Comrades and Lovers a short vignette, really


	Comrades and Lovers a short vignette, really - 0000-00-00 They lie together in the fading light, twined together, woven in an intricate pattern of swirling, brilliant color. An arm drapes across a stomach. Eyes gaze into each other and at nothing. There is contentment. There is also tranquillity. An oppressive seething calm lays upon the city tonight. The humid air swirls in through the open window, laying upon them as would a blanket. One cradles the other, holds the warm body close despite the heat. Skin curls against skin. The streetlight shining through the bedroom window casts faint shadows upon them. The mobilization took place earlier that afternoon. They had vanished into the crowd and the mass of placards and banners and newspapers. The speakers took to the platform, one after the other. She spoke of anti-racism, fighting oppression, freedom, unity in struggle, labor, the working class, industrial workers joining with African Americans, united front for progress, freedom, liberation. Comrades below distributed her paper and some stood at tables, conducting small informational programs of their own to accumulated masses of unorganized demonstrators and assorted sympathizers. The other spoke later. She carried greetings from other organizations and famous figures who expressed their solidarity. The struggle continues. Like Meridel LeSueur's organizer,"Every day, every night and tonight is part of the struggle." Carry it on. It had been at a meeting that they'd first come into contact. A planning meeting for this mass mobilization in particular. She had sworn years before that her lover was her movement, that her one true love was the revolution, that the people, the masses were her loved ones. All else was distraction from the task at hand, to organize, to struggle. All her resources must go to the next meeting, the next demonstration, the next discussion, the next tabling, the next event. Her organization held fast in its place in her heart, strong solid to the core. In a second, she knew that she was the same, her heart enclosed, embraced, imprisoned by the shining future of the struggle. Yet here they are, clasping and holding each other, clinging and longing in the dense heat of the blossoming summer and struggle, each needing, each loving as if the other were the revolution itself. They are covered in their fluids and in sweat, nipples still hard and glistening with saliva, cunts still drippling, where fingers, mouths and tongues, bodies had joined and explored in a relentless revolutionary ecstatic pursuit. The clasped hands and embracing arms of comrades and lovers. In the dark of the night, wherein lies the difference? --------------------------------------------------------- Get Your Web-Based Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com --------------------------------------------------------- -- This story is copyright © to No Author Author:No Author Visit Authors Website Category:Lesbian Sex Stories
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