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The Off Season

"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 a deserted movie set where
things might happen once the scene was dressed...deserted, yet
quivering with potential noise and activity. 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 worked her way up from the miniature steam train to the
ferris wheel, then the Scrambler and Himalaya, then the roller
coasters, and the nausea-producing Skydiver and Zipper. They 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 their hearts, which was
why they had returned here, on this day, in the off-season of the

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 scent 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 scary 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 to gallop around the
central axis, 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 Indian-style saddle, even though he was stander and 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. 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 a
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 that 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

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 to and, with two long strips of cloth, tied
one around her waist to secure her to the horse's barrel, then crossed
the other over her breasts to secure her back to the pole. Then he took
a third 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. 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

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, tightening 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 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 her 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.

End of Story

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