Morgan the Pirate


Disclaimer: Since the characters in this story are projections of two of our favorite heros, but go by different names in a different time and place, they are owned by no one, except perhaps myself. But I would far prefer that they belong to their luscious selves.

Lesbian sex?: I should hope so.

Context: This is the third chapter of a story that began with "Caribbean Breeze" and "Into the Forest". If you haven't already, please read those first.

Feedback: Yes, please.



"Do you know where we’re going? Have you been here before?"

Alesandra was lacing up her boots after having checked her pack to be sure she had the items they would need for an overnight trek in the jungle. "I was here once before. Many years ago, when I was a child. My grandmother brought me. I’ll remember the way, though, don’t worry."

Camilla knew that there was much that Alesandra wasn’t telling her about this place where they were going, where, hopefully, her friends would be found safe if irresponsible. Now that she was about to walk off into the forest with a woman she had only met the day before, she was feeling desperate for more information, anything that would reassure her that she wasn’t about to make a huge mistake.

"What aren’t you telling me, Alesandra?"

The other woman smiled and shook her head, "There’s so much that we’ve protected for so long. You deserve the truth. I need your help more than you know, can’t possibly know how hard it is to break this silence." She looked at Camilla, her eyes pleading for understanding that she knew was impossible to give.

Camilla had no idea where to go from here, her mind swirled with the possibilities of what Alesandra could be referring to; family secrets, hideous crimes, hidden treasures all came to mind. Finally she settled on a singular idea that would allow them to proceed. "Just tell me one thing, then, one thing that will make me want to go wherever it is we’re going."

Alesandra slumped down onto the the running board of the car, clasped her hands and hung her head. What could she say? What part of the story would convince Camilla to trust her enough? Finally, she said, "You mentioned that your friends had heard rumors of an ancient matrilineal people living here. Well, there’s much more to it than that. The history of my family is here, my family of women going back more generations than anyone has kept count of. I can’t easily explain to you why it’s so important to us to keep privacy about that history, and I can’t promise that by going with me you’ll come to understand.
But I need your help, and so I’ll tell you whatever you want to know if you’ll just start walking with me now."

Camilla felt a sudden wave of homesickness, a fragment of a thought that perhaps this was all a dream and she would wake in her own bed in her own room far away from this place. But there was no sanctuary here, and really no choice but to go forward. So she might as well buck up. She picked up her napsack which was stuffed with things they might need. Seeing that Camilla was willing to go, Alesandra lifted the large pack she had brought, swung it onto her back, and slipped her arms through the thickly padded straps. The two women looked at each other for a moment. In that moment they made a silent pact that they were in this together no matter what. "Alright then." Alesandra said as she took her first steps towards the edge of the clearing."Let’s go." was Camilla’s response. The track they followed was worn from recent use, wide enough to
accommodate them only single file but free of obstructions any larger than an occasional branch that had fallen across the path. The ground was level and their footsteps were even and rythmic. After a short while Alesandra began talking in a measured way, timed to their pace, in the manner of storytellers for millenia.

* * * * *

I’ll tell you this story as best I’m able. The language it lives in is as old as these trees and known to only those women whose blood holds the secret that you must now share because fate has decreed it.

It may sound like magic, and I won’t hesitate to admit that there are things that could be nothing else than the work of forces that we can’t comprehend. But I know in my sinew that this is my story, that me being here is the truth of its telling.
So please open your heart to this tale if you can. There must be a reason you’re part of it now. And to me that seems somehow just as it should be.

In a time of ancient gods, warlords and kings,
there lived a mightly princess, a true warrior
who fought against the barbaric, the cruel and unjust
and came to be loved by all the good people.

But none loved her more than her lifelong companion,
the truest of friends and dearest of lovers.
She fought by her side, quieted her demons,
shared in her passions, and left us these tales
of courage and joy and hard-fought survival,
of empires that stretched across distance and time.

They lived well, fought hard, loved with the surest fire.
They brought justice and freedom to many in those years.
And their legend was passed by soldiers and healers,
by children and laborers, all those they had touched.

But as age comes to everyone, they, too, slowed their footsteps,
and quietly bowed out of the thick of the fray.
They lived among sisters and shared of their wisdom
with eager young warriors who would set the world right.

But outside were forces hell bent on destruction
of all that is loving, caring and kind.
The world was afire with hatred and violence.
The only way out was to take to the seas.

The women built sailing ships and some died defending them,
but finally they were able to cast off from that shore,
They looked to the skies and the depths for some counsel,
they spoke with their goddesses and conjured their foremothers.
And as sure as the wind that filled their bright sails,
they were brought to this paradise,
they came to these jeweled shores,
they found here their haven,
and built here their home.

* * * * *

Alesandra’s tale continued for many chapters, telling about how the women built their village, the tenets and agreements they lived by, the celebrations and rituals. The great warrior and her companion figured large in the story. They had much to teach about all the necessities of survival, not the least of which being compassion and respect for each other. The community of women formed around them, a homing fire in a foreign land.

The children who had crossed the seas grew tall and strong, became young women who laughed easily and found joy in inventing new ways of doing things in a world which allowed them the freedom to create. Whenever a challenge arose they enthusiastically worked together to overcome it. Their life was good here.

But there was one problem that they had to face for which they saw no good solutions. They wanted children. The young women, as they grew up and their bodies changed, began to talk about it often, certain that they could figure out some way to get pregnant but confounded that they had yet to discover it. There were men in this land, surely, but they lived in their own communities with their own languages and ways. It was clear from their arrival that their place in the forest was theirs
but that crossing others’ territories was most unwelcome. Given the situation which they had fled, this arrangement seemed wise to perpetuate. All but the youngest girls remembered war; none would do anything to risk bring that about again.

So the minds of all the women became singularly focused on this dilemma. The healers experimented with the botanicals of this land. The seers took deep meditations in search of a glimpse of insight. Those who knew how tapped the knowledge of the animals and found a few fragments of wisdom there. Night after night the villagers would gather around fires and exchange what they’d learned, try out new theories, challenge each others’ assumptions and then speculate some more. They called on their goddesses for help, fasted and feasted obediently, sang through their days to keep a harmony with the natural world so that the mystical and the physical could find a place to interact and allow the impossible to occur.

When the rain came the women went naked into it. They bathed in the perfect round pools that dotted the landscape while the rain fell on them from the sky. They let their bodies be bridges between worlds. And when the rains finally cleared, after months of relentless cleansing, the young women were indeed with child. There would be at least one generation more. The younger women laughed and celebrated, joy spilling out of them and filling the air. The older women were awed
and humbled, made offerings of thanks and gave service whenever they could. It was not just one magical secret that allowed this miracle to happen. It was the combined love and wisdom of them all brought to a single plea that had been answered by the very force of life itself.

Throughout this time the companion recorded the events, wove the story into a telling that could be passed from mother to daughter time and again. This became the most sacred of all stories, and the very wisest among them agreed that it should be kept safe from the cruel forces that they knew lived in the world. So when, on the same night, in the most peaceful way, surrounded by all the women and little girls who so loved them, the aged warrior and her companion passed over from this life, their remains were offered up in fire along with the scrolls which chronicled the most miraculous of events.

The story that has been handed from mother to daughter for more generations that anyone has counted includes this funeral. It also includes a chapter about how the women of the village took the most prized possession of each of the the two heroes and hid them in a cave deep in the earth that can be accessed only through water. To find this place and these items would be to find proof that this story is history, not myth. To Alesandra, protecting these sacred objects from discovery was the same as keeping her history safe and intact; to lose them to the hands of ignorance would break the delicate thread that stretched
through time, that bound her to those ancestor women who whose strength and power lived on in her.

* * * * *

As Alesandra’s tale came to a close, Camilla noticed for the first time that daylight was fading in the sky over the treetops. As her attention came back to the present time, she began to realize that they had been walking for hours; her feet were tired and she was hungry. But she didn’t want to break the silence that had followed the story’s end, knowing that Alesandra was deep in thought about the mission before them.

A few mintutes later Alesandra stopped on the path, peering into the bushes to the left. Glancing back at Camilla she said, "Come this way." and disappeared into the foliage. Camilla stayed right behind her as they followed a barely visible track, lifting branches out of their way, sometimes threading themselves between limbs of trees fallen across the path. The going was slow, but didn’t last for long. A short ways from the main path they came to a pool of water that disappeared into cave on
the other side. "This is where we’ll spend the night." Alesandra said as she unhooked the hip belt and let the heavy pack slide from her shoulders.

Camilla stood on a slab of rock at the edge of the pool a gazed into the jeweled water, pale aqua in the shallows, a rich, dark teal in the deep center, midnight blue in the shadow of the rock where the mouth of the cave drank in the pond. She saw a school of tiny, bright yellow fish pass beneath her feet, an irridescent dragonfly skimmed across the plane of water. She had never seen a place more tranquil and beautiful than the one in which she stood and wanted to memorize each detail for some
future telling. She paid no heed to Alesandra’s activitity until suddenly her friend was standing next to her, naked. "Coming in?" she said, as she dove into the water. The long beauty of her body gliding beneath the surface took Camilla’s breath away for a moment. It took her even less than a moment to shed her clothes and slip into the surprisingly cool and refreshing pool.

Both women were smiling now, dunking their heads, rolling around in the water like seals, letting it remove from their bodies the tension and fatigue of the day. Alesandra swam past Camilla and gave her a playful splash. Camilla chased after and soon the two were engaged in wild splashing fight from one end of the pool to the other and back again, shreiking and laughing like children, using feet and hands to make waves, diving beneath the surface to escape and to mount surprise attacks. At one point Camilla was laughing so hard that she needed to cling to the rocks to catch her breath while Alesandra kept pummeling
her with water from behind. Camilla slipped beneath the water, kicked off from the rocks and ran straight into Alesandras legs, tackling her, pulling her along. Then the two women were floating together, arms encircling each other. In an instant Camilla pressed against Alesandra, found her mouth and covered it with her own. They drifted to the shallows, kissing each other passionately now, holding hard with arms and legs, breasts and bellies pressed tightly against each other’s.

Camilla felt an unbearable passion for Alesandra now, her story still vivid in Camilla’s mind. Camilla held Alesandra’s head in her hands and stroked her tongue with her own, sucked her lips, kissed her cheeks and eyes and then back to her mouth to taste some more. She kissed her chin and her throat, placed her hands over her breasts and pressed them, felt
the hard nipples beneath her palms. Alesandra, eyes closed, moaned softly when Camilla ran her hand across her belly and covered the hair between her legs. Camilla slipped one arm behind Alesandra’s head and shoulder. The other hand slipped between her legs. Lifting her by her ass in the water, Camilla pulled Alesandra onto her lap in the shallows. Kissing her deeply again on the mouth, Camilla fingers played in the hair and folds between Alesandra’s thighs, open now for her. She ran
her hand lightly from ass to belly and back again, tickly, teasing, feeling for the need that would draw her in. Alesandra’s body opened for her. Camilla felt the heat, felt Alesandra’s desire, moved her fingertips into the hot softness, stroked all the sweet and tender surfaces there, opening her wider and wider. Her fingertips pressed gently along the ridge between the hardening pearl and the edge of the opening. Alesandra’s hips thrust forward in need. She moaned, louder now, eyes closed. Camilla watched Alesandra’s face while her fingers worked their magic. She held this magnificent woman in her arms and gauged from her responses how to proceed, how to give the most pleasure, how to draw craving out of the depths and then satisfy it. Camilla felt overwhelming tenderness now as Alesandra took her fingers into her, clung to her, naked in the water, helpless in her need. The power than Alesandra gave over to Camilla in her surrender touched Camilla so tenderly that, without realizing it, she had begun to weep, a silent tear running down her face while her sure and strong hand found the places and the rythms to carry Alesandra where she needed to go. As release came to Alesandra, the two lovers clung to each other. Camilla
blanketed Alesandra with tiny kisses as her breathing slowed, stroked her hair, rubbed her belly. When at last she opened her eyes again, they were brimming with love for Camilla. The two women gazed into one another’s faces in the faint light of evening in their perfect and private grotto somewhere in the middle of paradise.

To be continued...

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