My lover and I had spent the previous evening with several of our friends, engaging in trivial pursuit. That is, if one can call foreplay and sex trivia. Actually, there was little or no pursuing; perusing the flesh would be more accurate. We have found that lusting and fornication keeps our libidos pumping and usually provide a good conversation piece the next day for the ladies, when they meet at the coffee shop.
We gather at different homes, occasionally a club. Last night it was our place. The raw blues shaking the abode, we wined, ground our bodies together and dined until the light peeked through the shades. Last night was bitterly cold. Out of eight in our group, six, showed up to play, smoke and choke the chickens. One of the six being an acquaintance, she was accompanying Merilyn, my lover's best friend.
We encourage guests who are escorted. It seems Merilyn's lover had gotten the shaft at work and could not attend.
We have a standing expression, "If you are hooked on hookah. Suck it and inhale it." Of course, the water was percolating beneath dry leaves, several ounces at a blow.
I was sipping Absinthe, the green fairy. In French, "La Fee Verte
." I was becoming fond of the effect it had on my cock and my prowess. Competent of the bone, you might say. I loved the taste of licorice. I must confess.
I first partook of it several months ago, to ward away insomnia which has been my nemesis at times. It had now become a favorite of mine on many nights. I very seldom had the hallucinations that some say follow, "La Fee Verte."
Soon, after a light buffet and on round three of cocktails, we were in full nude regalia, my cock embedded in our newest member. I would have to ask her name tomorrow. I think it is Evelyn Teegardon, spelled with two 'e's.
My lover was naked and sandwiched between two men, a 'spit roast,' like at a BBQ, getting fucked in the ass by the stranger while sucking William Gleason's cock. Without my glasses, it was difficult to say for sure if it was Bill. She was pushing back with her hips and grinding as she 'gobble gooped' his cum. She was no stranger to BBQs. At times, when the entire group attended, we would form a circle, a daisy chain, and to us, BBQ stood for broads, babes and quoit.
Before breaking for the early morn, we sang Havah Nagilah
. None of us were practising Judaism. We all just felt like warbling.
On arriving at my shop the next morning, I found a box of books resting at my locked door. This is not unusual. Many people think I am a Goodwill outlet. I wish they would cease.
In my daily routine, six days out of seven, you will find me at my bookshop, called 'Book Shadows.' Those hours are usually spent arguing with sweet little ladies wanting to make a deal, cutting down on my meager profits, seldom buying buttons.
By eleven am, the shop had hit a quiet spell, and I started going through the box of books. Mostly all torn, discarded paperbacks. At the very bottom, there was a stack of old yellowed paper, falling into pieces. So, I read.
~ ~ ~
As a young lad, I set sail for the colonies from Aberdeen, Scotland to the land of heathens and beasts. I hired on as a cabin's mate on a trading ship, usually laden with bales of tea leaves, silks and dried bones. Each trip it returned with cotton and tobacco. Occasionally it returned with people unable to cope with being free of the King's rule, or unable to cope with the bones in small hamlets.
In those days bones were carved into eating utensils for those that could not wash their hands before dinning on daily fixings. They were useful if one didn't like pewter. It was dangerous for the colonials to venture into the wild growth for bones of their own to make buttons. There were tales of dangers, passed on by the Indians who ventured into our society, tales of kidnappings, savagery mayhem and spirits.
I aspired to an education, knowing that I had no future as mate on a ship, for most Sea Captains came from respectable families. Seeing as my parents were destitute, I saw little future in dreaming to command my own schooner. Thus I saved all that I could, stashing gold pieces between wooden blanks in the hole beneath the deck, thanking the bilge rats for only eating the leather pouch.
Sailing, I often masturbated, but was told that doing so was a sign of the devil, tempting my moral behavior. It seemed as if I was no stranger to molesting the penis, but the entire crew was pointed toward Hades, as the musk of cum hung over the sleeping chambers on ship. It must have been attracting mosquitoes. The ship was infested with the vermin-critters.
I sought literacy in order to write prose and tales of spirits. Finally enrolling at Dartmouth College, but not giving up my devilish ways, I left the life of a sailor on the banks of the colonies. I sought new beginnings.
In my studies, I met a fellow student. We became chums. Like a brother I thought of him like a brother. His name Zaccheus Amos, son of someone unknown. I soon became enthralled by him, and at night, when he could get away, we would leave the confines of our rooms on campus, meeting at the gazebo covered with green ivy.
It started out innocent, if you can understand that, leading to a simple hug and brushing of cheeks. However, it was considered buggery and a mortal sin. I wasn't pure of heart, but I was naive. Puritans ran the school, and daily prayer was encouraged.
We engaged in sex under a full moon a fortnight later, beneath the Sycamore trees in the nearby woods. His cock was beautiful, the glow of the moon reflecting off it's hardness. Nervously, I drooled and stuttered, shuddering with excitement, my breeches wet.
Naked, he stood before me in the shadow of branches. His body smooth and free of hair. I knelt before him, kissing his testicles and cock head. Making love by mouth to a penis, knowing that it was a sentence of oblivion if we were caught.
I swallowed his cock as if there was no restriction in my throat, the muscles of my esophagus squeezing, thirsty for his semen. As he came, silently sighing and harking at the round moon, he whispered, "Now we are best friends, and I will serve you too."
Together we practiced hedonism. Early libertarians of thought, we believed that all people had the right to the greatest amount of pleasures they dreamed or sought after, the Greek way. I was studying the philosophy of Socrates, that pleasure was the higher good, that all creatures need to be understood.
Between my studies and Zaccheus, I tried to write. Like an artist, paper became easel and canvas as I would spend endless hours obsessed with scribing dark prose. Falling under the spell of insomnia and having a fondness for a new drink called Absinthe from Europe, I indulged liberally.
Several nights had past since the buggery in my ass. After the toll of the midnight bell in the chapel, I was studying at my desk under the light of several tapers.
First, I felt the presence, like breath of air it felt on my right shoulder. With a semblance of pressure, and long talons. The candles flickering without extinguishing. Then a transparent green vapor trail, meandering as if it were smoke, funneling, taking the form of a statuesque green naked body with raven hair. Nipples pierced with large hoops. They reminded me of swings for canaries and love birds. Rubbing my eyes, I poured another drink of Absinthe. I had to be insane, I thought.
"Let me hear your spoken words on paper Sebastian."
She standing behind me as I set. Without thought my hand automatically started scribing with the quill. The scent of apple-cinnamon wafted from her cunt.Grazing upon my shoulder bare.
Breath of mist.
Scent of eroticism
in my lair.
Displayed on the mirror pane,
Succulent tongue upon my nape.
My quill composes raptures,
as Wolf's bane gaze from trellis
on the lawn.
Her lips harvesting a kiss,
Like hobnobbers gazing.
Wolf's bane stare
On my addled thoughts,
from the dormer up above.
She bites me.
The words became so easy as she bent over and kissed my lips. Her tongue, like a cello bow, played with my hungry soul. It was like the sounds of cherubs humming off-key, darting like an arrow shot parallel. Her tongue took my breath.
Her breasts swayed with each hidden throb of my cock. It was as if she could count the rhythm of my pulse as precum seeped within my britches. Then her tongue traced a wet path around and over my left ear. She licked my neck as if tasting the ripeness of her pickings.
"Fuck me if you wish, Sebastian. I am life eternal. Immortal like the darkness you write. I am the embodiment of pleasures of the flesh, and un-dead. You shall reap my cunt and two cocks"
It was as if her cunt swallowed my being. Enamored, I was on her, lying on top, her ample thighs like a vise encasing my hips as she rocked beneath me, biting my neck, purring. Her emerald eyes now turned red, as if they were thunderbolts of flames looking into me, beneath my bones.
Smoke was rising between our two bodies as my cock took life of its own. Like a piston driving at warp speed. Her lips puckered and sucking my mortal life's nectar.
Out of breath, cumming what felt as if a powerful rainstorm exploding, I climaxed. Jism pooled on her torso like scented honey. I screamed exhalations of merriment. My acquiesce echoed off the walls.
Raising up on my elbows above her, blood ran down her cheeks. Her two cocks stood at full staff. My splurge ran over the lips of her cunt as if it were molten lava.
There, she bestowed on me the light and true life of eternity. I vampire. Sebastian Oblivious.
With the accouterments of scent, smell, and directions, I sucked her two cocks as the hoops on her cunt tingled.
To my fellow class mates, I seemed erratic and eccentric, spending numerous hours in the woods. In reality, I was rendezvousing with (Feta Morgana) Diane. She was tutoring me how to be suave, debonair and to wear gentlemanly clothing. Attired as a 'Jim-dandy' and learning to swirl an ivory cane.
I hadn't seen Zaccheus in a few days, and she explained that he was only a 'dream creature' owning allegiance to her. In return she suckled him and allowed him certain leisure, as I now knew, such as turning into a wolf and howling. She explained that I envisioned him only because my imagination saw him as I wrote and masturbated at times; that he seduced me, yet he was charmed by my cock; that he was her sentinel, majordomo and candle-cock-stick maker.
There were candles in every room to ward away town people who had nasty habits of destroying liberal thinkers and the un-dead. She gave me the recipe for candles: wax, ground (Titan arum) carrion flower, ground wolves bones and dried sperm from bats.
Graduating three years after the bones and the wolf came, I returned home. I sailed back to Aberdeen on the very same ship I served as cabin boy. Only this time, being immortal, gifted, I lay in a wooden crate in the bowels down below, accompanied by my mentor, muse and lover, chilling beside me.
Now, a haberdasher of buttons and bones that have drawn dust on my shelves, the gentry of Aberdeen would not venture into this, a meager establishment such as mine. Cobblestones surpassed my dwelling some stones away, it being in an alley in the year 1775. The wooden sign above my portal-hatch stated, "Ole Buttons 'N' Bones and Comeuppance."
I think best when reclining in my sarcophagus, lying upon imported silk from the Orient, as my head rests on engraved head board of the Kama Sutra
. Customers are in short supply as many that arrive never leave mortal.
As I end this posting, preparing for my sleep, my muse is committing debauchery of her cunt with a carved phallus of bone. I watch from the corner of my eye. My cock stiffens beneath my britches as her womanhood geysers smoke and flames, like a Champagne cork popping, her two cocks dueling like cymbals, the phallus candles lit.
aka Adagio Sabadicus
~ ~ ~
As I read the last of the pages, they evaporated as if water in a shallow dish. The door of the shop opened, letting in the light, squeaking as if the hinges needed grease. I put my dark glasses on because direct sunlight gave my eyes discomfort.
Diane came in wearing her favorite aroma of apple-cinnamon and carrying a small package. Unwrapping phallus candles from the acquaintance last night, Zaccheus Amos, she says, "Write for me Adagio." In my immortal life
days and nights.
Those hours being spent
at my haunting.
My bookshop keep..
Keeping dust off the tomes.
promiscuous dust mites from floating.
In between masturbating.
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