The Discernable Heart

The first light of day shone through the window. I yawned and scratched the back of my head. I shuffled forward into the doorway, into the square of filtered light. I stretched my hands upward onto the doorframe. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I basked in the warm sun, feeling the heat on my naked skin.

I opened my eyes and saw the Black-eyed Susans wilting in a vase on the windowsill. I smiled. Mark had picked them days ago.

We had decided to take a walk through the reserve. Or, rather, I had finally convinced him to take a walk with me. Mark liked nature, but he had always called our local reserve the “sissy” part of nature. Not at all like the real, “formed over time” kind, not like the mountains and rivers that surrounded his hometown.

For several months, he had been flying in every couple weeks to visit me. He had always used some excuse to avoid visiting the reserve in all his previous visits. But this time, he had finally said yes. Now that I had the opportunity, I was determined to do my best to dislodge his “sissy” theory.

I drove us to the reserve while he chattered on about this and that. But he fell silent when we got out of the car. He took my hand as we began the hike down the flat dirt trail. Our feet barely made a noise on the soft earth.

We walked along under the canopy of trees. The branches meshed together above us, like a giant profusion of arms. The trees seemed to be supporting each another. We stopped. He leaned back and stared straight up.

“Wow,” he said, “did they grow naturally like that? Or were they trained?”

“They grew that way over time. When I was a little girl, they didn’t reach together. They just sort of bent towards one another.”

We both stood, straining our necks upwards. The sun filtered through the leaves and spattered across the path. A few minutes passed. We looked down at the same time and caught each other’s eyes. We smiled.

We continued along, hand in hand. I guided him around a corner to walk past a big field of flowers growing wild. On a backdrop of green grew a myriad of colors and textures.

I pointed to a small yellow flower. “Bet you don’t know what this is!”

He shrugged.

“It’s a buttercup. It catches the sunlight and it gets so warm in the center that bugs like to come and sit there.”

He gave me a big smile. “So what you’re saying is that even bugs know the center is where the heat is?”

I tried not to giggle, but I couldn’t help it. He grabbed my hand and boyishly brought it to his mouth. I thought he was going to kiss it when instead he held it in front of his mouth, like a microphone and broke into song:

Why do you build me up
Buttercup
Baby just to let me down
Spin me around
And worst of all
You never call, baby
When you say you will
But I love you still
I need you,
More than anyone darlin’
You know that I have from the start,
So build me up
Buttercup
Don’t break my heart.

“Okay, Mr. Foundations,” I said, “follow me.”

He grimaced, and I laughed. He hated it when I knew the artist.

As we walked along, neither of us could keep from humming.

“Okay, big guy what song do you have for this one?” I pointed to a sort of hairy flower with yellow and red-brown petals.

“Uh, what is it?”

“It’s a Black-eyed Susan.”

He thought for a second. He grabbed my hand, repeated the microphone pose, and belted out:

Black-eyed Susan, You make us nervous Because we’re very aware that You don’t care. He must have seen my look of “what song is that?” He answered without me asking. “It’s Morrisey.” This time he smiled smugly. I still giggled.

“Ah!”

We walked along again. We entered the woods along a different path. There were still flowers and plants all around us but I was in a hurry to get to The Three Sisters.

I hadn’t told him about The Three Sisters on purpose. I wanted him to see them, and I wanted to see his face when he did. We rounded the corner to where they grew. He didn’t disappoint me.

“Jesus!”

He stopped and stood in silence at the sight before him. In a small grove stood three trees. Their trunks were so big around it would take four people reaching hand to hand to surround them. The height and breadth of the middle one outscored the outer two. The bases of the trees were twenty or thirty feet apart. But the most noteworthy thing was how their tops reached heavenward and joined as if holding hands. Branches intertwined like fingers.

“These are the Three Sisters, and they’ve been around since before Columbus discovered America.”

We stood side by side, and instinctively joined hands. His around mine. I fingered his wrist and like I always did, I zeroed in on his pulse. The beauty of the moment was marked with silence, except for the rustling of the wind through the trees.

He turned to me, cupped my face, and kissed me.

“What was that for?”

“That was for making me come here.”

I smiled. It was an old joke between us. “Making you come is one of my favorite things to do,” I said. We both laughed.

The memories still sparkled. And now, as the warmth of the morning sun seeped through me, I sensed him moving directly behind me. I heard his bare feet on the floor. His body moved closer to me, so very close, stopping just inches from mine. I heard his breath. And then his fingers touched my shoulders.

My instinct was to move back into his embrace, but I denied myself and stood perfectly still. I reveled in the exquisite feel of his hands as they began to glide up my arms, slipping over my biceps, curving around my elbows, lingering at my wrists and then finally, covering my hands, our fingers intertwining.

I breathed deeply, I smelled him, and my heart raced. He edged closer, and his soft, warm lips touched the juncture of my neck and shoulders. A jolt of electricity charged my veins.

“Let me take the lead,” he whispered in my ear.

I willingly obeyed.

His fingers caressed the length of my hands, light feathery touches between each digit. Running over my knuckles and then back up. Flicking my nails. Our fingers interlocking again.

With hands clasped, he moved our right hands together down to my breast. Together we touched, seeking the nipple. Catching it between our forefingers and thumbs – rubbing, pinching, tweaking it erect.

All the while his moist mouth lingered over my neck, sucking, gently nibbling. My head fell back against his chest and I moaned softly. The emotion built as our hands continued the search. His hand guided mine as we moved down over my chest to my stomach. He made lazy circles over my abdomen and I gasped. I felt the unmistakable pressure of his arousal against my ass, and I pressed back into it.

His left hand, covering mine, guided our hands down, around my hip, behind my back, and onto the bulge in the front of his shorts. I grasped with him as we took in the length of his hardened penis, and my palm settled around the glans.

Our twined right hands descended from my breast. He traced down my belly, seeking, probing further and further with slow, tantalizing movements until we met the edge of my protective hair. Our fingers pointing downward towards my heat.

His cock lurched in our left hands.

Our right hands applied a little pressure to the bud amidst the hair. The moisture around it lubricated and eased the path. I moaned again, this time a little louder.

“I want this for my very own,” he whispered. My knees buckled, and my weight shifted back against him.

“God, I want you, Mark! Make love to me.” Somehow, the words came out of my mouth. Where the power to speak came from, I don’t know.

His body pressed close behind me, turned me, and guided me to a chair. We moved together in a dance, slowly, back, body to body, heat to heat.

His hand left my left hand, but I stayed put, lingering on his penis. Together we worked to rid him of his shorts. He raised his hand and gently enfolded it in my hair. He used his strength to bend my body downward towards the chair. His engorged penis pressed against me, leaving droplets of his cum smeared across my skin. The air blew across the droplets, and I shivered.

My body ignited from the passion and the nearness of him. The burn began in the core and spread into me. I wanted to let it rage. I leaned over and grabbed onto the seat of the chair, supporting my weight against it. His left hand rested against my ass to support himself. Our flesh touched, the contact of bum against groin spurring us both on.

He removed his hand from my hair and reached for himself. Using the head of his cock, he glided it over my lower back, down between my cheeks and to my aching cunt. I was saturated, my juices allowed him to slide easily back and forth.

“Please!” I begged.

He entered me, just the head, my mind went blank as my ability to think wavered. I only needed and desired the completion he offered. He slid all the way in.

“Oh god!” I cried. And I followed with a litany of “Oh gods!”

It was everything I wanted. As he moved, slowly at first, we were consumed with the heat. He moved faster. Each thrust filled me completely. My inner walls vibrated with the feel of him and clung to him as he entered.

He draped himself over me, reached under and, using his fingers, he caressed me again. He touched my clitoris, and I jumped with the burst of feeling. I moved my hand on top of his and we continued to rub.

Bracing himself, he stood.

“Oh Mark!” I screamed.

I felt the cum as it rose into his shaft. The jerking. The throbbing. He exploded into me. Followed by seconds of stillness as I reached for the same paradise. And I reached, I grabbed, and I toppled over. I shivered as emotion surrounded me, and tears fell gently from my eyes.

He collapsed against me, whispering my name.

“Marie ... Marie ... Marie!”

I felt his breath against my back. I grabbed his hand and held it against my chest. A heartbeat was discernable, not sure if it was mine or his, not caring. Then realized it was both. We beat as one. And at that moment, I realized the power of nature we could bring to one another. When we connected through touching.

And I was in awe of it!