Bonito Valle

[SexyChele]

OOC: I must admit - I have no idea where this thread may go. This is an idea that has been kicking around in my head for a few weeks now, and I've decided to give it life. However, there is much room for abuse, and I do not want that to happen. I wish this thread to retain 4 things: respect for Native American peoples, respect for peoples of Spanish ancestery, respect for religious beliefs, and a willingness to develop a story. While I would like to make this an "open" thread, I hesitate to do so. Therefore, if you are interested in writing to this thread, please PM me first - and allow me to respond to you - before joining. I encourage "newbies" as well as "oldsters", but if anyone does not abide by the 4 guidlines posted above, they will be asked to leave thread. I will ask that this thread be shut down if I perceive too much abuse is being written. Thank you for your consideration, and I hate to come across as a "bad guy", but I would like to see if there is any genuine interest in this.


Background: Most people are familiar with the California Missions. There were several of them, built from what is now San Diego up to the current city of San Francisco. In fact, many well-known California cities obtained their names from the Missions built at their very core. The California missions served many purposes. First, they were built by the Catholic church in order to convert the Native Californians. Some Native Californians were very peace-loving, others were a little more hostile. Eventually, most were incorporated into the Mission populace.

The Missions also served as military garrisons, and did house soldiers. These soldiers were there to protect the Missions, but also to provide a miliatry presence in what was then known as Alta California.

The Catholic church, naturally, was the primary force in the Missions. All of the Missions built were comprised of roughly the same sort of buildings: garrison for Spanish soldiers, housing for Catholic priests, the church, rooms for industry, and housing for the Native peoples. The Missions were self-supporting - relying on Native American peoples for farming, tanning, leatherworks, livestock, pottery-making, and other industries needed to maintain the functionality of the Mission.

Each Mission was built within one day's journey, by horseback, from each other.

The Spanish government and the Catholic church were at odds with each other, and this was no more evident than within the Mission system. While the Catholic priests attempted to convert the Native peoples to the white man's religion, the Spanish soldiers had been convinced (in some cases) that the native men abused their women. So, supposedly in the interest of "protecting" the women, many Spanish soldiers took to raping the native women, thereby "saving" them from their own men. Most Native peoples were resentful of the Missions at first because of this, and it took quite a number of years before they joined the community willingly.

In 1821, Mexico won its independence from Spain. In 1845, the US had captured California from the Mexicans. And, in 1849, California was admitted into the Union. Long before California had become a state, the Missions fell into disrepair, and were not used as originally intended. Most were sold to private parties. All are now landmarks, some more preserved than others.

Story: This story takes place in 1784, at the height of the Mission system. Father Junipero Serra, founder of most of the missions, had died just 3 years ago. Missions are still being founded along the California coast. But one Mission - Mission San Juan Capistrano - is a relatively small, but one of the more beautiful Missions. The native peoples are the Tongva, but they were renamed by the Spanairds to the Gabrielenos, as most lived in close proximity to Mission San Gabriel. Our story takes us into the lives of the people - Native Californian, Spanish, soldier, priest, man, woman - who comprised this Mission.

Characters: There can be a myriad of characters, or this can be one on one. I will let the board decide if they like the idea or not. As stated earlier, if you wish to join, please PM me with your ideas in advance.

Thank you....

 

[SexyChele]

Juanita Alcazar

She awoke to the songs of the swallows whose nests were huddled along the eaves of the hut she shared with her mother. Juanita smiled briefly, listening to the sweet songs twittered as mothers fed their young. Juanita heard a noise in the corner, and rolled over on her pallet. Yes, her mother was already up and fixing food. Feeling guilty, Juanita rose up off her pallet, stretching in the cool morning air - the fire had yet to spread its warmth to the entire hut.

Quickly, Juanita pulled the decoratively embroidered blouse over her head, tying the strings at the neckline. She pulled on the skirt, fastening it at her waist. Her simple underdress was something she wore all the time, except when she changed it to wash it. Juanita, as her other people, only had 2 sets of clothing - one for every day, and one set for Sunday and fiestas. She slipped on the heavy, awkward sandals on her feet, and hurriedly let down the braid of her hair. Running the crude brush through her thick, dark hair, Juanita's mind stumbled over the events of the past couple of years.

She was 18, the daughter of a Tongva woman and an unknown Spanish soldier. Her mother had been raped, and Juanita had been the result. Without much to depend on, her mother had given into coming to the Mission, where she had worked as a pottery-maker for quite a number of years. Now her fingers were gnarled and no longer could do the intricate work necessary to make the pots. But she had taught Juanita to follow after her, and for the past few years, Juanita had been going into the Mission grounds to form and shape the pots that were used for a hundred different purposes.

Her young body was strong, if slight, and she knew her mother worried about her going into the Mission each day. Juanita had grown into a striking young woman. More than once, her mother had noted that Juanita's developing beauty had drawn the looks of local men and soldiers alike. Juanita's mother had hopes of marrying Juanita to one of the native men, and thereby ridding the line of Spanish blood. Yet, being the product of a rape, Juanita was not always welcomed into the homes of her own native peoples.

Juanita plaited her hair into two braids, then walked over to the cooking pots. Helping her mother, they managed to get the early meal together, and ate it in silence. Juanita knew her mother did not like her going into the Mission, yet there was nothing else for to do.

When she finished, Juanita kissed her mother's cheek - dry and wrinkled far earlier than it should have been - and through a warm shawl about her shoulders. As she walked the short distance to the Mission, Juanita looked around her. This valley was truly beautiful - Bonito valle! She loved the trees, the flowers, the birds. And there, ahead of her, stood the tall adobe Mission, surrounded in flowers and swallows dipping down and around its walls. As she walked through the main doors, she felt the eyes of the soldiers on her, but she ignored them. Juanita made her way towards the small room she shared with the pottery-maker, and started the fire. As she assembled the items for the day's work, Juanita opened the door. Yes, it would be a beautiful day today. Much too nice to have the door closed.

She set about her work, her day beginning...

 

[Miltone]

Qaletaqa, Guardian Of The People

Qaletaqa (pronounced Kay-leh-Tah-kah) had arrived early morning at the Mission on horseback and immediately felt the eyes of the despised Spaniards burning into him. It wasn’t only the threat of his lean muscular physique that made the soldiers eye him suspiciously, though that had gotten him into trouble elsewhere, especially when combined with his horsemanship, his keen eye, and his cool head. Nor was it the defiant way he held his head up and stared even the bravest one down. It was as much his mount that drew their attention, a steely black stallion, head proudly erect, hooves pounding the hard dusty ground, a steed that would be fitting for a General of the King's Army.

He had returned to the grounds of the Mission San Juan Capistrano reluctantly, having vowed that once he left he would never return. Joining with some of the resistive elements of his ancestral tribe, he had fought the dreaded Spaniards, gaining an envied reputation as a resourceful warrior and something of a renegade.

But word had reached him recently that his father, who ran the tannery at the Mission, had died and his mother was left alone. Now in his mid-twenties, he found himself returning to his home to try and convince her to leave. In his mind, an existence within the boundary of Mission under the strong hand of the Church and the Spanish Crown was no existence at all.

He reined in his mount and came to a stop just outside the hut where he had spent his youth helping his father. The smell of the tanning chemicals burned his nose bitterly and brought long forgotten memories back to life. Then he saw the haggard face of his mother brighten at the sight of him slipping down from his horse and he took her into his arms and shared in the happiness of the moment.

As he turned with his happy and tearful mother, his eyes captured a glimpse of a tall figure across the way, moving about the potter’s shed. A pair of curious dark eyes flashed back across at his glance and he paused for a moment, captured by their sheer allure. He tried to peer through the glare of the hot sun to see her more closely.

“Is that the potter’s daughter?” he asked his mother, remaining where he stood for a moment longer, letting his eyes fill with the sight of this young woman.

“No, my son,” she said harshly. “That is Juanita. She is only a helper, one of the ‘shamed ones’ whom we know not.”

Qaletaqa remained for a moment longer and noticed that she to had paused in her work to exchange a look with him. From their opposite sides of the pathway, he could see the slightest trace of a smile form on her face before the hard voice of the potter called out to her and she stepped back into the shadows of the hut.

“Now, come my son and have some refreshment,” his mother called out happily, pulling him by the arm toward the cool shade inside.

 

[SexyChele]

As Juanita stepped from the potter's hut, her attention was diverted to a young man sitting across the path. The community of people was small, so she should know everyone, yet this one she did not know. She smiled faintly, not wanting to appear overly forwards. Even at this distance she could see his handsome features - but who was he? She didn't recall seeing him before.

Just then Juanita saw the old woman. Ah, yes. Juanita had heard the old woman had had a son who had left the community years before. Could this be him? Rumors had flown around the community - some said he was a warrior, others that he was a thief. Still some called him murderer and others said he was a hero.

One thing Juanita understood was that the old woman hated her mother, and hated Juanita even more. As did most of the women - afraid Juanita would marry their sons. Afraid Juanita would bring about the attention of the Spanish soldiers, possibly incurring their own daughters.

Juanita went back into the hut, but the heat was becoming oppressive. The pots were made, but needed to be painted and glazed, and Juanita's fingers could not hold the pottery.

"Go outside, Juanita. There is a breeze today that will help cool you. And it will help to dry the pots as well."

Juanita smiled at the potter, and took 3 pots with her out into the yard. She sat on a blanket under one of the huge trees for shade, and bent her concentration to her work - it was one of the rare things that gave her true pleasure.

Yet, her mind wandered, and she found herself looking for the handsome stranger. He was not to be seen, however. Either he saw sleeping through the heat of the day, or had gone about some business. Try as Juanita wanted to, her mind strayed more and more from her work.

 

[Miltone]

Qaletaqa, Guardian Of The People

Although there was great joy in seeing his mother again after all the many years away from home, there was also great sadness in seeing how the years had taken their toll on her health and appearance. The ravages of the tanning chemicals had certainly contributed, but Qaletaqa was convinced that living in the Mission had done more. Though he tried to convince her to leave with him and re-join their ancestral tribe, she was reluctant, not wanting to give up the meager but secure existence she lived in the Mission.

After many minutes of talk, he needed to be out in the air, and mounted his horse and rode off. He saw the looks of the soldiers and knew that they would soon be paying a visit to him should he not ride off now and leave this place behind. But he felt that he should try to talk with his mother again in the hopes that he could convince to change her mind.

After a hot fast ride, he paused near a cool copse of woods by a stream. Letting his horse free to water itself, he found a place to sit and think on the soft grass beneath a tree. He was lost in thought for many minutes when the sound of a singing voice reached his ears. It was faint, perhaps faraway, but distinctly that of a woman. A young woman, perhaps a girl, had gone for a walk in the woods. He rose up and moved quietly through the trees toward the sound of the singing voice. Leaning around the shadow of a cypress tree, he saw her; it was the potter’s assistant. He held fast to the tree and watched as she worked on some pottery sitting beside her.

Qaletaqa was taken by her appearance. She was lighter skinned than the other natives, a true sign of the “ashamed” ones, those with the hated Spanish blood in them. Yet her long dark hair, plaited into a pair of braids, and her long curvy body captured his eye. He felt drawn to her. As she sang, she tilted her head from side to side. He looked more closely and could see the smooth beauty of her face. At that moment he felt a twinge inside him and he desired to move closer to get a better look.

His reputation for stealth was well placed and he was able to silently edge closer, bewitched by the beauty that only increased the closer he came to her. The innocent look on her face drew a smile onto his, perhaps distracting his concentration; he stepped sharply on a fallen branch, sending out a loud crack that echoed through the trees and startling the girl.

 

[SexyChele]

Assembling the powders that would turn into the paints for the designs on the pots before, Juanita removed her shawl and enjoyed the filtered sunshine through the trees. Soon she had several small pots of paint at her fingertips, and her concentration centered on the designs she was creating.

Without realizing it, she lifted her voice in song - not the raucous songs the soldiers sang after they had drunk too much. No, rather the soft songs her mother had taught her from her ancestors.

The day was growing warm, yet the shade felt good. The potter had only come out once to inspect her work, gunted, then went back into the hut. Juanita suspected he was was sleeping, which was fine with her - the day was too beautiful for anything bad to happen.

A sudden crack behind her caused her to jump, almost spilling two of her pots of paint. Turning quickly, rising as she spun, she suddenly came face to face with handsome young man she had seen earlier. At first fear crossed her face - how had he come so close without her knowing? But then she looked into his face - he was dark, unlike herself - a full-blooded member of the Tongva peoples. She breathed a sigh of relief. It would have been much more frightening had it been a Spanish soldier.

Juanita lowered her eyes shyly, not sure of what the stranger would want with her. However, she felt the pull of his eyes on her, and raised her own to meet his once more.

"Buenas tardes," she said hesitantly, not sure if he understood Spanish, and suddenly ashamed she had not taken more time to learn her mother's native language.

 

[Miltone]

Qaletaqa, Guardian Of The People

He heard her words and understood her well enough, but couldn’t bring himself to reply in the same language; Qaletaqa used Spanish only when absolutely necessary. Seeing a mild look of fear in her eyes, he held up the palm of his hand toward her.

“Do not fear me,” he said slowly in his native tongue, to his ear more lyrical and descriptive than the strange foreign language of the Church and Crown.

As he took a step closer to her, she backed up as if trying to keep her distance. He reached out quickly and took hold of her wrist, feeling her pulse racing. He did not want her to run off and tell the soldiers he was here; he wanted only to talk to her.

“Why do you work for them?” he asked, his words slow and soft. “Do you not know them as the enemy they are?”

Her look was now one of puzzlement, and his heart felt sad that she didn’t at least understand the language of her ancestors—at least half of them. Had they taken that away from her as well? She tried to pull her wrist away from his grasp, but Qaletaqa held on tightly and reached out with his other hand, slipping it around her waist. The puzzled look turned back to one of fear.

“Y soy tu amigo,” he spoke, the words uncomfortable on his tongue, words learned out of necessity. “I am your friend.”

As he held onto her, he could feel the warmth of her body, the trim gentle curves of her hips and breasts, and he felt a strange sensation creep over him. It had been so long since he had been this close to a woman, and certainly never one of such beauty, that he felt his own pulse begin to race. He had heard about the Ashamed Ones, the products of an unholy union who were to be shunned. Yet, here was one so very close to him and he couldn't take his eyes away from her.

As he held her so closely and her dark eyes looked deeply into his own, the fearful look on her face disappeared. Slowly he relaxed his grip on her wrist and waist and was prepared for her to run away. But strangely as his hands fell away from her, she remained close to him, their bodies brushing slightly together, her eyes still riveted on him.

 

[SexyChele]

As the stranger grabbed for her, Juanita felt the fear rush over her. Her mother had warned her that men might take what they wanted. But even though she had difficulty fully understanding the words he spoke, there was no denying to softness to his voice. Surely a man who meant her harm would not speak in such a way.

As his arm slipped around her waist, Juanita held her breath. She could feel the heat of their bodies, made only stronger by the heat of the day. Juanita was tall for her people, a quality she gained from her Spanish father, yet she was surprised to find just how tall this stranger was as she gazed up at him.

Feeling his arm about her, and his body pressed to hers, Juanita felt flushed and light-headed. Yet, she also felt the comfort of the arm that held her, and somehow knew he would not let her fall.

She knew she should struggle, she should try to break free, yet her body would not allow her to fight. Her eyes were caught up in his.

Haltingly, she tried to repeat some of the words from her mother's native tongue. "You name?" she knew his name must be as powerful and strong as he was, and she yearned to know what it was that she might whisper it on her lips.

She lowered her eyes briefly to his lips then back again to his eyes. Her hands had automatically reached up to rest on his arms, and she like the feel of him against her fingers. She could feel her heart beating wildly, and she wondered if he could feel it as well.

 

[Miltone]

Qaletaqa, Guardian Of The People

“You name,” she spoke so softly and with an accent, but Qaletaqa had never heard such a voice before, with a lilt to it that only the finest doves could voice, as if she were singing the words. The sound of her voice brought a small smile to his face.

“My name,” he said slowly, placing his hand on his chest, “Qaletaqa.”

His eyes studied her face, not as rounded and flat as the native women he had known before, but with fine, delicate features and such large dark eyes that seemed to be looking into him and through him. The warmth of her light touch on his arms made his heart race.

She tried to repeat his name but stumbled over the pronunciation.

“Kay Le Tah Kah,” he said slowly.

She repeated it after him perfectly and he nodded. She said it again almost in a musical whisper. Her full red lips curled into a smile and a slight blush crept over her cheeks.

“And what do they call you?” he asked eagerly, but realized when she again looked puzzled that he was speaking too fast or she didn’t understand. He reached his hand out and placed it gently upon her chest, his fingertips feeling the firm swelling of her breasts. She looked down at his hand and then back up to his eyes.

Slowly she placed her own hand atop his, holding it against her body. Though her hand was speckled with clay dust and flecks of paint, it was warm and soft upon his. As she pressed his hand against her, he could feel the strong, fast beat of her heart. He felt drawn to her greatly. Was this the reason he had been warned about the Ashamed Ones? Was there some evil spirit inside her that sent his pulse racing with the wind? The answer mattered little for he wanted his hand to remain touching her.

“¿Qué le llaman?” he asked in the foreign tongue he abhorred. “¿Cómo se llama usted?”

 

[SexyChele]

His name was strange at first, but Juanita found it flowed over her lips and tongue naturally. She whispered it over and over, getting used to the sound of it.

As he placed his fingers on her chest, she felt her heart race quickly. Placing her own over his, she willed to keep him there - the feel of his strong hand against her, delighting the feel of him.

She had difficulty understanding his words - he spoke so fast! But when he repeated the question in Spanish, she smiled.

"Mi llamo Juanita," she barely whispered, afraid to break the spell.

She wished now her mother had given her a name from among her peoples, but the priest had insisted on a Spanish name. She continued to look up into his eyes, becoming lost within them. She knew she should step away, it was the right thing to do. And yet, she could not.

"You are newly arrived, for I have not seen you here before."

She felt her words hanging in the air, as his arm tightened around around her waist, and suddenly all she wanted was to feel his lips on hers, his body against her own.

 

[Miltone]

Qatelaqa, Guardian of the People

As his arm pulled the girl toward his body, he felt her sweet breath brush his face. All of the warnings about her kind, the Ashamed Ones, had seemed to vanish from his mind. There was just this surge of strange feelings inside him.

Juanita, she had called herself. A Spanish name, yet when she spoke it, her had never heard a more beautiful sound.

There had been women in his past, and at one time he had been betrothed to Malequla, the daughter of the Chieftain, but her death at the hands of the Spaniards had robbed him of that pleasure. Now there was this one in his arms, Juanita, and he felt strangely drawn to her for some reason.

He leaned forward and felt his lips brush up against hers, and felt a swelling below and pressed himself fully up against her. And as her body responded, he felt the desire grow.

"Juanita," he said. "I have not lived in the mission for many years. I have lived with our people beyond the boundaries of the Church, where we are free to do as our ancestors taught us, not a white man from a foreign land."

There was that look of puzzlement in her eyes and he knew not how much she understood. But she ahd smiled when he spoke her name.

"Juanita," he said, placing his hand on her chest again, between the firm swelling of her breasts. "Juanita."

He felt a smile curl his mouth and he leaned forward again to kiss her and taste her mouth again.

 

[SexyChele]

His closeness to her was almost more than she could bear. Her head was spinning, her breathing was quick. The sound of his voice vibrated through her body, awakening every nerve within her.

As he pressed nearer to her, she felt his hardness, but rather than pulling away, she pressed herself into him. As he placed his hand between her breasts, Juanita felt a tingle run the course of her spine.

Looking up into his deep eyes, Juanita ran her hands up his arms and over his shoulders. They were strong and well-muscled. His life was not soft, and neither was his body. Juanita flushed at her thoughts, the warnings of mother disappearing like the clouds in a windstorm.

Looking at her fingers, Juanita traced a pattern down over his chest then up to his neck. She felt him shiver slightly, then continued upwards, lightly stroking his face. She had never been this close to a man before, and the enjoyment of exploring his body, his face, filled Juanita with excitment.

She glanced into his eyes and found him staring at her intently. She took in his whole face, then smiled. She placed her hands softly against his face, her fingers feeling the skin beneath them. Drawing him towards her, Juanita was surprised at her own brazen behavior! Yet, still she drew him near, wanting to feel his lips against her own, wanting to feel his arms around her.

 

[Miltone]

Qaletaqa, Guardian Of The People

As my hands slipped about her waist, touching her body, feeling her warmth come closer to me, I drew my lips nearer to hers, brushing them lightly. She trembled in my arms as her soft body pressed the firm muscles of my chest and belly and thighs. Her lips tasted sweet and the softness of her curves sent a wave of excitement through my body.

Was this a spell that she was casting over me? What was the desire she had released inside me? She was so different from the women I had known in my travels. I remembered the words of warning from the tribal Elders, how they told of the allure of the Ashamed Ones, born of such an unholy union, how many a good son had been lead astray. Yet there was no sense of magic here with Juanita, for it was her youth and beauty and spirit that drew me so close to her.

The longer our lips remained touching, the harder I pulled her to me. My hands gently glided up and down her body, feeling her warm tender body shift and sway under the light fabric of her blouse and skirt.

Then I remembered also the words of the Elders, of what could happen to the Ashamed Ones should they be seen with a native son, of the depraved acts they would commit to keep them “pure.” I struggled against my own swelling desire and arousal to break free of her lips. Her eyes looked at me questioningly, yet heavy with passion.

“Juanita,” I said, still uncomfortable with her name. “It is not right for me to be here with you.” I raised my hand to her sweet face, stroking her cheek lovingly. “There is great danger for you if they find you here with me.”

I pressed my lips forward to kiss upon hers again.

“Can we meet here again tonight, where we might hide in the darkness?”

 

[SexyChele]

She felt her body melt into his, and shivered slightly as his hands ran the length of her body. She forgot about time and space, her concentration on the man who held her. Juanita felt his arousal, yet she found herself excited by it rather than frightened.

As she felt him pull away from her, she was confused at first. Then, as she felt his hand soft and warm against her face, she smiled up at him. His words brought a fluttering of fear into her heart. Yet, she knew the dangers he spoke of to be true. Her heart felt heavy at the thought of it, but as he asked her if they could meet again, her eyes brightened.

Juanita, brought back to her senses, glanced about. No one was about in the high heat of the afternoon. All were either dozing or trying to keep cool within the thick adobe walls that shielded them from the heat. Still, the risk of being discovered was too high to chance.

Glancing up into his eyes, Juanita stroked his cheek with her fingertips, and nodded.

"Yes. Here, tonight, after dark. The potter will have gone to his home, leaving the hut empty."

The potter's hut was small, yet except for the door, only had one small window on the far side. It would be easier to escape detection within its walls.

Juanita reached up, and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. She felt his hand tighten on her arm, and she feared he wouldn't let her go. Then she felt his hand slowly release her. She placed her finger to his lips.

"Until tonight then, my brave Qaletaqa," she said simply before she slipped back to the potter's hut.

 

[Miltone]

Qaletaqa, Guardian Of The People

“But before you go,” I called out to her as she stepped away. She stopped and turned around. “I want to give you a proper name, one of which your mother’s ancestors would be proud.”

I slipped up to her and placed my hand upon her cheek. She smiled and looked deeply into my eyes. She was so beautiful and yet she bore a name so foreign and not perhaps of her or her mother’s own choosing. I looked down at the beautiful pottery designs she had been working on, and I sensed again the wonderful feelings of desire she had triggered inside me. I remembered an old name I had heard my grandmother use many years ago.

“May I call you Kuwanlelenta?” I said, my hand gliding down from her cheek over her neck and coming to rest on her chest, my fingers near the firm swelling curves of her breasts. “Ku Wan Luh Len Tah. It means, ‘One who makes beautiful their surroundings’.”

She raised her hand to my cheek again and leaned forward and brushed her lips against mine. I closed my eyes and felt the rush of desire flowing deep within me. I could scarcely wait until dark. Then I felt her move away from me and opened my eyes to see her return to the potter’s hut.

I backed away through the trees and found my horse still near the river. The water was cool and inviting. The heat of the day and the warmth of this young woman had brought a sweat to my brow. I pulled my tunic off and peeled the rest of my clothes from my body. Slipping into the cool clear water, I felt the dust and heat wash away from my body leaving my quickened heartbeat and thoughts of this girl I will call Kuwanlelenta.

 

[SexyChele]

She repeated the name he had given her - Kuwanlelenta - and liked the way it sounded. She smiled up at him, her eyes bright with pleasure and gratitude. She walked into the potter's hut, but turned at the doorway in time to see him turn away.

Her afternoon went very quickly, her fingers flying over her work. The potter grunted once or twice and she noticed a curious look on his face. At first she feared he had seen her with Qaletaqa, but if he had, he seemed not to care.

As the sun sank down to the horizen, the potter stepped from the hut and told her it was time to go home to her mother. It was on the tip of her tongue to say she would stay, but she knew that would only arouse his curiousity. Instead, she put away her pants and pots, and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. She hurried home, greeting people along the way all heading towards their homes for the evening meal.

When she entered her mother's hut, the smell of food filled her senses, and she realized how hungry she was. As she shared the meal with her mother, Kuwanlelenta - for that was how she now thought of herself, could only think of the evening to come, the handsome man she had felt so drawn towards. She finished eating, and after helping to clean, told her mother she was to go for a walk. Her mother looked at her, studying her face, yet Juanita only smiled.

"It's a beautiful, mama. I simply want to enjoy it."

"Trouble can happen at night, Juanita. Don't go far, stay close."

"Si, mama." Juanita kissed her mother's cheek and walked out the door.

At the well, she stopped and drew water, washing her hands and face. Then, she hurried back to the potter's hut, hoping she would not be late. As she approached, she saw no one. She opened the door and stepped inside. The moon was full, and the interior of the hut was illuminated from the moon's glow shining through the open door. She waited, trying to regain her breath, and to slow her heart.

 

[Miltone]

Qaletaqa, Guardian Of The People

My mother had set the table and invited the few relatives and friends who lived near the mission for a fine supper. I knew that she could not have provided all the food and that the others had brought some as well. They were happy to see me, but most seemed a bit wary, having heard of my reputation more than my actual deeds. They asked me for details of my exploits and I told them little, for I was afraid someone would have one too many sips of wine and reveal my presence to the soldiers.

Although I had planned to stay only the night and leave the next day, it seemed that my mother was reluctant to go. Perhaps in another day I might be able to convince her. Then again, another day would give me a chance to better know the young woman, Kuwmanlelenta.

But my mother would not entertain any thought of leaving while the visitors were present. So I rejoined the festivities and waited until the last of them had gone. As she was showing me the place she had made for me to sleep, I asked her again.

“Mother, will you not leave with me in the morning? You can bring your few belongings and we can join the others in a day or so.”

She looked at me again, her hand rising up to my cheek.

“My son, you speak of this new life of yours as a great adventure, but I am an old woman. I have my home and way of life here. Maybe it is not for you, but it is all that I know. I do not belong on the trail, a nomad following the sun.”

She leaned up to kiss me and settled down onto her pallet, falling to sleep quickly from her weary and exciting day. My own thoughts were not of sleep, but of the young woman whom I had met. Anyway, I had planned on sleeping outside, not under this roof. Taking with me, the vessel of wine that my uncle had left behind, I moved out among the shadows and headed toward the potter’s shed.

I moved slowly and surely through the moonlit night, only once spotting a pair of soldiers on their watch. When I reached the shed, I slipped inside to find Kuwanlelenta waiting. Her beauty was radiant in the moonlight, her eyes large and dark and sparkling, her mouth open and smiling when she saw me slip inside.

I made my way to where she was waiting and joined her. For some reason, as I sat beside her, I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her to me. Her lips were warm and wet when I kissed her.

“Kuwanlelenta, you look so beautiful tonight!” I said trying to speak slowly that she might understand. “You bring beauty to everything you touch.”

I slung the wine from around my shoulder and offered her a taste. She looked unfamiliar with it, so I sampled some to show her how it was done. Then as she drank, some dribbled down her chin and I leaned over to kiss the drops from her soft smooth skin. I couldn’t resist taking my kisses farther, her skin so soft, her scent so sweet. Those unfamiliar feelings of passion began to well up inside me again, feelings that I had long denied. I cradled her pretty face in my hands and kissed her lips again.

 

[SexyChele]

His words were music to her ears. She knew he spoke slowly for her, and smiled at his words - each one was committed to the memory of her heart. She wanted to remember this night, this time, this man many, many years from tonight. She never wanted to let the feelings coursing through her body fade or disappear with time.

When he showed her how to drink the wine, she almost laughed at her own ignorance. And when she tasted what he offered, she thought she should never taste anything again so sweet.

His lips on her chin, kissing away the droplets caused a slight giggle to escape her lips. Yet, then he was kissing her, her face cradled in his hands. She ran her hands up the sides of his body, almost hesitantly - his was the first body of a man that she had ever touched. She felt her cheeks blush, yet his body felt strong and wonderful to her touch.

She felt his lips moving over hers, and though she was not certain what to do, she followed his lead and hoped she would not disappoint. At one point, he pulled away to look into her eyes, and her look was one of question. She moved towards him, eager to feel his lips once more on hers, and she sensed that she surprised him. She smiled under his lips, then realized that maybe he would not be so appreciative. She tried to pull away, but found she was a willing captive in his arms.

Reaching up, she stroked his neck, his ears, his face. Suddenly, she was eager to feel all of him - yet, a tiny finger of fear entered her mind. Would he be gentle? Would he be kind? Her fear vanished under the onslaught of his kisses, as her mind followed her body in its eagerness to know him fully.

 

[Miltone]

Qaletaqa

It had been so very long since I had been with a woman that for a few moments with the warm body of Kuwanlelenta beside me, her soft wet lips upon mine, and the moonlight filtering through the warm haze of the potter's shed, I was lost in a dream of passion and desire. But the trembling of her young body and the touch of her hands upon my face brought me back to this world. And this was the land where I wanted to be.

I felt warm in the stuffy room and pulled my tunic up over my head and off and relished the cool air as it swept over my body. She touched me with the light exploring hand of one who was experiencing the feel of a man's body for the first time.

She touched me and looked where she was touching, her eyes filled with wonder and delight. I was tall for our people and the years of hard work had filled out and hardened my body. As my own hands began to move about her body as well, I could see how she was fascinated by me, for her body was completely different from mine, soft and tender, her skin as smooth as the finest woven cloth.

She too was warm to the touch, so I reached down and pulled at her blouse, tugging it upward up and over her head. She was wearing a simple underdress, laced up the front and knotted at the top. I began to fumble with the knot, but her hands set upon mine and easily untied the laces. I pulled them loose and reached up to slip the garment from her shoulders.

I saw her shoulders tremble as I pulled her underdress down away from her body and she slipped her arms out. When it fell to her waist, I could see her breasts were full and rounded like a woman's, her dark nipples erect in the night air. My eager hands reached for her, slipping up to touch her gently, tenderly. She gasped as my fingertips reached her, and I felt my own hands quiver with desire.

I leaned forward to kiss her on the lips and as our hands explored each other's body, our kisses grew wild with passion. I stretched out and reclined on the mat, pulling her down on top of me. She slipped her leg over me and straddled my waist. I reached up to her hair and began to undo the braids that kept her hair in place. It was as soft as cornsilk, not like that of the women of our own people. I loved the feel of it as I combed my fingers through it, until her braids were no more and her hair flowed down past her shoulders like a waterfall at midnight.

She bent down over me and I cupped her firm breasts, drawing them to my mouth as she leaned forward. The taste of her body was as sweet as the wine. As I kissed and licked her nipples, I felt her body begin to move, her hips rocking, her head tossed back, and her breathing grow hard and fast.

"Kuwanlelenta," I said, reaching up behind her neck and pulling her face down so that I might kiss it. I wanted my kiss to tell her of my longing and desire for her; I wanted it to tell her that I cared not what the others had said about her; I wanted it to tell her of how much I adored her youth and her beauty. I kissed her again and again and our tongues met and danced together openly in the hazy moonlight.

 

[SexyChele]

As he bared her breasts, Kuwanlelenta felt her body flush with heat. At first she felt the overwhelming urge to cover herself, to preserve her modesty. Yet, the look on his face in the moonlight told her she had nothing to fear.

She felt his fingers in her hair, then felt the heaviness of the raven silk flow about her. As his lips searched out her nipples, she gasped - never before realizing the wonderful sensations flowling through her body.

Her legs straddled his body, and she felt her hips rocking back and forth, almost as if they were answering an ancient call she had never before been aware of. As he sought her lips and whispered the name he gave her, she felt her heart flutter with excitement. Willing she gave to him her lips and tonge, leaning down further until her tender nipples rubbed against the smoothness of his chest.

She rested her weight on him, as her hands explored the hard firmness of his body. So different from hers, yet so pleasant to the touch. She moved her fingers up to his face and pulled away softly. Looking into the face that she knew would fill her dreams the rest of her days, she lightly ran her fingers along the jaw and up to the fullness of his lips. She smiled as he gently sucked her finger between his lips, and wondered at the feel of the warm wetness of his tongue and mouth.

She felt a strange urging in her body, something she did not quite understand, yet entirely pleasant. Bending down, she trailed her lips along his jaw to his ear, then lightly down his throat.

"Qaletaqa," she whispered over and over, until she heard him moan and felt his hands tighten their grip on her body. Kissing him gently to his shoulder,she closed her eyes to truly feel his skin against her lips and tongue. He smelled and tasted of fire smoke and sunlight, of the grass that grew in the meadow, and the trees that surrounded the Mission. He was intoxicating to her, and as he whispered her name in response to his own from her lips, she felt herself giving herself to this man.

Moving quickly, she suddenly found herself on the floor, his body above hers, his face mere inches away. She ran her hands along his body, tracing patterns along his spine and smiling as she watched him shiver slightly. She grasped his face between her hands and pulled him to her, delighting in the feel of his hands on her body.

 

[Miltone]

Spreading out my tunic and her blouse over the mat on the floor of the potter’s shed, I rolled over so that Kuwanlelenta lay beneath me on the mat. The touch of her delicate hands upon me sent a shiver of delight through me, arousing inside me a desire I had never known, not even with Malequla, the daughter of the Chieftain two years before.

My kisses upon her lips grew hot and wild with passion and I hungered to taste more of her body. For a moment as my lips moved away from her mouth, she held my head in her hands as if trying to keep me in place. But when the warmth of my kisses flowed into the soft tender skin of her neck, she let me go and I heard her sigh and gasp as my lips and tongue grazed lightly over her.

The sweet scent of her body intoxicated me as no wine had ever done. I kissed along the top of her shoulders, nibbling lightly upon the soft flesh at the end. Moving lower, I let my hands trail along her partially naked body, trembling as my fingertips touched the firm supple curves of her breasts. I shifted over and knelt on the mat beside her, delighting in the sight of her laying there, her arms fallen back above her head, her long silky black hair all tousled about her shoulders, and her slender beautiful body heaving with passion as I touched her breasts gently.

Her dark nipples were taut with excitement and my mouth watered and my tongue longed to taste them. I bent over and brought my lips down to her, kissing them tenderly and lovingly. She gasped as I did so, her back arching upward pressing her body against my mouth. I began to lick her breasts, teasing and tasting her nipples, and a low moan of pleasure came from deep inside me. I sucked one up into my mouth, letting my teeth graze lightly on the tip. Her moans were growing louder and her body began to writhe with the pleasure I was trying to bring to her as I suckled her other breast.

“Kuwanlelenta, you are so beautiful, I thank the spirit of the west wind for bringing me back to this place,” I whispered.

She raised her hand to my cheek, not knowing the words exactly, but perhaps understanding what I was trying to say. As our eyes exchanged a lingering look of desire in the warm moonlit haze, I drew my hands farther down her body, along the curves leading to her slender waist and her underdress gathered about there. Slipping my hands underneath, I began to ease her skirt and undergarments down from her waist and her hips. For a moment she looked frightened, since I would perhaps be the first man to see her youthful beauty thus revealed. Her hands flew down to take hold of mine.

“Do not be afraid, Kuwanlelenta,” I said softly as my hands paused with her clothes pulled down just below her hips. I could see the curves of her belly disappear in the folds of the soft cotton. “I am Qaletaqa; I will not hurt you; I will be gentle.”

She smiled at the sound of my name, and let go of my hands, even raising her hips upward slightly so that I could slip her clothes down her long lovely legs and remove them completely. As I set her clothing aside, my eyes eagerly fell back upon her. I gasped at the beauty of her laying beside me in the moonlight. I drew my hands slowly up the length of her legs, finding the skin of her thighs as smooth as the sky at daybreak. And when my fingers slowly swept up over the downy fur of her young womanhood, I found it as soft and pure as corn silk. As I let my fingertips lightly touch and stroke the warm heavenly place between her legs, I leaned over and kissed her belly, letting my tongue swirl around her navel.

She sighed and I felt her body quiver; she reached down to comb her fingers through my long black hair as it cascaded down and danced upon her body. As my kisses traveled about her belly, I began to say the prayer I had been taught as a young man, the simple words of praise and thanks to the spirits of the south and the water for bringing the beauty of this woman to me. I asked them for guidance that we might share the pleasure that was of this night and our passion.

 

[SexyChele]

As he lowered her skirt, fear crept clutched at her brain. No man had ever seen her naked, and her natural modesty began to take hold. He stopped, however, and his words were soothing to her. She looked into the darkness of his eyes, lighted by the moon, and knew she could trust this man. She knew then her heart would be his, just as surely as her body would be.

As he stripped her naked, she felt her body flush and was thankful for the coolness of moon's light. His lips on her nipples slowly erased any fear or anxiety she had as she felt her body responding to urges and desires she did not know she possessed. As his lips ran lower, across her belly, she ran her fingers through his hair, surprised at the feel of it between her fingers.

Gently, almost as a feather, she felt his hands on the inside of her thighs, spreading them slightly. She watched his face, watched as he gazed her body, and slowly spread her thighs for him. His fingers traced light patterns along her skin causing her to tremble. She traced her fingers to his shoulders, letting them linger there.

As his fingers lightly brushed against her sex, she gasped and uttered a slight cry. His voice was calming, soothing, his lips were tender against her skin. Though her heart was beating wildly, she continued to watch him wondering if there was something she should do. His fingers traced the lips of her sex, and she felt her hips responding to his touch. Moving up towards him, craving his touch, she laid back and let the feelings wash over her.

She had heard her friends speak of the first time between a man and a woman. They had spoke of pain and a feeling of wanting more. Though Kuwanlelenta feared the pain, she doubted Qaletaqa would leave her body or mind wanting more.

His fingers pressed against her with urgent need, and she grabbed his arm, her nails digging in slightly as her desire grew. She felt his fingers against her cheek, and she look at him, smiling. Wishing she could tell him to continue, she allowed her body to respond to his touch, letting him know her desire for him in the way her body reacted to him.

 

[Miltone]

Qaletaqa

As I looked down upon the sweet face of the young woman I called Kuwanlelenta, her large dark eyes full of the fear of the unknown and yet filled with the pleasure from my touch, I knew for certain that I was the first man to have been with her in this way. The way she responded to my touch, the way she sighed and moved as my fingertips danced upon the soft smooth curves of her body told me again that I would be her first.

I remembered the words of the Elders I had heard years ago during the Ten Days of Manhood, when those of us who had come of age spent the days fulfilling trials of strength and cunning and the nights learning the truths of life. This night the words of Talequla, the tribal leader who cured all ills of the spirit and body, came back to me. I remembered the way that he described how to touch a woman on her first time and the prayer that I was to speak as I helped her become a woman.

The words were soft as the evening breeze and as gentle as the moonlit night sky above. With the words of prayer to the spirits of the heart and the body, came the touch of the hands and the lips. From her forehead and cheeks and lips then down to her neck and shoulders and breasts, my kisses wandered the wondrous trails of delight. As my kisses dwelled on her breasts, I felt her body press upward against my lingering touch. She moaned loudly and her breathing began to come fast and hard.

Touching and kissing her body, feeling and tasting her softness I repeated the words as the pathways led farther down over her heaving chest and stomach and belly. Without letting my lips take leave of her sweet body, I moved around so that I knelt between her legs, and drew my prayerful kisses down along with me.

I parted her legs farther and let my kisses rain down upon her sex. The scent intoxicated me with desire and I felt my manhood grow long and firm with passion. Yet I remembered the words of Talequla and let my tongue and fingers lead the way. He had been the one who discovered the way of pleasure not of pain and had tried to teach us the same, though many had soon forgotten his wisdom and sought only their own pleasure.

Parting the lips of her womanhood, I kissed and licked gently, tasting her sweetness like the nectar of the spirits that I praised with my words and actions. My tongue and fingers explored her gently, each touch moving slowly deeper until reaching her maidenhead. Her body was writhing now from the newly discovered sensations. I felt her hands upon my head, her fingers weaving into my hair, pulling me, pushing me, her frantic words begging and pleading with me.

For many minutes I worked my way through as taught those many years ago, my fingers and tongue poking through and stretching her, my senses watching for any signs of her discomfort and then backing off to pray and let the warmth of my breath please her. Several times, I felt her body quiver and shake almost as the earth rumbles when a mighty herd stampedes.

At last, as Telqula had taught, I could tell that she was ready for me. I rose up from between her legs and pulled down my britches and let the moonlight cast it’s spell upon my naked body. The eyes of Kuwanlelenta grew large as she gazed upon me. As I knelt back down and leaned forward to kiss again her lovely lips, I felt her curious hands reach down to touch my manhood, now long and firm with desire for her. Her hands were gentle but trembled greatly as she wrapped her fingers around me.

“Kuwanlelenta, you will soon be a woman, may the spirits guide us,” I said slowly in our native tongue, my voice a whisper. I repeated the words again two times, and each time her smile grew and her face beamed as bright as the moonlight.

I stroked her soft smooth cheek with my hand, and then reached down to join my hand with hers and stroke the head of my manhood on her wet and waiting sex. By moving my hips and with our hands guiding me, I found that sweet place to enter her and began to press forward. Slowly and gently I moved back and forth against her.

She brought her hands back up to my head then down to my shoulders, clutching at me and holding me. The warmth of her breath washed over me as slowly but surely I eased up inside of her. With a final push I was fully up inside of her and her legs fell into the right position. I drew my hand up and propped up my body over hers on my elbows. As I slowly eased out of her and thrust back inside, she began to kiss me wildly, licking me, her teeth nipping at my lips and tongue.

And the sensations began to grow inside me as well, as she became used to the feeling of my erect manhood buried inside of her, she began to move her hips as well, our bodies joined as one, our passion moving us as one, our spirits coming together in this hazy moonlit potter’s shed.

 

[SexyChele]

His movements were gentle, the sound of his words brought forth tenderness, and Kuwanlelenta felt herself responding to his touch and his kisses. Almost as though it had a will of its own, her body began to move under him. She ached but she knew not what for. Yet, the feeling was primal as though something deep within her was pushing to be released and brought into the open.

As she placed her hand on his hardness, a passing sense of fear filled her mind. She had heard the whispered murmurings of the pain a woman went through the first time a man knew her. Feeling Qaletaqa beneath her hand caused her mind to reel, however his movements, his touch, left no doubt in her mind that he would not wish to hurt her.

As he was guided to her most private place, she felt him enter her and suddenly she understood what it was her body was hungry for. As he pushed against her, she felt a pressure, a barrier. With a firm thrust he burst her maidenhood, and a sharp pain fluttered briefly over her body. She felt a rush of fluid between her thighs, and she clutched at his body, wondering if more pain would follow.

He moved slowly within her, and as the slight pain subsided, she found her body responding to ancient need within her. The need to be filled, to know this moment, to be with this man. She felt him fill her, and as she allowed her body to relax, his movements became smoother and more pleasant. Her hips began to instinctively respond to him, meeting each thrust, anticipating when he would go deep within her and when he would only use short strokes.

She ran her fingers through his hair, reaching up to kiss him, sucking his tongue between her lips. She wanted to feel him, taste him, be one with him. Her body ached for him as though she had always known him - as though she always would.

Running her fingers over his shoulders, she felt the muscles tense in his back, and ran her hands down over his back to tightness of cheeks. Wanting to feel him deeper within her, she grabbed him, pushing him towards her.

"Si, Qalataqa, fill me." She knew the language of the Spanairds was one he did not like, yet she knew no other words to express herself. Softly, she murmured in his ear, urging him not to stop. At the sound of her voice, his movements seemed to increase, his hips slapping against her own. She gasped as she felt him stretching her, filling her, opening her.

Then, from somewhere deep within herself, she felt the stirrings of a new feeling. Her mind was reeling and a sense of dizziness overcame her. She felt her fingers grabbing at his shoulders, her thighs tensing against his body. Her back arched towards, and she faintly heard him speaking to her, yet she did not understand what he was saying.

Suddenly her body tensed and then began to convulse as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. She heard a voice crying out and was surprised to learn it was her own, crying out Qalataqa's name into the dimness of the hut. She seemed to stay this way for a long time, and even when the feeling subsided, she did not want to let go.

Yet, she could feel Qalataqa moving more swiftly within her, his lips covering her face even as she smiled and laughed softly. She ran her hands over his body, enjoying the feel of him moving quickly within her. Her lips and tongue moved along his neck and shoulder, her ears filled with the groans of his desire.

 

[Miltone]

Qaletaqa

The sound of her crying out my name filled my ears as I thrust harder and faster into her. Her hands pulled me to her body and held me close. I could feel the response of her body to my every move with her. Though I had been with several women in my few years of manhood, not one had felt this way, so full of life and passion and feeling. My pulse was racing and I could feel that my time was coming soon, but I didn’t want this glorious moment to pass too quickly. I began to slow down my movements, moving into her with longer deeper and slower strokes.

I pushed up from her so that only our hips and bellies were touching and I could see the look of desire on her face and the glint of passion in her eyes. The sight of her body responding to my every move aroused me greatly. She was so young and beautiful in my eyes; I could keep my kisses from her no longer and leaned forward to kiss her lips and neck and shoulders.

As I did so and we let our arms intertwine, I rolled us over so that she was on top of me. Although some women of experience had told me that they enjoyed this greatly, I wasn’t sure if Kuwanlelenta would know what to do and how to increase her pleasure. And she did glance down at me for a moment as if unsure, but, as she began to move her hips, I saw a smile creep across her face. She pushed herself up from me and repositioned her legs and began to rock back and forth savoring the pleasure that she could enjoy from seeking her own enjoyment.

And the pleasure was mine as well as I could see her experience such delight. As she moved above me, my hands glided up her arms to her shoulders, then let my fingers trail down over her breasts, swaying above me in the moonlight. I lifted my head from the floor to taste again her sweet young flesh. Her eagerness was overwhelming my senses and I had to lay back down and feel the sensations wash over me, filling my body with such pleasure that I had never known.

For the briefest of moments I closed my eyes and thought of how I had almost not returned to this Mission and then only because of my concern for my mother’s well being. And now here I had found this young woman, one of the Shamed Ones even, and my mind could think of going nowhere unless it were with her. Then my eyes opened and I looked up to see this beauty riding my bare belly with such abandon, savoring these first sensual pleasures of womanhood.

“Kuwanlelenta,” I called out to this young woman who spread beauty all around her, and there was no doubt that she had filled my life with beauty this moonlit evening. And from my lips came the words in that foreign tongue that I despised so, but which was the only way I could be sure that she understood, and the words sounded like music to my ears. “Es así bello en mis ojos esta noche! No quiero esta noche o el placer de que tenga traiga me para terminarse! You are so beautiful in my eyes tonight! I do not want this night or the pleasure that you have brought me to end!”

She moved slowly forward, leaning back down and bringing her lips to brush upon mine. My arms reached up around her shoulders, one hand slipping behind her neck to hold her close to me, while the other slipped down around her waist and felt the movement of her hips and body. I thrust up strongly against her body, lifting her up from the floor, feeling her bounce above me, her sighs of pleasure the fuel for my passion.

“Kuwanlelenta,” I called out again in the foreign tongue. “Permítanos montar el viento de nuestras pasiones bajas; permítanos unirse con los ánimos esta noche y beba de los placeres de vida y amor … Let us ride the wind of our passions; let us join with the spirits tonight and drink from the pleasures of life and love!”