Underwater Breathing

[bill512]

Underwater Breathing - <i>A vacation ends in disaster when a lonely attourney meets a strange native woman who buries him in the sand with only his head exposed as her prisoner. During each incoming tide she teaches him how to breathe underwater.</i>

Part One – Supper

"Sir, we've weighed anchor." "Good. Let’s go up on deck Tom. Have a look." From his plush deep redwood office Jim stood, closing up his work. "Do you know anything about this place?" "Very little Sir. There's reference in the fishermans logs to a native people living here." "Friendly?" "Doesn't say, though there've been no reports of any problems." When they got up on deck the view was spectacular. A quiet and hidden cove. Water that shined like mirror, a white sand beach, and plush tree line of coconut and palm. "Oh my God." "It's wonderful isn't it." "We're going to have to come back here." Jim put his hands in his suit pockets and walked up close to the water on deck. The hundred and twenty foot yacht was a good twelve feet off the water line, where the wind blew back his jacket like the flag of a champion on ships mount. "It's too bad you didn't have company. Lady company." "No, I'm tired of women Tom. Nothing but trouble. Need a place where I can relax and unwind alone." "Indeed. The Chef says suppers ready." "Prepare the Roland. I want to eat there." And he pointed almost perpendicular to the anchor. A quiet spot where the sand looked like white velvet. "Right away Sir. Sir, will you be needing escort?" "No. I'll take it." "I'll have the Chef prepare." "Good."

They say the new frontier is space, and it would be nice if that were true. But there's something ironic about the vanity that creates this philosophy. This endeavor. Because there seems so much of what we don't know right here at home. The most wondrous and mysterious of places we've ever known, maybe ever will. Jim Greenwich was a very rich man, a successful attourney, who always received what he wanted, rarely ever hearing the word "no". The only place he ever met that notion before was with the opposite sex, a species onto its own. A place of trouble and home grown subtlety, like an island, where he was in the process of a deep and heated struggle for divorce from a woman who loved his money. On a whim, he ordered his crew to prepare for deep sea voyage, to an island in the Pacific little known. A place he’d heard of from a friend of a friend, and now wanted to see for himself, first hand. To collect his karma. To detensify. A dream journey only afforded the very privileged, and doubly so for its lack of conscience and planning. Just a phone call: “Prepare the Nemesis Sea. Immediately.” “Yes Sir.” “We’re going to kingdom come.”

But what Jim didn’t realize was that his plight with gender wasn’t over, but just beginning. He was to meet someone. Someone so dazzling that he’d be swept away, back into the world of unknown mistake. Sexual disparagements. Free of passion and impossibly so. And a consequence so severe it would be mortal, like us all. A lesson more dangerous than he’d ever known. Not in any boardroom. Not in any market. Not any place else he’d ever journeyed. A lesson of life, and death, that if he failed he would never come back from. A place of retreat soon to become the biggest test he'd ever faced in his life.

[bill512]

The Roland was a 140 horse inboard 18 footer the Nemesis Sea had parked up on the rear deck. Just enough power to barefoot ski. That was the requirement. He remembered Tamara on their many deep sea excursions laughingly pull his fruitless attempt at bravery time after time, as he hit the ignition. She was a beautiful Native American woman with a sweet smile and beautiful body, naturally hairless. But his side of the story weeded out a more sinister attempt at wealth all too common among Jim's kind. She was a gold digger. The Chef had prepared a wonderful soufflé' meal with champagne and a caviar appetizer, then loaded in a chair and a blanket with a big sun umbrella. It was unnecessary though, since they were approaching twilight. He trolled in slow listening to the soft splash of a quiet cove against the hull, tilting up the motor to a gentle glide only a foot away from shore. Then pulled off his five hundred dollar shoes, socks, and rolled up his pant legs. With the engine off there was only the sound of a gentle wind high up in the trees.

It took him only a few minutes to set up. He liked the duty. Made him think better doing something. Idle left too much regret. Too many lost loves to remember. Too many times his success spelled disaster for whatever romance was afforded him. And he sat legs crossed on the towel, enjoying one of the best prepared meals money could buy, in a place likely no one knew, unhappy and discontent. Then he leaned back, hands behind his head to stare up at the clear twilight sky. Closed his eyes behind thick shades, and tried to relax. Alone. Free. And silent.

He thought it was a dream. He thought that maybe it was Tamara. But it weren't. She stood there off to his right and stared down at him. The wind blew back her long black hair, revealing the face of angels. She wore a red flowered bikini top and wrap around, around her waist. Slender and fit. Native. "Hello?" He said sitting up surprised. "Who are you?" She smiled at him, and from behind her back handed out towards him a flower. Beautiful yellow bloom. "For me?" He smiled back, then stood. She was about five six. She stared up at him in an innocent gaze, then brazenly reached for his head to tuck behind his ear the stem. "Thank you." He said. Then pointed down to the towel, to the champagne. "Drink?"

She sat there in a squat, quiet, and beautiful. Sipping her sparkling drink. Jim was amazed at the encounter, never seeming able to clear the smile of familiarity and anticipation from his face. This really was like a dream. Welcoming to the mind. A dream island. A place of fantasy, and a beautifully irresistible native woman greeting him to her home. "Do you speak English?" A flicker of eyebrow was her only response. "English?" And she laughed. So it became evident to him that she didn't. That their meeting would be one of silence. He lay back down on the towel, on his side. With his arm holding up his gaze at the beauty in front of the scenery. The Nemesis Sea parked far behind.

She set down her drink and started a gentle crawl on all fours, towards him. Then she turned her back to him, and lay down beside him, a coconut scent emanated from her hair as it softly whipped by his face. He put his arm around her waist and she reached for it, guiding his hand up to her face. Jim was enchanted as he felt her soft smooth lips lightly brush up against his fingers. A teasing kiss. He was so enchanted he didn't move. Didn't make any effort whatsoever. Just felt the circumstance, breathing in the fresh coconut air, closing his eyes, and finding new found contentment. He learned a long time ago to let moments like these go by slow.

[bill512]

Part Two – The Tide

Jim was just on the verge of REM. Just on the verge when he felt his arm being pulled. She was standing again. He never even felt her move. She was standing again and pulling on his arm, voicing something. It sounded desperate. "What?" He stood and followed her pull. She was walking towards the trees. "Oh no. I can't go in there ... I have to tell my friends ... My friends?" She was persistent, not letting go of his arm in tug. "Oh ok. What?" And he followed. They walked past the beach to where there was a trail. He walked with her for about a half a mile following behind. Then she sang out something, a beautiful woman's voice. And suddenly two men came running towards her, talking to her. They were wearing old tee shirts and shorts, a slight sign of recognizable civilization but no foot wear. Then he saw the village through the thick of the trees. There were many people back there. A fire burning. Children playing. He suddenly got spooked. Didn't know what to make of it. The two men saw him and started talking a strange language, running towards him. "No. No this is some mistake." He held up his hand and began to back away. But they grabbed him and practically carried him. The woman came running up to him to pull on his shirt. She wanted him to go with them, a desperate look in her eyes.

It was getting dark out. Soon the moon would be up. Jim Greenwich sat down at what was likely the opposite end of that tiny island, back on a beach, scared. A busy village of natives off to his right. Two men sat opposite each of his shoulders, occasionally uttering gibberish, but holding him still. And in front of him were two other men digging into the sand. And a large man, looked to be a king of some kind, ordering the other two's duty. Then he noticed her in the village. Many of the women were surrounding her, talking to her. Laughing and seemed to be dressing her, and rubbing her skin with oils. She caught his glance, spoke, and they all looked and laughed. Like it were a ceremony of some kind. It brought Jim's mind to a less worried state. At least they weren't cannibals or something. It was hard for him to believe anyway that such a pretty woman would do something like that. "Os!" The big man grunted, and suddenly he was being picked up off his feet. He rose to a walk and they directed him to the large hole in the sand. "No! No!" And the two men pushed him in the hole.

Then they frantically threw what was retrieved back in the hole around Jim. "What are you doing? Let me go!" He said trying to climb out. Then the big man got angry and with a club that looked to double as some kind of rattle, he struck him across the head. And Jim passed out.

He was wakened by a cold blast of surf on the back of his neck. It ran down his back filling the warm water that was already there with a chill. He was buried in sand. Only his head exposed. Facing away from the ocean. Towards what appeared to be an abandoned beach. Not a soul in sight. "Help!" He yelled, trying to move. But the water had made the sand heavy, and compacted it in all around his body, tight. It was warm though. It was only the surf that felt cold, and the next rush of white water came crashing in. Deeper. Heavier. Colder. "Help!" The water rose up to his chin, then receded back into the ocean.

"Ayaya." He turned to his right and there she stood, dressed in what looked like a ceremonial skirt. "Ayaya ooo?" "Let me go." She walked towards him, a soft moon glow reflecting off her legs in stride. "Ayaya ooo?" She said again, crossing her legs in a sit inches away. "Ayaya ooo?" "Hahaha. Ayaya." "Let me go." And another blast of cold came crashing in. "Ah ... shit."

"Booshoogoo." She said. "Booshoogoo." She pointed to her mouth, then to his. "Breathe yes. I have to breathe. Let me go! Please." "Booshoogoo, Ayaya." And she opened her legs around his head. Jim saw by the moonlight her sheer nakedness underneath the grass. A soft and smooth woman's loin up close. She slowly slid her bottom towards his face. Inching closer, and closer. "Booshoogoo ..." She said, a heightened exciteful moan. As though it were sex ...

[bill512]

She sat there her legs spread wide bent up high. Perfection in the moonlight, as though she were a glow. She'd parted the grass to either side of her hip and another blast of surf came pounding in, icey cold and up high. The water rolled up between her legs in a white climb, rolling into his mouth, and into his nose. He coughed and paniced. "Help! Help!" Oh God ... Help!" "Booshoogoo!" She said between her legs. Then she tapped the top of his head with her fingers, as if to wake him. "Booshoogoo!" And she pointed. She pointed to her vagina directly in front of him. "What?" Then she pointed to her mouth and enunciated and emphasized breathing movements. "Uh? ... Uh? Booshoogoo. Ayaya ..." And she nodded pointing back down to her vagina. "You can't be serious ... Oh my God. I'm going to die here."

Seconds later the surf bombarded them both in a blast of cold. The water went all the way up to his wide eyes, terrified eyes. And she suddently grabbed the back of his head and pushed herself in. In tight. Pushing some sand with her bottom in his mouth. Then the undertoe pulled away to reveal her buttocked walk squeezing tighter and tighter against the front of his face, pushing his tilt tightly upright. Her legs bent upwards and the water almost flowed up past her knees, back out to the ever closer sea. She rubbed his head with her hands, a gentle and loving caress, in a hunched hover over him. "Booshoogoo, Ayaya. Ayaya ooo ... booshoogoo." She moaned ever so quiet, but with a voice he heard as loud as if it were him.

His head shook in a violent shiver. Icey cold and scared. Afraid to die. What could she mean? Breathe? Does she seriously think that I can breathe? His head jammed tight between parted crack. Burying him already. Burying his nose and his mouth in native splendor. And she screamed out at the oncoming tidal wave. "Booshoogoo! Booshoogoo!" And her legs wrapped tight around his head, squeezing him like he was going to burst. And the water came crashing in, and she raised her arms up high. He was underwater now. Under her and under the sea.

Until dawn...

[bill512]

Part Three – The Breath

A common nightmare we all get is one where the walls close in. Space becomes less and less a commodity. The prisoner dream. The portion dream. The one that questions the course you've chose by making you feel captive of decisions made. Made that might confine you. Made that might have been wrong. Were everything done right you could be locked in the space of a coffin, and dream dreams of eminence and splendor.

The drowning dream is something similar. Confinement. Bad decision. That luxury never once thought luxury, but so vitally taken as such. In a constant effort of shiver and blood filled face Jim felt his circumstance surround him. Embrace him. Wait for him. The sand that encased him in concrete. The water that smothered his body cold. And strangely, the female attached to his head, especially at his fear filled face. Warm. Pulling him tight up against her most feminine of places. Her legs squeezed tightly around his head in death grip. Her vagina pressed tighter than he'd ever known against his mouth and nose, imploding him. And the hands on the back of his head, massaging, echoing the "Booshoogoo ... booshoogoo Ayaya." Like the sound were coming from his own throat.

With a twitch a burst of bubbles blew clear of his stare and steady shiver. Then more, and more, as the minutes rolled by quick. And with the last of the air that he had in his lungs he let out a scream. Terror struck. The most beautiful gift in all the world made unholy, and monstrously deadly. Caught up in a random chance clash with a culture that would have him die mere ceremony, and a woman who would let it be so.

His one of a kind view began to fade. The bright moonlight outside where the air was, through the crystal water, that shined in past her floating grass skirt, on her tightly close stomach, that breathed heavy and warm in and out. He reached. He sucked with all his might. And suddenly the woman screamed.

He sucked, twice the strength as before, and the woman moved, stroking up and down fast and shaky, but tight. Whimpering. Moaning. Shaking him all the way down his spine. He felt the sand between his toes move and shift, the force were so great.

He sucked in, same strength as before. One last time. One last time. And she pulled the back of his head deep in her sex. "Booshoogoo!" But his fade grew black.

He sucked in, one last time. Half the strength as before. And suddenly? A flush of warm fluid came rushing in his lungs. Warm and thick, the taste of life itself. She stroked short and quick, squeezing him tighter than a bone could take, and fluid came rushing in twice the current. Past his nose. Past his mouth. Down the throat, and to the lung. His mind spun a merry go round, and as slowly as the water that the moon brought in with night, a whiff of life came back to Jim's eye. A whiff of bright. A view of womanhood in desperate struggle. In desperate stroke. Up and down. Up and down. Quick. Tight!

Jim got his air back. It filled his lungs warm and thick, a second chance. But not air, Woman…

[october]

Hello, Peter from France,
What do you think of these 4 pics ?:)

[bill512]

WOW!!! Awesome October :)

[trail]

Kool pictures :D

[bill512]

He was in charge of his destiny. No woman could take that away from him. A man of wealth and power who few thought could ever be unhappy, but was. Lonely. Alone, and sadly aware of being alone. By everyone he knew. "They all want my money." He'd say. "There's nothing there but that. Nothing else." Wrong, Jim. Badly wrong. Mortally wrong.

As that tide receded with her gentle massage on the back of his head with both her hands, Jim thought destiny crosseyed and bewildered. Staring in at new found beauty and destiny, in captivity. "Stay with me, please!" He'd pray under the waterline. "Ayaya ooo" (With you forever). "Don't go away! What should I do? What should I do to make you stay? So I can breathe till morning!" "Booshoogoo ... booshoogoo." (Breath of life). "What a sorry state! What a sorry state I'm in!"

The sun shined bright, and the tide receded. Reclaimed territory. Reclaimed destiny. All the way through night she sat there like a mother, and like a lover. Massaging his head, the hair back in precise detail, loosely braided. Calm. Lovingly. Soothingly. As Jim breathed in the steady stream that she secreted. A casual dance of a leg back and forth, a miracle hidden underneath. Then she slowly backed away and Jim felt the air again on his face. Bruised skin that might have thought never to be needed again, suddenly felt the heat of the sun.

A few people came running to them, giving her water, but she ignored them. Pulled away and lay down beside his face. Face to face. "Ayaya." She said. And Jim looked at her confused, not knowing what to do. A mouth full of thick fluid that bubbled at his mouths edge. "Ptue ..." She said. "Ptue ..." Like she were spitting. But Jim couldn't. He didn't know why. His head started to shiver again in the heat, as his lungs felt that now familiar starvations approach. So she pressed in her mouth on his at the protest of the nearby onlookers, and kissed, blowing in her air. He coughed in her opened mouth, but she held on wrapping her arm tight around the back of his head. Squeezing again, and blew.

Then Jim started to scream...

[bill512]

Part Four - Something Wrong

From cold to hot, Jim stood suspended there, a profuse sweat pouring off his brow. A bowl of unattended coconut by his face, spilled out in a pile by his mouth as he chewed. He stared at the village. A commotion. A heated discussion of native babble, no sign of the woman. A finger point here and there at the man they had buried in the sand. "Tom!" He screamed out. "Tom!" He saw the bright white uniform. And Tom turned his stare, a sour look in his eye. Captive himself, being escorted to one of the huts. "Shit!" So in the heat of frustration he flexed his muscle. Twisting, turning, pushing, pulling, bulging some sand upwards behind his back. But the effort was wasted, the hold on him too strong.

"You fucking weirdos!" He screamed. "You fucking primitives! Let me go! Let me go!" A voice surprised him to his left. It was the big man with the stick shaking his head in a gesture of no. "Booshoogoo gos ... booshoogoo gos!" He said. And he knew exactly what he was saying. No more life. No more woman. The oncoming night would bring death. "Please ... hey ... look. Just let me go. I don't want your woman. I don't want anything from you! Just let me go." "Gos." He said, a disgusted look on his face. And he walked over him, over his head, kicking sand in his face with his toe, towards the village.

The world of primitives is often thought of the way Jim thought: dangerous. Obtrusive to the human condition. The societal condition. The spirit condition. His involuntary predicament reaffirmed that obviously. But was it too obviously? Was he a captive of something he couldn't be a part of? After all, he did breathe. He did feel the strange woman feed him life underwater. But what he couldn't get past was the captivity. The dominance. The lack of choice. However sweet she might have seemed, all women were sweet. A dime a dozen. Dominance was not a condition he thought acceptable to any romance. Yes, he did like the woman on the beach by his side. A woman of perfection without anything said, or understood. But circumstances should have been his. A woman should know her place as his, not hers. He is the man. She is the woman. That is the relationship. That is what society says is the relationship.

As night approached Jim Greenwich experienced the onset of sexually deprived depression. A condition felt by many in the world of woman. Women who's only demand is to be in charge of their own destiny. "No." He said. "Unacceptable. I am the man."

The cold white water came crashing in for night two, a crescent moon. And Jim was alone...

[bill512]

"There's something wrong." He cried out on that lonely beach, his head pointing upwards towards the night sky. The water line was up to his mouth, and with each incoming surf it completely buried him, then faded away. As the water rose he'd spin his head back and forth as fast as he could, plowing away breath. But the water line didn't have to rise very high for Jim to drown. Just above the nose was all it took for a long struggle with death. Then an incoming surf violently reached in for reclaimed territory, like a machine, and Jims time was up. His lungs took the sea water in, and his vision faded darker and darker, into the black.

He woke a good foot underwater, a powerful sucking pump wrapped around his head, shaking his bones at the joints, pumping up and down his whole body in the sand like a piston. His mouth opened and closed in long sucking strokes at fluid, gasps at liquid breath. Fluid that came rushing in to mix with sea water and force it out his nose. She sat around his head legs crossed leaned back and violently pumped, struggling. Violently screwed like he were being eaten, not loved. Like it were a consumption, not a giving of life or breath. And the fluid was abundant. Forced out her womb. Squirted out in long sqeezes by her stomach, short stroked but long squeezes exhaled. The oxygen filled his lungs, made him alive and even dizzy. Then slowed, and eased to a steady stream.

It was darker out that night. Harder to see. But he could hear her arguing in her jibber through the vibrations, and barely made out bare feet standing next to her. "Something is wrong." He tried to speak, but she came to his rescue. She came back, and brought him back from the grave. Once dead now wrapped in woman, underwater breathing.

On the surface the woman was in tears. The big man and two others stood around her and protested, angry. Yelling. Kicking the incoming tide where she'd take her hand and splash water back at them in defiant cries. "He doesn't know the magic! He is a fool!" "Gos!" She screamed. "Let the sea take him, woman!" "No father! No!" "Os!" He yelled in a powerful voice and walked away while the two men followed.

And down underwater, between her legs, his face embedded deep in her middle, came cries of dependency. Appreciative and yearning dependency, even love. Jim Greenwich welcomed the ceremony with all his heart, and soul. Through invisible tears mixed in with ocean, brought back from the grave. From the dark. His eyes rolled back in the back of his head in loving breath stroke, sucking in the fluid. Exhaling and sucking in breath from his mouth, from his woman. She reached down underwater with both her hands and lovingly pulled him in.

[bill512]

well this ones about over. theres 3 nights of underwater breathing. the theme goes 1rst night: no go. the guy doesn't understand a fundamental concept of their values. Life values. Night 2: thru desperation he learns how to love her. Dependency. He even pleases her like this, and she experiences several orgasms. But the big guys still not convinced. And finally Night 3: he experiences the "Ayaya ooo". Not just a few words to these people, but like a religion. He goes thru a waking dream, a spiritual walk with the woman while underwater breathing. It's deep (too deep for you guys :)).

They dig him out, they get married, and the tribe lets him and his crew go home (turns out they were being held captive after they tried to look for him). That's about it. For the first time in this rich guys life he experiences love. A spiritual dialogue, like a chemical bond that never goes away.

The End :D