounter when I’m on the road. Consequently, I’ve worked in bike shops doing odd jobs from planning and putting on rides, taking care of computer networking and security, and to picking up and delivering motorcycles in the El Lay basin, among other things.

  Pretty boring stuff, isn’t it?

  I’ve ridden over a lot of North America at one time or another from Canada to Mexico, and from Atlantic to Pacific. By far my favorite ride is up and down the length of the Baja Peninsula, where the people are friendly, the sun always shines and it’s warm in the winter.

  I’ve visited Sturgis countless times, but that got old in the ’80s. If you want to capture the Sturgis of old, attend during the week before the actual rally, when the RUBs and newbies aren’t there. More and more vendors are setting up for that earlier week.

  Of everything that I have experienced in my all-too-brief life, Africa is perhaps the greatest enigma. It's a beautiful continent, rich in people, nature and resources, yet poor in all of those things too.

  Yes, I know. There are some missing years in there. But what the hell, a little mystery is good for the soul, wouldn’t you say?

  From the same author on Feedbooks

  Dreams Die Fast (2010) Frank Ross spent the winter on the Baja riding his motorcycle under sunshine and blue skies. Now it’s spring and he’s headed home, but bad luck encountered in a casino parking lot means that he’s stuck waiting for parts in a small, isolated town on the west side of the Salton Sea just 70 miles north of the Mexican border. With nothing to do but kill time, Frank accepts an invitation for a home-cooked meal. Before he knows it, he's knee-deep in cartel drugs with a woman itching to pull the trigger on the gun she has pointed at his back.

  * * *

  First Time & Other Stories (2010) Frank is on the road, hitting all the high spots (or the low spots, depending on your point of view). These short stories find him at a peeler bar off the 15 in Montana; encountering a hitch-hiker off the 10 in New Mexico; being sweet-talked by his landlady; romancing a truck-driving sweetheart in a sleeper at a California truck stop; flirting with a waitress in a restaurant in the high desert.

  Frank’s weakness for dark-haired, dark-eyed women is often his downfall, but this time he’s just enjoying what life has to offer while he’s on the road.

  * * *

  Two Good Eyes (2011) Frank usually treats his female riding partners pretty good, but when his latest gets t-boned by a left-turner, he has to dig deep within to care for her while she recovers in ICU. This title has been expanded and re-published as "One More Time".

  * * *

  Dead Man's Hand (2011) One man's intricate ring becomes another's folly in this short strange tale of a dead man who was unable to rest in peace.

  * * *

  One More Time (2011) Frank Ross is back on the road, this time with a sweet little riding partner he hooks up with in a bike shop in the desert. After getting acquainted during a ride to Big Bear, they stop off for a visit at Frank’s place in Cherry Valley. The asphalt perfume they both picked up on the ride gets washed away during an impromptu shower. Breakfast follows. Later, when Frank learns that his new riding partner was t-boned by a left-turning cage, he decides to forgo his devil-may-care attitude and hunker down for a bit to care for his seriously injured riding partner and show her that he has a heart.

  www.feedbooks.com

  Food for the mind