A Bird Elvis
Story Codes: M/F, Consensual,  Exhibitionism

A Bird Elvis
By Scarlet O.

I sat in the front row of the theatre, as Sean pranced before me in a two hour mating dance. In
“Curse of the Starving Class,” he dropped his drawers and pissed on stage, then carried a live
sheep off.  Award winning I believe.

Tonight Sean was formidable, a tower reciting Berkoff with the cockney tongue of the streets he
ran.  The earth moved under his stride.  Flashes of turbulence broke upon his brow like a ship
crashing against swells of inner demons. He seduced an actress with the lines from the page and
then pumped her with a rhythm that made me squirm in my jeans.

He smiled at me while receiving five wildly applauded curtain calls. I decided to lubricate his ego by
asking him to sign my program. He scribbled something, asking me not to read it until “later…”

“Later” took place at theatre hangout, Right Spot, where Sean was the man of the hour.  I noticed
how tenderly familiar he was with all the attractive women, although it was generally known that he
had a girlfriend in Ojai.

After a Bass Ale and a kamikaze, he laid his hand on my lap.  I had just described how my ex-
boyfriend had married a porno actress; a good time to read his inscription.  I made out his writing in
the smoky dark: “You’re beautiful. Thanks for being a diamond in the rough! – Love, Sean.”

Sitting there in my fringed leather jacket, I snuggled into the moment. The bartender yelled, “Last
call,” then turned to us and drawled,

“You two look good together.” We touched cheeks and grinned, as if for paparazzi.  Then Sean
leaned in close, using the tone of a high school sophomore,

“ Would you like to come over for tea?  Please say yes.”

Twenty minutes later I entered bachelor territory where the red spread sprawled across the king.  
Sean was close behind.  There were no signs of Girlfriend. He reassured me.

“It’s not a problem.”

Sean gave me a kiss that was more breath than contact, telling me we weren’t going to rush a thing.
Then he put his arms around me,

“ I put on “Tunes for Distinguished Lovers,” I thought that fit us…” when something chirped.

“What was that?” I asked from a startled state.

“That’s Elvis.”

There was a grey and yellow parakeet in a cage surrounded by small snapshots of Elvis Presley.  
“Why is his name Elvis?”

“ I found him on a church gate and he jumped on my shoulder, so I took him home.  It was the
anniversary of Elvis’ death, so I named him Elvis.  Did you ever see a bird move his hips?” and he
began to sway with his hips, pulling me closer til I could feel his bulge against my belly.

I leaned into him with my arms draped around his neck as he lifted me to his lips, grabbing my ass
with both hands. He dove into my neck just like I hoped.  I was airborne and climbing higher…a
giggle escaped my mouth.  “What’s so funny?”

“I’m happy,” and I giggled again.

Strokes, breath and loins were getting harder and hotter. Chaos was a mounting fever, climbing
toward a red bulb that was going to burst as the bulging membranes between our legs began to
ache and call to one another, “Touch me, it’s time.” Boundaries between us were suddenly lost and I
realized I was caressing my own thigh.

The roughness of our jeans caused an arousing pain. The silver button of his Levi Strauss coined
into my clitoris and they flipped for top or bottom? ”Heads” and I rolled on top and straddled him
where borderlines are lost. In a flash we were grabbing for each others seams to rip them from
existence, “I want to see you naked, I want to feel you naked, I want to touch you, Oh god I want to
touch you,” and his chest was beautiful and my breasts were seized with tenderness as his palms
docy doed with his mouth, my nipples were circled with saliva, the wet areola catching a cold chill
each time he pulled his mouth away, he blew on them, “Oh baby your are so sweet, you are so
sweet,” and I don’t know who said what or when?

I found his neck and nibbled til he moaned and then I bit him harder as he sucked in the air like a
hiss as if some beast was released and began to grab at my pants, he pulled them half way down to
my knees and gripped my panties in his hand til they were up my crack forcing my ass higher into
the air and he looked behind me where a mirror reflected those full white fleshy mounds like a round
Kilimanjaro and he softly rubbed them in a circular motion til they were pink and then he spanked
one cheek with a lightening quickness, making a tiny howl escape from my lips til I could find his ear
and purr, “Do it again…” and did twice more and then rubbed it gentle again to soothe the now
burning mountains…I began to smell our wetness and I reached for his cock, happy to discover it
was going to fill me up…I wet my hand with the juice of my own pussy and then slid it down his jade
stem.  I gripped it at the bottom holding it erect and big like a phallic monument in the air but he cut
my salutation short by sliding down my legs kissing the inside of my thighs.  I stopped him,

“I just got over my period, I’m afraid I taste bad,” and he inserted a finger making me quiver and
then extracted it slowly bringing it to his tongue where he sucked the glistening nectar,

“ I love it, it tastes great,” and he put his head back between my legs.

He spread my thighs so far apart while he pressed the tip of his tongue to my clit so softly, so barely
touching that I felt my organ melt under his comradery and my pussy open like a time lapsed flower.  
I started having visions of Georgia O’Keefe paintings where magentas were dancing with pale blues
rising into unspeakable crescendos that fell like waves of foam spraying ecstasy that land like a
sensual mist covering my skin with pleasure and that dangerous illusion crept into my psyche
whispering, “I love you, oh baby it feels so good, I love you,” but I edited  “I love you,” and only left in
the “Oh baby it feels so good.”  And I put my arms above my head as if I was tied up and the
mystical metaphors of O’Keefe vanished with fantasies of bondage and he was becoming the
master of my cunt and I wanted him to control me and tell me he was going to fuck me good and
maybe he’d spank my ass or better yet he’d turn me over and take me from behind like most guys
like because they can forget who they are fucking and get lost in their own fantasy where intimacy
and relationship are left behind and all that’s left is the pure lust of the moment and the sexy curve
of a woman’s back as she moves with the rhythm and suddenly I wished I was in garters and spike
heels and a mini skirt up against a wall and I wondered if I would ever see him again?

I thought of “Last Tango in Paris” and I thought of Egypt and if my moans sounded the same as
another lover and then I wondered if he would cum too fast because he was so excited and if I was a
feminist because I wanted him to spank me and if the women’s movement was getting set back while
I fucked him for no other reason than I wanted to…and if maybe just maybe I would go to hell for not
being in love and was I hurting my souls evolution because I was betraying the soul mate who hadn’t
shown up yet and was this bad karma because he had a girlfriend who was counting her tips right
now somewhere in a booth at a fancy restaurant and she was thinking about what they would do on
Monday when she had a day off?

And…oh fuck! I’m so far away from the moment that I’ve got to bring myself back!  Where am I?  I’ve
been thinking so much I forgot to feel all the hard work this man is putting between my legs and what
is he thinking about?

I take his head in my hands and stop him and look into his eyes and suddenly I want to kiss him,
connect with him and remember the moment right now sharing our bodies because we like each
other and he kisses me deeply and kisses my eyes and I am bathed in my own juices and I feel that
he is with me and still into me and I am so glad and I squeeze him and he is content to hold me for a
moment without any sexual maneuvers and he tells me I’m beautiful and I believe him and I think he
is beautiful too and he believes me and we smile and we stare into each others eyes with no effort
at all and we do truly at that moment, love each other.

The fever only rests for a second as our lust settles into a calm where we catch our breath and wait
for the next wave to come. Silence falls upon us and all I hear is his heart thumping against my
cheek as he slips his big hand into my tiny palm.  So gently he rolls on top of me and I pull my knees
up to make a sacred triangle for his manly riches to enter.  The tip of his stem hovers against my
ruby vulva and I lift my hips so he can drive himself into me but he pulls back and teases me further
with shallow entry making me want him more and more…

I have never been too proud to beg at moments like this and I grab him by the back of his head and
pull his ear to my mouth.

“Come on give it to me, please, I want it.  I want it now!”

“Yeah?  You really do?  Yeah?” and he plays his cock like a feather.

“Yeah, yeah,” I plead.  “Fuck me!” and I slap his ass.

He lets himself slither a little deeper and I think I might go crazy if I don’t feel him inside me.  He
takes my head in his hands and looks me straight in the eye, but I can barely hold still and I open
my mouth to say something and before I can he pumps his organ down inside me, filling me and my
cunt sings out through my lips a long oooohhhh!  He pumps me again, long, slow and deep, long,
slow and deep until he finally can stand it no longer and I watch him shake off his control and we
finally entangle like two flames burning, fucking blindly between the sheets.

I sit at the table in the back of the Le Boheme Café meticulously rolling a cigarette.  Since that night
I have walked the Pacific Trail overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge and thought about how much I
can love the world when I feel loved.  Our sex together has left me on a cloud and I wandered
through nature with my senses alive and open to every blossom, insect and bird buzzing with this
thing called Life.

I am filled with a generosity and new power.  Then I laugh out loud at the power of a good fuck!

Sean approaches the table.  A huge smile opens across his face and he slides in next to me where
his hands, thighs and lips connect with as much of me as possible in a matter of seconds.  We hold
each other for a moment before our lips brush hello.  I sigh with relief after realizing there is no
weirdness.  He nestles into me and says,

“You know there was a point the other night when I wanted to say I love you, but I didn’t because I
didn’t want to sound stupid.”

I look at him and take in everything about him, his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth, his ruddy
cheeks, dark eyelashes drawn around his pupils like a fine felt tip, the smell of his cologne and own
odor mingling and curling up from under his sweatshirt.  I kiss him softly.

“Same here.”

“Cosmic!” we say in unison.

It is the easiest goodbye I ever have with a lover.

© 2009 Scarlet O

Scarlet O is a Sacred Ho who wishes to thank Bare Back Magazine for her erotic debut. At last  Scarlet O has debouched from
her secret closet!   You can contact her at
www.ScarletO.com, as she channels her erotic memoirs, The Travels of a Prurient
Nature.  Stay tuned.  Tonight is just around the corner...
Painting by David Settino Scott