Revolution

Blowjob

“The Revolution needs to be sexy,”

I look up. Aleela is sitting in the corner, cross legged and straight backed, perched upon the couch but not leaning against it.

“Pardon?”

I continued moving chairs, trying to estimate the optimal number and layout for the upcoming meeting.

Best to be slightly short on chairs, so that the room feels full, but not so short that we waste time bringing more chairs in.

“The Revolution needs to be sexy,” Aleela repeats.

She isn’t looking at me, and I’m not looking at her- me focused on the chairs, and her on the book she is reading.

Twelve? Eighteen chairs?

And do I want one central plate for snacks, or should I have three, spread across the room.

Three, probably.

Maxine would be the one speaking- at least initially.

Maxine was gorgeous. Great auburn curls, chest like the prow of a ship, and a smile that could light a room.

And the voice, the great rolling voice of host, or a ringmaster, a hostess. Maxine knew how to billow into a room, how to glide. She did not merely speak, she could announce, and rally, and expound.

When I first met her, I couldn’t help but imagine her as the principal of some magical academy, sailing into the grand hall in a puffy ball gown the colour of midnight.

As I would find out, she was also, at times, a liability, and we had lost several useful contacts and lieutenants through her romantic dealings, or lack there of (although she could hardly be blamed if they got possessive and jealous of her).

So, that was Maxine. Our Queen as it were. Driven, temperamental, loving, powerful, and liable to send silly boys home with blue balls and broken hearts. Thus far I myself had proven relatively immune to her charms, although I would be lying if I said I didn’t notice her.

Fourteen chairs, I decide, taking hold of two superfluous ones and dragging them out of the room.

I was the secretarial staff.

I kept the group running, made sure notes were taken, people were fed, and emails were sent. I made sure that no one else in the core of the group had to think about the little things, and they in turn (for the most part) forgot that I existed.

Sometimes Maxine would run a hand down my arm and smile and show “Appreciation”, or Ahmed would make a point of thanking me in the group emails, but beyond that, I was invisible.

Except for Aleela, that is.

Aleela notices everything.

I drop by the kitchen, don a pair of oven mitts and pour a pile of scones out of the oven and onto some plates, grabbing the bowl of pre-softened butter to go with them and returning to the lounge.

Aleela has finished reading, and watches me from her perch in the corner as I enter the room.

Aleela is spidery, and curious. Rakish thin, and a complete glutton for both chocolate, and textbooks. Her skin is dark, her schooling from Nairobi, her hair bleached gold- somewhere between a quaff and a Mohawk. She wears tight jeans, and a mans waistcoats. Soon after she arrived it became very very obvious to anyway paying attention that she was destined to become the brains of our little activist cell. Quiet naturally this meant that nobody noticed.

I arrange the scones on the plate, grab a pair, and come over to sit by her.

“So,” I hand her a scone “Revolutions need to be sexy?”

She nods: “The historical precedents all point to it- Violent revolutions tend to be hierarchical and male dominated, while the most peaceful and successful social movements are those with an equal gender balance, ones that combine socialization with the movement itself, rather than loyalty to any particular charismatic leader. It isn’t enough to bring everyone around to talk about politics, we need to offer them games and music afterwards.”

“And sex?” I query.

“Of course,” she replies, gesturing with the scone I had handed her, before taking a bite. “You’re trying to rope in a bunch of single college students! I mean look at the room here- you’ve got soft lighting, warm food, if it weren’t for there being so many damn chairs I would assume you were planning to seduce someone — really make a girl’s night.”

I nibble away at my scone cautiously.

I had experimented with the lighting a lot.

I spent an entire evening on it, dimming it up and down, trying to imagine how bright it needed to be to keep people awake, to let people see each other. Eventually I’d decided on something somewhat brighter than a party, but far far dimmer than most formal events. It felt right, less… intrusive. There was a sense of intimacy to it.

“Intimacy”

There it is.

I never thought about it in those terms before…

“It doesn’t mean pimping ourselves out, Lucas” her words fold into one another, silky and languid, like liquid chocolate “Its just about… creating a fertile environment… for relations…”

I realize she is staring at me. Gazing.

I look back at her, expecting to feel ataşehir escort bayan startled, frightened, overwhelmed.

I can feel my heart beating, and yet… when I look at her eyes…

I feel warmth.

Calm.

Approval.

Fondness.

What is it? What is it that you see when you look at me that way?

I want to know- want to ask her, if only so I can know for myself, if only so I can feel that warmth inside me.

I couldn’t help but swagger if I had that gaze inside.

But I don’t ask. instead she leans into me, I lean into her, and we kiss. Slowly. Gently. I’m not entirely sure how often she has kissed before, and I know my experience is lacking, and yet…

I can feel the taste of her lips, the tip of her tongue reaching out just far enough to reach mine, our hands instinctively settling on one another’s arms, drawing each other closer, folding into one another, and –

The doorbell rings.

I pullback, and Aleela continues gazing at me, her mouth tight with some smug secretive smile.

“Relations?” I ask.

I realize I’m smiling to. My skittish eyes finally settled, finally locked upon her, like an anchor, and I can not look away.

Aleela nods, apparently not trusting herself to speak. The doorbell rings again, twice, three times, and I stand, turn, force myself to walk away, collect myself. I open the door, and welcome Maxine and a cluster of her new recruits:

“This is Aisha, Samuel, Jei lai, Antony-“

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Throughout the meeting, Aleela sits, watching from her couch in one corner of the room, and reading at the same time. I sit in another corner of the room, closer to the door to the kitchen, and the light switches, taking notes about what is being said, by who, how people seem to relate to one another.

Relations.

I casually ponder which of the new recruits might be paired up, playing the calculus of combination, “shipping” everyone with everyone else and seeing what makes sense. The new boys have (Inevitably) noticed Maxine (probably why they both came)… but as I watch, I begin to suspect that Antony might also be noticing Kirstan, who is sitting beside him, and I myself am noticing Aisha, her feathery black hair, her pixie soft frame, head constantly moving, stuffed full with nervous energy.

Could I show you how beautiful you are. Pin you down? Soothe that anxious energy and leave you washed out, sentimental, placid?

Maxine is wearing a tight turtleneck sweater- it covers everything, but leaves nothing to the imagination, and I am fairly sure she is not wearing a bra underneath.

The room is full of energy. Tension. Ernest attention, as Ahmed reads out some of the provincial laws currently going through public consultation, and Amanda gives a presentation on the various voting systems found in a number of countries.

People who are from some of those countries put their hands up and comment on the results.

I take notes, collate data, collect minutes, and record tasks that have been assigned for the next meeting.

People are worried, tense, and by around 11pm people starting making excuses and leaving one or two at a time.

There’s no relaxation.

There’s no release.

People pour their energy into this, but they never get a chance to actually know each other… Task orientated, no community.

It was obvious once it had been pointed out.

At the end of the night, Maxine ends up offering a ride home to a couple of the new recruits, and apologizing profusely for leaving me to tidy up.

“You always end up doing this,” She says, squeezing my arm.

“It’s okay,”

“We should host at my house some time,”

“Mine is the most central.” And your flatmates are sorority girls who make fun of you for your “little hobby”, and would be even more cruel to our more timid recruits. “It’s fine.”

She meets my eyes, opens her mouth to say something, and then closes it again.

“I should get these kids home I guess.”

I nod.

Kids.

There only a couple years younger than you.

But she’s right. They’re first year students, and we’re coming to the end, and all the lessons and maturity that comes with from those first couple years living away from home…

Well, they’ll pick it up soon enough.

I watch her go, then close the door, and set to tidying up the living room, returning plates to the sink and the butter to the fridge. All the scones are gone. Next time I’ll want to have cream and jam to have with them. I shamble off to my bedroom, only to realize that the door is closed, and the light is on, shining out from under my door.

Aleela is waiting for me in my room.

The bed’s been made. Aleela sits on top of it, fully clothed, bare foot, still reading. Her black leather shoes are placed neatly in front of her backpack, both at the end of the bed, and there’s a stack of three more books on my bedside table. As I enter escort kadıköy she gestures for me to wait, and then returns to reading.

By the time she finishes reading I’ve collapsed on top of the quilt, lying on my back, staring skyward, with her bent knees poking into the corner of my vision.

She’s wearing tight jeans. I’m wearing a scrappy shirt and some cargo pants.

She finishes the book and puts it down with the others, before shimmying down the bed and lying next to me.

She lies on her stomach, peering over at me. Her hand reaches and and takes hold of mine, fingers interlocking, her palm is like cool water. “This okay?”

I frown. “It’s kind of… sudden? Abrupt?”

“I know.”

“How much of this is you being here because of me, and how much is for the Revolution, just politics?”

She shuffles closer, places a hand against my chest.

“I meant everything I said about revolutions needing to be sexy. I meant everything I said- we need to change. Change how we’re doing these meetings, change how we introduce people.”

“Sounds like your building a cult, ‘Leela.”

“People join cults for a reason. Cults reach out to people- fill their needs.”

I don’t reply to that. There isn’t much to say. We can’t go down that road Aleela. Her hand rubs gentle circles into my chest. I’m breathing slowly, can feel her studying me.

I should feel worried. Afraid.

This is so fucked up, and she isn’t even trying to deny it.

The thoughts aren’t attached to any emotion. I can’t bring myself to feel upset or annoyed, or even concerned. My eyes close, and I relax into the feeling of it, the sensation of having her close to me.

“This though….” she goes on “I’m here for a reason Lucas. I’m here because this is what I want. This right here. This connection. You.”

She’s lying across my arm by now, and I scoop her up on top of me. Onto my body, the weight of her reassuring, our legs folded over one another, separated only by layers of fabric. She leans her chin on my chest and stares at me; deep dark eyes, like black coffee. “I want to seduce you Honey,”

“and if I say no?”

“You won’t. If you did I’d leave. I’d accept it. I wouldn’t hold anything against you. But you won’t.”

“I guess it wouldn’t be much of a seduction if refused.”

“Not really. But you won’t. Because you love me.”

She says it, and I know the words are true. It’s like sunlight in my chest, and I can’t help but smile, smirk, grin at the sensation of recognition, the sensation of Aleela’s body resting entirely on top of me, my hands wrapped around her, as she wriggles up along my chest, and for just a moment I feel her breath. And then we kiss.

A long, twisting, luxurious kiss, connecting and reconnecting. Touching, tasting, our eyes closed, my back arching up, hands pulling down against her, crushing her against me, bare feet twisting and brushing against one another, her hands rubbing at my sides, through my hair.

I want this.

I want this…

I feel the steady rythmic pulse of her hips against mine, subtle at first, increasing in force, in pressure, in persuasion. My hand slips up beneath her shirt, along her back, rubbing against her spine, our lips slipping past each other, catching at one another’s ears and throat and-

Hush.

Locked together.

Aleela breathing in my ear. My eyes open, transfixed on the dimly lit roof, my hands holding on to her, wrapped around, legs tangled.

I can feel everything. My arms, my legs, my cock, the firmness of it squished between my legs and hers, the softness of the bed, the quilt, her hands, my breathing, her breathing, her chocolate skin, her thoughts, her thoughts whizzing away at a million miles an hour, and they’re here, they’re here, they’re here with me.

“I don’t belong you Lucas.”

I nod. I understand.

“And you don’t belong to me.”

She kisses at my throat, digs her fingers deep into my shoulder, clawing at me, holding me tight, possessive, even as she promises to let me go.

And I want you to possess me.

“I know.”

She nods. “You love everyone. All the girls down there and maybe some of the boys. And they love you, and I don’t want to get in the way of that. I’m not trying to be your girlfriend.”

Without replying I twist a hand around, slip it between us, pressing first against her tummy, and then sliding along, up towards her crutch.

“I just want this, I just want to remind each other how-“

My fingers press up, up into that firm wet mound of flesh that she calls home.

Aleela gasps, stares, startled, overwhelmed, horrified, pleased. Her mouth hangs open as I rub at her, as I hold her gaze and caress her. Her entire body tense. Unable to breathe, unable to speak.

“I understand.” I press my fingers up, deeper into her, my middle and index finger pressing up inside her, as my ring and pinky brush her lips, gently, gently…

“You want bostancı escort this. You’re not trying to make it something it isn’t… but it is something, isn’t it?”

Her breathe stumbles. She shakes. Nods. Stares down at me. Her eyes are dark, half lidded, submissive. Her hips pulse against me, following some deep script inscribed on our DNA, some destiny inescapable. I want to control her, master her, make use of that script, explore her body and please her in whatever ways I can. Reminder her what it is to be a woman, what it is to be a man.

She is a poet, an oracle, and I want to belong to her, want to give myself away, give her warmth, and see a piece of that warmth wielded by this fine intellect, see a piece of myself in everything I see her do, and her arms are ridged around me, and she’s panting, as I dip deeper and deeper inside of her, as I stroke her clit, as I can’t take my eyes from her- from her face, from the shape of her mouth, the piercings in her nose that library punk aesthetic, eyes like dark coffee, yearning, yearning-

I pull out.

I yank my hand out of her, covered in slick, and world starts moving fast and we both understand, rolling churning, peeling each others clothes off, and then standing, we’re standing topless before one another, and we make out, and its no longer just a kiss, we want to taste one another, to consume one another, and I need her tongue down my throat, and my tongue down hers, and my hands around her chest as I rub tender buttons of desire, feeling her shudder, and we’re up against the wall, with a thump. I can’t help but notice the contrast between us: Every motion outlined, the inky dark silhouette of her skin against the pale snow of mine. Her coolness is soothing, soft to the touch, while I feel hot, burning, blazing.

“Condoms?”

I nod, pull away, over to my bedside dresser, and by the time I get back she’s got her pants off, and I’m tearing open the packet, while she bobs down, pulling my pants off, grinning up at me from down on the ground, her nipples protruding from dark circles amidst her perfectly level chest.

I hand her the the condom, she rolls the thing on, giving my cock a couple enthusiastic pumps as she does so. She pops back up in front of me, and I can’t, I need, I want-

“You’re so fucking beautiful,”

“You ain’t bad yourself handsome,” She laughs. Aleela laughs, and for just a moment I forget what I am doing, and looking her up and down- just look at her: I body of bone and sinew, like a marionette puppet, a body made of limbs and drenched in dark coffee.

She watches, patient, curious, and then I step towards her.

She climbs on top of me, folding, cradling me. Her arms and legs lock around me as I pin her against the wall, knees hooked over elbows, my hands pressed against her shoulders, her arms around my back.

“Yes…” her voice in my air. A whisper. Something tender.

Aleela.

My little spider monkey, fucking me like a jungle gym.

I want you.

I press into her, feel her gasp, shudder against me, so much skin, a billion points of contact. I can feel my heat soaking into her, her cool soaking into me, her cunt gripping my cock, squeezing, squeezing as I pull out, and meet her eye, and crush her again against the wall.

“Love me baby, love me-“

I fuck her faster. I fuck Aleela, and I know her and I trust her, and tomorrow we will talk about changing the world, and her body shudders against me, as she buries her face against my shoulder-

and I’ll fuck you, and I’ll fuck you, and I’ll own you, and I’ll fuck Maxine, and we’ll change the group, and we’ll change the world, and I’ll fuck every good damn girl for you, cause that’s what you want, and you’ll fuck every boy for me, and we’ll fuck each other and-

Muffled gasps and moans. I feel her rising, biting into me. She cries out: a long piercing release, right beside my ear, just as her cunt tightens around me. I hammer her one final time against the wall and hold her there, crush her there, forcing her legs further and further apart, constricting her movement as she’s writhing and squirming against me, and both of us are passing the point of no return, both of us are falling into one another.

This is power.

I control you.

Control your thoughts, your desires, your body…

I feel heat, certainty, release, my cock tight inside her, my cock at the center of our being. I feel Aleela’s willingness, surrender, her body pressing against me as she shudders, quivers, swearing. Her cunt milks my shaft, our sweat stings, soaking into scratch marks, and the pain feels right.

I want you to feel this too.

“Oh baby…”

She whimpers. A timid, fearful sound.

We lock lips. Our tongues explore the great empty caverns of one another’s throats, as we tremble, as the last pounding certainties of our sex dribble into one another.

This is it. This is what we wanted.

My body shudders. Legs go limp, the residual tension of our fuck leaking out of them, and slowly, carefully, I let us crumple to the floor.

I lie there. Aleela leans against the wall, and for a while neither of us speak. Staring off into space, our sweat now clammy and cold against our skin.

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