Book of Love

In an Ageless Past

In the year 212 of the age of the Wolf, Boy woke early, the sun’s light not yet shining over the eastern ridge, and ate the cured meat left from the previous night’s meal and a chunk of fresh bread left for him by Otter, then drank fresh beer from the fermented wheat and breadcrumbs. He dressed in his work robe, the front double layered and the sleeves short so as not to get in the way. Otter would be at the Stapa, building up the fires and getting the waters up to temperature.

Boy came out on the roof terrace that was above Bear and Cub’s dwelling below. He crossed to the ladder and descended to the path that wove through their enclave. He followed it through their little village and up the west slope until he reached the Cave of White Towers where their Stapa sat by the mouth overlooking the valley. The white stone walls reflected the early morning light that began to shine over the eastern ridge and from the chimneys Boy could see the smoke billowing upward into the sky.

Boy thought of the tasks awaiting him in the Stapa. Another book was written by the scribes. Bull had brought it to them the day before, the pages on top still wet where the inks made large dots or thicker lines. The pages would be ready for their new preservation process, one that would allow the fragile paper to last a much longer time. They had been testing it for many moon cycles and were satisfied it was the best so far. The roiling waters brought up to temperature would be blended with elements from sacred plants, elusive fungi, and elements of the earth found in the cave. The pages would be hung over the pots for half a day, then taken outside and hung to dry. Only then would the process of sewing them into the leather binding begin. The leather for this book was on his table, spread out with cover side up, for he had been looking at Bull’s embossing. Detailed figures in various poses. Arms and legs so intertwined it was hard to decern one male figure from the next. And in each corner of the cover, the figures were intertwined in ways known to the men of the enclave. Ways sexual that provided the greatest pleasure. It was, after all what the book was about.

The enclave was a fellowship of men, those who are found to be different from the normal desires or lusts of men. They sought comfort and pleasure from other men. For each of them, when of age and unable to live among their society, they had made the journey to the valley, seeking admittance to the enclave. There were no rituals or relics of some religious belief required of the new members. They merely had to show they were of the same sexual awakening as those of the enclave. This each had done gladly, offering themselves to each man.

To make a life for themselves, the men farmed in the valley, hunted on the mountains, and sold the things they could make by hand. For their enclave, they performed the daily rituals of living; cooking foods, brewing beer, building furniture, making clothing, and coming together to erect a new dwelling. But the task they felt the most important was the book. They copied the original text from their founder, Pau-Pa, who lived in the age of the Bear. He had written of the physical and emotional attractions between men, drew the positions he found that gave the most pleasure, and since then others have added to the drawings. Now they copied the ancient text and drawings, a time-consuming process, but time was their luxury, and they gave of themselves freely, spending long days creating one page after the next, careful to make them an exact copy of the original.

Now a book was ready for processing, and it was Boy’s responsibility to make the pages ready for binding. Otter would then carefully sew them together then bind them in the leather covers. Boy knew this book should be ready for release in three days and he felt excited by the prospect. It had been three moon cycles since the last book, and six moon cycles before that.

Bull or Wolf would take it out into the world, putting it in one of the libraries nearby or giving it to a bookseller, one with a shop in a nearby city, or one who traveled by ox and wagon, with hopes it would reach the emerging cultures to the west, or maybe to the ancient cultures to the south or of the far east.

Boy descended the mountain, his robes stained and dirty and he desperate for a bath. But the thing he wanted first and foremost, was to find Otter. There was something about the processing the paper that was different from the past times. He didn’t know if there was something in the preservative that affected him or if it was just the excitement of another book being finished, but he wanted sex. It had never been like this before. This all-consuming desire for sex. To want another man. In his case, to want the only man he had known in the enclave after arriving three years ago and lying with each man. Some men lived with several others for one or two moon cycles, moving around from single man to single man, seeking one that they could bind with. The man that fit their wants and needs. Boy had been lucky, for it was the young man who came into the enclave the day after his own arrival.

Boy had arrived on his eighteenth year, average in height and hair lighter than most men, something he inherited from his mother who was from a region of the western cultures. He had blue eyes and high cheek bones and a small button nose where most men had brown eyes and strong noses that anchored their faces. Otter had the brown eyes, dark hair, and strong nose, and he was also tall, a full hand taller than most of the others, and lean in build. Although he was the same age as Boy, he looked younger, a body not yet filled out as a man, but he was in other ways, mature like a man, with a cock like a man, and Boy had felt such an attraction toward him that Bull, then Wolf took notice and paired them up. It was a temporary arrangement, one that could be broken any time by either of them to allow the seeking of another if either, so desired. Three years later, neither could imagine a life without the other.

Boy made his way home, cock pushing outward at the front of his robe. He had never felt such arousal and knew that it had been something to do with processing the pages of a book. There was something about it that just made him so aroused, so horny he could barely think straight. Otter would later joke it was the fungi they used in the mixture, and Boy wondered if there was some truth to it. Leaving the Stapa with the scent of the brew on him and his cock achingly hard, he knew there was something in the mixture affecting him.

Moving up the ladder, Cub was at his window and smiled knowingly as Boy passed. Across the terrace, he entered his home tugging the robe over his head. Otter climbed off the bed and came toward him. He was already naked.

“You too,” Otter uttered, his own cock curved upward, and the head flared wide.

Boy dropped his robe and pulled the drawstring of his undergarment letting it fall to his feet. He didn’t lose pace, stepping out of them as Otter and he came together.

“There was something about the…I don’t know; I’m just so horny,” uttered Boy breathlessly.

They grabbed each other, pulling bodies together and kissing with a lust and passion that was near insane. Otter pushed Boy back and went to his knees. Boy threw his head back and moaned as his hard cock sank into Otter’s mouth. He looked down as Otter’s head moved on his cock, and he combed his fingers through the dark hair, then balled his hand into a fist holding Otter’s head in place as he pumped his hips.

When Otter pulled back, Boy helped him to his feet and dragged him to their bed. He lay back holding up his legs. Otter took each at the ankle and spread them wide apart and moved up close. Boy reached between them, took Otter in hand guiding him to his opening.

“Do it. Do it, Otter. Put it in me,” Boy begged.

Otter pushed, slow but with determination. He breached the tightness feeling the head of his cock squeeze through it. He shivered at how it made him feel, the almost painful penetration, but he felt Boy push to take him, and he eased deeper and deeper until pressed against Boy’s ass. Then he began to fuck. To tug outward until nearly slipping free, then plunging back into Boy’s depths, over and over, until Boy was grunting with every thrust into his depths.

Boy grew animated, crying out and begging Otter to fuck him harder. Neither cared if Bear and Cub could hear them. They fucked until the bed protested beneath them, threatening to collapse.

Otter fucked until sweat trickled down his face and torso. He fucked until his face glowed red and his breathing became ragged. Then he pulled out and using one leg, guided Boy to flip over. He moved over the legs, forcing them together. He straddled the thighs as Boy angled his ass up and reaching back, spread the cheeks. Otter saw his target, the loosened opening, and he drove his cock through it and began to fuck again. He bounced off the round ass, hammering his cock inside Boy until he couldn’t hold back. He slammed into Boy and came, so hard he jerked and shuddered with each ejaculation.

Then Boy was up and on him.

Otter let Boy manhandle him, throw him down on the bed. Boy took his long legs and held them to his chest as he moved over the prone body. He folded Otter in half and shifted into position, his wet drooling cock at Otter’s hole. He pushed, then pushed again and Otter cried out as he breached the tight opening and buried half his cock inside of him.

Boy had been so aroused, he didn’t think he could last long. But he did. He fucked and fucked until he felt feverish. Then he rolled to his back and watched Otter sit on his cock.

“Ride me. Ride me, Otter.”

Boy watched Otter rise, his cock coming into view between them, then he watched Otter drop down and his cock disappear in Otter’s ass. Over and over, Otter moved up and down, and he slowly increased his pace. When it was a fuck, a hard physical fuck, Otter leaned back, pumping his ass up and down as hard and fast as he could, and Boy watched how it moved on his cock. He raked his hands up the smooth thighs, then he circled the tightening sac and tugged until it was dark red.

Otter moaned and slammed down on Boy’s cock.

Boy took Otter’s wet cock and stroked it to renewed hardness as Otter continued to move on his cock. Then he let Otter move through his fist. Otter working his ass up and down on Boy’s cock while pumping his own through the tight fist.

Boy threw his head back and shoved upward, so hard their bodies smacked together, and he came. With every ejaculation, he shoved upward. Over and over, he jammed his cock into Otter’s hole until spent and exhausted. Then he sat up, pushed Otter flat and sucked his wet drooling cock. His lips moved over the flared head and along the curved shaft only a few times and Otter was holding his head down pumping cum into his mouth.

Wolf left three days later and like each time before kept it a secret the destination he had chosen. Boy and Otter went to the Spata to clean up from the processing of the book. The only fire was the one in the room’s pit at its center, the smoke swirling up through the opening directly above.

Boy didn’t see what happened, only heard Otter cry out and looked around in time to see flames rise up from the firepit to the workbench. The flames rose quickly, fueled by some element they had used in the preservative. Soon the whole room was engulfed in flames and filling with smoke. They rushed out of the Spata and down the mountain to a safe distance where others had gathered.

They watched helplessly as the Spata burned until the stone walls began to collapse.

“What are we going to do?” whispered Otter.

Bear came up between Otter and Boy and hugged them.

“We’ll get the fire put out, then rebuild.”

“What about the preservative? The formula was on the workbench,” said Boy as he watched the last section of roof collapse, taking down the last corner of wall.

“It was Subz creation, maybe he’ll remember it. If not, we can go back to the old one,” said Bear.

Subz would never remember the exact mixture or all the elements he had used. He would create new preservatives and new processes. They would make more books, each treated in some new way, but the books would not last in the eons of time that lay ahead.

1089 C.E.

The monastery sat in the mountains within the Kingdom of Burgundy. It was on no major road, more than a day’s travel to the nearest village and further to any town or city of any significance. The men within sought solace in their solitude. Some for the sense it made them closer to their god. Others made it a penance to some past sin they had yet revealed in any confession. But more than anyone knew, some were seeking the isolation as a means of controlling their inner demons. They felt damaged, unfit for society, for they struggled with desires the church told them was an abomination. But the monastery was not what they believed it would be, and they struggled within the enclave of men, nothing but men, for it was another man they found sexual attraction. One such monk was Jovan.

Jovan was still in training, a young man of only eighteen abandoned on the steps of a church in nearby Lyon when just an infant. He arrived in the care of the nun who raised him with the strictest teachings of the church. He was shy, quiet, and struggled to make eye contact with the older men, especially Father Dominic and Father Octavius. Both men were tall and muscular, something their robes could not conceal, and Jovan struggled not to stare as he felt a shameful desire for both. He shared a small room with Caius, who was seven years his senior. Caius was diligent in his studies of the written texts and the churches interpretations. He spent hours at his desk, pouring over ancient texts and new copied ones by one of the monks, with Jovan looking over his shoulder or laying nearby on a bed watching him.

Jovan had seen Caius naked during their bathing and struggled to not stare at the lean muscular body, or the long flaccid cock that he imagined touching, taking it in hand, feeling it grow thick and long, like his own did whenever he found himself alone in some isolated place.

Jovan was in Father Flavius’ quarters, a room no bigger than his own, listening to a lecture on Paul’s travels in the holy land. Jovan listened intently as Father Flavius lowered his voice when speaking of Paul, almost reverent in his descriptions and reading of Paul’s letters. When the bell sounded it was like waking from a dream, and Father Flavius cleared his throat and closed his Bible while Jovan gathered his notes and prepared to head back to his room. It would be some time before evening meal, served after dark, and there was still plenty of daylight left in the day.

 “I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Jovan as he left the priest’s chambers.

“Make sure to read Paul’s next letter to the Corinthians,” said Flavius, following Jovan to the door to close it behind him.

Jovan moved through the corridors of the priests, then across the small courtyard, past the kitchen and storehouse, until moving along the arcade to the back of the complex where his room was located. Through the squeaking heavy wood door, down the dark corridor, Jovan moved silently not wishing to disturb the others who may be doing their own studies, until at his own room. He entered to find Caius already back from his studies with Father Venti. It surprised him, for Father Venti had no concern for someone else’s time, at times keeping Caius until evening meal was half over.

Caius was at his desk bent overlooking closely at an old book. He didn’t look around when Jovan entered the room, so Jovan eased up behind him to see what had his undivided attention. The first thing he noticed was how the pages of the book had a bluish-green tint. The second thing he noticed was the drawings on them. Men in various positions having sex. It took his breath to see such evocative images.

“Where did you get this book?” Jovan asked in a hushed whisper.

Caius jumped, then turned to look up at Jovan.

“I-I-I found it in the restricted section.”

“This was in our library?”

“Yes. I saw the binding and had to check it out. The binding was an old method and…the cover is exquisite. Look at it,” said Caius, closing the book so Jovan could see the embossed leather cover.

“But it…its forbidden, showing…” Jovan stammered, unable to say what he saw in the drawings.

“Is it?” Caius asked and it shocked Jovan. “You know Justus and Marcus are more than roommates, and –“

“What?”

“Come Jovan, didn’t you know?”

“No, but what about Father Augustus’ teachings?”

“I don’t know,” Caius replied, opening the book back to the drawings. He lightly rubbed the page along the edge, not daring to touch the illustration of a man on his back, folded in half with legs held down to his chest by another who was pushing cock into his ass.

“It gives me such a feeling to look at these. Even the feel of the paper makes my heart race,” said Caius as he reached with his other hand down to his crotch adjusting the tenting of his robe.

Jovan saw the aroused state of his roommate and he felt his own cock stir.

“Jovan, feel this paper. It is so smooth, slick to the touch. I don’t know how it was made but there is something unusual about it.”

Jovan reached out, hand shaking for he could not stop looking at the drawings and rubbed his index finger along the edge of the left page. It was slick and smooth, like polished stone, but there was something else about it too. He rubbed it again, fighting the urge to touch it over and over and over again. His heart began to race, and he felt so aroused his cock began to harden. He stepped back, afraid for Caius to see the obscene tenting of his robe, his cock pushing outward more and more.

“Jovan,” Caius whispered when he saw it, and he turned to him.

Jovan began to step back further but Caius reached out and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him closer.

“Jovan, do you think of it?” Caius asked as his eyes went from the tenting crotch up to Jovan’s eyes. “Do you?”

“Y-y-y-e-e-e-s-s-s,” Jovan stammered looking from Caius’ eyes down to where his cock was pushing out on his robe. He couldn’t believe how aroused he felt, such an intensity and want, it terrified him. He couldn’t look at Caius, but he did see Caius’ hand reaching out. It was shaking just as his own had done, but it didn’t hesitate as it reached for his cock. He couldn’t stop himself, moaning whorishly as fingers circled his cock. He closed his eyes while Caius manipulated him, made him so hard his cock ached with need.

“Jovan, can we…try?” Caius asked.

Jovan nodded his head, then the hand let go of his cock and he heard Caius move, knowing he stood in front of him. He opened his eyes when his robe began to be pulled upward over his head. He raised his arms as his vision was blocked by his robe.

The coolness of the mountain night caressed his exposed skin, and Jovan felt his nakedness like never before. He watched Caius toss it to the side then reach for the drawstring of his undergarment. A tug, then fingers working the knot completely loose, and the garment fell to his feet.

“Come Jovan, let’s get on my bed,” Caius whispered tugging on Jovan’s wrist.

Jovan stepped out of his undergarment and took the two steps over to Caius’ bed. His cock was so hard it angled upward, and he saw the clear bead pooling in the slit, then trickle over the head. He had never been so aroused.

Caius pulled his own robe off, then worked his undergarment to his feet. His cock was straight as the best timber and it flexed up and down, then drooled its slick. Jovan reached out and captured it, used it to slick his hand and with a rub over the head of Caius’ cock, slick it and the shaft. Caius moaned and shuddered with his manipulation, then took his cock in hand. They stroked each other until both were breathing hard and feeling a growing need for release.

“Will you do to me what you saw in the book?” Caius asked in a whisper as he pulled Jovan to his bed. “Will you? Will you put your cock in me?”

“Yes,” Jovan uttered a breathless reply as he moved over Caius, taking the held-up legs, and pushing them over and down just as the drawing showed him to do. A hand took his cock and guided it to the opening, and he pushed against its tightness. Over and over, Jovan pushed against it until he felt the unimaginable squeeze on the head of his cock as it breached the tightness.

Caius shuddered and stifled a cry out, then his fingers were digging into Jovan’s thighs.

“Fuck,” Caius uttered the profanity, then he lay back with eyes closed. “Don’t stop, Jovan, keep going.”

Jovan didn’t stop. He kept pushing, sinking deeper and deeper into Caius. He stretched him open and buried his thick cock inside of him, then held still savoring the feel of it. The tightness around the base of his cock that seemed to make him feel harder, if such a thing were possible. Then there was the heat of Caius’ hole that enveloped his cock. A soft warming heat. It made his cock flex to think of it. But this was just the penetration, and it was not nearly enough, and he tugged outward, feeling the tightness slide up his cock until just behind the head. A hesitation, then a push inward, sinking back into Caius’ depths.

Caius held Jovan by the waist as he worked his hips faster and faster. He pushed his cock into Caius depths and tugged outward until it nearly slipped free. He moved on Caius until he was fucking him. Fucking with a strength he didn’t know he possessed. He smacked against Caius’ ass as he hammered his cock into the depths of the hole. He thrust and tugged until no longer feeling the cool mountain air, instead he felt feverish, body burning up with sweat pouring down his face and chest.

“To fast…to quick,” Jovan uttered as he pulled out and rose to his knees. He was between Caius’ spread legs, and he reached down and took his slick cock, stroking it, then he took Caius’ cock and held the two of them together. Caius was longer, a head longer, but he was thicker. Together, the two cocks filled his hand, and he stroked them until Caius was pushing upward with his hips.

“Roll over,” Jovan uttered, for he wanted back in Caius. He wanted to feel his cock buried in him in that other position he saw drawn in the book. He wanted to experience all it could teach him in the ways of men and how they could use each other, He wanted to feel the manipulations and stroking of his arousal, and he wanted to fuck. To feel his cock piston inside another. Looking down, he knew it would be Caius that would share his desire for the exploration of sex between men.

Caius rolled to his stomach. Ass raised, Caius looked over his left shoulder and Jovan could see the hunger. This pure desire he now felt.

“Do it. Do it, Jovan. Fuck me,” Caius uttered.

Jovan moved over him, and his cock slipped between the spread cheeks and rubbed down the crevice until it found its target. A push, one hard push, and Jovan was half buried inside Caius. One more push and he was pressed tight against the raised ass.

Jovan held himself over Caius and began to fuck. He could look down between them and see his thick cock as he pulled upward, then watch it disappear once again in Caius as he slammed down against the raised ass. Over and over, flesh smacking flesh, Jovan pumped his cock in it. He fucked until the wood framed bed squeaked in protest, then banged against the stone wall. Only Caius’ moans and profane utterances were louder.

Then Jovan couldn’t hold back any longer. The surge of release coursed through him. Every muscle tightened and his cock swelled thicker as he hammered Caius’ insides. He shoved inward, hard, pinning Caius against the bed, and came. A cry out as his body shuddered as if possessed.

Jovan fell on top of Caius gasping for breath. He was burning up and the contact between them was hot and slick. He felt his cock flex with the last of his ejaculation, then hold still within Caius. It didn’t lose its hardness, instead it begged for more. More stimulation, more thrusting into Caius, and he rose to his knees and pulled Caius to get on his knees too.

“I want you…I want to do it again,” Jovan uttered as he reached around and took the long cock sticking straight out from Caius’ crotch. He stroked the drooling cock until his hand and the cock were slick while he daringly kissed the back of the neck, the side of it up to the ear, then using his other hand, turned Caius’ head to the side and kissed him on the mouth. It was an intimacy Jovan didn’t know if Caius was willing to show. But Caius kissed him back, hungrily, with a voraciousness that would make Jovan smile later on remembering what they had done.

A hand took his cock as Caius leaned forward. Jovan knew what to do, and he shoved into Caius depths, pulled him up and against his chest, and began to fuck. To drive cock into Caius’s depths. He hammered cock into him until he could feel the body shivering against his chest.

“OH…oh…fuck…Jovan, don’t stop, keep…going,” Caius stammered as he began to work his ass back on the cock thrusting forward.

Jovan fucked until the point of exhaustion, then he pushed Caius to his elbows and knees, held the waist in a tight grip, and began to fuck again. He fucked until his body smacked against round ass. He leaned over the prone body, reached around the narrow waist, and took the long cock, stroking it in rhythm with their fuck. Faster and faster, until gasping for breath.

Caius came first, shuddering beneath Jovan and spraying his bed with cum. Jovan felt it, how Caius’ ass spasm around his cock, and he pumped his hips as fast as he could, then shoved inward all the way and pumped a second load into Caius’ depths.

For a full cycle of the moon, they read the book, touched its pages reverently, then fucked to the point of exhaustion. They tried every position, each one a revelation, and some so embarrassing to Jovan he couldn’t ask Caius to do them. But Caius did as he desired, so often he felt almost weak the next morning.

During their chores, tending the goats, gathering eggs, hoeing the garden, or cleaning one of the Father’s chambers, Jovan would think of the intimacy they shared, and those things Caius was so willing to do. It made Jovan blush to think of Caius’ tongue touching him down there until he was wet and slick and wanting to feel Caius probing the depths of his ass. Then there was the odd taste of Caius cum, and how different from his own, yet alike in some way. He found himself struggling on whether, or not, he wanted Caius to pump it in his mouth or in his ass. Most often he got both.

But having that restricted book in their room made them fearful. If caught with it, they knew the Fathers would expel them from the monastery, and both feared the outside world that was so alien to them. It was decided they would get rid of it. To return it to the library would make it too much of a temptation and taking any book out of the restricted area was a risk, but taking this book was one too great to contemplate. On the night of the new moon, Caius carefully wrapped the book in thick wool and sewed it up. Once it was done, Jovan slipped it into his satchel, kissed Caius as if he feared it would be their last and slipped out. He made his way to the back gate, the one the villagers brought produce, milk, and cheeses for the monastery, and slipped out. He made his way down the mountain, hurrying along the dark road, with only a small torch as his only light. He passed through the village and took the road that ran along the bank of the river, following its course across the land.

Daylight, the very first vestiges of it, and Jovan found himself coming to the main river and town. He went straight to the dock, desperate to be rid of the book before he got caught with it. There were two boats being loaded for a journey down to the sea, and he moved to the side where a wooden box sat with the lid not yet nailed down. A quick look inside and he knew it was perfect for everything in it was wrapped in some fabric for protection. A look around to make sure no one was watching he slipped the book down one side then covered it with something that felt like pottery. Two steps back, he looked at the box that held the book in almost reverence, already asking himself if this was necessary. But he knew there was no other way. He turned and headed back up the road wondering if anyone would be suspicious of Caius’ story that he was sick in bed. It would take him all day to make the journey back so he would have the cover of darkness to slip back into the monastery, and into Caius’ waiting arms.

1486 C.E.

A-wut paddled upriver, the day’s catch laying in the bottom of the canoe. The sun was low in the western sky, barely above the heavy growth on the river’s bank. He rounded the familiar bend, the one just below his village. It came into view, the houses along the bank with their walk over the river’s edge, and behind them the small stone temple. Buddha sat over the entry with two spires each side. The walls and detailing were vividly painted and stood out against the teak and rose wood structures surrounding it.

Pulled up to the end of one walk, he tied off his canoe, picked up his day’s catch and headed to his home. He walked through the village, bowing slightly to each person he passed, until on the far side. Sitting at the edge of the forest, a modest house on stilts with half of its main floor open air, was home to A-wut and five other young men who were orphaned and left on their own. It had belonged to Niran’s family, but illness took his parents and siblings, leaving him alone. To keep his home and survive, the young Niran, only fourteen at the time, invited the other orphan boys to live with him. Kiet and Klahan were from the village, and Thuanthong had showed up one day from Ayutthaya, looking for a place he could find a way to survive. A-wut had come from upriver, from a village even smaller. He had been twelve, left to die by a cruel neighbor who wanted his family’s home. Young A-wut had found himself standing in the muddy lane between the houses hungry and abandoned. He turned his back on the village and headed south, following the narrow road that ran along the river’s bank, in places nothing more than a footpath, until he came upon Niran fishing in the river. He watched Niran pull one fish then another from the small net he used in the slow-moving waters.

Niran initially ignored A-wut, considering him just a curious boy, but the persistence in which he was watched finally caused him to look over. He recognized what he saw, an orphan like himself.

“Where are you from?” Niran asked.

A-wut pointed upriver.

“What’s your name?”

“A-wut.”

“I’m Niran. Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

Niran pulled to the bank, and watched the young boy climb into his canoe and sit in the bottom near the front.

“I have enough for our meal. We’ll head back.”

“Where?”

“Home,” Niran replied.

Back in the village, Niran introduced A-wut to the other boys. They were all older, Niran now fifteen, Kiet and Thuanthong were sixteen, and Klahan was almost eighteen, and they intimidated A-wut. But over the years, as the boys grew older, they became a family, one outside the norms of society, and A-wut grew into a young man, one quiet but resourceful. And he kept close to Niran, watching his every move. He found himself drawn to Niran, thinking of the older man, three years his senior in ways that caused him anxiety.

But A-wut kept a secret, one he was afraid to reveal, even to Niran. Especially Niran. He didn’t think of girls like Thuanthong and Kiet, constantly flirting with them or trying to get one to go with them. He thought of men instead, and none captured his attention, fueled his fantasies, and made his imaginings vivid and lurid like Niran. Niran was tall compared to the others, almost a head taller than he, and his lean body was strong with great stamina. A-wut considered himself too average, too much like so many other young men, he felt there was no hope of attracting another, most noteworthy being Niran. He would do anything for him. He even considered dressing as a woman, making himself a lady-man, if he thought it would work. But Niran was stoic, introverted about his own likes, and none more than who he felt an attraction. Not one girl in the village had ever captured his attention as far as A-wut knew, and this alone gave him hope. If only he knew how to act upon it.

After an afternoon rain, standing water still in the lanes, one of the monks of the temple came to their house, climbing up to the main level. He bowed to the young men, then turned to Niran.

“I’ve come to ask a favor.”

“Yes, please, ask us anything,” Niran replied, shocked anyone, especially one of the monks would come to them for a favor.

“We are in need of a couple of men to come help us clean the temple. We are down to only three of us and with our duties to the village, I’m afraid, well, we’re falling behind on maintaining the temple.”

“You want two of us to work in the temple?” Niran asked, shocked at the request.

“We talked and know we’re asking a lot, and we’ll compensate you as best we can.”

“There is no need for compensation. We’ll do it willingly,” Niran replied, then he looked around the room, seeing two of the others nodding in agreement and two others remaining stoic, knowing they did not agree. “Kiet, A-wut, one of you willing to help me?”

“I will,” A-wut spoke up first, his reply, a burst of air.

“Very good,” said the monk, “when can you start?”

“We can come in the morning,” said Niran.

“That would be wonderful. I’ll await your arrival.”

The monk bowed and the five young men bowed in return, then watched the monk climb down and stroll away, heading back to the temple.

The next morning, A-wut followed Niran into the village to the temple at its center. It was a modest structure, small by comparison to most of the temples of the country. It sat within a low ornamental wall, the entry framed by stone lantern and Buddha sitting over it. The walking path crossed the small yard where steps led to the entry, for the wooden structure sat on a raised stone base. It had two roof lines, the front lower than the back, with ornamentation along its edge and ridge. No wall surface was left unadorned and all of it was painted vivid colors.

Niran followed by A-wut passed through the front doors into a hall with rooms down each side, and at the end of the hall, one large room with a larger statue of Buddha positioned at the rear wall facing all who enter.

Two monks came from one of the rooms behind them and bowed when A-wut and Niran turned to face them.

“We have what’ll you need in this room,” said one monk pointing toward the door of the room they just came out. “We would like you start in here, wiping everything down, then doing the floor.”

“Show us where the supplies are located and we’ll get started,” Niran replied.

Niran and A-wut cleaned all morning, and part of the afternoon after a meal of fruit. They had cleaned the main room, the hall to it and three of the four rooms. They were told to leave the fourth room alone for it was a small library and was not to be disturbed.

On the way home, A-wut sped up until he was walking by Niran’s side.

“What do you suppose is in the library?” A-wut asked.

“I have no idea, but we’re to stay out of that room. You heard them.”

“I know, but…you think there is some ancient treasure or a book of magic in there?”

“No. If they had such, don’t you think they would have used it to help our village?”

“No…maybe. I don’t know,” A-wut replied in a moment of blunt honesty. He rarely expressed himself and Niran smiled to himself as he saw the confusion on A-wut’s face.

They went to the temple on days after a new moon or a full moon, cleaning the same three small rooms, hall, and the main room in back. They helped with sweeping the paving stones within the low wall, pulling up grasses and plants that had taken root in cracks and crevices. And each full moon cycle one of the monks would share in some fruit or fresh meat or fish that had been given to them.

One particular hot humid day, the cleaning almost complete, A-wut came out of the storeroom after putting away his cleaning supplies to see a monk exit the forbidden room. Although the monk pulled the door to, it did not latch and as the monk left out the front doors, the door creaked open. A-wut looked around, then crossed the narrow hall and pushed it open. On one side of the room was shelves of statuary, most images of Buddha, and on the opposite wall were paintings of the Buddha under a Bodhi Tree, Buddha on a mountain, and Buddha in front of the temple in which A-wut was standing. The latter lacked the quality of the other two paintings and A-wut wondered if someone in the village had done it.

On the back wall was books and a few scrolls. Most looked new, the paper still white with clean edges. But some were old, the papers yellowing with damage along their edges. A-wut went to shelves and looked at all the different bindings, wondering what each contained. He couldn’t read, only Niran and Thuanthong could do that, and Niran not very well. But he still felt fascinated by what knowledge each held. He stooped down and saw the bottom shelf had wood boxes. Most were plain, but one had been painted red with a dragon on the front. It looked like some of the images he had seen in some of the boxes of goods that came upriver. He knew they came from China.

Looking over his shoulder making sure he was still alone; he slipped the red box from the shelf setting it on the floor. He tried to lift the lid, getting frustrated by its refusal. He tugged at each corner, then by happenstance, pushed to the side and the lid slid open. There was a sheet of paper with writing on it and a sketch of an evil looking creature. A-wut lifted it out and set it the side ignorant of any warning it might have been trying to relay. Beneath it was a fabric wrapped object with loose stitching. He lifted it out carefully, knowing it was old, very old, and gently unwrapped what was inside.

A-wut gasped at the leather volume he uncovered, the cover beautifully embossed and its sewn binding slightly loose, allowing the book to feel like it was moving within his hands. He sat on the floor, legs crossed, and placed the book on his lap and stared at the leather cover. At first the decorative border around the front was just a random pattern, but then he saw it. The intertwined men, naked and with hard cocks. He felt it, some kinship to the images. He imaged them moving, bodies undulating in the throes of sex. Then he grew more curious of its contents and opened it. He didn’t recognize the writing and knew it was not from any place in the region, not even Chinese. Then he noticed the paper, bluish-green, and so smooth to the touch. He lightly rubbed his finger along the edge of the page knowing to keep off the writings. It was like rubbing a river stone, so smooth and slick. His heart began to race with his excitement. He turned the page, seeing more writing, then he turned the page again and found himself holding his breath. On the two pages before him were drawings. Drawings of men doing those things he had only vague notions. Positions he had imagined with Niran. It was the details of each that filled in his naivety. A man on his hands and knees, like an animal, with another behind him on knees, with his cock in the man’s ass. There was a man on his back, legs held up and spread wide apart revealing the most intimate area of his body, and A-wut couldn’t take his eyes off what the man was doing. The man was reaching around one thigh and inserting what looked like a carved cock into his ass. A-wut felt his own cock harden as he imagined it, the penetration and how it might feel. Below this drawing was another of three men. The one in the middle lay on his back, with his legs pushed against his chest. One of the other men was putting a cock in his ass and the other was putting a cock into his mouth. A-wut stared at the image, imagining it was he in the middle. It was he taking a man in his mouth and in his ass at the same time. He struggled to sit still, sorely tempted to sneak off to masturbate to release. Instead, he adjusted his erection and turned the page to more drawings of men having sex.

“A-wut? Where are you?” Niran called out.

A-wut quickly wrapped the book, placed it back in the box, set the page he knew had to be warning on top and slid the lid closed. He set it back on the shelf, then eased to the door and peeked out. Niran was walking toward the back wall, and he slipped out, then pretended to have come in from the front doors.

“Niran, are you looking for me?”

Niran turned, surprised to see him in the hall.

“Yes, where were you?”

“Outside. I had to go relieve myself.”

“Oh. Well, I have finished in here so if you’re finished, let’s put everything away and go home.”

Over the next few cleanings, A-wut grew more and more bold in pulling out the box and looking at the book. He gently touched the edge of the pages feeling his heart race in his excitement and arousal. After finishing the cleaning, he would find an excuse to wander off so he could relieve himself of the near painful state of his arousal. Then came the day it rained.

A-wut had the box out, flipping through images of men having sex, so lost in it he did not hear the rains. He tugged on his cock as he imagined it was him doing those things. That he would take a man in his mouth, in his ass, or if they were willing, letting him do it to them. He didn’t hear Niran call his name, nor did he hear the door swing open.

“What are you doing in here?” Niran exclaimed.

A-wut jerked around and tried to close the book.

“Nothing. I was just looking at the books.”

“We’re not supposed to be in here.”

“I know and I think it is because of this book,” A-wut replied bringing the book around and setting it on the floor in front of Niran. It was opened to some of the images and Niran stared wide-eyed for too long, then he stammered while glancing back at the door then back to A-wut.

“You have to put it back. We can’t be seeing this.”

“Why not?”

“It’s…forbidden.”

“Is it? Is it really forbidden?”

“Just put it away and let’s get out of here.”

On the walk home A-wut could see Niran was acting nervous, not even looking back to make sure he was keeping up. Once they got home, Niran addressed the others as they prepared their evening mean, but not once did he address A-wut.

That night, the house quiet with the night breeze blowing through the open upper room, A-wut got up and eased to where Niran lay. Niran looked asleep but A-wut knew he wasn’t for Niran was too still, his breathing too regular.

“Niran, will you please talk to me?”

Niran rolled over and faced the dark silhouette by his mat.

“Go to sleep, A-wut.”

“But…can we talk about it?”

“No.”

“Why? Did it bother you to see those images, or do you like me, think of it?”

Niran jerked up and faced A-wut, the truth hovering between them.

“A-wut,” Niran whispered in a low sad voice, “we just can’t.”

A-wut watched Niran lay down and turn away from him. He knew there was no use pushing the issue for Niran would only become more stubborn in his refusal to discuss it. He looked at the others wondering if any of them every thought of it, or if he was the only one.

The next cleaning found A-wut sweeping the area between the temple and the low wall. He swept slowly, with his mind lost in thought. He wondered about the person or persons who drew the images and if they did those things. He wondered where the book came from, for he knew of no writing in the region that looked anything like it. He finally made it to the back corner where he had started, sweeping up the last of the leaves. He stood straight, stretched his arms, then headed inside. The temple was quiet, and he realized he had not seen Niran for some time. He put the broom away and came back to the hall, looking around for him. He started to call out, then thought better of it, for he saw a shadow move under the door of the forbidden room.

A-wut crossed the hall and eased the door open gasping at what he saw. One of the monks was standing in the room naked, his robe tossed on the floor. In front of him on their knees, was Niran, sucking his cock. Niran was naked too, with his cock sticking straight out. When Niran went to pull off the monk’s cock and look over, hands held his head in place.

“A-wut, come in and close the door behind you,” said the monk as he sank his cock into Niran’s mouth.

A-wut came in seeing the book open on the floor on the other side of them. He moved close, until standing next to Niran and watched as the monk pushed hard cock into Niran’s mouth.

“You like watching Niran sucking my cock?”

A-wut nodded.

“You want to join us?”

A-wut looked up at the monk, afraid to admit how much he wanted to do just that.

“Why don’t you go to the book and point at the image you like the best. The one you’d like to try.”

A-wut moved around Niran, seeing his friend differently than before. He had seen Niran naked, plenty of times, but never so aroused as to have an erection. He had thought of him in a sexual way but to see it, Niran naked, aroused, and sucking cock, made it real. He squatted before the book and looked at three men having sex, one on his back taking the other two, one in the mouth and one in the ass and he pointed at it.

“Go on, touch the image. Feel the smoothness of the page. Feel how it makes you feel to touch it. Go on, A-wut,” said the monk.

A-wut put his finger to the paper, circling the image of the three men. He felt his heart begin to race and he was breathing harder. Then he felt his cock stir, awaken from his initial fear, hardening with his arousal. He rubbed his finger down the page and felt his cock flex in its confinement.

“A-wut, go on, take off your clothes,” said the monk as he pulled Niran’s head from his cock.

“Yes, A-wut, take off your clothes,” said Niran.

A-wut felt feverish with lust. He began to sweat, and his cock grew rock hard. He looked at Niran and saw how flush he looked, how the eyes were wide and glazed over, and how his body showed a state of arousal. Nipples sticking out hard, muscles tight beneath the skin and the skin glistening wetly, cock hard as rock angled upward, and the sac drawn up tight as if he were ready to come.

A-wut tugged off his shirt, then his pants and he felt hands undoing his undergarment. It was Niran. When the undergarment fell to his feet, he stepped out of them moving to Niran. They kissed and felt the other’s body. A-wut took Niran’s cock and just as quickly felt a hand wrap around his own. Then the shadow of the monk moved over them, and more hands were touching and feeling and stroking.

A-wut became lost to these new experiences. He lost track of whose cock he was sucking, and who was sucking him. He felt fingers at his opening, and he spread his legs inviting the manipulation. He was penetrated by a finger, then two, finally three, that twisted and turned until he took them easily. He was moved to a mat and laid on his back. Niran was at his head, and he took his cock, letting it slip between his lips and slide over his tongue. He felt the monk between his legs. Hands took each one, lifted them up, then pushed them until knees pressed against the mat either side of his chest. A rub of his exposed ass, then an insistent push against it and he knew it was the monk’s cock. It pushed until he stretched open. He shuddered as his hole stretched open for the cock. He felt how it penetrated him, continuing to push inward.

He opened his eyes and watched Niran’s tight sac move back and forth over his face as cock fucked his mouth. He reached up and held Niran’s thighs, feeling the movement of their fuck. He moaned and grunted around Niran’s cock as the monk bore deeper and deeper until he felt the man’s body against his ass. Then he felt the tug outward, the fullness of penetration diminishing, and he wanted to cry out No, not yet. Then he moaned as the monk pushed inward again. Soon the monk was fucking him, driving into his depths over and over. He felt a hand on his cock, stroking it roughly as he took Niran and the monk.

Niran shifted above him, and he opened his eyes again to see him lean over his prone body. He felt his cock sink into the slick warmth of Niran’s mouth, and he shivered with the joy of it.

Niran sucked his cock as he sucked him, and the monk fucked him with greater and greater intensity. Soon there was the sound of flesh smacking against flesh, moans and grunts that were far too loud, and the sucking slurping sounds of Niran and him. The monk came first, shoving into A-wut’s depths then shuddering with release as he kept jamming cock into him with every ejaculation. Once spent the monk pulled out of A-wut and got to his feet. He stood to the side and watched them suck each other, encouraging them to come.

Niran came first, pumping thick wads into A-wut’s mouth. It triggered A-wut and he shoved upward and did the same to Niran. Once they were spent, the two of them exhausted, Niran rolled to his back next to A-wut. They looked around the room and realized the monk had dressed and left them alone.

They smiled at each other, oeach nervous and full of worry that the other would say the wrong thing. They climbed to their feet and dressed with their backs turned to the other.

“Niran, I’m not sorry we did it.”

“I know,” Niran finally replied. “Come on, we should leave before one of the other monk’s catches us in here.

On the walk home, A-wut couldn’t stand it and he moved in front of Niran stopping him in the lane.

“How did you get the monk to have sex with you?”

Niran looked around nervously, then he stepped closer to A-wut.

“I was looking at the book and he caught me. He had me do the same thing you did. Pick and image and touch the page, rub my finger over it and…and…it made me so horny I would have done anything to have sex with him.”

A-wut nodded in understanding, then turned toward home.

“Come on, we need to prepare a meal. I’m starving.”

The next visit to clean, the A-wut and Niran rushed to finish. There were two monks in the temple, but they left as Niran was cleaning the main room while A-wut swept outside. Once the two of them were finished, Niran followed A-wut to the forbidden room. As soon as they stepped into it, they saw the box was gone. Before leaving, they would find out the monk they had sex with had left the next day, and they knew without being told, he took the box with the book with him.

But A-wut and Niran didn’t need the book. They just needed it to free them of their hesitancy and fears. They remodeled their house, building a partition across the open room, one side just large enough for the two of them and the larger side for the other three. They formed a relationship, and the others didn’t interfere, and their sex was tentative at first, not as freely explored as it had been with the monk, but over time they became comfortable with the other and gave freely of themselves, both in their pleasures and in their lives.

1892 C.E.

Arthur moved along the crowded walk, always amazed at the mass of humanity that filled London. He walked in a slow gait, too tired from a long day at the printers where he did the most menial of tasks, to move as fast of the others, who acted as if they were always running late. He walked down the main street of the business district, then turned down the alley that led to his small apartment located over The Mystic Hound Tavern. It caused him many a sleepless night and having to rise at daybreak to get to work on time, made him move through the days as if in a trance. He felt as if he was losing his mind. There were times he swore he saw his dead mother waiting at street corners, probably to admonish him for not being as successful as Thomas, Jack, and Charles, his three older brothers. But they had their father’s favor and support.

At the door that led to the apartments, Arthur swung the door open and climbed the old wooden stair hearing the fourth and tenth tread squeak under his weight. The corridor was quiet, all the others out, most at some miserable job, but Sally in 2F was probably earning money in what some called the oldest profession. Arthur had wondered more than once, if there was a way for a nineteen-year-old man to earn money in the same manner. He knew there were young men down at the docks that survived by doing so, but most lived on the streets, and Arthur hoped never to be so desperate.

In his one room apartment, he collapsed on the narrow hard bed, staring up at the water-stained ceiling. How a ceiling two floors down from the roof could be stained often worried him, but on this evening, he just stared at the patterns. He saw an elephant, a dog, or was it a wolf, then he saw a man with an erect cock, and it made him think of it, his inner desires, this want of someone of the same sex. He rolled to his side facing the wall and tried to stop thinking of it.

There were footsteps coming down the corridor and Arthur assumed it was Harold coming home from the docks, but the steps stopped at his door. Then a loud knock made him sit up and stare at it. Could it be father sent someone to harass him about his life?

“Coming,” Arthur uttered, climbing off the bed.

Arthur eased the door open and saw a young man with a cap pulled low shadowing the eyes. It was the style those that delivered telegraphs. It didn’t make sense one would be at his door, for his father had made it clear after catching him with the stable boy that he was disowned. His brothers had mocked him, laughed as he walked out of their home with two suitcases, all he could carry. They had made comments about their inheritance increasing in size, as Arthur went down the steps and across the cobblestoned courtyard. He had followed the drive through the gate and to the street and he followed the street to the next one, then the next as he headed south to London, the only place he knew to go in hopes of getting a job.

“Yes?”

“Telegraph, for Samuel Percy Arthur Saunders.”

“That’s me,” Arthur replied, knowing no one could have the same name as he, hating Percy and avoiding the use of Samuel for it was the way his father had always referred to him.  He reached out and took the telegraph and as soon as it was out of the delivery man’s hand, he had turned and rushed back down the corridor to the stair.

Arthur closed the door and sat on his bed before reading it, fearing what it would contain. He looked at the name of the sender, for a moment not believing what he was seeing. It was an attorney, one in Plymouth. He knew no one in Plymouth. Then he went back to the top and began to read the text.

On the fifth of August, in the year Nineteen Hundred Eighty-Two, Samuel Percy Arthur Saunders is to present himself to the law offices of Ackerman, Cheatham, & Welbourne, at 132 Alfred Street, Plymouth for the reading of the will of Stephen Francis Talbot. 

Arthur gasped, shocked to read his Uncle Francis, his mother’s oldest brother, had passed away. He remembered seeing him four years ago at his grandfather’s funeral, knowing Francis was the black sheep of their family, one who had left when he was sixteen and had only returned on special occasions over the years. He had liked him and didn’t understand how the family could be so cruel toward him, even telling Francis he was not to show up at their parent’s house after the grave side service. Only his mother had shown Francis any kindness, and Arthur had found himself drawn to the man, some kindred spirit beyond mere blood. He went back to the telegraph and continued reading, how the attorney would have transportation for him, scheduled to pick him up on the twenty-eighth of July, giving him time to rest once in Plymouth. He would have accommodations at an inn near the attorney’s office and all his travel expenses would be covered.

Arthur dropped his hand, almost letting the telegraph fall to the floor wondering why his uncle had made such accommodations for him. He wondered if his brothers would be there too, or maybe his Uncles Walter and Earl, the two younger brothers. Laying back on the bed, he realized this would cause him to lose his job if he left, and he wondered if it was worth it for him to go. He held the telegraph up and stared at it, knowing he would go for it couldn’t make his life more miserable than it was already.

On the morning of the twenty-eighth, Arthur slung a bag over his shoulder that contained all his earthly possessions, knowing no matter what happened in Plymouth he could not come back to this place. The landlord had already told him he had two dock workers ready to move in. It was so early in the morning the alley was in dark shadow with the street ahead brightly illuminated. Just before getting to the end of the alley a stagecoach pulled to a stop in front of him. The Whip climbed down and opened the door to it.

“Mr. Saunders?” the Whip asked.

“Yes, that is me.”

Arthur sped up until at the door. He hesitated for when he saw the Whip, he froze. The guy was about his age, and unlike most Englishmen, he had dark skin and dark hair. He looked at the stoic face and saw the blue eyes looking back.

“I…huh…I’ll get in,” Arthur stammered.

The door closed behind him, then the stagecoach rocked as the Whip climbed back into his seat. A click of the tongue and some utterance he couldn’t hear clearly, the stagecoach jerked to a start and began to move up the street.

Over the next four days, the stagecoach stopped every fifteen or so miles to change horses and each time Arthur climbed out to stretch his legs and allow himself a look at the driver. He sized him up, gauged the type of body that was within the formal attire. He saw the shirt sleeves tighten when the guy lifted something. He stared at the seat of the pants when the guy bent over, tight over the round ass. On the third stop, the guy caught him staring. Arthur had turned away and strolled off a few steps hoping the Whip didn’t leave him behind for gawking at his ass. But a few minutes later, sitting on a bench at the stable, the guy came over with bread, cured meat, and cheese.

“You should eat something.”

“Thanks,” Arthur replied, taking the wood plank with the food on it.

“The owner’s wife will bring us something to drink in a minute.”

“Okay,” Arthur replied, and when the guy turned to walk back toward the stable, he called out. “I never got your name.”

The guy stopped, then looked over his right shoulder. “Henry.”

“Henry; nice to meet you,” said Arthur.

Henry gave a slight nod then continued to the stable. Arthur saw the owner’s wife come out with food for Henry and two mugs. Henry took one, then she came to over to Arthur and handed him the other.

“Thank you,” said Arthur.

“You’re welcome. I guess you’ll be on your way soon.”

“I guess so. Do you have many travelers coming through?”

“Yes, but none like you. We thank you for the compensation.”

“Don’t thank me. It was my uncle’s doing.”

“Well, thank him for me.”

“I will,” Arthur replied, unable to tell her he had passed away.

Arthur carried the plank and empty mug to the stable, telling one of the workers to make sure the owner’s wife got them back. He heard the horses whiny, and then Henry walked by the open door to the stable. Arthur moved to the door and saw Henry preparing the stagecoach for departure.

“Mr. Saunders, go ahead and get in for we’ll be leaving soon,” said Henry while checking the harnesses.

“Call me Arthur; please.”

Henry stopped and looked around with a stoic expression. “Very well. Arthur.”

The next day, on their third stop, Arthur made his way into a small tavern of the village they found themselves. Henry stayed behind to see to the switching of horses. Arthur sat at one of the small tables along the front wall at the only window and ordered a bowl of stew, then a slice of cobbler washing all of it down with a mug of beer. He was finished except for his beer, which he found himself sipping slowly, just enjoying the calm quiet solitude of the tavern. It was too early for lunch, and he had the place to himself, until Henry came strolling in.

Henry went straight to the small bar to sit, and Arthur sat up, calling out to him.

“Henry, come sit,” said Arthur, pushing the other chair out from the table with his foot.

Henry turned to him as if seeing him for the first time and Arthur swore, he saw him grimace, but Henry came to his table and took a seat.

“The horses hitched up, ready to go?” asked Arthur.

“Yes. Let me eat something and we’ll be on our way.”

“No rush. I’m still working on this,” Arthur replied holding up the mug.

Henry ordered the stew at Arthur’s recommendation and a beer, then sat back looking down into his lap.

“Have I pissed you off or something?” asked Arthur.

“What? No, of course, not,” Henry replied.

“Then why do you avoid me so?”

“It’s just…you’re a passenger and in three days we’ll be in Plymouth and-“

Henry stopped, let the sentence hang between them.

“So, what. We can be cordial to each other. You know, maybe have a conversation. You’re the first person I’ve been around in…a very long time who wasn’t telling me what to do.”

Henry looked up surprised.

“What? You thought you were taking royalty or some prominent family member to some big meeting? I assure you, I’m nothing but a disowned…” Arthur looked past Henry then down to the table. “Just the black sheep sent away to fend for himself.”

“I’m sorry but all this, the stipulation to treat you to whatever you need, no expense sparred.”

“Henry,” said Arthur leaning over the table closing the distance between them, “I have no idea what in the fuck is going on. My uncle, another black sheep, I might add, has passed away and I’m to be at Ackerman, Cheat…something or another by the fifth of next month, and I suspect you know as much as I about why me.”

“I’m just a driver.”

“And I just a passenger.”

Henry smiled, the first time.

“Oh my God, a smile from the stoic Henry. Get the man another beer!” Arthur called out, suddenly laughing hysterically.

Henry laughed.

“Henry, tell me your story. Entertain me with your wild adventures.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Okay, look, I’ll go first. I’m the youngest of four sons to the Thomas Edward Garrison Saunders III, and four years ago, fuck, next month, my saint of a mother died leaving me in the care of my father. A year later, three days after my sixteen birthday and after catching me…catching me,” Arthur stumbled over his words, unable to say the truth, “he disowned me and sent me away. He gave me forty pounds which I added to it the twenty pounds, forty pence in my pocket and set out for a life of servitude in London. I work in a print shop doing the cleaning and moving of all their stuff around as they command, which they do constantly. I work…worked…six days a week for ten to twelve hours a day and in my free time I ate and slept, or tried to sleep since I lived over a tavern sleeping was damn near impossible,” said Arthur, sitting back when he finished.

“Why did he kick you out?” Henry asked.

Arthur saw it, the desire to know the truth, but he couldn’t say it.

“Let’s just say I disappointed him not being the man he wanted.”

Henry nodded as if he understood. He looked at the door, then at Arthur. “We should go.”

“What? Hell, no. You owe me a story. The story of Henry. I told you mine.”

“Very well,” said Henry and when he spoke next his voice was lower, deeper, and Arthur had to lean forward to hear him. “I grew up in Bristol. My father was a teacher, and mother, she kept up the household for there were five of us. Three older sisters, Mary Elizabeth, Emily, and Ruth Anne, then there was my brother, Isaac. I came along sometime later, when Isaac was six and the girls were eight, ten, and thirteen. I didn’t understand it, how lucky we were, to have two loving parents and a father who could take care of us. Then mother fell sick, then Mary Elizabeth, who had just turned seventeen. It was…mother died, then Mary Elizabeth a week later and the others came down with it one after the other until only I was alone trying to care for them,” said Henry, a tear trickling down his cheek. “Isaac died last, and that night a neighbor found me in front of our house. I was four.

“I ended up in an orphanage and once I turned fifteen, I left and made my way south. I had no idea where I was going, but I took any job I can find earning enough for food and the occasional warm bed. By the time I arrived in Plymouth I was seventeen and desperate. I worked at the docks…at night, and…” Henry stammered to a stop.

Arthur realized what Henry had confessed and regretted making him tell of it.

“Look, you can stop. We can just pay up and leave.”

“No, it’s good to say it, to finally say it aloud. I’ll finish.

“One night a man came down to the docks. I thought he was looking for company, but he just stood on the end of the longest pier, smoking his pipe, and staring up at the night sky. When he finally made his way back, I approached him before he stepped off the dock. The way he looked at me, this concern I’d not seen in a very long time. I told him I…I would…” Henry stammered, struggled to say it.

“Henry, just skip that part. I don’t want to make you say it.”

“It’s okay. You don’t know me and will not see me after we get back to Plymouth,” Henry replied, then he took a long drink of his beer. He set the mug on the table and looked down, unable to make eye contact as he continued. “I offered myself to him, gave him a price I thought he couldn’t refuse, one cheaper than the other boys on the dock. I told him I’d do anything for I needed money.

“He refused me, told me I needed to get off the dock. I told him I had no choice. No one would have someone like me working in their shop. He handed me a wad of bills and told me to get a nice room in town and a decent meal, then he asked about my name. I looked at that wad of bills and wanted to leave with him. I wanted to be kept by him. Any man who could afford to just hand out pound notes the way he did, well, I thought could afford to take care of me.

“I told him my name then watched him leave the docks, walking back into town.”

“You don’t know who he was?”

“Not at the time but…”

“And?”

“First, I have to tell you want happened next. The next morning, and I swear to God I don’t know how they found me, but someone from the law firm called me down from my room at the inn. He took me to this boarding house, set me up with a room and gave me a job in the firm’s stables. That was three years ago.”

“You’ve been working for that law firm for three years?”

“Yes. I initially saved money thinking I would take off, leave Plymouth to put my time on the docks behind me, then I realized it didn’t matter, and I began to save for my own place. The job is good, and I enjoy the traveling to pick up a client or take one of the partners to some destination.”

“And who was the man who helped you?”

“Stephen Francis Talbot; your uncle.”

Arthur sat stunned by the revelation, then he laughed.

“Of course, it was,” Arthur uttered, then finished his beer. He leaned forward again, suddenly serious. “Have you got a wife, or girlfriend?”

“No. We should leave,” Henry stated changing the subject as he pushed back and came to his feet. “I’ll pay the tab and be out shortly,” Henry added, bringing the conversation to an end.

The next two days passed too quickly for Arthur, for he was beginning to feel something toward Henry as they got to know each other. They shared meals and Arthur came to watch him change the horses instead of wandering off. And at night when they stopped at an inn, Arthur wanted to ask Henry to come to his room. But Henry kept his distance, despite opening up and becoming friendly toward him. He maintained a bit of his stoic nature, especially when around others.

There had been times Arthur wanted to turn back time, go back to that morning in the small tavern and admit to his short-lived fling with the stableboy. He wanted Henry to know, thinking they were the same. But in times of doubt, thinking about how Henry had been forced into having sex with men for money, he wondered if Henry were normal in his proclivities, and would find his advancement appalling. In the end, he found he just didn’t have the courage to admit to his desire for other men and how attractive he found Henry.

Arthur sat in the conference room of the Ackerman, Cheatham, & Wellbourne, watching the wind blow the drizzling rain against the window. It had started right after his arrival, and he was thankful it had not started sooner for he had no umbrella.

A clock chimed somewhere within the office and Arthur wondered how long he had been waiting. He kept looking around at the door expecting it open any minute. He expected one of his brothers or maybe it would be an uncle that showed up, or worse, all of them. He could not be the only person to be there for the reading of the will.

Voices in the hall, then the door opened, and two men came in. One appeared to be sixty, maybe older, a ring of hair around a bald head, a long neatly trimmed beard, and attire of someone of means. The other was younger, with salt and pepper hair cut short and clean shaven, and Arthur guessed he was in his fifties. Upon their arrival he stood wondering if he should move to the sofa at the side of the room instead of sitting right in front of the large wood desk.

“Arthur, I’m Franklin Ackerman who has represented your uncle for the last twenty years, and this is Robert Lawson, your uncle’s partner for the last twenty-three-“

“Twenty-four,” Robert interjected.

“I stand corrected,” Franklin replied, smiling at Robert. “It has been a long time. Robert, this is Francis’ nephew, Arthur Saunders.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you. Your mother and Steph maintained contact over the years. It was such a tragedy about your mother.”

“You knew my mother?”

“Not personally. I never accompanied Steph when he made one of his rare visits.”

“Just as well, for no one but mother had anything to do with him,” Arthur replied. “So, you’re a business partner?”

Robert and Franklin laughed, good naturedly. “Oh heavens no. We were, how should I say it, a couple, like your mother and father, but without the contract.”

“Oh, I see.”

“I had little to do with Steph’s business, but I did enjoy our little adventures when we traveled.”

“What did he do?”

Robert looked at Franklin surprised. “You didn’t tell him?”

“No, I figured we’d discuss it with the reading of the will,” Franklin replied.

“Oh, Franklin, the boy doesn’t know a thing. Arthur, you uncle collected and traded in the antiquities.”

“Really?”

“He loved the hunt for some historical artifact or some little precious treasure. It was a bit much at times, but Steph provided us a good life.”

“But why am I here. I mean, after what happened with Uncle Stephen and the family, I would have thought everything would go to you and I…”

“Would have no reason to be here?” Robert asked with raised eyebrows and a mischievous grin.

“Yes.”

“Steph and I were to retire, one year maybe two years from now. We were all set up. Three years ago, we bought this little place in Anguilla, an island in the Caribbean where we were going to move after selling off everything. But when we got back, Steph got sick and nothing the doctors did helped then they…it was obvious by this past winter there was nothing they could do. Steph changed his will, and we settled down at home in Port Isaac.

“He made me promise I would go on to Anguilla, for he knew that had been my idea, not his. I love the warm gentle climate, and the turquoise waters are just magnificent. So, I’m here to make the final arrangements, then tomorrow morning I will board one of the ships in harbor and leave this cold wet miserable place.”

Arthur waited, expecting Robert to continue, but it became obvious he had nothing else to say.

“I think it is time to read the will,” said Franklin, sliding out a sheath of documents.

Arthur listened intently as Franklin read the will. Steph stared out the window unconcerned with it, obviously knowing what it contained already. But for Arthur it was surreal, something that made no sense. He listened to Franklin read the provisions, how Robert had a sizeable account withdrawn from the estate and had full title to the property in Anguilla, relinquishing all ownerships and claims on the remaining properties and cash investments of everything that resided at the residence and business or residential properties in Port Isaac, Plymouth, London, Paris, and Santorini.”

“It’s all mine?” said Arthur, still not believing any of it.

“Every stone, plank, and trinket,” Robert interjected. “Arthur, you should know. There are letters in the bedroom that Steph wanted you to have. They are your mother’s letters to him, and it may take you a long time before you can read them, but you should know your mother knew.”

“Knew what?”

“About you. She knew you were like Steph.”

For a moment, Arthur couldn’t breathe. He leaned forward trying to catch his breath. A glass of water appeared in his periphery vision, and he looked over to Robert holding it out.

“When Steph found out you were sent away, he had been furious. He broke one of his most precious figurines, one from China. It had been bad enough when your mother died, Steph blaming your father for not getting the medical attention she needed. When he heard from a cousin that you were banished from your father’s manor, he…just lost it. He wanted to come find you, but he was too sick by then. We agreed to the changes of the will and sent private detectives to your father’s place looking for any clue on where you had gone. The day we got word of your whereabouts was the day Steph…the day he passed away,” said Robert looking away.

Arthur felt like he was drowning. It was too much, all the things he was finding out. He looked up, took a deep breath, then stared out the window as the sun broke through the clouds, it rays hitting the harbor’s waters.

“You can’t leave. Not yet,” said Arthur to Robert.

“But I must. I can’t stay here.”

“But there is so much I need to know. So much about Uncle Stephen I don’t know.”

“And you’ll know it. I have left my address with Franklin. I expect letters on a regular basis. I want to know you, young Arthur, nephew of the man I loved for all these years. It’ll be a splendid correspondence. You’ll tell me of the gray days and rain, and your new life, of the men you’ll meet, and I’ll tell you of your uncle and our adventures together, and the bright sunshine of paradise and wading in those warm waters surrounding it.”

“Arthur, the stagecoach will be ready to set out the day after tomorrow. We thought you would like to see Robert off on his voyage in the morning,” said Franklin.

“Yes, of course.”

“As to the details of Steph’s estate, I’ll have to get some signatures from you then I can give you all the documentation about each asset to take with you to Port Isaac.”

“Yes, sir, thank you,” Arthur uttered, still not sure it was real. Robert stood to leave, and Arthur climbed to his feet and hugged him tight. Then he let Robert leave the room. He turned to Franklin, wondering how to ask.

“Yes, Arthur, what is it?”

Two days later, Arthur descended the stair of the inn, crossed the room, and stepped out to see the familiar stagecoach parked in front. The seat up top was empty, and he looked along the two horses, then around the back.

“Are you looking for me?” asked Henry, coming up behind him.

“OH, yes.”

“You know someone else was to take you to Port Isaac, while I was to make another trip to London, but those plans got changed yesterday.”

“They did?” Arthur replied, turning away from Henry so he didn’t see him smiling.

“Yes. Did you have something to do with it?”

“Why would I do that? But shouldn’t we be on our way? We’re blocking the street,” said Arthur as he climbed into stagecoach.

Henry closed the door, then leaned up to the window. “You should have let me go to London. This is foolish, and you know it.”

“Maybe it is.”

Arthur sat back as the stagecoach rocked with Henry climbing up top. There was the familiar click of the tongue, some utterance he still didn’t know what it was, and the stagecoach jerked to a start and headed down the street.

Arthur watched the scenes of early morning Plymouth passing by, then when they were outside the city, he settled back knowing this would not be a journey of several days. They would be in Port Isaac before nightfall.

The day before he had told someone he had just met goodbye. It was curious how it felt like he was losing a part of himself with Robert’s departure. He had stood on the dock and watched the ship set sail, and he had stood there until it was dropping sail heading out to sea. Glancing to the seat beside him he looked at his satchel picturing the documents from the law firm and the one sheet on top that had the address in Anguilla where Robert would be living.

The stagecoach rocked over a rough section of road and Arthur heard Henry talking to the horses, calming them down, getting them to slow. He pictured Henry, so stoic and quiet, then he remembered that day in the tavern when Henry finally opened up. He wanted that moment to happen again, but the short trip, only a day’s travel, would prevent it. It would be late when they arrived in Port Isaac, and he wondered about getting Henry to stay in the house with him. A chance to sit together over a meal and strong drink and hopefully pull down the wall Henry kept around himself.

The next stop to switch horses was at a crossroads, not a building in sight. There were two men waiting on horseback, one holding two fresh horses. When the stagecoach stopped, Arthur climbed out and stretched his legs as the horses were switched. Henry helped the men, checking, and doubled checking the harnesses, then he pulled down a box and walked over to Arthur who was sitting on a grassy knoll watching him.

“It’s midday and we should eat something before continuing,” said Henry.

“I could use something to eat,” Arthur replied as he watched Henry open the box and take out cured meat, cheese, and bread so fresh its aroma filled the box. He pulled out a bottle of water and poured two cups.

“What? No beer?” asked Arthur with a smirk.

“No,” Henry replied holding out a cup.

“When we get to Port Isaac, it will be late.”

“Yes.”

“You can stay at the house with me. I mean, it is supposedly large and…it’ll be nice to have someone around, even if for only one night.”

Henry looked at Arthur, then down to the piece of bread in his hand. He set a slice of cheese and meat on it and bit into it.

“I could stay the night, but I need to feed and water the horses and…”

“There’s a stable near the house.”

“There is?”

“Yes. And Robert said he had retained their staff for our arrival. He said they had been with them for years and could be trusted…that I should keep them on.”

“You’ll have servants?”

“I know that sounds crazy.”

“From a pauper to gentleman in just a few days,” Henry uttered, then looked away.

“Gentleman is a stretch, don’t you think?”

Henry smiled then laughed, finally looking around to Arthur.

“Just a bit.”

The day passed and when the sun dropped below the horizon, they rode into the small fishing village of Port Isaac. It was dusk and the windows of many of the granite or slate fronted houses were illuminated by candle light. The stagecoach slowed and they negotiated a turn onto a narrow lane. It took them to the perimeter road, one that ran along the top of cliff overlooking the harbor and the Celtic Sea. Arthur looked out at the dark waters, then he looked at the small village wondering what life was like for Francis and Robert, then he wondered what kind of life he would have in this small village. The coach turned back south and worked its way around the small harbor until they were on the opposite side, going up a gradual grade. Then the coach stopped, and Arthur saw they were high enough to look over the village on the opposite side of the harbor, then a look out the other side of the coach, and he was looking at a large stone walled house.

“Arthur, you’re home,” Henry called out as he climbed down. “Let’s get you inside then I’ll find the stables for the horses.”

The front door swung open, and two men came out. One was dressed formally, the attire of a butler, and the other was dressed casually, a man who worked outside.

“I’m Horace and this is Albert. He will show you where to take the horses for the night. The stables are just up the road and to the left.”

“Horace. Albert. I’m Arthur and this is Henry. He’ll be staying with me tonight. Can we set him up somewhere?”

“Yes, sir. We can put him up in the Sky Room.”

“Sky Room?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Francis named it after the pale blue color the room has always been painted. He loved it and kept it that color.”

Arthur was roaming around the house exploring each room. Horace had offered to show him around, but he chose to do it on his own. It was more of an adventure, and it allowed him to feel like he was discovering who his uncle was as a person as he discovered each new thing.

He started in the library that was to the left of the entry hall that cut through the house all the way to the back. Along one side, the stair to the second floor. The library was as one would expect, shelves lining every wall packed with books. One side of the room had a large desk and the other had a small sitting area of large leather armchairs. Along the side wall French doors opened to a small side terrace and garden. In the back wall a door led to a small passage with a narrow second stair, then into the kitchen with a large wood stove, a large prep sink with drains on each side, and along the back wall a sunroom that was full of plants with a small sitting area and bistro table and two chairs nestled among them. Arthur tried to picture Robert and his uncle sitting there every morning drinking coffee and talking about mundane everyday things of their life.

Arthur crossed the central hall along the back of the house and entered the formal dining room. There was an old wood table, with massive legs and thick solid top dominating the room with twelve chairs around it. He wondered if they had dinner parties that filled it. So much of the house spoke to someone who lived not as a black sheep in squalor but a man who lived a prosperous life. Through the wide opening toward the front, he saw the living room he had been in earlier with Horace and Albert. He entered the room again, this time focused on the paintings and the artifacts that decorated the room. He looked at a figurine and realized the living room was the only room within the ground floor of the house that had antiquities. He was afraid to touch them as he moved around the move, still thinking of them as belonging to Robert and his uncle.

Arthur turned to the side wall where a large stone fireplace dominated it. To the right of it a window, and to the left a doorway that was obviously a more recent construction. He knew before entering the short passage, it led to the large addition to the right of the house. It was hard to miss, with its clean pristine walls versus the aged and stained walls of the much older house. He moved to enter the passage, a glass walled and roofed space that gave the sense of going into a greenhouse before entering the next room.

“Are you going to look at the collection?” asked Henry.

Arthur turned and saw Henry coming from the Hall.

“Yes. Would you like to accompany me?”

“If it would not be a bother.”

“Not at all,” Arthur replied, and he waited for Henry to cross the living room and fall in beside him.

“Did you get settled in your room?” asked Arthur as they moved through the glass enclosure.

“Yes.”

“Good. Now let’s see what my uncle had been doing with his life.”

They passed through large double doors that appeared to be much older than the addition. Wrought iron framed the heavy timber planks and the hinges were twice as large as normal. They came into the room and stood in awe. It was nothing like their preconceptions. It was a vast two-story space with a mezzanine circling it. The mezzanine was only five or six feet wide, and it served a second library of ancient books, scrolls, and shelves of small artifacts. Beneath it were displays. Some were niches in the wall for a statue or some relic from a building or structure. Other sections were straight white walls with large paintings. Arthur wasn’t sure but the one in center looked like a Rembrandt. A portrait with the darkest background. Along the back wall were cubbies and huge slots and even from across the room, Arthur could see the slots were full of paintings and the cubbies full of artifacts. Arthur momentarily forgot Henry was next to him as he scanned the room, letting his eyes fall on one object after the next. He turned his attention to the center of the room. Just in front of him were worktables, tools of indeterminate function, and journals neatly stacked on the corner of the nearest table. Beyond them more display cases. Low glass cases of various sizes, and beyond them, two long worktables that sat perpendicular to the others, framing off the end of the room.

“This is…amazing,” Henry uttered.

Arthur turned toward Henry, suddenly remembering he was next to him, and he looked at the surprised expression, wondering if his own were the same.

“It is, isn’t it?” Arthur whispered.

They moved around the perimeter of the room, down the right side, across the back, then back up the left side. Then Arthur led Henry down the middle of the room.

The first case held a mummy with small side areas holding items that were probably found with it. In the next, a fossil of some strange creature with a long snout and fins. In the third, a book. It sat in a case all alone, but the first thing Arthur saw was the envelop on top with his name written in a stylish cursive hand across the front. After going through documents at the lawyer’s office then finding documents in the bedroom he was put into, he recognized the hand being that of his uncle. He lifted it up and saw it was sealed and he wondered why it was left here, on one of the display cases. He looked down at the leather volume with its beautifully embossed cover. Next to the book display, there was a smaller one with a stepped bottom. Each level held an item. The bottom three a sheet of parchment or paper in a foreign language. The format was wrong for a letter or formal proclamation. Each appeared to be just someone’s writing covering half or more of the sheet. Above them a dirty stained piece of wool fabric, loose thread half sewn along one side.

“What do you think?” asked Henry.

“I think these items were with the book and for someone like my uncle, just as valuable.”

“I wonder what the book the contains. You think it is an early Bible?”

“I don’t think it is a Bible,” Arthur replied when he realized what the images were that made up the decorative border.

“See what the letter says,” said Henry too distracted by everything to notice the book cover’s detailing.

Arthur broke the wax seal and opened the letter. There was one page, and it was in his uncle’s hand. He held it up and began to read.

The Fifth of May 1892.

Dear Arthur,

By the time you receive this letter I will be gone, and Robert will be sailing the Atlantic for his paradise. You probably feel overwhelmed by everything, but don’t let the things in this house confuse you. Take your time, make it something enjoyable, not a chore. Explore the things that pique your curiosity, and over time discard those things that do not. I’ve instructed Horace to leave this on the display case for the book, and know my wishes will be carried out without question. 

The book before you is a mystery. Nothing I’ve been able to discern gives me a time and place of origin. I think it is from the very earliest time of the first books, when pages were copied from a master document by scribes and the whole put together by hand. There are some traits of this book that make it unique, and it is something you should never, ever part. 

Here is what I know about it:

• The language looks like some early Persian or some corruption of it.
• I think it came from the Azerbijan region, somewhere east of the Caspian Sea.
• The pages have been treated or processed in some method that has preserved them to an unimaginable degree. The leather appears to have had the same treatment but does show its age a bit more. Maybe the thicker leather absorbed less of the preservative.
• Despite not being able to read the language, there are sections I may have worked out. I would not say they are accurate, but there is a red journal in the drawer below the display case with all my notes.
• There are diagrams in sections of the book. Beautiful, vivid diagrams that are not for everyone. You’ll understand when you look at them. I won’t have to tell you to keep the book locked in the case when visitors are in your home. (That seems so odd to write, but it makes me smile to think everything here will go to you.)

Now I must tell you the fantastical part. There is something about reading the book that will affect you. Just holding it and looking at the diagrams will make you short of breath and your heart race. It is like seeing someone you lust after. This affect is magnified if you touch the pages. Just a caress of one finger along the edge of a page is enough. I’ll not spoil this experience by telling you more, but Arthur, should you have someone special in your life. Someone you share your bed, look at the book together. Let its affects work on both of you. 

One of my greatest regrets is not knowing you better. I do feel like I know you in a superficial manner. Maybe it isn’t so superficial when I think of it. It was your mother, my sister, who told me so much. Her death was devasting and more depressing than when I was disowned. When I heard about your father sending you away, I’ve never been so angry. Not even my own experience angered me so. If only I had known sooner or been able to find you. It breaks my heart, but even now I’ve got detectives searching every major city. I know you’ll be found and will come to be the new master of this place, and in possession of this book, my most treasured artifact. 

Sincerely and with love, 

Uncle Stephen

P.S. In the master bedroom, look in the back of the closet on the top shelf. There is a small wood box that contains letters from your mother. I know you’ll cherish them as have I.

“I don’t believe it,” Henry uttered bringing Arthur back to the room. He had been thinking about his uncle, seeing him write this unusual letter.

“What is it you don’t believe?”

“The part about how it affects you. That sounds like some mystical foolishness, if you ask me.”

“Really? You want to find out?”

“What? No,” Henry stated in retort.

“Sir, if there is nothing else, the staff will be retiring for the night,” Horace stated from the doorway of the room, his voice low and calm despite carrying across the vast space.

“Thanks Horace. Could they set out the leftover meat form dinner and some of that bread. I could use something before turning in for the night,” Arthur replied.

“I’ll see to it,” Horace replied, then he was gone.

Arthur folded the letter, put it in the envelope, and opened the bottom drawer to put it away. The only thing in the drawer was the red journal and its importance seemed magnified by it having the drawer to itself.

“Come on, Henry, let’s eat something,” said Arthur as he closed the drawer and stood.

“I must admit, I could eat something.”

The house was quiet, and the candles on the dining room table dimly lit the room. Arthur and Henry sat at the end of the long table, one on one side the other opposite, leaving the head chair empty. Between them a platter of meat and a cutting board with bread and cheese. Arthur refilled Henry’s wine glass then his own.

“This Australian wine is very good,” said Arthur.

“Yes,” Henry replied as took another sip.

They talked of the artifacts in the room, none more than the book. Henry argued it was nonsense a book could affect a man, but Arthur countered asking Henry if the preservative treatment could be to blame. They debated the topic, then as the first bottle of wine was finished and Arthur opened another, their conversation changed.

“Why don’t you stay a few days?” Arthur asked.

Henry pretended not hear, instead lifting his wine glass and drinking a long drink.

Arthur didn’t pursue it, instead stabbing the last cut of meat and pushing it into his mouth. As he chewed, he watched Henry struggling with his emotions. He wanted Henry to sleep with him. He wanted them to share a bed, but he wasn’t sure Henry was gay. Stoic, private, rarely sharing any personal, except for that one time in that small tavern. He drained his glass and refilled it, then slid the bottle across the table to Henry. He watched Henry empty the bottle, then sit back rotating the glass between his hands.

“I’ll be back in a second; don’t go anywhere,” Arthur uttered jumping to his feet too fast and stumbling around the table, then he rushed into the living and turned into the passage leading to the artifacts room.

At the display case for the book, he felt for the release that would open it, fingers fumbling along the edge of the top until something shifted with his touch. The top popped up and he lifted it. Standing still, just staring at the book, he felt his heart race as the smell of leather and old paper and some other odor hit his nose. He took a deep breath then reached for the book.

Back in the dining room, Henry looked up and his eyes grew wide when he saw the book.

“What are you doing with that?”

“I thought we could look at it before turning in for the night.”

“I don’t think we should,” Henry replied, and his tone was anxious.

“I thought you said the stories about this book were not to be believed.”

“Yes, but-“

“Relax, we’re just going to thumb through it for a bit,” said Arthur as he moved to Henry’s side of the table and sat next to him.

Arthur opened the book as Henry pretended a lack of interest. He stared at the detailed frontispiece, then turned to the title page that had another illustration below the title. A naked man lying on his back with eyes closed. Arthur turned the page to an epigraph, then into the text itself. Page after page, Henry flipped through them, all of it alien. Then he came to the first illustrations and Henry’s chair scrapped on the floor as he shifted position.

“Wow, look at this,” Arthur uttered as he stared at the image of a man masturbating. Henry moved closer.

Arthur turned the page to more illustrations, of men sucking cock, rimming assholes, and fingering each other.

“Lord, look at…” Arthur stammered, and he ran a finger down the edge of the page wanting to touch the illustrations instead. He sensed it, some effect on him. His heart raced and he found himself breathing hard. He slid the book over in front of Henry. “Look at the detail,” he uttered, wanting Henry to feel the same as he.

“I can’t,” Henry replied, but Arthur watched how Henry reached out a shaking hand, index finger extended, and slowly, gently ran it down the edge of the page.

“Henry, do you object to these images?”

Henry was quiet for a long time as he stared at the illustrations, then he shook his head and whispered in reply. “No.”

Arthur turned and watched Henry, scrutinized how the eyes stared at the illustrations and how the nostrils flared with heavier and heavier breathing, then lips parted to release long slow exhales. He grew bold, reaching over and resting his hand on Henry’s thigh.

“I like them.”

Henry turned to him.

“Do you like me?” Henry asked in a barely audible voice.

“You just now figuring that out?”

Henry smiled, then turned to look away but not before Arthur saw the cheeks redden.

Arthur moved his hand up the thigh and Henry did nothing to stop him. He leaned over and kissed the side of Henry’s neck, then cheek and when Henry turned toward him, he kissed the lips.

The book was pushed back from the edge of the table as Henry and Arthur kissed and touched until groping each other’s hardening cock. Arthur stood, getting Henry to do the same. He led him to the hall, up the stair, and to his bedroom.

By the bed, they stripped their own clothes off, both in a hurry to get out of them. Once naked, cocks sticking straight out hard as rock, they touched each other. A hand to the chest, lips to lips, or down the neck and across the shoulder, and cocks bumping and rubbing against each other.

Arthur was so aroused, feeling such a lust and desire for Henry, he backed to his bed pulling Henry to follow. He fell back on the bed and spread his legs getting Henry to move down between them.

Henry put his cock to Arthur’s hole and as he kissed and nipped at Arthur’s long neck, he slowly breached it, pushing his cock through its tightness. Arthur shuddered with the penetration and clung to Henry. They were too aroused, to driven for the pleasures of sex to hold back. Henry began to fuck, to drive into Arthur’s depths.

“Henry, please,” Arthur begged as he took every thrust.

Arthur lay back and took Henry’s fuck. His cock lay slick on his stomach as Henry’s bore into his depths. The pace of Henry’s fuck increased, until the room grew hot and humid with the sweat of their bodies. Henry moved slickly over Arthur. Their skin looked flush, both red in the face, as Henry hammered cock into Arthur’s depths. Then he rose to his feet by the bed.

“Get on your hands and knees,” Henry gasped as his cock flexed up and down with is arousal.

Arthur moved quickly, impatiently, to his hands and knees. Henry pulled him to the edge of the bed, and he lowered his head, looking down his chest and stomach at his own hard cock hanging between his thighs. It flexed with his arousal as Henry penetrated him again, then it flopped back and forth as Henry began to fuck. A fast fuck, Henry banging against his ass. He dropped to his elbows and gasped for breath as cock piston inside him.

Henry pulled Arthur to his knees, grabbed him by the throat pulling him back until against his hot sweaty chest. He angled Arthur’s head back and bit the left earlobe tugging on it as he drove cock into Arthur. Over and over, Henry pushed into Arthur, rocking with every shove inward.

Arthur’s cock flopped around with their rough fuck, and Arthur had to take it in hand. He had to touch himself, stroke his cock to increase his own arousal. He stroked the slick shaft as Henry’s cock banged his insides. It pushed him to the point of release, and he shuddered, cried out shamelessly, and sprayed cum over his bed.

Henry felt him shuddering with release and it pushed him to his own. He slammed into Arthur’s depths and kept trying to push deeper as his cock erupted, pumping wad after wad into Arthur.

Then it was over. Their hearts slowing as their cock slowly became flaccid. Arthur collapsed on his bed and when Henry started to back away, he held out his hand.

“Don’t go. Please Henry, stay with me.”

A soft light illuminated the bedroom, the thin curtains allowing its passage. Arthur opening his eyes to find an arm under his neck and one hugging his chest. He felt warm exhales on his neck, then the stirring of a naked body against his own. He smiled as he began to move against it.

“Arthur! We shouldn’t have,” Henry whispered with an urgency.

Henry tried to climb out of the bed and Arthur held tight to him, pulling him down.

“No, don’t leave me…don’t go,” said Arthur.

“But Arthur, I’m just a…”

“Don’t you get it? I don’t care. Just stay for a few days and we can see how things go. Please, Henry, stay with me.”

Henry stopped trying to sit up and Arthur felt him relax.

“Last night wasn’t a mistake, even if that book made us more aroused than usual. I’m not sorry about us having sex. Are you?”

“No,” Henry whispered and his erection against Arthur’s ass spoke of the truth of it.

“Then let’s continue to get to know each other,” Arthur whispered as he worked his ass against Henry’s cock.

Henry pushed Arthur to his stomach and moved over him. Arthur felt the cock slide back and forth between his ass cheeks. The slow slide of hard cock pushing to slip down between them to his hole. He reached back spreading his cheeks.

“Stop teasing me

Arthur felt the cock push against his opening, stretch it open, and slide through it. He felt the fullness of Henry’s deep penetration and the warm body pressed against his ass. There was a slow tug outward, then another push inward. Henry slow fucked him, sinking all the way into his hole with every push. Over and over, Arthur felt Henry move inside his body. Then Henry lay on his back, and he felt the undulating body as it worked the cock inside him. His own cock lay pinned beneath him getting hard.

Henry increased his pace, fucked with a steady rhythm until breathing hard. Then he pulled out and moved next to Arthur.

“Will you sit on it?”

“Yes,” Arthur uttered as he moved over Henry. He straddled the waist and eased down on the long hard cock. Then he moved up and down, fucking himself with Henry laying beneath him watching. He leaned back, stretched his torso while moving his ass. Up and down, he worked it on Henry’s cock. Hands held his ankles and he felt Henry pushing upward as he dropped down. Then one hand slid up his leg, along the thigh until grasping his cock. The hand stroked him while he fucked himself on Henry’s cock. There was a rhythm to their movements. Arthur going down on Henry as the hand moved up his cock. He shivered with the stimulation and increased his pace.

Arthur kept up his pace until he was jerking and shuddering with release. His cock erupted, spraying Henry with wad after wad of cum. At the same time, Henry was shoving upward, shuddering with his own release.

Arthur and Henry lay in bed until mid-morning. They napped, talked softly, Arthur talking Henry into staying a few days, then suddenly talking of long-range plans, a trip to Paris or Rome or Egypt. And they had sex until spent and the need for something to eat finally made them get up.

4 June 2022

The driver pulled to the curb and a staff of the valet service opened the back door for Richard Hutchinson. He climbed out of the black SEL, straighten his coat, then climbed the steps into the private gallery that occupied much of the first floor. There were less than twenty people moving around the gallery, and he knew each had been hand picked for the upcoming auction.

Richard strolled through the paintings and statuary of the gallery, making a judgment of each piece, the pieces he would own and those that he didn’t feel an appreciation. Once at the back wall, he passed through the large opening, two old industrial sliding doors pushed apart, into room set up for the auction. Two rows of ten chairs in front of a podium. Three chairs were occupied, and he recognized one as a German collector. He eased down in the chair behind him.

“Carl, welcome to New York,” said Richard when the German collector looked back.

“Richard, you’re bidding?”

“Maybe. There is one item I have some interest.”

“It must be the Monet or is it the Mapplethorpe photos?” said Carl, smiling at the reference to Mapplethorpe.

Richard smiled back, knowing Carl was gay and already had a large collection of Mapplethorpe photos. There were rumors Carl had a more intriguing collection of a decidedly fetish nature. Richard knew he did.

“I’ll let you have the photos and I’m not sure about that Monet.”

Suddenly a group of people came to the front of the room and the other bidders came in and filled the other chairs.

The gallery owner came to the podium, introduced herself, then went through a description of the six items to be auctioned. A Jackson Pollock painting, a Claude Monet painting, a collection of Mapplethorpe photographs, a group of small figurines from the Ming Dynasty in China, a collection of pottery from Central America, and an ancient book in an unknown language that appeared to be a variation of Persian.

Richard saw the order and relaxed, knowing he would have some time before the book came up for auction. He listened to the bidding on the first painting, how the price skyrocketed to the point he wondered if it exceeded the actual value. But he knew for some, it was this inflated price that gave them bragging rights. The paintings were sold, then Carl bought the photographs as Richard expected, then he sat through the bidding for the figurines, then the pottery.

The book was rolled out. Next to it the box it had been found in, wool fabric it had been wrapped and three letters and the journals of two previous owners relating to their analysis of the book. Richard knew the combined collection with the supporting items made the book even more valuable, and he knew he sat among collectors that would not let it leave below value.

“Shall we start the bidding at five million,” said the auctioneer, and the raising of a hand and the bidding began.

The bids reached eight million, five hundred thousand before Richard bothered to raise his hand.

“I bid twelve million dollars,” suddenly impatient to get on with it.

Carl laughed in front of him, then looked back with an amused expression.

Someone else bid, then another, the price climbing to thirteen million seven hundred fifty thousand.

“Seventeen million,” Richard called out and he heard the murmurs and whispering. He knew he had pushed past the price most were comfortable. He just wondered if the woman from Paris was going to raise him. He glanced her way, and she smiled back. For a moment he thought she was going to bid higher, but she shook her head and rested her hands in her lap.

That evening, dinner finished and the two children playing video games in the entertainment room, Richard headed to their private gallery. It was situated in the center of their penthouse apartment, with climate control and three overlapping security systems. He entered the room and before the door could close, Rachel, his wife followed him inside.

“So, this is it?” Rachel asked.

“Yes.”

“Can’t believe you paid seventeen million for a book,” Rachel joked, smiling across the table where everything was laid out.

Richard smiled back, knowing the cat and mouse game she liked to play, this teasing him about the amounts he spent on antiquities or art, knowing he had only lost money on one painting right after they got married twenty-one years ago.

“It does look old. What do you know about it?” Rachel asked.

“Quite a lot, actually. But there is a lot we don’t know.”

Rachel laughed, shaking her head at how he always answered this way when talking about an old artifact. Richard always held out for some new information to be discovered, some new insight into it.

“I have all night, so lay it on me,” Rachel joked, pulling a stool close and taking a seat.

Richard turned and pulled another stool over and sat directly opposite of her with the book between them.

“Well, we know the book originated somewhere in the region of Azebaijan or Armenia region, possibly the southern region of Georgia. Iran is too far south. Who made it and what language the book is written is bit of a mystery. We think it was some kind of brotherhood, if you will.”

“Why a brotherhood?”

Richard eased the book open and turned to a double spread of illustrations, then rotated the book to Rachel.

“OH, I see.”

“Yeah, the drawings are quite graphic.”

“Anything for us?” Rachel joked.

“Afraid not. It is strictly sexual positions and sex acts between men.”

“Wow. Okay, go on.”

“At some point it ended up in the Roman Empire and we think it was in current eastern France. The wool wrapping is from the region based on DNA analysis. This seems to be in the tenth or eleventh century. It no doubt was in a library of one of the monasteries and there are three candidates, but nothing conclusive.

“Based on this letter, it ended up in China around 1200 C.E. Where it was kept and by whom we don’t know, for all we have is this letter of warning about not breathing the air off its pages, nor should a man touch them.”

“Sounds ominous,” Rachel uttered as he looked at the illustrations in the book.

“There is some speculation the process the pages were put through for preservation may have been off-gassing and making people sick.”

“That is hundreds of years later. How can it still be releasing anything?” asked Rachel.

“Seems farfetched to me too. But we have this letter by a Chinese author who found the book a danger of some type. It was there the box was made. It must have been a beautiful piece in its own right, for the faded and scratched paint show it had been vivid red with a dragon on the lid.

“Anyway, the book ended up in Thailand sometime in the fifteenth century.”

“How do you know that?”

“This letter, it is a language from Thailand from that period. How long it was there we don’t know but with the harsh climate it couldn’t have been long. The humidity and moisture would have damaged the box. So, this leads us to time we have the biggest gap. In the age when we have better paper trails, letters, diaries, and journals to search, this book just disappeared until sometime in 1876 when a Stephen Francis Talbot purchased it somewhere in Tangier.

Stephen lived in Port Isaac, this small fishing village on the west coast of the U.K. with his partner Robert Lawson.”

“Business or life partner?”

“Both. In 1892, Stephen became ill and died. Robert Lawson moved to Anguilla in retirement, where he died fifteen years later. Their estate and collection went to one of Stephen’s nephews; a Samuel Percy Arthur Saunders.”

“Seriously, that was his name?”

“A good traditional English name,” Richard joked, then slid three journals over, one bound in red and two in blue. “The red one belonged to Stephen and the two blue ones to Arthur. It is all their findings and speculations about the book. I’ve been told they make a very interesting read, especially on some affect it had on Arthur and his partner Henry…Graham,” said Richard checking his notes.

“Let me guess, business and life partner.”

“Oh yeah, that there is no doubt, for it seems Henry wrote of their life in a series of diaries. They are in that box over there,” Richard replied pointing to a wood box with an ornamental lid on a side table. “They lived in Port Isaac, through World War I and up to 1939. It seems living through another world war was too much. They packed up everything and moved to Boston in April of that year. Arthur continued to collect and seek more information on the book while Henry operated a rare books store in town. They lived in Boston until 1950, when they retired and moved to Miami. They would live there until 1964.”

“Geez, how old were they when they died?”

“Arthur was ninety-one and Henry was ninety-three, and they died ten days apart.”

“I’ve heard of that happening with older couples who had been together a long time. And the book?”

“It and their collection were passed on to a Christopher Sean Winter.”

“Passed on? They just gave it to him?”

“Yep.”

“Generous.”

“Or wise; if they wanted their collection to stay together. The problem was Sean Winter was gay, single with no family, and he died in a fall last year, leaving no will that anyone could find.”

“So, the collection got busted up.”

“Some of it.”

“What do you mean?”

The auctions I’ve been going to the last few months, well,“ Richard hesitated then smiled.

“You’ve bought it.”

“Most of it. It is a spectacular collection. The documents and figurines and…it’s probably one of the best collections I’ve seen.”

“How much have you got of it.”

“There were ten paintings, two artifacts from Greece, one from Babylonia, and some Chinese items that slipped through my fingers. But I got the rest.”

“Including this book.”

“Including this book.”

“Well, I look forward to hearing about your findings, but right now there are two young children who need a bath and sent off to bed,” said Rachel climbing to her feet.

“I’ll be there shortly to tell them goodnight.”

The next day Richard sat at the table, looking more closely at the book, He leaned down with a magnifying glass trying to see how the author made the letters, thinking it may give a clue to the exact origin. He suddenly felt light-headed, and his heart raced in his chest. He laid the magnifying glass down and sat up, blinking his eyes. He reached for the magnifying glass without looking and brushed his bare hand along the edge of the page.

It was a rush, like the time he had done too many mushrooms back in college. His breathing became ragged, leaving him almost gasping for breath. He felt feverish and his cock stirred. He staggered to his feet and stepped back from the table.

After a few minutes he was breathing normally. He looked at the book, then down the table at the letters in the plastic sleeves, thinking of their warning. He knew there may be a legitimate reason for the warnings. It was shocking how it affected him despite its age. He sat on a stool well back from the book and wondered what he should do. He could have it tested but that would require a sample, and if something were found, he could lose the book. And no matter what was happening with him and what chemicals were within the book, he wasn’t going to relinquish it.

Taking out his cellphone, Richard pulled up a contact and hit send. It rang twice and a familiar voice answered.

“Hey, you got a minute?”

“Sure, what’s up, Richard? How are the display cases working out?”

“The display cases are working out great. The atmosphere control system is perfect.”

“No issues?

“No, no problems.”

“So, you’re calling to ask for something new?”

“Yep, I’m calling about an addition. I need another case, one about four feet long and two feet deep.”

“What will be in it?”

“Its for a book and some items that came with it.”

“A book?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“And the case needs to hold it and the items associated with it.”

“And one other thing, it needs to be airtight. The environmental control needs to be completely isolated.”

“Okay. I assume it is toxic or contaminated.”

“No, no, its not something poisonous or dangerous. It’s just a book, a box, some wood fabric and some documents.”

“But you want it sealed up tight. Okay. I can come out to your place this Friday to look at what I’m dealing with.”

“You can look at it on Friday? Perfect. That’ll give me time to sketch up the size and height I need.”

“I’ve got someone coming in, so need to go, but I’ll see you.”

“Okay, sounds good. I’ll see you on Friday,” Richard replied then ended the call.

He sat back, satisfied with himself. He was going to seal the book and the other items into a display case. Whatever was happening with it, he would not let it mess up his plans. He had heard about it last year and sought to acquire it. Now that he had it, he wasn’t letting it go.

Forty-six years later, Rachel having buried Richard and agreed to move to Atlanta near her son, stood in the doorway of the collections room and watched the men pack up the items, wrapping each carefully for transport. The whole collection was going to Yale, where Richard got his degree. As one of the university’s archival team pulled out the old book and laid it in a box with a foam cutout precisely for its size, Rachel stepped back unable to watch any longer.

The men would complete the packing of the collection by the end of the day and the next she would go to the airfield and board a dirigible for Atlanta.

2164 C.E.

Jhan leaned back, looking past Emah out the window at Jupiter. The planet filled half the window, nothing but swirling clouds of brown, white, and blue with streaks of red. Then he brought his focus back on the reporter from Lunar Colony 2B. She wanted a story, one of adventure or intrigue, something flashy devoid of truth. He could give her so much. The stuff of gossip and vile behavior, but he could not give her lies.

“I think your viewers back on the Moon may wonder what all the fuss is about here on Titus, but I assure you, it is really nothing of importance,” said Jhan, then he took a sip of gurbon.

“Oh, please, Jhan, everyone says you’re the one who figured out the way to stabilize the fields.”

“I only made a comment in jest. It was Dr. Marron who took it serious enough to explore.”

“But it caused everyone to forget about that drug fiasco with your family business back on earth. What was it? Eight years ago?”

“Seven years ago, and it was banned less than two months after its release. We should have been given more time to work out the drug’s formula. Cxual was too powerful, but we could have corrected it and…”

“People died; some were permanently injured. Some lost their minds,” Emah interrupted. “But tell me, how did you develop the formula?”

“Emah, you know the story as well as anyone. It was the research lab tinkering with a male enhancement drug, one to overcome the damage from our pollution of the old planet earth. I mean, look at us now. Reproduction is only possible by artificial means. Sex is just for pleasure, nothing more.”

“But the drug only worked on males with a strong attraction toward other males.”

“An unusual misstep.”

“So, what is your next project?”

Jhan laughed, then set his glass down while looking at Emah positioned in the middle of the room.

“I’m thirty-one, will be thirty-two in a month. I’ll retire out of the workforce like everyone else and live a quiet life.”

“Bullshit,” Emah uttered.

“Is there anything else? I have other communications to do, if not,” said Jhan in his most pleasant voice, but Emah caught the undertone of it.

“No, I’ll sign off now,” then her holographic image vanished.

Jhan stared at the place Emah had been projected, feeling the old frustrations. Cxual had been his baby, a drug he had such high hopes. Humanity’s sex drive was diminishing at an alarming rate and there had been drugs to help in one form or another, but they didn’t address the core issue of desire. The attraction toward another that aroused someone.

Only that ancient book of his father’s was able to stir a man’s arousal. He had taken the book and analyzed it, had the pages scanned at a molecular level. He even had DNA testing done on the book, and all the artifacts that were with it. The remnants of the wool fabric gave the most intriguing results, creating a trail of everywhere the book had been, or most everywhere. But it was the chemicals impregnated in the paper. Organic compounds mixed with a few earth minerals. It seemed simple enough, but the manufactured version was wrong, some ratio not right, then there was the hypothesis by some in the lab the paper itself was doing something to the way the chemicals were released. Whatever the issue, it didn’t matter now for the laboratory agreed to stop all research and production of Cxual.

Jhan stood and went to the window, a great luxury in Viitus. Viitus was the third dome structure erected on Titus and the first to have large scale research and development as part of its make up. He lived in an apartment tower connected to the facility, and his unit was at the top, the upper floor protruding through the dome structure, giving him a clear view of Jupiter and the great expanse of space beyond. He looked out the window wondering where the large red storm was in relation to his position. After boring with the view, he moved across the room to his private gallery.

The door slid into the jamb and Jhan entered the dimly lit room. Special lighting focused on each artifact, none more so than the display case along the back wall. He moved to it and stared at the ancient book inside. It was open to the most graphic of images, men in various positions having sex. He wondered about the ancient culture that created it and how they were lost to time. There had been so much discovered, most from the remnants of the wool fabric, only small pieces remaining. But analysis of them gave him the journey the book had made from the Roman Empire back to China in 2106 where it remained in storage until his grandfather was able to obtain it in 2122. His Grandfather had kept it in the glass case it had arrived in, content to just look at it. It was Jhan’s father who analyzed the paper, some chemical plasticization of it, and it was one of his assistances who demonstrated the power of sexual arousal the paper caused. Jhan was still in college, but he took the lead in developing a drug from their research of the chemicals impregnating the paper. But there were no organics, the mushrooms and other plant components long since extinct, so they created substitutes.

It had been apparent something was wrong almost immediately, and before they could work it out, the council issued an edit: the drug was to be removed from the market and further research banned. It had been a foolish overreaction, but not surprising from a council always fearful of something disturbing the carefully created order within the colonies.

He reached down to the row of glass vials set into a lower panel beneath the display case. They contained a concentration of chemicals gassed off from the pages. The case circulated air over them, and filters pulled the chemicals out and stored them in the vials. It took days for the vails to contain enough to work on a man. The book was over two thousand years old, and it was amazing anything was still leeching off the paper. But Jhan had nothing but time and the patience to wait for the right amount to be collected before taking a couple of vials out.

He reached down and pulled two vails, held them up still expecting to see something, anything, within them. But it was clear as always. He held them carefully as he left the gallery. He crossed the living area to the sleeping chamber, smirking at how he used it for so much more. He entered the dimly lit room and stood inside the door as it closed behind him. He scanned the room wondering who he would share the other vial. Two beds sat along each side and in the middle his personal bed. He loved sleeping among the others, hearing the soft snoring, a mumbling in someone’s sleep or the simple shift of a body as it sought a new position.

Jhan looked along the right wall, at Marcuon and Nathn intertwined together. They, like all the others were naked and Jhan was tempted to retrieve another vial to have sex with the two of them. They would never agree to be separated and he didn’t begrudge them for it, for he knew they had been together since their teenage years at the Europa2 colony. He had offered them the ability for the fullest of sexual experiences and they, in turn, offered to share them with him.

On the next bed lay Arcus with his dark skin tone and smooth hairless body. Some genetic defect from the vaccines his mother had taken when they moved from earth to Callisto, another moon of Jupiter. Arcus was passionate, and gentle, never wanting sex to be rough or overly physical, for he was overly sensitive to every touch, every caress of his skin.

Jhan looked to his left to the first bed. Twisted in a blanket, arms and legs sticking out, lay Tyan. Jhan smiled at how no bed could contain the tall long-limbed Tyan. He could see the vivid bright blonde hair sticking out and the memory of that hair tickling his thighs as Tyan had moved up between them. Of it tickling his chest and neck, and he could feel a natural arousal trying to develop. But Tyan had been his last sex, and it wouldn’t be fair to the others to choose him again.

In the last bed lay Cian, the last to arrive. Cian had been born at the GM3 colony on Ganymede, the only child of two technicians. Jhan had met the young man on his last trip to the colony to discuss his family’s latest drug treatment for muscle and bone mass development. It promised far fewer side affects and the company had been ready to roll it out for public use. After a full day of meetings, Jhan had found himself in a tavern, one of those leftover spaces between other businesses that promised strong drink, a dark quiet place to relax, and more if one so chose. Cian had been a bartender, and with the time too early for most of the tavern’s customers, they had shared drink and conversation.

Jhan found the young man attractive. Like most colony natives, he was tall and lean, and he had black hair and dark-brown eyes, and a smile of perfect teeth and dimples that made him look even younger. Cian admitted he was gay, and single, and lonely. He had talked of his life on the periphery of society, never having the aptitude for the technical or specialized needs the colony sought from its citizens. Jhan couldn’t believe what he had heard, but the next day he was back, and the day after that, extending his stay. When he finally left Ganymede he had Cian in tow, coming back to Titus to join him and the others.

Jhan realized he had not been with Cian since their first night back and he moved across the room to the sleeping form, shedding his clothes as he went. Cian lay on top of the bed uncovered and Jhan looked down the pale body at the small fan of pubic hair then the long uncut flaccid cock.

“Cian,” Jhan whispered. “Wake up, Cian. It’s time for us to be together.”

Cian stirred awake, arms stretching outward, torso arching upward, moving like some serpent. He sat up and reached out for one of the vials. Jhan handed one to him then they held them under their noses and released the pressurized contents. Each inhaled deeply, drawing in as much as they could.

Jhan felt the effects, how his heart began to race in his chest and found himself breathing hard. His cock began to stir, to thicken, stretch out, then rise. Looking down he saw Cian was the same. He watched him squirm on the bed, hands rubbing over the soft cover of the bed, torso undulating, legs kicking out. Cian dug his heels into the bed and pushed his hips upward, then fell flat on the bed, but never stopping. He rubbed hands over his chest, down his stomach until toying with his own cock.

Jhan pushed a hand away and took Cian’s cock. He stroked it, feeling it harden. Rock hard and smooth as glass to his touch, he slid his hand up the shaft until fingers could manipulate the head. Cian shivered then pushed upward through them. He ran his hand over the loose sac, worked the nuts within, then slipped his index finger down between the thighs and rubbed the perineum. As he rubbed the line of flesh, Cian moaned and spread his legs.

Jhan felt Cian take his cock, a hand stroke him until it was slick from his drooling cock. He pushed his hand down between the spread thighs and toyed with Cian’s hole. He rubbed over the tightness, then worked his finger through it. He pushed inward all the way and felt Cian push back.

Cian was suddenly sitting up, mouth on his cock. Jhan moaned as lips moved along it. He looked down and watched the head move back and forth, faster and faster, until he had to push Cian off or come too quick.

“I want to fuck you,” Jhan uttered.

“I want you to fuck me,” Cian replied, rolling onto his stomach, with ass pushed up.

Jhan straddled Cian’s thighs as the ass was spread for him. He looked at the tight opening and the round ass cheeks, Cian’s fingers digging into each to hold them apart. He moved forward pushing his cock down until the wet head was touching the opening. Cian pushed up and he felt the squeeze on the head as Cian opened to his penetration. Another push and the head slipped past the tight ring and into Cian’s hole.

Jhan moved over Cian and pushed, sinking deeper into him. Then he began to fuck. To tug outward, then push back in, over and over, going deeper with every push until he was smacking against the ass. The sound echoed in the room and the other’s stirred awake, sat up, and watched as Jhan hammered his cock inside Cian’s hole.

“Fuck me, fuck me, Jhan,” Cian begged.

Jhan knew Cian liked it physical, to be handled by him, and he grabbed him by the hair and tugged the head back as he drove into his depths.

“OH, fuck,” Cian uttered.

Jhan held his head pulled back as he fucked. He smacked down against Cian’s ass burying his cock all the way every time. Over and over until gasping for breath and covered in sweat.

Jhan lay on Cian; bear hugged him around the neck while grinding his cock in Cian’s depths. He slow fucked, made Cian feel every inch he worked through the loosened opening. Then he rose, pulling free and got on his knees.

“Roll over,” Jhan uttered breathlessly.

Cian got on his back holding his legs up. Jhan moved to him, letting the legs rest on his shoulders. He moved over and down on Cian, folding him in half. Feet sticking straight up, and the ass lifted off the bed, Jhan put his cock to the loosened hole and buried his cock in it. Then he began to fuck. To tug outward and push inward, fucking faster and faster, until hammering the upturned ass.

“Jhan…Jhan…fuck…” Cian uttered as he clutched the bed.

Jhan hammered Cian’s ass, shoved cock into his depths over and over. The bed squeaked and rocked beneath them. Cian moved his hands over Jhan, up along the sides, at times clinging to the flexing pumping ass, then across the chest feeling the hard nubs of each nipple.

Physical, sweaty, their fuck was intense. They were breathing hard, and every touch was sensitive. Each rub or grasp by a hand, each bump and grind of one against the other, each smack of Jhan’s body against Cian’s upturned ass.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum,” Jhan uttered as he shoved into Cian’s depths, and kept jamming his hips against the upturned ass with every ejaculation.

“Keep fucking,” Cian urged.

Jhan rose to his knees, twisted Cian at the hips with legs held together and shoved back into his ass. He was still hard, and he didn’t hesitate to start fucking, to batter Cian’s insides as cum pumped out around his cock.

Cian clutched at the bed and rocked with their fuck. He shuddered and saw stars as Jhan hammered his insides.

“Fuck…fuck me harder,” Cian uttered.

Jhan slipped an arm under Cian’s calves and folded him into a fetus position and pinned him down. He lay heavily on top of him and fucked. He pushed all the way inside Cian and ground his hips against the ass.

Jhan pulled free and rose to his knees again.

“Get up.”

Cian rose to his knees and Jhan pushed him over until on hands and knees and he moved up behind him and buried his cock in the loosened wet hole. He plunged into it all the way, reached down and pulled Cian up until bent back against his chest. He circled the neck with his right arm and held him tight. He reached around with the left and took Cian in hand. Then he began to fuck and stroke, roughly, as fast as he could. Cian rocked forward with every push inward, grunting and crying out.

The others watched. Cian stretched back, torso wet with sweat, and cock stroked with their fuck. Jhan kept up his brutal pace, thrust into Cian’s depths until he felt the building release. He didn’t slow. He just kept hammering his cock into Cian, over and over, while stroking Cian’s wet cock.

Cian cried out, jerked within Jhan’s hold, then his cock erupted, spewing thick wads of cum across this bed. His cock erupted over and over as Jhan thrust into his depths.

Jhan felt how Cian was coming, the jerking and shuddering within his arms, and he shoved into his depths and came again.

Laying side by side, Jhan and Cian were spent, all desire for further stimulation ceased. The inhalant from the book had dissipated from their system and they were sated.

“Thanks,” Cian uttered as he leaned over and kissed Jhan.

“Thank you,” Jhan replied.

As Cian settled down to fall asleep, Jhan eased off the bed, smiled at the others and headed to the bathroom to shower before turning in.

Eight hours later, time measured in earth hours, Jhan left his apartment and went down to roam along the roads. He loved the fake morning sunrise of the dome. It was a necessity, for the residents had to have the familiar cycle in order to sleep and live. He moved along the lane lined with trees until at the small lake in the center of the dome. The waters reflected the artificial sky, and he sat on a bench and watched the morning pass. People going to work or heading home after a night shift, or those like himself, just out to enjoy the early morning hour. His mind wandered from the scenes before him to the book. It was always the book, eventually. Its chemical gassing off and how it affected a gay man. The arousal it could stir within him. He wondered when he could get away with going back to the research on the chemical composition. In the meantime, he had explorations going on back on Earth looking for mushrooms and plants that had the properties of those used so long ago to process the paper. He knew it had to be a fluke, shear dumb luck as some would call it, to create a method of preservation that also had such a side effect. A side effect of such pleasure it made Jhan smile as he leaned back and let the artificial light and radiation warm his face.