Myths

by Rob Knight editor

  There is a moment of panic when reality threatens to overcome my ecstatic frenzy, but it passes as quickly as it comes. He soothes me as one might tame a wild beast, giving feather-light touches, stroking my body from head to toe, seeking out each sensitive area in turn, first with his hands, and then with his lips and tongue.

  When his tongue first tentatively flickers over my entrance, it is as if he is taking ownership of my body, making it his own. His breath is cool on me like the breezes that encircle us and I moan aloud as the slick wetness of his tongue slides inside my virgin opening. For a time, I writhe in abject pleasure under his ministrations, but then he withdraws, and again, I feel emptiness, as though a part of myself is gone.

  It is a single digit this time, easing into me, opening me, pulsing in and out of my body in time with the surging waves. It is the sea itself that is penetrating me, flowing over me and through me as I thrust backwards, seeking more and more, deeper and stronger. Then his solitary finger becomes two, and they brush over something inside me that causes my prick to begin to weep openly, and I'm sure I can come from that alone.

  Seemingly without interruption, his hands are around my body, and his organ is poised at the breach, and then seamlessly he enters me with a cry, and I throw my head back in pain and pleasure, the girth of him stretching me almost beyond endurance. He freezes, trembling, allowing me time to adjust, as though he fears that I will vanish without warning into the sea mist.

  I move first, picking up the rhythm of the ocean, rocking back against him and he follows suit, driving deeper and deeper into me until he is buried to the hilt and I am his. I do not wonder how he is able to glide so easily in and out. I cannot question what magic has made this possible, my mind is too full of the aching tightness in my groin, the waves of pleasure that are overtaking me and oh God, I'm coming at last, spilling onto the chaise and over my belly without a hand being lifted to my prick.

  At last he speaks, "So young, so beautiful," and I feel his pace increase, outstripping the waves, pounding into me with the force of a gale as he pours out his seed within me. I close my eyes, revelling in the tremendous sense of satisfaction and rightness of what I have done. The weight of the man who is still caught tight within my passage melds with the wind and the spray of the surf and I feel dizzy, as though the sea and sky had exchanged places and I am floating blindly into a topsy-turvy world where the unimaginable becomes possible.

  When the world stops spinning I open my eyes, and the beach is gone, and I am in my bed, alone. It is dawn, and the sun is driving away the shadows as the wind stirs the white gauze of the curtains. I sit, surprised that there is no stiffness or pain in my body. Instead, I feel alive, every inch of me glittering with a golden splendour that starts deep inside me and spills out, threatening to overshadow the morning sun.

  On the table before the window stands a chalice that had not been there before. It is chased with beaten gold, richly ornamented with images of the fruits of the vine and field, and somehow I know without being told that it contains the wine of remembrance, which can give or withhold the blessings of memory; and if I drink, the memory of what has transpired will leave me, and my life will go on as it always has. I know it is intended as a gift, so that I will not forever be seeking that which I cannot have, yearning for unspeakable glory that no longer exists on this earth.

  Without thought or hesitation I take up the cup and walk towards the rising sun. There is a storm far out at sea, an iron-grey cloud that threatens the sun's dominion. I can see distant flashes of lightning as the squall moves across the surface of the waters heading relentlessly for land. The water is choppy, storm driven whitecaps that assail the beach with violence and anger.

  The tide has come fully in and the beach upon which I was taken is subsumed under a murky green sea. I stand for a moment, watching and waiting. High in the sky a bird circles once, twice and then sweeps away towards the clouds. The sharp scent of sea-salt blends with the sweet, ambrosial wine as I make my libation to the Master of the Storm and pour the wine of remembrance into the waves.

  Rain

  By Lorne Rodman

  Damn, it was hot.

  Tuff didn't mind the heat so much. But when it came with a good three years of little to no rain and a short snowpack in the winter? It got a man down. He and Harry and Little Joe were out rounding up the last stragglers of old Mister Jameson's grazing herd, pushing them in to be sold to one of the feedlots where they might fatten up and make someone a nice hamburger. The old man was keeping a few hundred head of the good Beefmasters, but that was it.

  And Jameson was only keeping a few hands on, too. Tuff hoped to Hell he was one of them, but he knew after this round up there'd be another let go, so he didn't count on it. Wasn't no use dwelling on it. It was supper time and Tuff checked the tie line on the horses and gave them pellets while Little Joe warmed up last night's chili and cornbread. It was so fucking hot that he stayed away from even the tiny fire the little Coleman stove could produce until the last minute, waiting until Little Joe clanged a spoon against a pan and hollered, "Come and git it!"

  They all found a shady spot and sat out on their bedrolls, eating and talking, and they'd gotten to the point of playing rock-paper-scissors for clean up duty and smoking cigarettes when Little Joe swore. "Well I'll be fucked." Out of nowhere came an old Indian. The man's skin was dark and leathery, hair like beaten iron. He wore tattered rags and the wind blew his scent at them, fetid and dusty. His back was straight though, even though he was obviously looking for a hand out.

  Harry usually did their talking and Tuff sat back looking at the old man while Harry asked him what in Hell he wanted. Tuff grimaced. No sweet talker, old Harry, and none too fond of what he called "them damned drunken Indians".

  Dark eyes looked at them each in turn. "The land is old and still. She holds her bounty tight to her breast and will not part with it. I have not eaten in three days and I have hope you would be more generous than the great mother." The old Indian spoke slowly, deliberately.

  You had to admire the dignity of the request, even when you knew it was gonna get turned down. Wasn't no way Harry would let the old guy eat their leftovers. Tuff sighed, nodding to himself when Harry drew up like a puffy frog.

  "You get on out of here, old man. We ain't got nothing for you."

  "Just a few drops of water to keep an old man from passing into the lands of his ancestors." "Thought you people sent your old folks out into the wilderness to die when they got useless. No water to spare." Little Joe spoke up, then spat, right at the man's feet. Christ on a crutch. "I have use yet and you should not waste your water on the parched earth. It will find as inhospitable a home as I have found here." The old man stood a little straighter, held his hands out to them. "I ask again for a drop of kindness, a bite that a dog would not miss. Surely you could find that in your hearts to give."

  "Yeah. Here. Have this." Oh, Lord. Harry picked up a clod of dirt and threw it at the old feller, hard enough it broke apart on the old trader blanket the man had wrapped around his shoulders. Now Tuff couldn't stand for that and he gave Harry a look.

  "You got no call, Harry. Sorry, Mister, but they're not gonna feed you, so you might as well move on."

  The dark eyes turned to him, seemed to look through him. "Perhaps your heart is not as closed to a fellow walker of the land." His ears and cheeks went hot as Harry and Little Joe both looked over at him, sneering and frowning in turn. Tuff just shook his head, holding out empty hands and shrugging, feeling like the worst kind of prick. Still, he wouldn't put it past Harry 'specially to try and lose him his job if he helped.

  Those dark eyes never left his, even as they seemed to go dull with disappointment. "When I was just a boy I walked this land with my father. Our great mother was generous then, offering her bounty to all the children of Father Sky. We ate, we slept, we worked, we played. Then Brother Water's people spilled over the great mother and stole what she would give freely until there was no more.
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br />   "Your hearts are made of stone."

  God, that was one Hell of a guilt trip. And it was well deserved, too, but Tuff just couldn't make himself move, even when Harry snorted and threw a rock this time, right at the old man's boots.

  "Git, you old bastard."

  The old man bent, the movements slow, it hurt just to watch. He picked up the stone and straightened just as slowly, but all the way until his back was straight. "You cannot take water from a stone." "No but you can take blood from an Indian. Now go on." Harry and Little Joe both stood tall, hands clenched, and moved toward the old man, looking like they meant violence.

  The Indian didn't move, didn't even flinch. "You would hurt an unarmed man?"

  "We will if you don't move on, mister. You hard of hearing or something? We said go!" Harry was getting nasty, his face red in the dying sunlight.

  "Hope dies a hard death for she has nowhere to go." The old man didn't seem to understand that Harry was very serious. Like an enraged bull, Harry charged, shouting and striking out at the old guy with a haymaker that would surely clean the old fool's plow. The old guy staggered back, blood spouting from lip and nose. He stood there a moment longer, just looking and then turned and walked slowly away without a word.

  God. Tuff was up and in Harry's face before he even knew what was happening. "That was just plain wrong, Harry. He was just askin'. You had no cause. None at all."

  Harry just snorted and rubbed his knuckles, looking as self righteous as a man could. "He had no call begging. You're so sure I did wrong? You take him his fucking water, but it'll come out of your pay."

  "Well, then take it right out, because I'm going." Tuff was as good as his word, scooping up a bowl of chili and a hunk of bread, grabbing a bottle of water, too. He ignored Harry's rumbles and Little Joe's spitting and marched on out of camp, right over the hill where the old Indian had disappeared. Damn it, he'd stood there and let the man get hit and it made him sick in his belly. Least he could do was help out.

  He thought at first that he'd managed to miss the old man, slow as the guy'd been walking, he seemed to have disappeared. The wind carried the scent of him on it though and he rounded a copse of sagebrush, finding the old man in a patch of moonlight, singing softly to the sky.

  It was like the guy was a throwback to an older time and Hell, maybe he was. Wasn't that long ago in the great scheme of things that white men came to this land. Tuff hated to interrupt, so he waited, but when the old feller wound down he cleared his throat.

  The Indian turned and looked straight at him, as if the old guy'd known he was there the whole time.

  Damn. That was unnerving. So were those dark eyes, so sharp in that weathered face. Deep and ageless. The hair stood up on Tuff's neck, but he stepped right up anyway, offering the food and water.

  "Uh. It ain't much, but I brought you some chili and bread, and some water. I sure am sorry Harry hit you. More sorry I didn't do nothin'."

  Time-worn hands took the bowl and bottle from him. "Thank you." The old man nodded to the ground and then sat in a smooth move that belied his age.

  Tuff sat too, feeling almost compelled, and not half as graceful. "Oh." He dug in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. "Here. For your nose."

  "Thank you, but it isn't necessarily." And sure enough, the bloodied face was already cleaned right up.

  "Oh." He stuffed the hankie away, wondering how the feller had done it with no water. Then he just kinda sat and watched the Indian eat.

  The old man ate slowly, methodically, even chewing the water, watching him right back. Made him twitchy, but it seemed rude to just up and leave when the guy had invited him to sit, and Tuff figured the Indian had suffered enough rudeness at a cowboy's hands for one night. He cast about for something to talk on, and finally blurted, "You got somewhere you're headed?"

  "Home." He patted his pockets for his cigarettes, remembering some long ago lesson from his momma that you always gave an Indian elder a gift of tobacco. Soon as the old man finished up his meal, Tuff offered one. "Is it far?"

  The old man nodded his thanks and leaned forward for him to light the cigarette. He took a puff, the smoke slowly curling from the dark lips. "Farther than I thought."

  Well, Hell. The old guy talked in riddles. "Not much out this way 'cept old man Jameson's land, and some BLM rental. You live on the res you got a ways to go."

  "Maybe not so long as that."

  The moonlight and smoke were starting to play tricks on him, the old man's wrinkles seeming to smooth out as they spoke. Tuff looked at his own cigarette, stubbing it out a little more quickly than usual. "Oh, well. I uh. It's gonna get cold out here, even hot as it was today. If you want I could go get you a blanket." He was babbling, but he couldn't stop staring.

  "You would give me your own blanket?" Even the man's voice seemed to be changing, growing deeper, stronger. The fetid smell blew away on the wind, leaving behind a deep, musky sent.

  "I... sure. Ain't no way you're gonna get home, you catch your death of a cold." He just looked, those deep eyes catching him, drawing him.

  "I will share my furs with you this night." He blinked, realizing the old man had changed, was now young and strong, muscles gleaming in the moonlight. And they were sitting on a pile of soft, warm furs. Wow. He was starting to wonder what the heck Little Joe had put in the chili. Maybe a few weird mushrooms. The guy looked like something out of a western movie, hair long and jet black, all that smooth skin bare to the waist, and Tuff just stared. And stared. That was. Wow.

  "Lie with me." One hand was held out to him.

  "I'm not sure that's such a good idea..." Tuff heard his mouth saying it even as he took that big hand, the contact sending a jolt all the way to his toes. Pure brushfire lightning.

  The Indian turned his hand over, fingertips stroking his wrist and then his palm, up along to his fingertips.

  His breath caught, his fingers twitching involuntarily. "I don't... how?"

  "Surely the people of Brother Water know what pleasure is."

  Tuff chuckled, just a bare whisper of breath. "Yeah. I get that part." Hell, his cock got that part if nothing else. It throbbed with every touch of the Indian's fingers on his.

  "Then do not question the gift you are given." The Indian bent, blew into his palm. Well, then. Never let it be said he looked a gift horse in the mouth. Tuff moaned, his hips rising up off the furs, that hot breath on his hand feeling like a warm, humid breeze surrounding him, the very air thickening right up.

  The Indians dark fingers slid up his wrist along the inside of his arm, moving carefully, slowly, leaving the skin behind tingling. Tuff shook under the touches, muscles in his belly jumping. His strength just seemed to leave him, and he sorta toppled back on the furs, looking up at the man, eyes still locked on that young, smooth face.

  Slowly, steadily, that face drew closer until their lips were all but touching, sharing breath. "Let go," whispered the Indian.

  Let go. Tuff wasn't sure of what, but he arched up, searching for that mouth, wanting it more than anything he'd wanted in his whole damned life. Warm lips met his, the Indian's mouth opening upon his.

  Oh. Oh, God. Tuff tasted that mouth, his tongue pushing, hands coming up to fist in that beautiful hair. His hips bucked, humping air, every nerve in his body on fire. The long body pressed against him, pressed him into the ground, his clothes torn away by the strong hands. Sometime soon he might mourn those jeans, but right then Tuff didn't care. All he could feel was sweet, hot skin, that mouth driving him crazy. He was whimpering, struggling to get closer, feeling like he was gonna die if he didn't. He was pressed into the ground, a hot, hard prick burning alongside his own.

  "Oh, Lord." Tuff spread his legs, heels digging into the ground, just begging for it. For more. Please. The Indian's fingers pressed at his mouth, three pushing in. What could he do but lick them, suck them like he was gonna get some sort of magic elixir there. The Indian's skin tasted like salt and earth and like the air after a storm. T
uff got those fingers good and wet, his eyes wanting to close with the pleasure, but staying open to see more, feel more.

  They pulled out slowly and moved down his body, leaving a wet trail that the dry wind cooled on his skin. He shivered, the touch making goosebumps rise up. Lord, lord, he had a feeling he knew what was coming and damned if he shouldn't be scared half to death, but oh, that touch felt so good.

  Sure enough those fingers kept going down, sliding along the side of his prick and moving on down south. Instinctively his body tightened, his legs trying to clamp together. That just wasn't natural, good as that touch felt. No matter what his cock thought about the whole thing.

  The Indian backed away, warmth leaving him. "You have changed your mind."

  "I just. Well, I ain't never done that." He wasn't sure what it was that had him blurting out that little truth, but it was the same thing that had him sitting up and reaching out. "Please."

  "What do you want?"

  He didn't want to ask. Didn't want to at all. But Tuff heard himself asking anyway. "I want you. I do. I'm just... it scares me a little."

  "I will not hurt you. That would be a poor repayment of your hospitality."

  Tuff looked hard at the feller, nodded, leaning forward to touch that smooth skin. "Then come back on over here." The Indian didn't ask if he was sure, just brought their lips together and slowly pushed him back against the furs. Moaning, Tuff let the touch of their bodies all along each other take him, let the incredible heat of the Indian's body warm him. He sure didn't know what it was about the man, but damn. Damn.

  For a long time they kissed and rubbed and then the warm fingers returned to his mouth, pushing in. This time he was even more eager, licking and sucking and getting those fingers good and wet before pushing them out of his mouth and right down his body. He was ready.