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.”
Remember
– every comment means a donation to MSF!
