My Sunday Snog today comes from my short story “Refuge”, published in the altruistic anthology Coming Together: At Last. That anthology celebrates cross-race and cross-cultural desire, with proceeds supporting Amnesty International. The story is set in a refugee camp on the Thai-Myanmar border. The heroine Prean is a young woman from the Karen tribe, one of the many ethnic minorities who have been subject to brutal treatment in the past by the Myanmar government. The hero Nu is a Thai soldier, a guard at the camp. Nu is from a poor and marginalized region in the northeastern part of the country, subject to discrimination and abuse by his superiors. He’s drawn to help Prean despite the danger to his own safety.
“Refuge” is a story of hope, of love and humanity in dark times and places. It seems particularly relevant now, as the world struggles to deal with the millions of refugees streaming out of Syria and neighboring regions. It’s enough to make one feel hopeless. What can one person do in the face of the suffering millions?
Whatever we can. So I will donate $1 to Doctors Without Borders (Médecins Sans Frontières or MSF) for each comment I receive on this post. MSF is actively working to help refugees in a variety of locations: in Greece, in Serbia, in France, and elsewhere as needs shift during this global emergency.
Please help. Read my snog and leave a comment. Share this post with your friends and family. Put it on Facebook. Tweet it. Make a donation of your own to MSF or another charity working with refugees.
People are not numbers. Every refugee has a story.
(Once you’re done with my snog, by the way, head back to Victoria’splace for more sexy Sunday kisses.)
I watched her body sway in front of me. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness. I could see her slender back, with its cloak of gleaming hair. I swallowed hard at the sight of her hips, their swell distorting the patterned fabric of her sarong. I was sweaty and nervous as she led me through the forests near the camp boundaries and up to higher ground. The aching lump in my groin made it difficult to walk.
The path opened into a grassy clearing. Moonlight poured in. To my left rose a steep wall of limestone. The plash of falling water reached my ears. Rivulets emerged from the cliff at several spots and tumbled into a mossy pool at its base, before spilling over and flowing down hill toward the camp. The cool breeze was rich with the scent of growing things, free of the fetid aromas of the caged humanity.
I took a deep breath. Prean stopped by the pool. She turned to me, her arms wide in invitation. I stood rooted in that magical spot, snared by her beauty.
“Nu?” Her voice released me. I gathered her in my arms, burying my face in her fragrant locks. The soft flesh of her breasts pressed against my chest, sending a thrill through my limbs that settled in my groin. Amazed at my daring, I ran my palms over her cloth-wrapped hips, around to her buttocks, and pulled her body tight against mine.
She ground her pelvis against my swollen cock. I moaned, finding her lewdness shocking but irresistible. “Mmm,” she murmured. “I guess that you do like me, after all.” Before I could stop her (and only part of me wanted to), she had slipped her hand between us and unfastened my fly.
My rigid penis sprang into her hand, an arrow to its target. She stroked it delicately, like some fluttering bird that might escape. It swelled at her touch. As it hardened further, she started to squeeze, pumping rhythmically from base to tip as though she was milking a goat. She smeared the sensitive bulb with moisture leaking from the eye, and I nearly lost control. Meanwhile, with her other hand, she grabbed my head and pulled my lips to hers.
Her mouth was open from the first. Her kiss was bold, all tongue and teeth, honest in its need—the hot, hungry kiss of a woman starved for loving. I returned the kiss, as best I could, lost, dizzy with lust. My senses reeled. It was too much. The fever of her mouth, the cool silk of her fingers on my cock. Her scent, grass and smoke, salt and musk. Her taste, lemon and mint. I felt my balls contract and groaned, sure that I was about to embarrass myself by spurting all over her hand.
Prean knew. At the last moment, she released both my cock and my mouth. Her smile was full of mischief and understanding. Stepping away from me, she pulled her tunic over her head. Jet locks tumbled over her bare shoulders. I stared at her breasts, white and plump as little chicks with tips dark as tamarind pods. My palms ached to cup them, to feel them yield under my touch. She loosed the tucks holding the sarong around her hips. The fabric dropped to the ground, revealing her flat belly and winking navel, her pale thighs and shapely calves, and at the center of the universe, the tangled patch of black fur that hid her sex.
My cock twitched, eager for a taste. I was too shy to move.
Her scent was sharper now. She knelt and spread the sarong upon the grass, then lay on her side, watching me. “Please. Take off your clothes, Nu. I want you.”
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