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                               Sangrelysia

                          by Vivian Darkbloom

Mist Opportunities

   Then there was that girl. Again.

   Lee sighed, tapping the keyboard once more with the command to
   test the network connection. Still down. A good excuse for his
   sighs, the network failure. The real reason was her.

   Lee glanced once more out the office window, barely able to make
   out the storefront across the street in this dratted fog.

   She would be walking home from school now. Any moment, she would
   stroll by his window. His tiny porthole, offering a fragment of
   vision, a chink in the heavy wall between him and freedom.

   Breathing softened as he remembered the one or two times their
   eyes had met when she was walking by. Dark hair, with magenta
   highlights, pulled back with a black headband. She must be about
   eleven years old.

   His next sigh broke off with the gentle slam of the office door
   across from his. Looking up, startled. It was Ned, his coworker.

   "Taking a break?" Lee called out.

   "Heading home. Better luck tomorrow," replied Ned. "Must be some
   convergence of astrological forces. I swear. Network on the
   fritz, all these disappearances, then this strange weather."

   "Global climate change," Lee offered.

   "Apparently," replied Ned. "I've never seen fog like this around
   here at this time of year. Kinda creepy." He shivered.

   Lee shrugged. "Better get used to it, I guess. Since the
   government doesn't seem to give a damn about the environment."

   Ned laughed. The two of them had whiled away many a working hour
   skewering the incompetence of the present administration.
   "Glaciers are disappearing on Mount Kilimanjaro."

   "Farmers losing land to rising oceans. Coral dying in the
   Caribbean."

   He laughed again. "You're no fun to argue with. You just agree
   with me. Well, I'm off," said Ned, keys jingling.

   "Bye."

   Lee heard the front door open and close.

   Abruptly filling his window, there she was; wide-eyed, a smile
   playing across those tender, full lips. Wearing tight black jeans
   today, that descended from shapeless hips to just below her
   knees. A thin black anklet encircled, above spidery sandal
   thongs.

   Did she waver curiously? Was it his imagination, or did she
   beckon gently with her eyes before walking onward, vanishing.

   "This is pathetic," he remarked to the empty street outside,
   pushing away impatiently from his desk.

   Time for coffee. She and her friends might be hanging out at the
   nearby cafe -- her gang favored the locally owned one, not the
   Starbucks, thank God.

   While he strode eagerly down the sidewalk, the daydream hit him
   full force. He was tasting her clitoris. In the vision, it
   started with an innocent tickle-match. That would be fun in
   itself. Where was the line between wrestling playfully and the
   sparks of intimacy?

   She would follow him across it in her curiosity, he was sure. He
   could sense it in the way she looked at him. They would be
   writhing, clawing, scratching, giggling, biting.

   He would `accidentally' wind up with his face in her crotch.
   Here, he frowned. Today she was wearing jeans, which foiled the
   scenario he had pictured. In the fantasy, she wore a skirt. No
   matter, since the whole thing was impossible anyway.

   The fantasy took over once more: now he reached out and bit
   playfully, under her skirt.

   He felt the clean, white cloth of her panties in his teeth, then
   as he opened wider, the pliant warmth of the fleshy folds
   beneath.

   She would open her legs, allowing him to gently pull down her
   underwear, running his fingers down the length of her bare legs
   as he slipped the elastic ringlets over her sandals.

   Then he would bury his lips in her flower, his teeth, his tongue,
   tasting her essence, her innocent urges, her pleasure. And he
   would not stop until she reached the juicy spasms of climax.

   Oops, there she was! Talking to her friends.

   He opened the door and stepped inside, pretending not to notice
   her.

   His eye fell to a headline peeking out from the stacks of
   newspapers for sale: "Disappearances baffle authorities"

   The guy in front of him was about college age, with thick black
   glasses and a goatee. "Is the green tea an antioxidant?" he asked
   the girl behind the counter. "See, because I was going to sit at
   the oxygen bar."

   The pretty barista shrugged. "Got me. You can read the box label,
   if you like."

   "Sure."

   She handed it to him, and he promptly set about studying.

   It was Lee's turn. "Um, double espresso, please."

   "Wise choice," piped up a voice beside him. At the table sat some
   anachronist group, all in costume with green flannel, pointy
   leather boots, and felt hats with feathers, just like Robin Hood.
   Lee had to concede that the pointed ears were unusually
   realistic.

   "See now, there's the problem with these pseudo-medieval mythical
   worlds nowadays. You just can't find a decent espresso in them.
   Mead and ale we got, makes anything here look like pig swill.
   But, tell you what, this is what I really miss. . ." He held up
   the tiny cup for a toast, and all round the table followed suit,
   clinking ceramic, then drinking tiny sips of bitter blackness.

   Lee did his best to avoid the surreal conversation. The local
   cafe population seemed to be growing nuttier every day.

   He casually sidled over to where the girl sat chatting with her
   friends. The next table happened to be free. He sat down and
   pretended to scrutinize the free real estate brochure he had
   picked up, eavesdropping on the adjacent conversation,
   infiltrating like a spy searching for clues, seeking
   intelligence.

   ". . .Then I was all -- yeah, and she was like, dude, and I was
   so, like -- totally. Then, like, wow. You would not believe, it
   was just so, totally like, wow!"

   The girls tittered and giggled. Not that they had tits to titter
   with, but they all seemed to be wearing bras and brightly colored
   makeup nonetheless.

   "So, whatcha got on your pod?"

   "Green Day."

   "Ooh. C'n I hear?"

   Lee half-turned to watch discreetly. The caffein was starting to
   kick in. There was something incredibly sensuous about the
   delicacy with which one girl inserted the two buds gently into
   her friend's ears. The two girls sat leaning together, lips
   shining, chest to chest, face to face, almost close enough to
   kiss, both lips pairs of smacking as they chewed gum in tandem.
   One did a little chair dance as she enjoyed the music that snaked
   out the wire from the other girl's pocket. He could smell the
   cloying artificial fruit flavor their tongues were tasting, the
   saccharine sweet hot breath that passed between the young girls'
   lips.

   "You know," he remarked, "When I was your age, we listened to
   music on these big black discs called phonograph records."

   It was as if he didn't exist. Well, almost.

   "You know, I gotta be going now."

   "Me too."

   "Me three."

   "Sarah, you coming along?"

   "Um, no. I'm not done with my drink."

   "Your drink is in a paper cup, you know, a `to-go' cup, for when
   it's time to go? Hello?"

   The girl with magenta highlights shrunk sullenly in her chair.

   "Fine, suit yourself. I'll call you later."

   "Bye."

   His heart raced. The only one left at the next table was the
   wide-eyed girl with dark hair with cyclamen streaks running
   through it. She eyed him with an apologetic shrug.

   "I don't have an i-pod," she explained. "I just have a CD player.
   But I didn't know that guys that work in offices listened to
   music. I though they just did boring work-type stuff. You work in
   the office around the corner, don't you?"

   "When the network's up, I do. I, um, boring work-type stuff. That
   about sums it up."

   He looked away, out the window at the swirling fog. There was
   something mysterious about it. Magical, almost.

   She was still staring at him, fascinated.

   "You could sit over here if you like," he offered. "No sense
   taking up two tables."

   "All right." She picked up her things and next he knew, there she
   was in the chair right next to him, hands in her lap, looking up
   at him. Both of them felt it, the luminescent electromagnetic
   field of attraction that surrounded their two bodies. Every
   movement, her slightest gesture, he could feel as if it were his
   gesture.

   "And you're how old?" he asked. "Eleven?"

   "Ten. But I'll be eleven in a few months. Have you ever played
   squares?"

   "I don't know. How do you play?"

   "Well, you start like this." From her school pack she had
   produced a sheet of paper and pen, and was proceeding to
   meticulously fill it with a matrix of dots, neatly lined up into
   rows and columns.

   Each time the tip of the pen mashed against the paper, he could
   feel a tingle, as if she were drawing her fingertips across the
   surface of his skin.

   "Now each of us takes turns drawing a line between two of the
   dots. When you finish a square, you put your initial in it. Mine
   `S' for Sarah. What's yours?"

   "That would be `L' for Lee."

   "Lee," she whispered.

   As he leaned over to examine the dots, his hand fell gently
   against her narrow black-jean-clad thigh. He was about to
   politely withdraw it, when she reached out and clasped her
   fingers around his.

   Both breathed gently for some time, accompanied by the clatter of
   saucers, the quiet racket of music, the yammering babble of
   senseless voices. Lost in their private world, he made love to
   her with his palm pressed against hers, as hot sweat melded
   together their secret passion.

   As he gazed down at her sweet full face entranced with his, he
   almost leaned over to kiss her plush lips.

   Then, like a splash of cold water, he noticed the people all
   around them. Ordinary people. Boring, average people, who would
   not bat an eye to see him shackled in handcuffs for simply
   tasting the innocence of sweet mutual desire.

   "Oh God," he whispered, brushing away a tear.

   She squeezed his hand once more before letting go, to take up a
   pen. "Let's play," she said.
     ____________________________________________________________

   She won the first round, partly owing to strategy, partly to
   lee's distractedness. He did a little better on the second.

   Their drinks were long finished, and stomaches were grumbling.
   Both sat wordlessly, neither wanting to move. Discreetly, he took
   up her hand again. She leaned against him.

   "I'll drive home if you like," he said.

   "Maybe we could walk together. Then it would be longer before I
   had to deal with my dad."

   Lee was concerned. "What's with your dad?"

   She shrugged. "We fight."

   "Does he hit you?"

   "Sometimes. Not hard." She shrugged again, fidgeting.

   A surge of compassion and longing filled Lee. He encircled her
   with his arm, squeezing her to him. "Maybe I could talk to him,"
   he offered, knowing it was the wrong thing to say. Who was he to
   interfere?

   She shrugged once more. "He doesn't seem to listen very much."
   Her expression brightened. "We could go to your place!" she said.

   "Right. That's all I need, for the neighbors to see me bringing
   home an eleven year old girl."

   "Ten. I'll be eleven in a few months."

   Silence fell like an eiderdown, embracing their affection with
   the warmth of that time of morning when the alarm is about to go
   off. Neither wanted to let go of the shred of intimacy they had
   found together.

   "I know. Let's go for a drive up in the hills," said Lee. "I know
   a perfect lookout spot -- you can see forever."

   "It's foggy."

   "Maybe it'll clear. Come on." They released each other with the
   awkwardness of young lovers.
     ____________________________________________________________

   The scenery came into focus as they glided slowly along the
   sweeping, hypnotic curves of the mountain road. Rather than
   emerging or fading into view from the whiteness, it was as if the
   dancing granules of mist were the substance from which the grassy
   hills and trees melted into shape and form ahead of them, and
   receded into void and emptiness behind them.

   Lee frowned. "This doesn't look familiar."

   Sarah shrugged. "So try something new."

   Seeing the trailhead, he pulled the car off the road, onto the
   dirt shoulder. 6:30, it should be getting dark soon. But somehow
   it seemed brighter. Perhaps the fog was lifting.

   They looked down the trail, gated off to cars, but with an
   opening for pedestrians and bicycles. They got out. He opened the
   trunk, and pulled out a blanket.

   She stood beside him, so frail and alone. Dropping the blanket,
   he reached to her with his open arms, and they fell together in a
   full, long, passionate embrace. After drinking deeply of each
   other, they separated a little ways, lips only centimetres apart.
   Both knew they were about to kiss.

   "Oh God, I love you," he exclaimed, before they dove into each
   other's ocean of fire and tears, the salty release melding with
   the little droplets of mist, lachrymal flow emerging from the
   aching repressed longing each one of them felt, that torment of
   tickling that moistened and hardened in those secret unspoken
   places below.

   The tide surged and ebbed, and he once more faced the car trunk
   with her beside him. Steadying himself on the rim of the
   compartment, he stared ahead with sightless eyes.

   She bit her lips as she watched, waiting for him to regain
   composure.

   Finally he spoke. "I could go to jail for that," he said. "Then
   it's like having a tattoo right in the middle of your forehead.
   For the rest of your life, you're require to walk around telling
   strangers that you're a sexual predator. Knocking on doors.
   Putting up posters."

   "What if you're in love?" she protested quietly.

   He turned to her. "Sorry to say, but the system knows nothing
   about love."

   Silence. Birds called in the distance.

   "I would be like that guy at the beginning of Les Miserables."

   "You know Les Miz? I simply adore that show. She was all beaming,
   caught up in the sweet ignorance of innocent love.

   He sighed. "Yes, it's a great story. I've got the record at home.
   I mean, the CD. And the movie."

   "I'm so glad you said that. I was worried maybe you didn't like
   Les Miz, and that would just about be the end of the world.
   You're pretty cool for a guy that works in a boring office
   place."

   "Um, thanks." Lee smiled, loving her, hating the wretchedly
   oppressive nation he lived in, the asinine taboos, the moronic
   inhibitions, the idiotic rules. He swore. "I wish there were
   someplace we could run off to, to get away from the insanity, and
   be free to just be us."

   They looked down the trail. Something about it wasn't quite as he
   remembered.

   "Won't it be getting dark soon?" she asked.

   He shrugged. "I've got a flashlight. Besides, it's a clearly
   marked trail. What could possibly happen?"
     ____________________________________________________________

   He carried the unkempt blanket, she the flashlight. The mist grew
   yet more dense. Lee could barely see his feet.

   "Hold my hand," he reached out, connecting with the warmth of her
   touch. Not that would lose each other in the mist, but her palm
   was comforting, pressed against his.

   Motes of moisture beaded into tiny droplets in their hair.

   An unfamiliar sensation against the soles of his shoes. "Hm. I
   don't remember cobblestones here."

   "What's that?"

   He followed her gaze to the archway that rose before them, tall
   enough for horsemen to ride under. On either side hung a cloth
   streamer, with bands richly colored in crimson, purple, and dark
   green. The intricate gold-leaf lettering above them was in an
   unfamiliar script, in a language neither had ever seen before.

   Below was an English translation: "Welcome to Sangrelysia."

   "Must be an amusement park," offered Sarah.

   "I guess. Never heard of it before. Sure looks fancy."

   She skipped gaily around him. "Let's go see!"

   "Sure, why not? The sign says `welcome,' after all."

   Soon they found themselves in the deserted town square of what
   looked to be a medieval village.

   "Maybe they're hoping a theme park will draw tourists into this
   hell-hole," commented Lee.

   "Where is everybody?"

   "Maybe it's only open on weekends."

   A few metres in front of them, the air exploded into a column of
   bright yellow flame, fire which turned to dense black rolling
   smoke, from which stepped out two figures, a girl with an older
   man. The girl was dressed in fineries from an earlier time, and
   her bearded companion was cloaked in grey robes and a tall
   pointed hat.

   "Oops," remarked the just-appeared girl. "Someone's here."

   The grey-robed man tipped his hat. "Didn't mean to alarm you. We
   were just practicing, in case we needed to make a dramatic
   entrance."

   "My name is Sylvia," said the girl. "I'm the princess. I would
   tell you his name, but he doesn't have one. He's a wizard."

   "Lee, Sarah," replied Lee, absently, still in shock.

   "Cool!" exclaimed Sarah. "Just like the wicked witch in The
   Wizard of Oz! I just love that dress you're wearing! Where on
   Earth did you get it?"

   "Thanks!" said Sylvia. "I got it, um, from the closet."

   "Say," said the wizard. "You're not from Sangrelysia, are you?"

   "I wasn't aware of a Sangrelysia from which to be," replied Lee.

   The wizard pondered further. "You didn't happen to just make a
   wish, did you?"

   "No way," started Lee.

   "Yes," interrupted Sarah. "Remember?" She smiled at Lee. "When
   you said how you wish there was a place where we could be free to
   be lovers?"

   Realization was beginning to dawn. "Oh. You mean, that kind of
   wish."

   Sylvia frowned. "Why would you have to go someplace to be
   lovers?"

   "Sylvia," the wizard explained, "in the mundane world, their
   social rules are riddled with ridiculous and harsh taboos. The
   torment proscribed for an older man who loves younger girls is
   quite severe, as I recall."

   "That's correct," affirmed Lee, dryly.

   "Seriously," laughed Sylvia. "You're just messing with my head.
   That's not for real, is it?"

   "Yes," said the Wizard slowly, "I'm afraid it is."

   "What?!" exclaimed Sylvia. "How stupid. Whatever you say, but I
   still don't believe it. You couldn't have a whole world where
   everyone was that idiotic."

   The wizard grinned broadly at the newcomers. "We were on our way
   to get something to eat. Would you like to join us?"

   Lee and Sarah both remembered that they had started feeling
   hungry back in the cafe, a while ago.

   Lee looked at Sarah. "Won't your father be expecting you back?"

   She shrugged. "As if."

   "We can adjust the time of your return, when you choose to go
   back."

   "If you choose," added Sylvia.

   "Many people simply stay, once they have arrived," explained the
   Wizard.

   "What do you mean, adjust the time of our return?"

   "But. . . our money is probably no good here."

   "Don't worry about it," replied the Wizard. "In Sangrelysia,
   there is more than enough food to go around."

   Lee and Sarah exchanged quizzical expressions.

   "Sure, I'd love to join you for dinner."

   "Why not?"

   "Let's go, then."

   "What's this about money and food?" asked Sylvia.

   "In the mundane world, there are nations where children starve to
   death, literally every day," replied the Wizard. "And other
   nations where the government pays farmers to grow food which they
   then destroy because they cannot sell it at a profit." He turned
   to Lee and Sarah. "Right?"

   "Yes," said Lee.

   "Really?" said Sarah, "I didn't know that."

   "Stupid," chimed in the Princess.

   "Farm subsidies," muttered Lee under his breath.

   "In Sangrelysia, everyone has plenty to eat," the Princess said
   proudly. "That world you come from. Sounds like a pretty twisted,
   insane kind of place."
     ____________________________________________________________

   Alone together at last, in the lodgings the Wizard had arranged
   -- old fashioned, but comfortable. A fire blazed cheerily in the
   hearth. The Wizard had started it by waving his hand in the air,
   and it seemed to just keep on burning without any particular need
   for attention. The door had just closed behind them, but the
   dreamy starlit sky still peeked through the upper squares of the
   window, above the plush red velvet curtain.

   "Do you suppose," Lee asked, "Now we're somewhere our love is no
   longer forbidden, will that take all the fun out of it?"

   "Let's see." Face upturned, she drew his lips to hers, and they
   lingered in a languorous, tantalizing embrace, lips to lips,
   hearts fluttering.

   "Nope," she said when they parted. "Still fun."

   "True. So now what?"

   Her smile was relentless now, wide devilish eyes pointed at him,
   tracking his every expression. Her magenta highlights flared like
   daemon horns. She back sat on the bed, against the pillows,
   putting her feet up on it, heels against her buttocks, legs
   spread invitingly open to him.

   "Those jeans. . ." he said. "They look so tight. So
   uncomfortable."

   She did a little writhing dance as she sat there, slow,
   deliberate, wound up with sexual tension.

   He reached out and undid the center snap of her beltline. Her
   belly button peeked out from under her too-short shirt.

   She nodded at the progress he was making, hands drawing her knees
   apart, eyes challenging him to press on.

   He tugged at her pants zipper. It was stuck in the fabric to one
   side. She watched curiously as he struggled with it, feeling
   jerking and pulling against her sensitive central archway, which
   vibrated in its longing for touch. Finally he freed the zipper to
   expose her white panties, her pale slender thighs.

   She yielded obligingly as he removed her jeans.

   His fantasy was springing into life before him. Leaning down, he
   gripped the sweetly stinking white panties between his teeth,
   biting playfully with his lips and teeth at various angles,
   experimenting, observing her reactions. Smelling her hot bitter
   scent, drinking it into his senses like hard liquor, the burning
   amber tequila of her innocent flower.

   Her smile gave way to a glazed-over expression of one lost in
   exquisite physical pleasure.

   He climbed back up to kiss her lips, then whispered in her ear:
   "I'm going to make you so happy. Just relax and enjoy it. Let me
   know what works."

   "OK," she whispered back, and they kissed.

   On his way back down, he lifted her shirt to spend some time with
   her areolae. He thrilled that she had no breasts yet. Her chest
   was entirely flat.

   Back facing her crotch again, he liberated her from the snowy
   fresh cotton covering, and spent some moments simply staring at
   her bare skinny fold.

   With in-breath and out-breath, he calmly meditated on her icon of
   dormant fertility. With Zen acuity, he felt the perfect
   equanimous poise of Satori, profoundly inspired as it was, by the
   sight of such immaculate purity.

   She also, joined in watching, and from the contact high, found
   herself sharing his transcendent spiritual liberation.

   "It's a work of art," he uttered with sagacity. "Rare, precious,
   and unspeakably beautiful."

   She watched him as a disciple would her guru, nodding faintly in
   affirmation.

   He drew in a deep breath, then exhaled, blowing a long narrow
   stream of air focused on it.

   She giggled. "Tickles!" she said.

   He thrust the tip of his tongue between the fleshy lips. She
   gasped.

   As he began his meticulous, rhythmical working, finding her
   special pearl with his tongue, his fingers caressing her creamy
   thin thighs, her gasps turned into moans, and grew louder and
   louder with trembling.

   Soon his clothes found their way to joining hers on the carpeted
   rug and backs of chairs, and it felt good to be naked together,
   his wooly hide against her soft smoothness. So much bare skin,
   warm and glowing. Fingertips found flesh, explored tenderness.

   Relentless, he continued brutishly tickling her briny bitter
   inner sliminess with his sensitive tongue, delighting in her
   responses, vicariously thrilling at her sensations, eying the
   hurricane waves of storming passion he was stirring up inside of
   her.

   Both of her hands gripped either side of his head now, and she
   thrust him into her again and again, vigorously, desperately,
   savagely seizing, until finally her moans became a series of
   yells, as she fell back twitching and convulsing, clawing and
   scratching like an epileptic.

   Soon she had him in her hands, the thick hairy snake, wild and
   animalistic as it emerged from its dark curly lion's mane,
   rearing its stiff head in solid fullness. She directed its
   untamed, unkempt furriness to her bare portal of flesh. His
   enormous, majestic, hairy vessel gracefully swept towards the
   small humble bare harbor, as she directed his wizened weathered
   pee-hole towards her pale smooth fresh one.

   Then, as it entered the dock, their contrasts and differences
   melted away into the warm, liquidy togetherness of shared sexual
   longing. Their distinctness dissolved into a single, unified,
   thrusting desire, an urgent urge, a furious fucking rage to tear
   open their most secret insides and lay bare before the open knife
   of searing incision the built up longing and repression.

   No longer were there two desires, for the twisted braids of
   passion had melted the insulation, burning through, white-hot,
   molten, out of control, the neural connections short-circuited,
   and now both moved with a single impulse, a singular urge, each
   thrilling with every tiny tingling sensation of the other, every
   nuance of their joined thrusting, twisting, sighing, sweating
   spicy tears of mixed longing, sorrow, joy, and passion.

   Finally, his thrusting deep into her became more prolonged, and
   with him, she felt herself at the brink of the infinite abyss.
   "Oh, I love you so much!" he kissed her wildly as they both
   careened, tumbling over the edge into the realm of ultimate
   chaos.

   He released his magical gift deep into her waiting receptacle, as
   she surged with waves of uncontrollable squeezing and contortion,
   struggling, resisting blissfully against him as he roughly pinned
   her wrists to the mattress. She lifted and pushed her pelvis
   against his deepest thrust. As they both hung suspended in the
   stillness of that opposing tension, both of them felt the tender
   spasms of the last drop he was releasing inside of her.

   She greeted his climax with a welcoming sigh, enjoying his moist
   stickiness that would stay inside of her.

   Then both collapsed into loving arms, bare skin, nakedness, the
   crisp comfort of drowsiness, affection, and both slipped easily
   into vivid dreams of love.

  _______________________________________________________


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