Far From Leaking Stars by Peter Baltensperger
The darkness was brimming with stark images of dread, palpable shadows in obscure corners, haunting grimaces, unrestrained passion, lust. A woman screamed in her sleep. A woman screamed through her orgasmic release. Invisible clocks ticked frantically through the potent night, inevitable moments dripping away into nothingness.
Aurora Shiffer turned over in her bed, somewhere between nightmares and arousal, one hand on her breast, one hand between her thighs, moaning. She could have been on a journey, had it not been for the shadows. She traveled much of the time, searching for sources, directions, in her sleep and in the nights. Daylight only complicated quests, the clarity of the sun a detriment to burrowing into dark corners.
She was on the train barreling through the darkness, cocooned in her compartment, a man by her side. She remembered his hands on her breasts, his erection in her womb, her primordial cries of liberation, the impassioned upheaval of her burning body. She remembered the grotesque masks clinging to the edges of her uncertain mind, the archetypal blackness of her thoughts, her guttural screams. All through her journey, she kept clutching threads of latent possibilities with her hands, trying to anchor herself in the darkness, much as the man had anchored himself to her breasts, though undoubtedly with more success.
Once she tried to balance a dark corner with a dark corner to stabilize her restless mind in the equilibrium of being and not being, only to realize that the stasis was too difficult to maintain among all the other disturbances. She tried the same thing with a tree in a misty forest, wrapping her arms around it to fixate herself in the confusion of nightmares and boundless desires. She rubbed her thirsting body against the tree until her breasts burned, her dripping well cried out for relief, and she screamed her triumph into the forest. She could have been one with the tree, had it not been for the impossibility of balance. An equilibrium could only exist in the mind when the body was at a complete rest, and the train never stopped.
All through the motion of the wheels on the steel rails, she kept counting the instances of latent probabilities that might have aided her in her search to keep her mind from floating too far away. She always found it difficult to concentrate when her body rattled across the joints in the rails. It was perhaps one of her weaker attributes, although she always tried her hardest to focus on what brought her the most satisfaction, the greatest number of insights, the deepest and most rewarding sleep. She wasn’t always successful, given the complexity of the search.
When she tired of trying to untie the knots of her nocturnal dilemma, she rolled over in her cocoon and molded herself against the man’s back. He was sound asleep, as she should have been in the lulling monotony of the train’s rocking and clanging, but she was wide awake from her efforts to make sense of the darkness. She folded her arms around his sleeping body as she had embraced her tree, rubbed her breasts against his back until they tingled with expectation, and reached for his limp penis to add another dimension to her search.
Her hand trembled with excitement as she kneaded the sleeping organ, grabbed the titillating balls in their loose sack, felt him beginning to twitch against her palm. Her mind quivered with the exhilaration of instilling life where there had been no life at all. She felt all-powerful and in complete control, a notable addition to her nocturnal explorations. The man groaned in his sleep, twitched, and instinctively turned over on his back without opening his eyes. She rubbed him to a formidable erection, his blood pulsating in her hand. She chuckled quietly to herself, extremely pleased with the enlightening progression of the night.
Listening to the darkness all the while to make sure she didn’t overlook or miss anything, she climbed on top of the man, straddled his hips, and impaled herself on his shivering erection. She sucked him deep into her being until she could feel his whole expansion filling the wet darkness of her cave, then took her breasts into her hands and fondled herself in the thrilling anonymity of her compartment. Her hot body shuddered from the dual stimulation, her mind quivered with the excitement of her discoveries, her blood rushed through her veins as the train rushed through the revelations of the charged night.
When she felt the fullness of her passion permeate her essence to the core, she put her hand between her legs and started to bob up and down on her imprisoned erection. Concentrating on the liberating excitement of her searching mind, she rubbed herself to an orgasmic high that pierced the night with its intensity. Her body convulsed with the powerful release and she added her screams to all the other screams echoing through the full darkness. Satisfied to the core, she consummated her journey to the ticking of the cosmic clocks, her own moments coagulating in the fulfillment of her night.
Bio: Peter Baltensperger is a Canadian writer of Swiss origin and the author of ten books of various genres. His work has appeared in print and on-line in several hundred publications.