by GABRIEL GARCIA MARQUEZ

Then she looked at me. I thought that she was looking at me for the first time. But then, when she turned around behind the lamp and I kept feeling her slippery and oily look in back of me, over my shoulder, I understood that it was I who was looking at her for the first time. I lit a cigarette. I took a drag on the harsh, strong smoke, before spinning in the chair, balancing on one of the rear legs. After that I saw her there, as if she’d been standing beside the lamp looking at me every night. For a few brief minutes that’s all we did: look at each other. I looked from the chair, balancing on one of the rear legs. She stood, with a long and quiet hand on the lamp, looking at me. I saw her eyelids lighted up as on every night. It was then that I remembered the usual thing, when I said to her: “Eyes of a blue dog.” Without taking her hand off the lamp she said to me: “That. We’ll never forget that.” She left the orbit, sighing: “Eyes of a blue dog. I’ve written it everywhere.” I saw her walk over to the dressing table. I watched her appear in the circular glass of the mirror looking at me now at the end of a back and forth of mathematical light. I watched her keep on looking at me with her great hot-coal eyes: looking at me while she opened the little box covered with pink mother of pearl. I saw her powder her nose.When she finished, she closed the box, stood up again, and walked over to the lamp once more, saying: “I’m afraid that someone is dreaming about this room and revealing my secrets.”

And over the flame she held the same long and tremulous hand that she had been warming before sitting down at the mirror.

And she said: “You don’t feel the cold.”

And I said to her: “Sometimes.”

And she said to me: “You must feel it now.”

And then I understood why I couldn’t have been alone in the seat. It was the cold that had been giving me the certainty of my solitude.

“Now I feel it,” I said. “And it’s strange because the night is quiet. Maybe the sheet fell off.”

She didn’t answer. Again she began to move toward the mirror and I turned again in the chair, keeping my back to her. Without seeing her, I knew what she was doing. I knew that she was sitting in front of the mirror again, seeing my back, which had had time to reach the depths of the mirror and be caught by her look, which had also had just enough time to reach the depths and return–before the hand had time to start the second turn–until her lips were anointed now with crimson, from the first turn of her hand in front of the mirror. I saw, opposite me, the smooth wall, which was like another blind mirror in which I couldn’t see her– sitting behind me–but could imagine her where she probably was as if a mirror had been hung in place of the wall.

“I see you,” I told her.

And on the wall I saw what was as if she had raised her eyes and had seen me with my back turned toward her from the chair, in the depths of the mirror, my face turned toward the wall. Then I saw her lower he eyes again and remain with her eyes always on her brassiere, not talking.

And I said to her again: “I see you.” And she raised her eyes from her brassiere again.

“That’s impossible,” she said.

I asked her why.

And she, with her eyes quiet and on her brassiere again: “Because your face is turned toward the wall.”

Then I spun the chair around. I had the cigarette clenched in my mouth. When I stayed facing the mirror she was back by the lamp.

Now she had her hands open over the flame, like the two wings of a hen, toasting herself, and with her face shaded by her own fingers. “I think I’m going to catch cold,” she said.

“This must be a city of ice.” She turned her face to profile and her skin, from copper to red, suddenly became sad.

“Do something about it,” she said. And she began to get undressed, item by item, starting at the top with the brassiere.

I told her: “I’m going to turn back to the wall.”

She said: “No. In any case, you’ll see me the way you did when your back was turned.”

And no sooner had she said it than she was almost completely undressed, with the flame licking her long copper skin.

“I’ve always wanted to see you like that, with the skin of your belly full of deep pits, as if you’d been beaten.”

And before I realized that my words had become clumsy at the sight of her nakedness she became motionless, warming herself on the globe of the lamp, and she said: “Sometimes I think I’m made of metal.” She was silent for an instant. The position of her hands over the flame varied slightly.

I said: “Sometimes in other dreams, I’ve thought you were only a little bronze statue in the corner of some museum. Maybe that’s why you’re cold.”

And she said: “Sometimes, when I sleep on my heart, I can feel my body growing hollow and my skin is like plate. Then, when the blood beats inside me, it’s as if someone were calling by knocking on my stomach and I can feel my own copper sound in the bed. It’s like- -what do you call it–laminated metal.”

She drew closer to the lamp.

“I would have liked to hear you,” I said.

And she said: “If we find each other sometime, put your ear to my ribs when I sleep on the left side and you’ll hear me echoing. I’ve always wanted you to do it sometime.”

I heard her breathe heavily as she talked. And she said that for years she’d done nothing different. Her life had been dedicated to finding me in reality, through that identifying phrase: “Eyes of a blue dog.”

And she went along the street saying it aloud, as a way of telling the only person who could have understood her:

“I’m the one who comes into your dreams every night and tells you: ‘Eyes of a blue dog.’”

And she said that she went into restaurants and before ordering said to the waiters: “Eyes of a blue dog.” But the waiters bowed reverently, without remembering ever having said that in their dreams.

Then she would write on the napkins and scratch on the varnish of the tables with a knife: “Eyes of a blue dog.”

And on the steamed-up windows of hotels, stations, all public buildings, she would write with her forefinger: “Eyes of a blue dog.”

She said that once she went into a drugstore and noticed the same smell that she had smelled in her room one night after having dreamed about me. “He must be near,” she thought, seeing the clean, new tiles of the drugstore. Then she went over to the clerk and said to him: “I always dream about a man who says to me: ‘Eyes of a blue dog.’”

And she said the clerk had looked at her eyes and told her: “As a matter of fact, miss, you do have eyes like that.”

And she said to him: “I have to find the man who told me those very words in my dreams.”

And the clerk started to laugh and moved to the other end of the counter. She kept on seeing the clean tile and smelling the odor. And she opened her purse and on the tiles with her crimson lipstick, she wrote in red letters: “Eyes of a blue dog.”

The clerk came back from where he had been. He told her: Madam, you have dirtied the tiles.”

He gave her a damp cloth, saying: “Clean it up.” And she said, still by the lamp, that she had spent the whole afternoon on all fours, washing the tiles and saying: “Eyes of a blue dog,” until people gathered at the door and said she was crazy.

Now, when she finished speaking, I remained in the corner, sitting, rocking in the chair.

“Every day I try to remember the phrase with which I am to find you,” I said.

“Now I don’t think I’ll forget it tomorrow. Still, I’ve always said the same thing and when I wake up I’ve always forgotten what the words I can find you with are.”

And she said: “You invented them yourself on the first day.”

And I said to her: “I invented them because I saw your eyes of ash. But I never remember the next morning.”

And she, with clenched fists, beside the lamp, breathed deeply: “If you could at least remember now what city I’ve been writing it in.”

Her tightened teeth gleamed over the flame. “I’d like to touch you now,” I said.

She raised the face that had been looking at the light; she raised her look, burning, roasting, too, just like her, like her hands, and I felt that she saw me, in the corner where I was sitting, rocking in the chair.

“You’d never told me that,” she said.

“I tell you now and it’s the truth,” I said.

From the other side of the lamp she asked for a cigarette. The butt had disappeared between my fingers. I’d forgotten I was smoking.

She said: “I don’t know why I can’t remember where I wrote it.”

And I said to her: “For the same reason that tomorrow I won’t be able to remember the words.”

And she said sadly: “No. It’s just that sometimes I think that I’ve dreamed that too.”

I stood up and walked toward the lamp. She was a little beyond, and I kept on walking with the cigarettes and matches in my hand, which would not go beyond the lamp. I held the cigarette out to her. She squeezed it between her lips and leaned over to reach the flame before I had time to light the match.

“In some city in the world, on all the walls, those words have to appear in writing: ‘Eyes of a blue dog,” I said. “If I remembered them tomorrow I could find you.”

She raised her head again and now the lighted coal was between her lips.

“Eyes of a blue dog,” she sighed, remembered, with the cigarette drooping over her chin and one eye half closed.

The she sucked in the smoke with the cigarette between her fingers and exclaimed: “This is something else now. I’m warming up.”

And she said it with her voice a little lukewarm and fleeting, as if she hadn’t really said it, but as if she had written it on a piece of paper and had brought the paper close to the flame while I read: “I’m warming,” and she had continued with the paper between her thumb and forefinger, turning it around as it was being consumed and I had just read “. . . up,” before the paper was completely consumed and dropped all wrinkled to the floor, diminished, converted into light ash dust.

“That’s better,” I said. “Sometimes it frightens me to see you that way. Trembling beside a lamp.”

We had been seeing each other for several years. Sometimes, when we were already together, somebody would drop a spoon outside and we would wake up. Little by little we’d been coming to understand that our friendship was subordinated to things, to the simplest of happenings. Our meetings always ended that way, with the fall of a spoon early in the morning.

Now, next to the lamp, she was looking at me. I remembered that she had also looked at me in that way in the past, from that remote dream where I made the chair spin on its back legs and remained facing a strange woman with ashen eyes.

It was in that dream that I asked her for the first time: “Who are you?”

And she said to me: “I don’t remember.”

I said to her: “But I think we’ve seen each other before.”

And she said, indifferently: “I think I dreamed about you once, about this same room.”

And I told her: “That’s it. I’m beginning to remember now.”

And she said: “How strange. It’s certain that we’ve met in other dreams.”

She took two drags on the cigarette. I was still standing, facing the lamp, when suddenly I kept looking at her. I looked her up and down and she was still copper; no longer hard and cold metal, but yellow, soft, malleable copper.

“I’d like to touch you,” I said again.

And she said: “You’ll ruin everything.”

I said: “It doesn’t matter now. All we have to do is turn the pillow in order to meet again.” And I held my hand out over the lamp. She didn’t move.

“You’ll ruin everything,” she said again before I could touch her. “Maybe, if you come around behind the lamp, we’d wake up frightened in who knows what part of the world.”

But I insisted: “It doesn’t matter.”

And she said: “If we turned over the pillow, we’d meet again. But when you wake up you’ll have forgotten.”

I began to move toward the corner. She stayed behind, warming her hands over the flame. And I still wasn’t beside the chair when I heard her say behind me: “When I wake up at midnight, I keep turning in bed, with the fringe of the pillow burning my knee, and repeating until dawn: ‘Eyes of a blue dog.’”

Then I remained with my face toward the wall. “It’s already dawning,” I said without looking at her. “When it struck two I was awake and that was a long time back.” I went to the door. When I had the knob in my hand, I heard her voice again, the same, invariable. “Don’t open that door,” she said. “The hallway is full of difficult dreams.” And I asked her: “How do you know?” And she told me: “Because I was there a moment ago and I had to come back when I discovered I was sleeping on my heart.” I had the door half opened. I moved it a little and a cold, thin breeze brought me the fresh smell of vegetable earth, damp fields. She spoke again. I gave the turn, still moving the door, mounted on silent hinges, and I told her: “I don’t think there’s any hallway outside here. I’m getting the smell of country.” And she, a little distant, told me: “I know that better than you. What’s happening is that there’s a woman outside dreaming about the country.” She crossed her arms over the flame. She continued speaking: “It’s that woman who always wanted to have a house in the country and was never able to leave the city.” I remembered having seen the woman in some previous dream, but I knew, with the door ajar now, that within half an hour I would have to go down for breakfast. And I said: “In any case, I have to leave here in order to wake up.”

Outside the wind fluttered for an instant, then remained quiet, and the breathing of someone sleeping who had just turned over in bed could be heard. The wind from the fields had ceased. There were no more smells. “Tomorrow I’ll recognize you from that,” I said. “I’ll recognize you when on the street I see a woman writing ‘Eyes of a blue dog’ on the walls.” And she, with a sad smile–which was already a smile of surrender to the impossible, the unreachable–said: “Yet you won’t remember anything during the day.” And she put her hands back over the lamp, her features darkened by a bitter cloud. “You’re the only man who doesn’t remember anything of what he’s dreamed after he wakes up.”

Author Unknown 

My friend Tom called to say that he has some military business to take care of in a town south of us and wanted to know if he could stop on the way and spend the night before heading to his meeting. I had always known that my wife thought Tom to be great looking and I thought here is my chance to take it a step further. I asked Tom when he was coming in and he said Wednesday about suppertime. I got home on Wednesday to find my wife already home from work and waiting on me. Boy did she look great. She had fixed up her long brown hair, her make up was perfect, and the sundress that she wore was short and showing off her deep dark tan. She had chosen not to wear a bra and her nipples where pressing though the fabric and with the top buttons undone a lot of cleavage was shown.Tom arrived at the time that he said that he would. My wife greeted him at the door and you could tell by his look that he liked what he saw. She gave him a big hug, welcome kiss and told him to go put his bags up, get cleaned up and we would head out to the river bar for some drinks and then supper. Tom did as instructed and we headed out to get into the car.

Tom opened the door for my wife to get into the car, and as she swung her legs Tom and myself got a glimpse of her white g-string. Although he said nothing, I am sure from his smile that he saw the same thing that I did.

We arrived at the bar and had my wife sit between us. The drinks were flowing and my wife loosened up and so did we. I started to run my hand up and down her leg and the more I did the wider she spread them. Soon my hand was at her g-string and it was wet. I eased the g-string to one side and eased my finger into her. She smiled and just gave me a deep wet kiss and whispered in my ear that she was really horny and might cum if I didn’t quit. I asked my wife and Tom that maybe we should go out on the deck and enjoy the view of the setting sun across the lake. They said that it sounded like a good idea and we headed out.

Out on the deck we sat in lounge chairs and with the setting sun going down it cast its evening light down on my wife and made her dark tan glow. She stated that the sun was pretty but that the wind had a slight chill to it. Tom and I both looked at her breasts and the nipples were very well protruding. I reached up and gave her nipples a slight pinch and they grew harder. Tom could not believe that I had done this in front of him and stated that his wife always said doesn’t start unless you can finish. My wife said I couldn’t agree anymore. I saw this as my answer to what I hoped might happen and I suggested that we go back home to have some more drinks and relax.

We left and on the way back home my wife sat in the front with me. I reached over and undid one more button so that I could put my hand in her skirt to play with her breast. I tweaked and rolled the nipple with my hand and she just laid back and enjoyed it. Tom cold sees what I was doing because he was sitting right behind me, and I don’t think that he minded. I then pulled my hand out and ran it up her leg until I could feel the heat from her pussy. I moved my finger on her clit and then stuck it in. She gasped and then just relaxed. At this point I am sure that Tom wanted to see more.Inside the house we fixed drinks and turned on the TV. Hill Street Blues came on and the announcement at the beginning stated adult supervision for this program was necessary. We all wondered why. As we watched the program we figured out why. They had a scene that contained frontal nudity of the woman’s breast. Tom stated that he didn’t think that woman’s breast was as great as my wife’s was, but that he wasn’t really sure since he had never seen them. I said that they were better and with this, I reached up and undid the buttons on her dress and laid her down. I then opened her dress and her braless breast came into view with the rosy nipples very hard. I stated that they must need warming up and with this I sucked on the right one. I then told my wife that it wasn’t fair to give one nipple attention and the other one none. She said you are right and she asked Tom to warm the other one up. He didn’t need to be asked again. As we were sucking on her nipples she started to breathe heavier than normal. I reached down to rub her pussy and found that Tom already had his fingers in her. She knew that I wasn’t the one because I was holding her head and running my hands through her hair.I lifted my wife’s body up and Tom pulled her dress the rest of the way down. I then reached up to pull down her g-string and she lifted her rear to help ease it off. I then told Tom to go first since he was our company. He placed his head between her legs and started to lick her clean- pussy. I stuck my dick in her mouth and she worked on my penis sucking it for all it was worth. She came and then Tom asked her if she wanted more. She said yes to please pull of his pants and fuck her. Tom had his pants off and I was surprised at the length of it. It was approximately 7 inches long but slender. He walked up too her and slowly worked his dick up and down the outside of her pussy. Then he put the head at the opening and slowly entered her. She moaned and he worked it all the way in. He then started to pound her for all that he was worth. I reached down and held her breasts because they were swaying so much, but at the same time pinched and pulled her nipples. My wife came very hard, and then Tom pulled out. I then swapped places with Tom and had my wife get on her hands and knees. I entered her from the rear and gave her pussy all that I could and at the same time stuck my finger into her well-lubricated pussy. I then took my finger and stuck it in her ass and fucked her with my finger and her pussy hard with my dick. She came again and I did also.

We went all to bed together. My wife put on a pair of underwear and Tom and I our boxers. Early in the morning I felt the bed moves and looked to see my wife lifting her ass of the bed for Tom to pull down her panties. Once again, Tom started to fuck my wife, this time she was on top of him riding his dick. I got behind her and stuck my dick it her ass for the first time. Tom and I fucked my wife like this until we both came and then we went to sleep. The next morning Tom left and I went to work.

My wife called me before lunch and asked me if I wanted to go to lunch in the park and I told her yes. She arrived at work and picked me up. We went to the park and she basically attacked me. She said that she was still horny. I pulled down her shorts and ate the cum that was left from the night before until she came. I then fucked her once more.

Tom never came back to see us, but we still keep in contact. Since then we have had threesomes with another guy that works for me and that is another story in itself.

Author Unknown

Kioku knew from the start that it was a mistake to let her dog run loose in the park, because she knew it was only a matter of time before he’d get himself lost in the thick northern forest. And sure enough, he did, and she lost a battle with her conscience to go after him. He was a stupid dog, sure, but he was her stupid dog.

 It wasn’t really all that dark yet, but as she delved deeper into the woods, she found less and less sunlight that broke through the canopy. Guess I’ve never been this far before…she thought. She called out a few times, but she got no response, and heard no stirring of steps- dog or human.

 “I bet that damn mutt already went back home…and here I am, wasting my time…in a pitch black fucking forest!” She screamed into the darkness, not expecting a reply. But she got one…

  “It’s not so bad once your eyes adjust…” A smooth and sinister voice slid into her from behind, and she felt herself jump and her heart nearly stop. She whipped around to see who had spooked her, but she found herself facing someone who did not appear entirely…human. However, as dark as it was, she had some difficulty seeing his entirety.

 “Nothing to say?” He asked, stepping closer, his foxfire eyes staring straight into her. She tried to speak, but she couldn’t. She tried to run, but her legs wouldn’t budge. As he came closer into view, she began to see him better. Choppy black hair fell slickly past his neck, and his skin was porcelain fine. His eyes were as dark as the night around them, and his dark coat only hid him better. Finally, she swallowed hard and managed to form her startled thoughts into words.

 “Who the hell are you?”

He gave an empty, mirthless laugh. “Like that’s not the most obvious question to ask.”

He showed her an incredibly seductive smirk, showing his fangs glisten in what little light there was.  She felt her chest tighten with a strange feeling…

“If it’s so obvious…why don’t you answer it?” Kioku slowly felt her courage come back to her and refill her senses. He laughed again.

“My name is Jouyoku…” His gaze dropped down to look over her hungrily, then looked back up to stare into her eyes. “And you are?”

 “Kioku,” she replied simply.

“Kioku? It’s a beautiful name…” he purred, still creeping closer to her.

Then, the feeling slowly flooded back into her legs and she felt herself move back as he moved forward. In a flash, she turned to run, but Jouyoku’s senses were far underestimated. He lashed out and snatched her arm, then pulled her in and pressed her against the nearest tree. She gave a slight gasp as she lost her breath for a moment, and then quickly realized that trying to run was a big, big mistake.

He released her arm and leaned in closer, pressing his body against hers, pinning her to the gigantic trunk behind her. His expression was brutally intent as a terrifying hunger danced in his eyes.

“Does fear excite you?” His voice worked like velvet, but left the sting of a bullet.

Kioku swallowed again and tried to reply. “What kind of a question is that?”

He laughed a silent laugh again. “It’s a very simple question…”

He looked down at her body and lifted his hand, placing the tips of his delicate fingers against the warm flesh of her neck, then trailed them down over her shoulders…onto her chest…across her belly…over her skirt…and finally stopped at the hem of her skirt. He left his hand there and instead looked up at Kioku, a mildly terrifying smirk slid across his face.

“…and I think it does.” She felt her heart thump fiercely, and her breath grew ragged, fearfully anticipating his next move.

He pressed himself against her even more, leaning in close to brush his lips across her neck just barely, sending a shudder down her spine and an eruption of goosebumps across her skin as he spoke.  

“I want you…” He pressed his mouth to her neck, kissing her forcefully. She couldn’t stop a moan of unexpected pleasure escape her lips, and soon she gave in to his seduction, tilting her head up slightly and offering him the rest of her neck, not even thinking. As she felt Jouyoku’s fangs gently nibble at the soft flesh beneath her ear, she also felt his hand begin to slide up her thigh. The tips of his fingers teased the sensitive skin of her inner thigh and a strangled whimper slipped from her throat. He pulled himself back a little to give a small laugh.

“You’re awfully warm…” He purred, his hands slowly sliding her panties down over her thighs, letting them drop. She shoved them out of the way, and as she moved, his hands kept her thighs apart and one slipped away and slid higher up her leg, stroking her heated womanhood.

“…And awfully wet…”

Another dizzied moan escaped her lips, unable to say anything, and unable to stop him. And quite honestly…she wasn’t completely sure she wanted to. His lips returned to her neck and shoulders, caressing her skin with passionate kisses and gentle bites.

Suddenly, she felt his fingers slide into her and she gasped as his fingers worked themselves slowly within her, and his thumb stroked her clit. She closed her eyes again, letting her head fall back and rest against the tree. Her heart pounded even harder as his fingers worked faster and faster.

“Oh God…” She moaned. Becoming more excited himself, he slowed his fingers and carefully withdrew them, still massaging her sensitive clit. Overwhelmed with lust and an insatiable carnal hunger, he finally removed his hand completely, and instead used it to unbuckle his pants and slide them out of the way just enough to unsheathe his own massive length.

Moving both his hands back under her skirt, he pushed her thighs apart and positioned himself directly above her slick opening. Her chest grew tight in anticipation, fearing the intense pain that would soon take place within her. She whimpered in fear and wanting, and he pulled back to face her slightly. His expression was besieged with carnal desire, and nothing could stop him. Leaning in, he gently pressed his lips to hers and sucked on her lower lip. Covering her mouth with his own and taking her screams into his, he thrust into her. Her entire body tensed up, feeling his shaft fill her, she wanted to cry out, but couldn’t. He groaned into her mouth, feeling intense pleasure surround him. Her back arched against the tree and his hands slid around her waist, pulling her body as close as possible, and entering her as deeply as possible.

His thrusts grew stronger and faster, bringing both of them closer and closer to release. His lips finally left hers and returned to her neck, his tongue darting out to taste her and make her moan. Unable to take it anymore, he felt his bloodlust grow as strong as any other lust his body couldn’t control. As he held her close to him, he moved within her, his length sliding against her tight walls. In an explosion of the most intense pleasure either of them had ever felt, she contracted around him and he groaned again before finally plunging his fangs deep into her throat.

She cried out in a deadly mix of pleasure and pain, succumbing to him completely. His fangs piercing her soft flesh, he drank her deeply, every one of his senses maxed out. Her body slumped against the tree, hardly able to stand. He withdrew his fangs, and slowly withdrew his manhood from the depths of her sweetness. Her eyes were closed and her mouth slightly open, panting for breath. Jouyoku redressed himself and didn’t even bother giving her panties back. Finally she opened her eyes again and looked at him, her body still clutched in his arms, held tightly to his chest. His foxfire eyes danced with something strange that looked deep into her soul, as he lifted her and a weak gasp escaped her once again. He looked down and smirked at her, then whisked her off into the darkness, away to a world she would soon be intimately acquainted with…

Then the bark of a dog broke the silence.