ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
In the nighttime darkness, the shadow came and Anson did not deny him. Him, Anson was sure, and was it Ohean? Ah, but how long had it been since they’d been together? But… this was not his body, his solid body, wide shoulders, stout trunk. This was a lithe body joining to his, and so long kept from union and company, his penis arched up aching, and he almost cried when the lover engulfed him, rode him. He lay on his back enduring it as long as he could and, at last, turned the lover over and began to plow. In the midst of it he was aware that this was something he had never experienced, for he was never a man to deny his true nature. He had never been with a woman and this, indeed, was a woman, Her woman’s body was there under his hands and she cried out as he spent himself on her, burst, at last, feeling his semen well up and shoot, so long damned up, feeling the orgasm thatvmade his feet clinch, his body arch, feeling all his strength fly out of him there, feeling himself crumple in on himself like a dead bug, only weaker, only with no casing.
She made no noise. She simply got up and left.
A passage from The Red Book drifted through Anson’s mind.
The mushroom of a morning does not know what takes place between the beginning and end of a month; the short-lived cicada does not know what takes place between the spring and autumn. These are instances of a short term of life. In the south of there is the Tree whose spring is five hundred years, and its autumn the same; in high antiquity there was that Serpent, whose spring was ten thousand years, and its autumn the same.
He felt strange, lift and free, but troubled. Every other night the lover came with hands and mouth, pleading, never speaking after fucking ended. Anson had never known a woman and didn’t really long for one now, wondered, if he had seen her, would he be pleased? The fact that he was doing something so contrary to him made him feel a way a he could not describe, The solitude of each day was broken by an almost solitary sex where he knew not what happened with his seed or whom he was spilling it into. He thought, often, of not doing it again, but then, every night, he fucked her so hard she cried, and every night, when she left, he felt as alone as an abandoned baby. The days grew heavy with loneliness as they grew light with freedom, and when the boat came and on it was a man in white and grey, he let down his hood and proved to be, of all people, Ohean. Tears sprang to Anson’s eyes.
THE SAGA CONTINUES WITH THE BOOK OF THE BATTLES, COMING ON MONDAYS
