“Are you sure you want to do this?” he said. “Yes,” she replied, her voice a husky whisper against his neck,
his thick sideburns tickling her nose. He smelled of autumn
leaves, faint, spicy soap, and grease from the motorcycles he
loved to work on. “We’re breaking the law, you know.” “To hell with the law.” She nibbled on his ear, the rough growth
of his beard scratching gently against her face.
“I am ever at your command, my lady.” He took up the thick wire
cutters and cut through the fence in a series of snips, peeling
back the chain metal to make a hole big enough for them to crawl
through. He fetched a few other things from the back of his bike
and tucked them under his arm. They crawled under the wire, she
first, he following more carefully to avoid catching his fringed
leather jacket on the sharp edges. No one would see their entry,
concealed as it was by a row of bushes. The marvels of Playland were spread out before them, the
amusement rides like sleeping giants in the November twilight.
The pavilions and eating stands were boarded up, the video game
parlors securely locked. It looked less like an amusement park
then an empty movie set where things might happen once the
scene was dressed…deserted, yet quivering with potential. Her
excitement and longing grew. To her, the park was even more enchanting in this quiet evening
than it had been during those innocent days of picnics and
swimming when she was a child, or the wild nights of her
teenage years. Her parents had started her on the kiddie rides
when she could barely walk, and graduallt she had worked her
way up from the miniature steam train to the ferris wheel, the
Scrambler and Himalaya, then the roller coasters and the nausea-
inducing Skydiver and Zipper. She had moved away after
graduation and sampled other rides, and other thrills, in more
modern parks across the country. But this modest place of
amusement still had a special place in her heart, which was why
they had returned here, on this day, in the off-season of the
park. The day had been warm, and the asphalt they walked on still held
the heat even though the breeze was cool.
A smell of burning
leaves came from a distant field. A few crows gave complaint in
the stillness. She imagined the smell of popcorn and hotdogs, the
cacophony of screams, laughter, and distant rock music from the
rides. The rides waited like frozen dinosaurs, mute, yet full of potential
power. Their lurid metallic hues looked fluorescent in the fading
light. The rotating disk of the Trabant was still now, its garish
sign unlit. The swing ride was missing its swings, the flume its
water. The abandonment might have looked foreboding to
someone else, but to her it only added to the anticipation. “There it is.” The pavilion was a marvel. She had always thought it resembled a
Moorish kiosk, decorated as it was with gold-leafed minarets, silk
banners, and layer after layer of decorative woodwork carved
into cherubs, clown’s faces, snarling dragons, and other fell
beasts. The colors were those of a candy store: cherry red, royal
purple, fuchsia, tangerine. She paused to admire it. “Inside, baby,” he said. “Remember why we came here.” He gave
her a knowing wink. Technicians had been cleaning the pavilion so the canvas panels
that covered the open sides were not drawn down. The thought of
exposure both chagrined and excited her. They had already taken
a big risk in breaking in here. Why not add one more? A nearby portable generator told them the park’s power hadn’t
been entirely cut off yet. Probably the crews would be back
tomorrow, cleaning the carousel before securing and locking it
shut for the winter season. Her husband went off to find the
control panel. She didn’t have any doubts he could get it running.
He was a wizard with his bikes, and had worked for a while as a
heavy equipment operator. She sighed in anticipation. She had loved this carousel ever since
she was a child. It was an original Dentzel, and the carved horses
were original too, lovingly maintained over the years. The
animals on the outside were the best. Snorting, stamping,
rearing, they always seemed to be in a frenzy of agonized motion-
-randy stallions and mares imprisoned by the poles on their
backs and set to gallop around the central axis, forever–the up-
and-down motion both relieving their lust and adding to it. Some
gazed up at the sky, others pawed the earth. The most desirable
ones thundered straight forward. They all had names painted on
their saddles: Thunder. Flying Cloud. Scout. A strange nostalgia gripped her. The park was where she had
learned to flirt, to kiss, to fuck. She had a few animals that were her favorites. She liked the
snarling tiger with his moghul-style saddle, even though he did
not move up and down like the horses did. Most of the exotic
animals, like the ostrich and lion on the other side of the
carousel, were standers. They always filled up fast, though. You
had to quick if you wanted to ride on the tiger. Of the horses, she liked Lady, the white Arab filly. Her saddle was
decorated with carved roses and she posed prettily with one
foreleg raised, her head tucked coquettishly down. Then there
was Hiawatha, whose head was pointed straight up the sky
(“stargazing,” as carousel enthusiasts called it), all four of his
legs raised in mid-gallop. He was an Indian buckskin and carried
a carved wooden lasso next to his saddle. She liked to pretend she
was Annie Oakley when she rode him. But her very favorite was Tornado. He was one of the largest, a
magnificent grey-dappled charger. His neck was arched and his
head tilted to the side, so his carved wooden mane flared
dramatically in a spiky, wavy crest. His forelegs were bent up as
if he was going to charge or rear. She nodded to herself. Tornado,
definitely. She spread the soft quilts over the horse’s back, with a few firm
cushions in strategic areas. She tied them down with strips of
fabric. “How’s it going, honey?” she called. “Nearly there.” He stuck his head out of the control and grinned
at her. He looked like a 14-year-old with his tousled hair and
dimples, despite the fact his high school years were nearly two
decades years behind him. “Why aren’t you on the horse?
Remember you can’t climb on so easily when this baby gets
going.” “It’s cold,” she said. “You won’t be cold for long.” He went back inside the booth. It
hadn’t hurt that he’d worked in this park during his college
summers. That long-ago knowledge was being put to good use
now. She took off her denim jacket, her jeans, her sweater and
turtleneck. She couldn’t help glancing around to see if anyone
was staring at her. Silly, she reminded herself. They were in a
deserted amusement park in the middle of nowhere, on a quiet
weekend when people were more likely to be raking leaves or
watching football games on TV. No one could get past the park’s
fences except those familiar–as they themselves were–with its
weak points. They had made, certain, too, to note the absence of
security guards. She folded her clothes in a little pile, then removed her panties
and bra. The cold was a sudden shock on her skin, teasing her
nipples into painful little gems. She felt a breeze play along her
belly. The atmosphere suddenly shifted from peaceful to erotic.
She touched her bush, the soft lips of her pussy, amazed at the
sudden sensation and moisture she felt there. She looked up. Tornado’s pole connected to a framework of many
others, all worked by pistons in the roof of the carousel. When in
motion, all the horses were staggered to move in different
rhythms, like an actual herd in full gallop. The rhythm would be
implacable, unstoppable, once the machinery got going. She
closed her eyes and smiled. She put one foot into the cold stirrup of the saddle and hoisted
herself onto the horse’s back. The quilts helped to deter the cold.
She wouldn’t have wanted to be in contact with the slick, chilly
wood. As a child, this horse had seemed huge to her . Now she
knew it was not the size of an actual stallion, though it was large
enough still to accommodate an adult…or two. She sat in saddle but faced backwards, resting her back against
the pole. Her husband came back with two long strips of cloth. He
tied one around her waist to secure her to the horse’s barrel, then
crossed the other over her breasts to secure her to the pole. Then
he took a piece of rope and looped it through the horse’s jaw,
making an actual set of reins for himself. “Sorry for the kink,
darlin’,” he said. “But we don’t want you falling off now, do we?” “Oh no, of course not.” He kissed her, and his mouth was the
promise of pleasure to come. He kissed her breasts. She felt her
flesh suffuse with sensation like ripples on a pond. His gentle
tongue teased her nipples, compacting them into twin peaks of
delight. “Don’t be long,” she whispered. “I don’t intend to.” He dashed back into the control booth. She closed her eyes, her back arching against the pole. She
raised her arms behind her to grip it in her hands, and waited for
the inevitable moment when the carousel would stir to life. The
apprehension raced through her like her first time at the top of
the park’s roller coaster, like the first time she’d told a boyfriend
YES. Was it? No. Yes…it was. A tiny movement shuddered through
the metal pole, and she felt herself rising. Behind her closed
eyelids she saw a blaze of color as thousands of tiny light bulbs
switched on, swirling patterns of yellow and red, white and blue.
The music began, a triumphant calliope waltz. The horse slowly rose as high as it could, then dipped down again
in a complete revolution. It started on another. Eyes still closed,
she felt the warmth of a human body next to her. Her husband.
She opened one eye. He smiled at her, eyes crinkling at their
corners, as she and the horse descended. She saw his neck, his
broad, nicely muscled chest with its coating of hair, his slightly
rounded but still sexy abdomen…and his very erect cock, which
pointed at her invitingly. The warm colors of the lights danced
across his skin. “Enjoy the ride,” she whispered, closing her eyes again and
arching her neck. Her long hair rippled down her back. He
adjusted the stirrups. She felt the horse shudder as he put one foot in the stirrup and
raised himself up. He swung his right leg over her and placed his
foot in the stirrup on the other side. She felt the improvised reins
become taut as he took them up in his hands. This was how he
would ride, standing in the stirrups over the saddle, as he rode
her…and as she rode the painted wooden horse beneath her. She opened her eyes as his face descended to hers, and she
opened her mouth to admit his kiss. The loving invasion sent new
sensation through her. She sucked on his tongue like it was all
the cotton candy and soft ice cream she’d ever eaten in the park,
her head moving with the demanding pressure of his mouth. The
warm nearness of his body drove her into a fever. The music was
very loud, the closeness of the calliope, and the absence of other
sounds in the park, sending delicious vibrations washing
through her. The hard fleece of his beard rubbed against her
neck. Her nerve endings kindled, shooting off little synapses that
flowered greedy hunger in her breasts and well-moistened sex. He took up the reins in a single hand and twisted a nipple,
causing her to moan. With his mouth he sucked the other, the
rhythm rising, falling, like the carousel horse she was now
inextricably fastened to. His beard scratched the underside of her
breast, a sweet, tormenting itch that started her hips into
motion…rising and falling, a faster countermotion to the
mechanical plunging of the carousel pole.
She dug her fingers in his hair, guiding his head and hand
lower. Sensitized as she was, she bucked and twitched when he touched
her mound. A pity she was too well secured to touch it herself, but
her safety had been paramount. He moved his fingers in a
soothing circular motion. She was so wet they worked smoothly,
smearing her fluids over her thighs and belly. She felt the warm
juice cool in the breeze as they whipped around the carousel. She
felt the liquids tighten on her skin. He touched her clit, and her
hips jerked. Twisting, almost sobbing, she pressed herself into his
hand, her own fingers rubbing her nipples. He knew she could
come from a finger-fuck alone. But the passion must not come to
climax too early. She heard him breathing over the music, a hoarse, excited rasp.
She saw he was fully erect, his cock a stiff rod. It was easily the
rival of any of the horses’. She gripped it with her fingers,
massaging his balls as her other hand slid up and down. As
always, she marveled at its length, the sheer hardness of it. As a
child, how could she have ever believed that such a limp, pink
silly thing could be such an object of terror and delight? She felt it jerk out of her fingers as he lowered himself onto her,
his cock sliding home like a missing piece of a puzzle. Entered
her, and clicked firmly into place. He gripped the reins with both hands and rode her with a wild
abandon, thrusting forward as the horse rose on its slender pole,
then fell. His rhythm fell into the overall rhythm, the graceful
dance of the painted herd, the languid pumping of the carousel
engines. Her hands circled her breasts, kneading them in time
with his thrusts. Every inch of her skin felt exposed and laved in
icy fire. Her mouth opened in glorious cries. She rubbed the soft
skin of her calves over his firmer, hairier legs, then crossed her
ankles behind his powerful thighs. Her breath turned into hisses.
The calliope music filled her, engorged her. The horse flew
beneath her. She traveled into a bright and unknown country,
gilded hooves thundering ecstasy over every inch of her skin. Jolts of unbridled pleasure exploded through her body. The music
vanished, as did the cold and the awkward position she held on
the horse. The pleasure wracked her, went on and on, then faded
like sparks of dying light. Limp, filled with sweet devastation, she felt him climb off of her.
The carousel slowed. The music stopped. She felt a glass of champagne touch her lips.
She opened her
mouth to swallow. She had not forgotten the date. It had happened
fifteen years ago, when, overcome with lust, she had let a gawky
college junior bang away on her in the carousel’s hard, wooden
sledge seat. They had been too shy to try this back then, but age
and experience had made them more daring. “Happy anniversary hon,” her husband said.